#What are they DOING in there!!! Girls night!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spearofheaven · 2 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ IN LUST WE TRUST — geto suguru

you have invited suguru geto ([email protected]) to join the event: ‘having sex hehe’ from 7:00 to 10:30 pm.

SUM. you’d never so much as gone out on a date before. kissing? not on your radar. but somehow you got the bright idea to go on a dating app—matching with suguru geto.

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. 6.3k words. x slightly awkward fem! reader. non canon complacent/au. cat dad geto. inexperienced reader. consent checks. dry humping. bit of boob play. oral (f + m receiving). unprotected p in v. missionary. pull out. cum eating. aftercare. stupid humor. use of pet names. scientology visit.

A/N: almost every manwhore i’ve met owns a cat so that’s where that came from LMAO. anyways this is like super self indulgent but enjoy <3

“you brought cookies.”

you held out the tupperware container filled to the brim with recently baked chocolate chips—the sweet, warm scent wafting through the plastic. "i did, yes. though i wasn't sure if you had any allergies, so don't feel any pressure to eat them or anything. i just thought it'd be rude to come over without bringing anything."

oh great. less than five minutes into this conversation and you were already rambling.

suguru took the container of baked goods from your hands with a wary look, bringing it up to his nose. "you're not a serial killer by any chance, are you?"

you blinked. "if i was, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of telling you now?" not very reassuring.

regardless, he gestured for you to come inside. you stepped inside the apartment and slid your shoes off at the door, taking in the sight of his living room.

the space was bathed in a dark red light accompanied by sonder’s one night only playing in the background and a couple candles flickering from the coffee table—the warm richness of sandalwood permeating through the air.

“you.. uh.. you really planned this out, huh?” why couldn’t you just have said it looked nice and moved on?

now it was just plain awkward.

well, awkward-er.

sure, you knew the concept of sex and how it was supposed to work, but what every hookup guide always forgot to cover was the before. even if you'd talked before this, the two of you were just strangers. what were you supposed to talk about with him?

how were you supposed to skip this part and go to where you were riding him like a pony?

suguru shrugged, padding over to the kitchen to leave the container of cookies on the counter. “did i do too much?”

“it’s just your apartment and all, but the lights seem a little.. excessive.” that was putting it as nicely as possible.

he took the criticism in stride, grabbing a remote from the counter and turning them off before flicking a lamp on, painting the room in a dim orange light. the room was immediately much more warm and welcoming than what’d you first walked into.

you stood at the door, taking a look at the little bits of decoration that you could now see more clearly. a couple figurines, expensive, if you had to guess, a couple books strewn around his coffee table, and a cat tree perched up near the window.

you remembered the small bag in your pocket. digging it out of your pocket, you held it up in between your fingers. “i saw your cat on that one thirst trap,” he didn’t bother protesting—it was a thirst trap, “so i got some treats on the way here. i hope you don’t mind.”

either you were a psychic or you just naturally had a knack for this sort of thing. “they’re her favorite, thanks. take a seat, we don’t bite.”

the previous girls that came over to his apartment usually just gave the cat a little coo or downright ignored her, but you seemed like you wanted to get to know her more than you did him.

suguru wasn't sure if he was amused or if his ego was slightly bruised. (hint: both.)

you took a seat on the black leather couch like you owned the place, patting your lap. “what’s your cat’s name?” you questioned, the cat peering up from her paw at the noise before going back to grooming herself.

“that’s sage.”

you lightly shook the bag of treats, trying to beckon the very uninterested cat with the promise of food and an unconvincing baby voice. your efforts were working. somewhat.

sage lazily trotted her way down from the top of the cat tree before making her way over to you, sitting at your feet. her eyes were calculating, analyzing if you were worth her time. you didn't dare move a muscle when she leaned in to sniff at your socked feet and legs.

just when you were convinced that you'd gotten a big fat F on her evaluation, sage seemed to decide that you were harmless enough. she hopped up on your lap and settled down like the self proclaimed royalty she was, nudging her head against your hand in demand for head pats. you complied.

your fingers ran through the soft black fur while the cat purred like a lawn mower underneath your touch.

"she normally doesn't like strangers," suguru noted, plopping down on the couch cushion next to you.

"do you use that line on everybody that steps foot in here?" well.... yes!

and it usually worked like a charm, thank you very much.

"wait, what, really?" the last girl he'd brought over to his apartment remarked, the very same girl that signed him up for lifelong scientology visits and the army two weeks later after he failed to respond within five minutes, staring at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars.

"yeah." the cat in question, looked at him with as much disdain as her little body could muster. suguru made a mental promise to reward the cat with catnip and treats for helping him spit out the first bullshit that came to his mind. the girl seemed too happily convinced, going as far as calling herself sage’s step mom.

needless to say, the cat hadn't been all too happy about getting squeezed and cradled around like a baby by a woman she'd never seen before and never saw again after. her displeasure was obvious if the broken flower vases and scratches on his leather furniture were anything to go by.

he'd stopped using that line. or so he thought.

"...no."

you raised a brow, gaze full of suspicion as you stared at him. barely applying any pressure. and just like a rubber band, he ended up snapping within seconds, “…yes, fine, i have. but it’s the first time i’ve meant it.”

you weren't sure if he was full of shit. but the cat seemed to like you decently enough, starting her own biscuit factory on the fabric of your jeans with each ear rub. “how’d you end up getting her?”

suguru looked over to see you and his cat getting along decently well, finding himself a little lost in the scene when your question finally registered and you were staring at him.

“i found her locked up in a cage close to home. her owners called her a devil and all kinds of names, their own negligence, really,” he rolled his eyes, reaching out to pet her chin, “anyways, they were all too happy having someone to hand off the cat to.”

the two of you sat in a comfortable silence after a few questions from one another, getting to know each other a bit better apart from late night conversations. only the sounds of sage’s purring and the outside world filled the apartment.

that was until, "c'mere." suguru lazily spread his legs on the sofa, patting his lap.

“you do realize i’m not your cat right?” as if proving your point, sage got up from her spot on your lap over to his.

“fine, can you please come here?” he gave the cat one last scratch before setting her down on the floor, asking a little nicer. you got up from your spot, standing in between his legs before you lowered yourself onto his lap.

"hi," he murmured once you settled onto his lap, his hands instinctively moving down to your hips.

"hi." you braced your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance, suddenly feeling the reality of the situation crashing down on you. the pretty man underneath you wanted to have sex with you. you were going to have sex tonight.

sex and your first kiss, apparently. (you refused to count the time you'd gotten kissed as a dare in middle school.)

and as if he could read your mind, suguru took a hold of your chin and gently tilted your head up to face him, "can i kiss you?" you didn't miss the way his gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips every .5 seconds.

you met him halfway, pressing your lips against his own. trying to go with the flow as many people said (what flow? you weren't completely sure yourself).

"close your eyes, i can feel you staring at my soul.” he pulled away, whispering the words against your lips and leaving you chasing behind his.

you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss slowly. even going as far as tilting your head a little so you wouldn’t— “ow!” — do exactly what you just did. bump your nose straight into his.

you opened them back up to see suguru was more amused than hurt, a stupid smile on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “try closing them when you’re already leaned in, hm?”

rolling your eyes, you shifted a bit on his lap before giving it one last go. one of your hands came up to cradle his soft cheek, leaning in and shutting your eyes at the last second. he tasted like mint and something else you couldn’t decipher.

his lips molded against your own in a languid kiss, each touch an experiment to know your body better. suguru’s hands moved down your body, each one resting on your ass like he wanted, no needed, you all that much closer. the exchange grew heavier, sloppier, messier.

everything was heightened—you could feel every single little thing. from the slight hitch of his breath when you captured his lip in between your teeth to your own traitorous heart thumping underneath your rib cage.

his lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. then that’s where he went ham. sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together.

latching onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone, suguru placed a kiss out of reverence before he started to suck. he was practically in bliss all without taking his clothes off. if he were a weaker man, he would’ve shot his load the minute you’d settled onto his lap and got a whiff of your sweet, sweet perfume.

his hands moved up from your ass up your back, probably going to take your shirt off before his phone got the bright idea to interrupt the moment: want a break from the ads?

suguru had never regretted not investing into spotify premium as much as he did in this moment.

is your girlfriend unsatisfied in the bedroom? your stamina not being what it once was? if these symptoms sound familiar, you might suffering from erectile dysfunction. ask your doctor about levitra—

that was enough to get him up to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen counter in three strides. suguru quickly got his phone from the counter before the ad could continue, deciding that the ambiance was ruined and shutting the music off.

"do these symptoms sound familiar to you?" you teased, resting your cheek on your palm as you watched the scene with mild amusement.

"you could come to my room and find out." not nearly as smooth as he usually was, but good job suguru!

"are you really getting me into your bed with an erectile dysfunction ad?"

suguru tilted his head, "is it working?"

and you really wished it wasn't, but it was. you were quick to get up on your feet, padding over to where he stood and reaching your hand out. "let's go find out then."

his bedroom was much like the living room—a minimalistic design with a couple pictures hung up on the walls. his friends, if you had to guess. he led you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

not nearly enough bed-pouncing as you were expecting.

suguru spoke up, his hands resting on his lap, "you're allowed to change your mind, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. i’m here to please you.”

“i want this,” you responded, moving up the bed to rest against the headboard. he followed, keeping a reasonable distance between you two, “i want to have sex with you, suguru. let’s just take it slow.”

closing the distance, you straddled yourself over his lap, each of your legs next to his own. you lowered yourself down and placed your hands on his shoulders under the guise you knew what you were doing. and then, you started to rock and gyrate your hips against his clothed leg.

you rubbed and grinded your hips harder, faster against his leg in an attempt to feel something other than the friction of his sweats rubbing against your shorts—unsure of what to do other than rut yourself against him like a dog. maybe he was liking this?

should you start moaning?

“o-oh fuck.” a, what you hoped was realistic, moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders to really sell the point. suguru looked at you, wondering if he really looked that stupid.

you weren't sure what you were doing—that much was obvious. you were humping his leg, your rhythm too quick to be pleasurable for either one of you at this point.

"have you ever done this before?" were you really that obvious?

the question had your hips stilling their movement, your gaze falling down to his face. when you shook your head, suguru let out a small tut, holding your chin between his fingers, "that's okay, baby. we'll take it nice and slow, just follow me."

his hands splayed on your hips, slightly moving you up his lap before he started to guide your movements. and oh, now you felt it. his cock strained against the material of his sweats, each ridge rubbing against your warm heat.

well, at least now you knew the ad wasn't meant for him.

"oh yeah, that feels better huh?" he cooed in your ear, his cock twitching in his pants just by feeling how wet you were getting already.

you were dripping, slick stringing and sticking to your panties with each roll of your hips. he wasn’t much better—cock prodding against your entrance like it was begging to be released. “uh huh, better,” a breathy whisper left you, your back arching against his fingertips.

when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft and gentle like he’d been at first. no, he’d tested the waters already.

now he was kissing you like he needed you, like he needed air to breathe. each breath grew labored like he couldn’t bare being apart. his tongue moved in a synchronized dance with yours, tasting and absorbing everything you had to give.

your lips moved with the same desperation, fingers gripping against the material of his shirt. trying to take it off before he seemed to catch onto your unspoken hint. he reluctantly pulled away before sliding his shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath. and… wow. beautiful was an understatement when it came to him.

you let your fingers trail down his abdomen, the muscles tensing underneath your featherlight touch. tracing and poking whatever little beauty marks you found on your way down. he was just so.. pretty.

“you really think so?” his voice brought you out of your reverie, and oh shit, you’d said it out loud?

“like you don’t know it already,” you retorted, trying to downplay the situation.

suguru shrugged, watching your fingers intently as you traced and gently scratched down his pecs, “i like when you call me pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but gave in anyways, “you’re very pretty, suguru geto.” you felt his cock twitch underneath at the compliment. leading his fingers towards the hem of your own shirt, you guided him into taking off the flimsy article. he seemed all too eager to revere your body the same way you had his.

mumbled compliments of you’re so beautiful and so soft left his lips until he looked up at you, his hands gliding up and down your hips, "do you want me to keep going or do you wanna stop here?"

you grabbed his hands, bringing them up to your chest. “i want this, suguru. i want to go all the way with you, i promise.” his fingers tweaked and squeezed at your perked nipples, his lips ghosting above the left before he swirled his tongue around it. latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh and sucking, working the other with his fingers.

strings of saliva connected his lips to your tits when he finally pulled away—deeming that he’d given them enough attention for now. suguru flipped the two of you over, hovering above you before slowly kissing his way down.

peck. your collarbone.

peck. your tits.

peck. your navel.

peck. the waistband of your shorts.

“you can take it off,” you assured him before he even had the chance to ask the question. suguru didn’t hesitate once he got the thumbs up, hooking his fingers onto your belt loops before sliding your shorts down your legs and shaking them off.

you could’ve sworn you caught a hint of drool once you were all exposed for him.

suguru kissed his way up your leg, each one leaving behind a slippery trail behind him. “so pretty,” he mumbled, sucking onto your calf before moving further up to your knee, “so perfect laid out for me.” each one sounded like a quiet admission to himself.

despite how desperate he seemed, suguru took his time when it came to finally undressing you. his teeth sunk into the lace of your underwear, your hips lifted when he moved down the offending material at the pace of molasses. trying to savor as much as he could.

he let them fall onto the pile of clothes next to you before admiring his meal. your cunt clenched around nothing when a slight breeze came in the room, your slick glistening against your folds, clit practically throbbing his name out in morse code.

but suguru prided himself on having some semblance of patience. thinly veiled patience, but patience nonetheless. he wedged himself in between your legs, his lips hovering dangerously close to your entrance before moving down to your inner thigh. repeating what he'd done earlier on your leg.

he pressed featherlight kiss after another onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave behind a nice lil' memory for tomorrow. your legs instinctively spread, every sensation sending your body through a livewire and yet.. you were lost in thought.

you wondered how many people he'd had in this room, how long this would take, what'd you eat for breakfast tomorrow, and—"focus on me, pretty girl."

immediately broken out of your endless string of questions, you looked down to see suguru already peering up at you. "talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"

you shook your head, "just got lost in thought, i guess."

"then we'll just have to make it to where you can only focus on me, angel."

and then he dove in like he was a man starving.

his big hands gripped your legs and spread you apart like a feast, tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your folds and thighs. "taste so good, thank you, thank you," he babbled, swiping his tongue up and down your folds before flicking it inside of your pussy.

your cunt gushed like an open sink against his mouth and chin, the man practically nose deep as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your sopping pussy. his jaw went slack, sucking and tracing your folds with the tip of his tongue before going back to eating you out.

soon, two of his fingers took place of his mouth. two long and thick fingers. your juices ran down to his knuckles while he spread you open, his fingers curling and hitting that one spot inside of you with ease. "fuck, it feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his fingers.

"i knoww baby, just needed suguru to take care of you." he didn't let up, much too starved himself to even think about doing so. his lips latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit and sucked lightly onto the nerves. your grip on his hair tightened, a broken moan leaving from his lips.

"just like that," he hissed out, his hips rutting into the mattress underneath. you noticed a dark patch growing in the front of his sweats. "take what you want from me, y'know how to do it." your hips swiveled and thrusted against his eager mouth, spit and slick drenching his chin and dripping down to the mattress.

it was hard to think about anything other than him, you had to admit that much.

your legs shook with each thrust of his fingers, with each swipe of his tongue. just as you were about to press your legs together, suguru pried them apart once more with ease. "don't interrupt my meal, i'm not done eating." and how could he say that when he already sounded so drunk off you?

his tongue swirled against your clit, the tip drawing circles around the sensitive nub. "f-fuck, gonna cum, keep going," you whined out, nails digging into his scalp. the sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers was all you could hear, and yet, all you were focused on was chasing your own orgasm.

it was so close, you felt a knot building up in your lower tummy. "fu-fuck fuck fuck," broken babbles left your lips, your toes curling and legs shaking the more you felt that pressure increase. with one final thrust of his fingers, you came. the knot unraveled all at once, your release washing over you (and his fingers) like a tidal wave.

he'd never been such at bliss before.

each breath felt like it was splitting your lungs open, your chest heaving as suguru slowly pulled his dripping fingers out of you. he didn't mind staring you in the eye when he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them off as if no drop could go to waste. "mm, wanna taste you forever." his eyes practically rolled back, his tongue swirling against the two digits.

once you finally regained your bearings, you sat up and asked, "do you want me to return the favor?"

suguru let out an indignant scoff like you'd just insulted his very existence. and in a way, you had. "i did that because i wanted to, because i needed to taste you," he retorted, shaking his head like he wasn't reevaluating his degree in munchology, "not because i was expecting anything out of you."

getting up from your spot on the bed, you padded over to where he was sitting and situated yourself right in between his legs. absentmindedly running your fingers up up up the thin material of his sweats, barely grazing your fingertips against the growing tent between his legs. before you pulled away altogether.

you looked up at him like you were sin incarnate, lashes fluttering against your cheek, "what if i really really want to suck you off?"

suguru swore his soul left his body for a minute. he'd gladly let you keep it if you wanted it at this rate.

“then by all means, go for it.”

that was all you needed to slide the flimsy material of his sweatpants onto the floor, his cock slapping up against his stomach once it was released. now it was your turn to nearly drool. you couldn't have imagined that a dick could be this pretty.

a nice tan color at the base with a hint of red at the tip, a curve settling to the right and precum dripping down his shaft just from having you in his mouth. it was fairly long and thick—as thick as your forearm, you could assume.

all the fanfiction you had saved in your bookmarks couldn't have prepared you for the sight of the twitching cock in front of you.

you stared at his dick like it was something out of an anatomy textbook, trying to figure out the best approach to go about this before ultimately deciding to throw it out the window and just try it out.

"a-ah fuck." suguru practically turned into putty the moment you took him in your mouth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. not pushing, never that; he'd never risk making you uncomfortable.

thick globs of spit dribbled down to your chin and down his shaft from the corners of your lips. "just like that, yeah, please." suguru wasn't afraid to be loud—letting you know what you were doing right. one of your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers tightening around the base before you started to jerk your hand up and down.

you could hardly take him in fully—your cheeks hollowing out to make more space and it still wasn't nearly enough. "soo good, please don't stop," suguru’s voice drawled out when you tried taking more of his cock in your mouth.

you could feel tears pricking up at the edge of your waterline, blinking them back quickly. his cock was barely a couple inches in your mouth and the tip was already starting to hit your uvula, your saliva coating around the shaft to mix with the precum spurting out. once you were able to, you started bobbing your head up and down his length.

suguru’s fingers dug into the sheets beside him, his chest starting to feel like he’d run a marathon. your tongue, your mouth, just you, everything felt too stimulating, too good. the hand you’d been jerking him off with moved down to his heavy sack, your fingers rolling around his balls.

and just like that, suguru was a goner. he swore he saw the flickering of a white light above. you felt them tighten up underneath your fingertips, growing heavier and heavier with cum. you looked up to see him completely disheveled, mouth agape to let out shaky gasps and broken moans. and right before you swore you almost felt him cum, he pulled you off.

“did i do something wrong?” your question came out innocent, like you hadn’t nearly sucked the soul out of his body.

suguru let out a disbelieving laugh, pulling you up to your feet before feverishly leaning into kiss you. not seeming to care that he could taste himself on your tongue. “just need to cum inside you, can i do that, please? you still want this?”

he sounded completely and utterly ruined. but you nodded into the kiss, your fingers pressing into his shoulders. “i need you, sugu, need you so bad. please fuck me, please.”

he moved at the speed of light, setting you down onto the comfort of his mattress before he settled himself on top of you. his cock throbbed and twitched at the mere contact with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapping around the base as he swiped the tip through your folds. “you sure you want this?”

just one more time to confirm. you nodded.

“c’mon, use your words for me, pretty,” he whispered, rubbing the tip against your swollen lil’ clit. your throat bobbed as you swallowed back an embarrassing moan.

“i want this, suguru, i’m sure.”

"okay, take a deep breath in for me." you complied, filling your lungs with air before letting it out in a deep exhale. he slowly pushed his cock in, your walls tightening and clenching involuntarily against his shaft.

"there we go, that's it baby. takin' me so well." suguru's voice came out akin to a purr he didn't mention how he'd barely pushed an inch in. once he was certain it was okay, he pushed another and another in.

a choked gasp left your lips when he finally seemed to bottom out, feeling like your body had just been split in half. and maybe, just maybe it was, you wouldn’t necessarily doubt it.

suguru wiped away a couple tears that streamed down your cheeks, standing still while you got used to the intrusion. it was hard, he had to admit, when you felt so warm and wet around him. but anything for your comfort, he wouldn’t risk that.

“you can move, suguru,” you spoke up, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. his fingers grasped your own, placing your hand on top of your head before he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in one swift motion. your pussy drenched his shaft each time he pushed back in, each thrust smoother and faster.

suguru leaned down to kiss you, hair falling like a waterfall and covering his face completely before he ever got the chance to get close. you bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing in his (hair covered) face before reaching out and moving his hair out the way.

so goes the super suave geto suguru.

a small giggle left your lips at the gesture, slowly starting to feel more and more comfortable being around him. (well how much more comfortable could you really get after having him inside you?) suguru let out a small huff, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance before handing over a hair tie.

you managed to make the world’s messiest ponytail in twenty seconds. go you!

“i’m glad my embarrassment’s amusing, but you okay?” he asked quietly, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. long fingers trailed up your sides like he was admiring a piece of art, not at all like the strangers that you were supposed to be.

“i’m fine,” you assured, wiggling your hips and trying to thrust back into him, “you can go faster, though, please?”

suguru didn’t hesitate to follow that command, hips snapping into you almost immediately. your cunt sucked him in with each thrust, squelching with how much you’d drenched his shaft. his heavy balls smacked against your ass TWACK TWACK TWACK!

your legs wrapped around his waist like you were physically trying to intertwine your body as close as you could to him. “ah ah fuck, sugu, faster, faster!” your moans sounded like the best kind of melody to his ears, and well, who was he really to deny?

suguru hoisted a leg up on the bed for a better angle, hitting that spot inside of you with each quick thrust. your walls clenched around him like a vice, like you wanted to keep him trapped while you gushed and soaked around him.

“pussy’s so good, i’m never letting you go,” he babbled, his other hand gripping your hip to move you up and down his shaft as he pleased.

his middle finger rubbed desperate little circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back from just how good you felt. the hair tie was long since forgotten, hair falling onto his face as he leaned forward to capture your lips in what could only be described as a tangle of tongue and teeth.

everything about him screamed desperate and unhinged—and you weren’t any different.

“make me cum, make me cum, please,” you moaned out against his lips, your chest heaving and your breaths coming out in short pants. suguru nodded like it was his only mission in life, pushing his cock in and out sloppier and messier than he was at first. practically gliding with how wet you were.

your orgasm built up more intense this time, your nails digging into the sheets below as the coil in your tummy began tightening. “please please please,” for what were you begging for? you didn’t know. a scream that would probably wake up his neighbors left your lips as you came, dripping and soaking his shaft in your wake.

“so messy, my messy girl, that’s ittt.” he was a broken pussy-drunk babbling mess. suguru continued to rut into you, chasing his own orgasm while working you through your own. his hips moved desperately, balls twacking against you with each sloppy sloppy thrust until he finally choked out,

“w-where do you hic want it?”

you didn’t give it much thought, “my face, sugu. wanna taste you, come for me, need you.” that was all it took for the last bit to snap, barely managing to pull out in time before he was spurting out drops of cum onto your face and your open mouth.

you swallowed every last drop that landed on your tongue, your features contorting into a slight grimace once the taste settled on your taste buds. and just like you'd come out of a damn porno and his wet dreams, you stuck your tongue out.

"fuck, you're gonna kill me." a breathless laugh left his lips. he made sure to push his hair back this time around before he leaned into kiss you again, his tongue prodding into your mouth.

one time fucking awkward and slightly offputting girl pussy and he was ready to get your finger measurements to buy the most expensive ring he could find at the jewelers. maybe he'd start with just a date once he came back to his senses.

suguru plopped down on the mattress next to you, rubbing a drop off cum off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to his own lips. "was that okay? you need anything—water, a bath, your dignity?"

you let out an amused scoff, turning your head to face him. admiring his features in the post sex glow. you had to admit—to yourself mostly—he looked good worn out and panting. "my dignity's still intact, thank you. but some water and a rag would be nice."

he cracked open the water bottle and left it on the nightstand next to you before disappearing into the bathroom. you could briefly hear the sound of water running before he emerged once more, a wet rag in hand.

each swipe of the rag in between your legs was a gentle one, treating you with the utmost care in the world. “you don’t have to leave right away, if you don’t want to. i can make some mean scrambled eggs.”

“how inviting,” you teased, taking a sip of the water as you mulled it over. how bad would it be to stay the night if he’d already been inside of you? “but sure, i’ll stay. if only for the scrambled eggs.”

you weren’t sure how long the two of you spent up talking about nothing and everything in between, from what you did for school to how you got into baking. it was.. refreshing, in a sense.

you could picture yourself doing this kind of routine with him almost too easily. the last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep was his arms wrapped around your stomach.

holding you like he never quite wanted to let go.

loud knocking woke up suguru at ass o'clock in the morning, long before the sun even started to peek its head from the horizon. a groan left his lips as he forced himself to untangle his limbs from your own and get up.

you didn't seem to notice his absence, in fact, you almost seemed to enjoy it. a little too much, if you asked him. you laid in the middle of the bed, sprawling your arms and legs out like a starfish.

the knocking on the door grew more insistent—determined to get an answer one way or another.

"hi, good morning. i'm from the church of scientology." this time they'd sent a middle aged man to stand at his door and spit out the same spiel he'd heard for the past five months in a row, greeting him with a smile that suguru deemed unnatural this early in the morning.

a smile that quickly seemed to fade once the man took notice of the blossoming hickey on his neck, the scratches that ran down his abdomen.

the man grasped his copy of dianetics like he was clutching his pearls.

suguru would have to eat you out later just for this reaction.

the man cleared his throat, eyes averting down to the book in his hands, before he cracked it open to the first page he could find. suguru wondered how long it'd take the man to figure out the book was upside down.

"i'm here because you signed up to receive visits every weekend. for just the small price of ¥73,300, you could learn all about the church and how to reach enlightenment—" the more that the man rambled, the more that suguru was more inclined to start his own cult than join this one.

but regardless, he let the man finish his spiel before he tapped his chin in faux thought. “to join a cult or not to join a cult, decisions decisions…”

the man raised a finger to protest, pushing up the thick rim of his glasses up his nose, "well actually, we're not a cult, we're a religious group focu-"

the man was left rambling to the front door about the difference between a 'religious group' and a 'cult.'

but he relented, suguru had to give him that at least. the man remained at the doorstep, bringing his fist up to the door but never making contact. probably regretting coming over in the first place.

"who was at the door?" you were barely awake yourself, rubbing at your eyes as the bright morning light peered in through the windows.

suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small groan, "would you believe me if i said scientology?"

"who'd you piss off?" you questioned, standing by the kitchen with your arms folded.

this time, another groan. though he sounded more whiny than anything, “why does everyone always assume i did something?”

"am i wrong though?" you countered.

no, not at all. and suguru knew he wasn’t getting out of this conversation that easily. "come on, i'll tell you over scrambled eggs and those cookies you baked yesterday."

2K notes · View notes

ireverie · 3 days ago

Text

daddy’s girl

pairing ↠ dilf!sunghoon x (f) reader (ft. bf!jake)

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, age gap (18+), unprotected sex, stepcest, underaged drinking, toxic relationship, reader is barely 18, this is like extremely gross don’t say you weren’t warned

summary ↠ sunghoon has been your stepdad since you were maybe thirteen or fourteen. at first, you didn’t want anything to do with him - not to go to his and your mom’s wedding, not to move to his state, and definitely not to live in his house. you had convinced yourself that all men were the same. but sunghoon was nothing like the father that had abandoned you at the worst possible time and left you to deal with your emotionally unavailable mother. he was kind, sweet, caring. and as you grow older, you find yourself falling for the one person you should never, under any circumstances, want.

wc ↠ 20k

a/n ↠ my first real fic all year 🥹 as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

for as long as you could remember, you had never been particularly fond of your boyfriend’s friends.

they were outright obnoxious, and even that was you being kind and considerate. their voices boomed loudly and their laughter rang out, and the demeaning remarks they made too often to be mere jokes always made you a little uncomfortable.

though they knew better than to make any lewd comments about you, at least. most of them were about a pretty girl wandering the party, or their girlfriend of the week. but you weren’t dumb. you saw the way they looked at you every now and then, judging you. scorning you. tearing you apart.

no comments were spoken squarely to your face, but you knew they were conjured. it made you wonder what they said to jake when you weren’t there on his lap, and you wondered if he chimed along.

thick clouds of smoke loomed in the stuffy air, making it difficult to breathe. you coughed into your fist, feeling your throat itch. honest to god, you had absolutely no clue how they smoked that shit. the one time jake had coaxed you into putting a joint to your mouth, you had thought you were dying.

jay said something that abruptly made the group of boys burst into laughter. you jolted, lifting your head from jake’s shoulder. he tightened his arm, which was looped around your back, holding you against him. “jake?” you whispered.

“hm?”

you were reluctant to say anything, knowing how he would likely respond, but you didn’t want to be here anymore. “can we go somewhere else?”

jake exhaled through his nose. you knew he didn’t want to leave. to him, these nights with his friends were harmless little exploits that made his life a little easier.

it didn’t help that he was already annoyed with you. when he swung by earlier to pick you up, he looked you up and down, and the first thing to leave his mouth was a disgruntled, “why do you always dress so childishly?”

you had never thought of your bright colors and cute patterns as inherently childish. matter of fact, the cute, brown top with stitched teddy bears you were wearing was one of your favorite shirts.

“why do you want to leave?” jake asked softly, gently rubbing your back in hopes of soothing you.

“it’s too noisy,” you complained, peering up at him.

jake could have rolled his eyes. fuck’s sake, it was a party. obviously, it wasn’t going to sound like a prayer hall. “if you smoked a little, it wouldn’t bother you.”

“i don’t like smoking.”

“that’s because you’re not used to it, baby,” jake reasoned.

“i don’t want to get used to it,” you mumbled. “you guys all pass around the same joint. you’ve basically kissed each other. which means that when you kiss me, i’m kissing all of them.”

jake groaned, “you’re so dramatic, you know that, sweetheart? it’s just a joint.”

“can you please just take me home?” you pleaded. between the rings of smoke hanging over you and the resounding thud of music and the cacophony of loud voices, you felt like you were suffocating.

jake was silent for a few moments, jaw tight. something tightened in your chest, recognizing the look on his face as something angry. before you could change your mind, jake pushed you off his lap, watching you scramble onto your feet, and spoke, “gonna call it a night early, gang. my special princess over here is too good to hang with us.”

jungwon groaned. jay rolled his eyes. heeseung snickered, not so discreetly looking at your legs, and said, “bye, princess.”

jake flipped him off and guided you away, murmuring, “come on, baby.” his hand was on the small of your back.

the two of you pushed past the bundle of people partying in the main room, which was easier with your tall, respected boyfriend in tow. your shoulders relaxed when you were outside. you were happy to be breathing in the fresh air rather than smoking and doing whatever else people could get their hands on.

jake opened the door on the passenger side of his car, letting you climb inside. by the time you were on the road, his hand was on your thigh.

you didn’t mind that. jake was a very touchy boyfriend and he always had his hands all over you. the attention was something you needed, something you craved. it was just safe enough to make you feel wanted within the boundaries of your control.

but then, after maybe ten or fifteen minutes, his hand started to move. you tore your gaze from the window down to the motion on your lap, stomach churning as you sensed his hands slipping further and further. then, your eyes went up to his face. his eyes were on the road, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

everyone was nervous about losing their virginity. everyone was scared of firsts. but for you, it was a little more than that. you weren’t scared of what happened during the act; you were terrified of what came after.

would jake still want you after you gave him what he’d been coveting? would he come back for more? could you meet his expectations, compare to the fantasies he’d crafted in his mind and had been hoping to enact?

you couldn’t know for sure. once you gave him what he wanted, you had nothing to keep him around anymore; nothing to rein him back in after the night was over. and the last thing you wanted was to be alone again. it had been okay, the ice, the nip, when it was all you’d ever known, but now that you had known how it felt to be warm, you didn’t want to remember how it felt to freeze.

“jake,” you called out softly. “what are you doing?”

“nothing, baby,” jake lied sweetly, feigning innocence. all the while, his hand was continuing to move up your leg. slowly, but surely.

when he got too close, you decided that you were more than a little uncomfortable and gingerly pushed his hand away, as if not to upset him. “babe, i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

jake forced a smile, and somehow, that was more unnerving than if he had screamed at you, exasperated. “goddamn it, woman,” he murmured. “you already dragged me away from my friends. the least you could do is make it worth it.”

you swallowed, guilt hitting you like a punch in the chest. but the anxious stirring in your stomach was a thousand times worse, a million times louder, and potent tenfold. “i’m sorry,” was all you could bring yourself to say.

jake scoffed, refusing to look at you. which was probably not so bad, all things considered. “yeah, you should be,” he grumbled.

your eyes watered, but you looked out the window and tried to think of happier, kinder times. you didn’t want to cry, not until you were alone where no one could see. you hated crying in front of others. it was embarrassing. to say nothing of the fact that whenever jake reduced you to tears, he called you a crybaby, and he’d already made you feel childish enough.

the rest of the drive home was silent, save for the sound of the wind blowing through your hair and the occasional honking; your only refuge in the midst of your struggle to be the perfect girlfriend. the cool night breeze calmed you, soothed you, and traffic felt familiar. it was oddly comforting, being stuck between two things with nowhere to go.

a feeling you knew all too well.

the only downside was that the longer you stayed there, hardly moving, the longer you had to pretend everything was okay and try desperately not to sob.

it felt like forever before you were finally back home. you immediately got out of the car, having assumed that jake wanted nothing more to do with you right now.

to your surprise, he sighed and willed himself to get out of the car, walking you to your front door.

you peered up at him, trying to read his face, trying to understand where he was at and where you had pushed him. “are you mad at me?” you asked timidly, as if you didn’t truly want to know the answer.

jake took his time to answer, exhaling quietly. “no, baby,” he said after a moment. “i’m not mad. but you can’t avoid sex forever, you know. that’s what people do. it’s natural.”

he said it so outrightly, so bluntly. as if it was really, truly just another thing that everyone did, that had no risk and no consequence. you admired his fearlessness sometimes, wondering how his life had unfolded for him to be so bold, and realized you knew very little about him. “i know,” you whispered.

jake reached for your hand, tenderly brushing his fingers over your knuckles. “but?”

you released a shaky breath. jake understood you, some ways better than others. he may have been completely clueless in some regards, but your body language was not one. shy, you confessed, “but i’m scared.”

“why are you scared?” jake asked, keeping his voice soft and level. “do you not trust me, sweetheart?”

“no, i do,” you replied, though you weren’t entirely sure if that was true or not. “but what if it’s not what you’re expecting?”

jake chuckled, as if that was absurd. “baby, relax,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “you could never disappoint me.”

your eyes got a little wider, a little starrier, watching him as if he was your whole world. “are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure, baby,” he told you, pressing a final kiss to your lips. “goodnight, sweetheart.”

“goodnight,” you whispered, watching him slowly start to back away. “text me when you get home.”

jake bobbed his head in acknowledgment and started to walk back to his car.

you unlocked the front door of your house, hoping to god your mother wasn’t somewhere lounging around or smoking. your stepfather didn’t enjoy when she smoked inside the house, but he was gone for the weekend. which, to her, meant his rules didn’t matter.

there was no sight of your mother when you walked into the house. but you blinked in surprise when you saw your stepfather’s favorite coat hanging on the rack in the foyer. you didn’t know people actually had those until you moved in with him.

sunghoon was in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up halfway to his shoulders, drinking coffee out of a mug you’d designed for his birthday when you were roughly fourteen. it was stupid and kind of ugly, but the fact that he still drank from it, even after four years, warmed your heart.

“daddy?” you called, stunned. you weren’t expecting him to be here for another day.

“hey, doll,” sunghoon greeted, setting down his mug for a second. “you look surprised.”

you nodded your head. compared to what you heard in endless amounts of fiction, sunghoon didn’t go on many business trips. one a month, usually, for less than three days. “i thought you were coming back tomorrow?”

“we were able to wrap things up early,” sunghoon explained briefly. he didn’t like to bore you with the details of his job, though you often asked him about it, which was somewhat endearing.

“oh,” you mumbled. you tried not to show how happy you were. most times when you were alone here with your mother, you tried to go out as much as you possibly could, which was the only reason you had agreed to hang out with jake and his friends tonight.

“yeah.” sunghoon’s eyes flitted over your body, making you feel a little self-conscious. he would habitually remember to pick up his mug and wince at how hot his coffee was. “you look cute.”

you blinked. sunghoon always complimented the way you dressed, often reminding you how cute and beautiful you were. you wished your boyfriend was more like that. “thanks,” you replied, coming over to hug him.

sunghoon set his mug down again and threw his arms around you, gentle as ever. but he smelled something on you that he didn’t exactly love. “you went out with that boy again, didn’t you?”

“how did you know?”

“you smell like weed,” he answered bluntly.

your cheeks burned. the smell had followed you home, clinging to you. you didn’t notice it on yourself, but you knew how much he hated it. “i didn’t smoke,” you told him. “i was just next to them.”

sunghoon chuckled. he knew that. you hated the mere smell of smoke, always scrunching up your face whenever it stuck to your mother or whatever spot she’d chosen to get high at. “you don’t need to explain yourself to me, doll. i know you.”

you nodded, even more embarrassed. reluctantly, you pulled away and sat on the barstool next to him. it was late and you were kind of sleepy, exhausted of having to try so hard, but you wanted to talk to him.

ironically, it was silent for a moment as sunghoon sipped his coffee and you tried to think of what to say. sunghoon spoke first, mentioning offhandedly, “i don’t like your boyfriend.”

you sighed, resting your head against the island. “i don’t really like him, either.”

that threw sunghoon off. “so why are you still dating him?”

“i don’t know,” you huffed.

sunghoon’s eyes were fixed on you, wanting to get to the bottom of it and willing to confront the issue that you weren’t. you had no business staying in a relationship you weren’t content with. “is he threatening you?” he asked.

your shot up, eyes widening. “no, he’s not making me date him.”

if anything, that only served to make sunghoon even more alarmed, and he pressed, “what is he making you do?”

“he’s not making me do anything,” you replied quietly, knowing that wasn’t the best way to put it. “it’s just that… he wants to have sex.”

“and you don’t?” sunghoon finished for you. the topic didn’t make him feel awkward or uncomfortable, even if you were, by law, his daughter. he was the one person in the world you could talk to about anything and everything without fear, and he took great pride in that.

you shrugged, repeating, “i don’t know.”

“well, you gotta know something, baby,” sunghoon teased. “do you, or do not you?”

ignoring the way the pet name made you feel, you tried to think about it, hard. “i mean, he’s cute. and he’s nice enough most of the time,” you murmured, engrossed in thought. “but i guess i don’t really trust him that much yet. and i don’t want to give my body to someone i don’t trust.”

sunghoon hummed in understanding. “you know that’s not a bad thing, right?”

you sighed, shoulders slumped. “i guess.”

sunghoon placed his hand on your cheek, his touch feather light, as if you had a fragile warning on your forehead. “you can do so much better than him,” he whispered. “i know you’re going to do whatever you want at the end of the day, but as your father, i’m going to look out for you.”

but could you do any better? jake was your first boyfriend in years. maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was better than all the failed talking stages you’d been through. if you held onto the good memories, the ones like only a moment ago where he held you tenderly and touched you with affection, you could bear the hurt.

but there was nothing like that with sunghoon. the way he touched you now, his hand on your face, was something you could always expect. “thank you for that.”

sunghoon shook his head. “you don’t need to thank me. it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

no, you have no obligation to do that, you thought to yourself, bemused. for nearly five years, he had been going above and beyond for you, treating you as if you were his very own daughter. you couldn’t understand it.

but you appreciated it. you appreciated everything. the way he reminded you how beautiful you were, the way he spent time with you even when he was exhausted, the way he listened to your problems and told you everything was going to be okay. without him, you would be so much more broken.

but you didn’t let your thoughts wander there. it was too much suppressed pain that you weren’t ready to uncover. “daddy, are you tired?”

sunghoon shrugged. “not really. i probably won’t go to sleep until around two. why?”

“do you want to watch a scary movie with me?” you asked, hopeful. yearnful.

sunghoon could see it in your eyes. he had learned to become very good at reading you after so long, though you’d always worn your emotions on your face. especially when you were thinking. it was very hard for you to lie. chuckling at the thought, he replied, “why not?”

you smiled, removing his hand from your face to slip your fingers through his as you hopped off the barstool, and led him to the living room.

the two of you settled on a nightmare on elm street and you went on to complain about how much you disliked eighties horror, much to sunghoon’s amusement. he tried to remind you that the technology and equipment available decades ago wasn’t the same as in the current age, but you didn’t budge.

apparently, you found the movie so boring that you fell asleep watching young johnny depp get devoured by a mattress. your head was on sunghoon’s shoulder, the couch blanket draped over you as you snored softly.

when you woke up, you were in your bed, cocooned inside your comforter instead and surrounded by stuffed dolls as birds chirped outside your window and the morning breeze whistled through the air.

none of which you had time to enjoy or even perceive, because the thing that had jolted you awake was the sound of a fist banging against your bedroom door. you groaned and willed yourself to climb out of bed, grumbling something underneath your breath, and threw the door open exasperatedly.

your mother was standing there in her robe, eyes red. “why didn’t you wash dishes?”

you fought a groan. that was the first thing to come out of her mouth? really? “wasn’t aware i was supposed to,” you said groggily.

clearly, that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. “i don’t want to wake up to a dirty kitchen. we’ve been over this.”

you could have rolled your eyes at that. then, clean it up yourself, you retorted in your head. it wasn’t like you had made the mess. “you cooked while i wasn’t here and i didn’t have any.” i didn’t think i needed to clean up after you.

“that doesn’t mean shit,” she snapped. “you don’t have a job, you don’t do anything around the house. you need to take some responsibility.”

with that, your mother turned and walked away.

you closed the door and exhaled through your nose, trying to calm yourself. you had been awake for less than five minutes and she had already managed to piss you off.

and over the most ridiculous thing. it couldn’t have been that hard to clean up after herself instead of trying to make it your problem. maybe you didn’t have a job, but she didn’t either. and the only reason you apparently didn’t do anything around the house was because you never did anything to destroy it in the first place.

and because you very rarely left your room when your mother was there. something about her presence left you on edge. there were many times you went hungry just because you didn’t want to pass her in the living room on the way to the kitchen for a snack. for as long as you could remember, the familiar sound of her bracelets rattling and her sandals tapping the floor had made your heart race.

in the middle of trying to undo your frustration, you thought of something. you had woken up in bed, even though you’d most definitely fallen asleep on the couch with sunghoon, and you had no memory of making the journey upstairs.

which meant he’d carried you.

your heart fluttered. something about that thought - the thought of a bigger, stronger man carrying you - did unspeakable damage to your brain. you knew he was your stepfather, knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help but picture what else he could do with all that strength.

it was also worth mentioning that you were very vulnerable when you were just lying there innocently, asleep. he could have done anything to you if he wanted. if only he had wanted it.

almost the whole day had passed when, to your surprise, you had gotten a text from jake inviting you to hang out with him again. you had assumed he’d want time to himself after last night. but you wasted no time in getting ready, doing something different with your usually dolly makeup, and putting on a miniskirt to seem a little more mature.

you had been close to walking out of the front door, hurriedly walking past sunghoon and your mother who were sitting in the living room, until you heard your mother say, “come back. now.”

you slowly grinded to a halt, muttering annoyances to yourself, and forced a smile as you spun on your feet. “yes, mother dearest?”

“where the hell are you going at this time of night looking like a whore?” she asked, snappy.

you tried to take that in stride, but it was hard. she never failed to hurt your feelings.

your mother didn’t even give you the opportunity to respond before she demanded, “take that off.”

you stood your ground. “no.”

your mother looked at you like she wanted to lunge at you. ever since you had turned eighteen, which wasn’t even that long ago, you had gotten bolder. “if you leave wearing that, you’re just begging for it. don’t come crying to me if something happens.”

your eyes stung. how could she say something like that?

sunghoon made a face and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to stop her before she went too far. “doll,” he said to you, taking over. “i know you’re an adult now, but we still want you to be safe. i don’t know where you’re going, but i don’t trust this world enough to honor that wish. can you change, please? for me?”

switching on a dime, you replied meekly, “okay, daddy,” and went back upstairs to change your skirt.

your mother gawked in disbelief. then her expression flashed to anger. “why does she listen to you and not to me?”

“you called her a whore,” sunghoon replied, unsurprised. “i wouldn’t have listened, either.”

“i said she looked like one.”

sunghoon sighed. “that doesn’t make it any better. you know she’s sensitive. either way, you shouldn’t have said that.”

your mother said nothing, sulking. in her mind, it didn’t matter the delivery. she was your mother and she didn’t enjoy being disrespected.

the skirt you changed into was a little longer, at the least halfway down your thighs. you had been quick to change, grateful your bed was still littered in pile of skirts you’d handpicked (and would unfortunately have to clean later), and rushed outside to slide into the passenger seat of jake’s car.

the party he took you to tonight was better than the last one, at least. there were probably still people smoking and partying hard, but jake had you in the kitchen, where thankfully few people were.

jake handed you one of two red plastic cups with some kind of liquid in them. “here you go, baby.”

though you accepted the cup, you looked at it with scrunched brows, then back up at him. “what is this?”

“a mix of things,” jake replied with extreme vagueness. “just try it, sweetheart.”

you didn’t question him, just turning the cup up like it was juice, which you quickly realized couldn’t have been further from the truth. you grimaced, ears and throat burning, and put a hand on your chest. “what the fuck?”

jake furrowed his brows, feigning innocence. “you don’t like it?”

you shook your head. you’d had alcohol before, a few times when you were maybe fifteen and had sneakily took a shot of tequila from your mom’s pantry, but you had grown out of that. plus, you were still underaged in terms of drinking. “no, it burns,” you complained. “i’m not supposed to drink anyway.”

“you have such a stick up your ass,” jake teased, taking the cup from you and throwing back a gulp like it was nothing. he was only a year older than you, nineteen, and had no business drinking, either.

you shook your head in disapproval, though you knew it probably wasn’t much worse than him smoking.

“here,” he said, giving you the other cup he had been holding. this one was clear. “try this one. i think you’ll like it.”

you were reluctant, considering how much you disliked the first one he’d given you, but with how expectantly he was looking at you, you grabbed the cup and took a tentative taste. your eyes widened. it tasted like juice.

jake chuckled at your reaction. “good, right?”

you nodded, taking another sip. which became another, and another, until your head started to feel a little woozy. by the time you started to recognize it, you were already more than tipsy.

jake hoisted you into his arms like it was nothing and sat you atop the counter, draping his hands over your exposed thighs. “you look so pretty today,” jake mused aloud, admiring your skirt. “you get all cute for me?”

“yeah,” you murmured, eyes fluttering. it was all you could do to keep them open and suddenly, you wanted to go to bed.

“sleepy drunk, aren’t you?” jake asked, moving his hands to your waist to keep you upright. “heeseung’s room is upstairs. wanna go to bed, baby?”

you did, but certainly not here. you were drunk, not stupid. with you and him alone in a closed bedroom, there was no telling what all he would and wouldn’t do. and the fact that it belonged to heeseung only strengthened your hesitation.

“no, it’s okay,” you told him, shaking your head softly. you gingerly pushed yourself off the counter and onto your feet. “i’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

jake grabbed your hand, not wanting to let you loose just yet. “let me help you.”

“it’s okay,” you repeated, brushing him off. your heart thudded, nervous. “stay here.”

jake begrudgingly let you go, watching you disappear in the crowd with his jaw set. you just always managed to evade him, didn’t you?

you stumbled a little at first, but found your balance, making your way through the flock of other drunk partygoers. you gripped the railing for dear life as you climbed up the stairs, searching for the bathroom.

it was by the grace of god that you were able to find it and lock yourself inside without walking in on a couple trying to touch and feel on each other. you sighed in relief, digging around your bag for your phone. you had to get out of here, now.

with two incorrect attempts, you were able to enter your password and immediately went to your contacts, dialing the one person you knew you needed at a time like this. the one person who you could trust would be there for you no matter what.

sunghoon picked up on the second ring, answering, “hello?”

“daddy?”

even if it was only one word, sunghoon could hear in your tone that something wasn’t right. “yes, doll? is something wrong?”

“i think i messed up,” you murmured, grabbing onto the sink counter to stabilize yourself.

sunghoon’s brows stitched with worry, even if you couldn’t see. “what did you do? are you okay? are you hurt?”

“i don’t feel so good right now,” you replied, feeling drowsy. “i drank and i shouldn’t have, and… can you just come pick me up? please.”

you heard shuffling in the background, like he was already moving. “send me your location.”

fifteen minutes later, give or take, sunghoon called you and told you that he was outside.

you grabbed your phone and unlocked the bathroom door, heading straight for the stairs and making a beeline for the front door, wanting to leave before jake could spot you and do more damage. the second you saw your stepfather’s car, you hurried over, nearly tripping over your own legs.

thankfully, you were able to get inside his car without any problems, shutting the door and dragging the seatbelt over you.

sunghoon glanced at you, relieved to see that you were in one piece, but still worried. “are you okay?”

you nodded your head, sighing in relief just as the seatbelt clicked. “i’m okay,” you said, quiet. “thank you.”

sunghoon knew he should have been scolding you for drinking when you were only eighteen, but he was more concerned about your wellbeing at the moment. “why were you drinking?” he asked softly.

you swallowed, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer, but you had to be honest. “jake gave me a cup and told me to try it.”

sunghoon exhaled, starting the car. if you were going to talk about jake, it was best that he was far, far away from wherever he was. “he’s no good for you, you know that?”

you turned away and looked out the window, eyes watering.

sunghoon glanced over for a split second and reached out with his right hand, his left one gripping the wheel. “i don’t mean to make you cry, baby. but you know i’ll never lie to you.”

“i know,” you whispered, trying to fight the tears. god, you hated how you couldn’t control them, how they fell at any minor inconvenience and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

he would never understand; no one could. the reason you went back to jake even though you knew in your heart of hearts that he was just another boy that would never love you. hell, you hardly understood yourself. it was fair, considering you couldn’t say that you loved him either, but you felt something.

and it was this unidentified something that kept you tied to him like a knot rather than severing the bond. you didn’t love him, no, you hardly trusted him, but you liked him enough. he was your second best.

though sunghoon’s eyes were on the road, he still had a tender hand on yours, squeezing it firmly. “why do you keep hurting yourself like this, doll? you’re too smart to be fooling around with boys like that.”

“he’s all i have,” you said, your voice feeble.

sunghoon’s brows furrowed, confused. “that’s not true. you have me, you have your mom, and you have tons of friends and family that love you. what makes you feel like he’s all you have?”

family i feel disconnected from, friends i only show half of myself to, and an emotionally unavailable mother who wants to control my whole life, you thought with a resentment you had been nursing for years.

you swallowed it down, even though it was bitter and lingered on your tongue, and answered softly, “because sometimes, when he’s not angry, when he’s not smoking or drinking or trying to hook up, when he’s listening to me and looking at me like i mean something to him, i get to feel like he loves me.”

sunghoon didn’t skip a beat. “and how many times is that, baby?”

that hit you like the ceiling crashing down on your chest. all your life, you had just wanted somebody to love you. you had just wanted to feel like you mattered to someone and you had gone through great lengths just to hear it from another person’s mouth. you had always tried.

the only person in the world you never had to try with was your stepfather. the man had gone out of his way, since you were thirteen years old, to treat you like his own. at first, you had wanted nothing to do with him - not to go to his and your mother’s wedding, not to move to his state, and most definitely not to live in his house. you had convinced yourself from a young age that all men were the same.

but sunghoon was nothing like the father that had abandoned you just when you needed him most and left you to deal with your mother who was incapable of expressing any affection to you in a normal, healthy manner. sunghoon was kind, sweet, loving. he was patient with you, spent quality time with you, spoiled you with gifts and listened to your problems.

all things your father did when you were a little girl, when everything had been okay, once upon a time.

it was only natural that you found yourself gravitating towards him more often than not, wanting to be around him, wanting to hear his voice, wanting to hold him and spend every waking moment with him. and it was only even more natural that eventually, your heart began to flutter around him.

but you suppressed it, because you weren’t that dumb. you knew there were no chances of him reciprocating your feelings, not when he loved you with the love of a father. but the nipping void inside you was still there, and it had never felt more empty.

you knew it would be a bad idea to look at sunghoon, so you kept your eyes fixed on the gleaming towers and lights shimmering on the water as he crossed a bridge. “i know it doesn’t make sense,” you willed yourself to respond. “it doesn’t make sense to me, either.”

for a moment, sunghoon was silent. he may not have understood, but he wanted to deliver his words in the right way. in the end, he chose compassion. “feelings don’t always make sense, especially not right away, and especially not when you’re young and experiencing them for the first time. but that doesn’t mean you have to let them control you.”

arms crossed, you grumbled, “easier said than done.”

“i know it is, doll,” sunghoon whispered. “i know it is.”

something in his tone made you finally turn to face him. your eyes glimmered and you begged, “please, don’t tell mom.”

sunghoon looked conflicted, like he was weighing his options, but he knew what the most effective choice would be. “i won’t, but you can’t keep doing stuff like this, kiddo. it worries me.”

if there was anything you hated, it was that pet name. “i’m not a kid. i’m eighteen.”

“and thirty days,” sunghoon added dryly.

he said that like it meant something. you retorted, “what, are you keeping track?”

“i’m just good at quick math.”

you scoffed. it was probably true, considering all the things you saw him calculating when it came to complicated business things you never understood, but that didn’t make it any better. “okay. how old are you?” you asked knowingly.

“thirty-nine.”

“what’s thirty-nine minus eighteen?”

“twenty-one,” sunghoon answered without any forethought.

more than twice my age. you knew that. not that it was hard to figure out, but that wasn’t the point. at some point, you had become obsessed with those numbers, crafting a delicate list of reasons why it could never work with your stepfather. the age gap, the marriage, the this and the that.

but on the other hand, none of those things really mattered to you. you may have still been young, but you were an adult now. a legal adult.

“besides,” sunghoon continued, seemingly unaware of where your mind had wandered. “i’ll always worry about you, no matter how old you are.”

your heart did exactly what you didn’t want it to do, what you had been trying to fight against for god knows how long now; it soared.

if you weren’t regretting your night enough already, you definitely were by the time you went inside the house, realizing everything you had to do before you dropped into bed. “god, i have to shower and take off my makeup,” you grumbled, walking with a stammer.

sunghoon kicked his shoes off by the door and grabbed your hand, lest you fell and hurt yourself. “i’ll help you.”

your eyes flickered in surprise. “you don’t have to do that.”

“it’s okay,” sunghoon replied, already steering you upstairs. “you need some guidance.”

you didn’t know what he meant by that, or maybe you did and you were simply in denial, but you didn’t ask.

sitting you atop the counter in your bathroom, sunghoon picked out the pack of makeup wipes that were already sitting there and gently began to wipe your face, pushing a stray braid behind your ear. he seemed focused, eyes squinting and his thicks brows furrowing.

you were focused too, watching him intently the entire time. it was difficult to ignore the way your heart raced when he got so close, the way your body seared with heat when he touched your cheek. it wasn’t necessarily even affectionately, which only served to make you more disappointed in yourself.

but sometimes, when you were staring hard enough, much like right now, you noticed more than just how handsome he was. you noticed the little scrunch of his brows when he was concentrating, you noticed the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed. when it was as quiet as it was right now, you could even hear his breathing almost as subtle as the faint scent of cologne on him that had worn throughout the day.

maybe it was somewhat obsessive, but you didn’t do it on purpose. sunghoon made it easy to tune the world out and ignore everything that wasn’t him.

after washing your face, sunghoon grabbed you something to wear and asked, “need anything else, doll?”

“no, daddy. i’ve got it,” you replied, grabbing a towel for your shower. the water was running behind the curtains. “thank you.”

sunghoon grinned softly and bent down to press his lips to your forehead in a tender kiss. “goodnight, baby,” he whispered.

“g’night, daddy.”

the door closed. you hated knowing that you were alone, that he wasn’t right there with you. at times, you got tempted to do things you used to do when you were younger, crawling into bed with him in the middle of the night, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. no matter how much you hated being separated.

you usually liked to milk time with him for all that it was worth, especially because he was always working. you stole the seat beside him at the dinner table, you watched him mend items in the house, and you spent a lot of time on the couch of his study when he was taking calls and doing paperwork.

once you had gotten redressed after your shower, you slipped into bed with a sigh. there was always tomorrow.

the cereal boxes were pushed too far back again.

you couldn’t reach them. even standing on your tippy toes, waving your hand aimlessly in hope of even scraping the damn corner of a box of cinnamon toast crunch, they were just too far. “ugh,” you whined, irritated.

sunghoon watched. his eyes were less on your challenging endeavor and more on the swell of your ass peeking from underneath your tiny nightgown as you rose off the heels of your feet onto your toes, noticing the way it jiggled when you stood normally again. there was a pang of guilt in his chest, watching you like that, but at the end of the day, sunghoon was just a man.

“i’ll get it,” sunghoon insisted, standing up from the bar to swing over without even having to ask which one you wanted. he routinely saw you only eat the same cereal.

you thanked him when he grabbed the box of cinnamon toast crunch and placed it securely into your hands. walking over to the counter where the milk and bowl were waiting, you noticed sunghoon come up behind you. at first, you thought he was just watching for whatever reason, so you ignored the thud in your chest at his proximity and poured the cereal.

then, you carefully grabbed the milk, not wanting to spill it accidentally. you had been guilty of that before. without warning, his hands dropped below your waist and cupped your cheeks, making your eyes go wide. “daddy,” you gasped out, bemused. “what are you doing?”

sunghoon shushed you, giving your neck a fleeting kiss before he shifted his attention back downwards, pushing your nightgown up so that it would bunch around your hips. “quiet,” he whispered.

“daddy, the milk,” you whined, having lost control of your grip when he touched you, catching you by surprise.

most of it had spilled out of its container, the bowl overflowing with streams of milk dripping off the counter that would stink if not cleaned soon enough. but some of it had splashed onto your face, chest and tummy. “shh,” sunghoon repeated. “don’t worry about it. you can milk something else.”

your face warmed in realization just as he began to press himself against you from behind, and the very big, very hard bulge in his pants made your mouth run dry.

or maybe it was the morning breath. because you woke up, sighing quietly at first, and turned to stretch your arm from underneath your blankets.

“what the fuck,” you grumbled a few minutes later when it dawned on you exactly what kind of dream you’d just had.

sure, you’d had dreams about sunghoon before, but they were nothing to write home about; they were entirely random and didn’t make logical sense, or they were simple and mundane, and very often, you didn’t realize they were dreams at first because they were so realistic that they could have been memories.

that was definitely a dream. you couldn’t imagine sunghoon doing anything like that to you. well, you certainly could, but that wasn’t the point. it wasn’t realistic whatsoever, other than him extending himself to help you.

it made you horny to think about. everything about the dream had physically felt so real to you; sunghoon’s hands on your ass, his bulge pressing against you from behind, and his warmth radiating onto you hotly enough to make you melt.

part of you was tempted to go back to bed, ignoring the faint chirps of birds outside your window and the light reaching through white and pink curtains. if only you could have stayed asleep a little longer, just to see how it ended. if only sunghoon would have ever felt that way about you too, then maybe it could become true.

but he wouldn’t. and even if he somehow did, sunghoon was at work by now. so you did the one you never thought you would do.

“hello?” jake said when he picked up the phone.

your heart sped. you were about to propose something that you were none too sure about, but something had to be done about the festering ache between your legs. your fingers weren’t satisfying you anymore; they hadn’t in years. “jake,” you whispered. “hi.”

“hi,” jake repeated dryly, wondering what you wanted. you could hear in his tone that he still wasn’t particularly thrilled about last night.

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “i’m sorry for running away last night,” you murmured. “i didn’t want to abandon you like that. i was just… scared.”

jake made a noise, but it was so quiet and distorted that you couldn’t decide what to make of it. “you were scared,” he replied, echoing your words again.

you gave a deep, prolonged exhale. you knew that you were running out of time with him, that one day, he would grow sick of your excuses and your stalling. “i knew that… you were trying to have sex,” you explained. “and i didn’t… i didn’t feel comfortable. i was drunk. and then you said we were going to heeseung’s room, and i got even more worried.”

“why?”

“i don’t like heeseung,” you admitted, although you thought it would be obvious by now. “he looks at me weird.”

“baby,” jake sighed. you could hear how frustrated he was. “heeseung’s not gonna hurt you. he just likes to have a little fun. but if it makes you feel better, i’ll try to keep him in line.”

you were only half relieved. “thank you.”

“now, is that why you called me? to tell me heeseung makes you uncomfortable?” he asked.

“no,” you stammered, playing with the hem of your shirt in attempt to distract yourself from your nerves. “there’s something else i wanted to tell you.”

“what is it, sweetheart?”

you blurted, “i think i’m ready.”

you could practically feel jake perk up. “like, seriously?” he asked, stunned.

“yeah,” you replied, but it weak. there was a bit of regret in your chest when the word left your mouth, but you tried to swallow it down and keep it there. “i’m ready, jake. right now.”

jake was ruffling through something, probably his drawer. “shit,” he said, excited. you wondered if his heart was beating even half as fast as yours was. “where are you right now?”

“home.”

“can i come over?”

“yeah,” you muttered again. he lived far enough that you had time to wash up a little and get your mind together. “my dad is at work and my mom probably won’t be home until later. it’s just me.”

“i’m on the way,” jake said without missing a beat, quickly hanging up.

you took a deep breath, trying to relax yourself. jake was your boyfriend. you were supposed to call him when you had needs; itches that needed scratching.

it was a conflict that had been warring in your mind for weeks, maybe subconsciously months. on the one hand, your lust was only centered around sunghoon and you were afraid of having sex with jake for more reasons than one. but on the other, the human desire for release had ran to a peak and now it was unignorable, your body begging to be satiated.

you knew what the most prudent choice would have been: dumping jake, getting over these unrational feelings for your stepfather, and no longer settling for men that treated you as less than what you deserved. but what did you look like being alone again, waiting for someone to decide they loved you, especially when your heart belonged to someone who could never be yours?

clearly, you were in no way in the position to make prudent choices. not when the need burning inside you outweighed the reason.

time went by faster than you thought, considering that jake didn’t particularly live nearby. you had spent the better half of that time in your own head, wondering what would happen, and the sound of the doorbell ringing jolted you out of your thoughts.

your heart was pounding with all its might as you made deliberately slow, steadys steps down the stairs and to the front door where you knew jake would be waiting. seeing his face when you opened the door only made you more anxious.

jake, on the other hand, beamed when he saw you. you weren’t sure if you had ever seen him smile at you like that before. “hey, baby,” he greeted, stepping inside.

“hi,” you murmured, shutting the door behind him.

jake coiled his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest. his alluring, familiar scent put you at ease a little more. “i missed you,” he whispered, fingers sliding underneath your shirt to draw patterns on your navel, almost as if he could sense your need for comfort. “you ran off on me last night.”

your smile was sheepish as you apologized again, “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. i know why you did it,” jake said, glancing around as you led him out of the foyer little by little. “i just realized i’ve never been inside your house.”

that was not only true, but intentional; for obvious reasons, you didn’t want to be in the house with jake by yourself, but you also didn’t want him around your parents, either. your mother would find some way to embarrass you and the few times sunghoon and jake had met, there was strange tension in the air.

based on your mother’s behavioral patterns and those interactions alone, you had made the unilateral decision that it would be better for everyone involved if you kept your relationship with jake outside. “yeah,” you said, happy to think about anything but what was to come. “it’s better that way, don’t you think?”

jake chuckled, nodding his head. when he saw the stairs, he instinctively started heading that way. “yeah. i don’t think your dad likes me very much.”

“he’s just protective,” you replied, although you remembered sunghoon telling you outright that he didn’t like your boyfriend.

“you don’t need protecting from me,” jake told you, slipping his hand down from your navel to your hand as you started up the steps. “have you been telling him mean things about me?”

define mean, was what you answered in your head. if anything, you had probably described jake too kindly, too gently. he had never hurt you, at least in the sense that he had never put his hands on you, but he was aggressive in other, more hurtful ways. “no, i told him the truth.”

“and what’s the truth?”

“that i love you,” you lied. “and i want to do this with you.”

jake looked like the happiest man alive, and something told you that it was unusual for him to be more enthusiastic in this moment than almost any other moment he’d spent with just the two of you. but the fear that had kept you close to him for so long was the same fear that had held you apart, and it was the same fear telling you to be silent.

but when jake opened the door to your bedroom, his face fell. “what’s all this?”

your brows furrowed. “…my bedroom?”

“yours?” jake echoed, apparently appalled as he scanned your bedroom from left to right.

the main culprit, however, seemed to be the miscellaneous plushies thrown about your bed. “oh,” you whispered, confused. your mother had found it childish and voiced her unwanted opinion every now and then, but you never thought it was so bad.

jake scoffed, “what are you, thirteen? i’m not fucking you on that.”

“but, jake,” you started, noticing him turning back around. your stomach churned. he was leaving.

shaking his head, jake threw the door open and said, “you really have to grow up, baby.”

you followed him, frantic. you knew he could your footsteps as you trailed behind him down the stairs, but he didn’t bother turning around, as if he had already decided he didn’t want to see you anymore. “jake, please don’t go,” you begged.

he didn’t listen. he didn’t even look at you, not until he made it to the front door and said, “goodbye,” followed by your name. then, he walked out the door, passing your mother on his way out.

as if this afternoon couldn’t get any worse.

as soon your mother stepped through the door, looking like she had been awake for the past twelve hours doing god knows what, she went, “really? you turn eighteen and think you can just do whatever you want? why the hell are you bringing boys over?”

you were already on the verge of tears and you didn’t have the strength to put up with her, so for the first time in your life, you chose to walk away. she called after you, demanding you to come back, but you ignored it and raced upstairs to your bedroom.

it hurt more than it should have, watching jake leave like that, watching him go despite your pleas. maybe because it felt all too familiar. your brain recognized the feeling belligerently attacking you and your heart weakly surrendered to it, still too broken.

maybe you were always too broken, maybe that was why they never stayed. this is what men do, you told yourself through hot, wet tears. they take what they want, and then when it becomes even a little too much for them, they leave. nothing will change that. they won’t change themselves.

sitting alone by yourself in your closed bedroom with only your stuffed toys to bear witness to your suffering, it still felt humiliating. you had already come to the conclusion that what you felt for jake was not love, at least not of a romantic nature. and yet for the life of you, you couldn’t wrap your head around why it still hurt so bad.

it was a dizzying, throbbing ache that only persisted the longer you sat on the carpeted floor, weeping. for a fleeting moment, you were twelve again, old enough to recognize your first heartbreak but not enough to put a name to it. you remembered like it was yesterday, watching your father’s back as he walked out of the door, hauling the last of what he would bring with him into his new life, and leaving you in the old chapter.

there was a certain shape of hopelessness that you’d molded into, the loud, petty arguments and traded hits culminating in the few seconds it took to realize that you didn’t mean as much as a toothbrush, a watch, a box of wrenches or an old, wrinkled tee. because if you had, maybe he would have taken you, too.

and maybe if you meant more to jake than what was between your legs, he would still be here now. denying him sex for so long made you feel powerful; he was wrapped around your finger at some point, submissive, so to speak, and willing to do anything with the hopes that you would give it up. you took advantage of that. you used him so that for once in your life, you could feel wanted and in control.

and as you had ultimately come to expect, your woeful thoughts soon wandered to the greatest manifestation of your desires so far: sunghoon. it only seemed just that the world would taunt and tantalize you with the most perfect man you’d ever known, the only one you could ever trust with your heart.

the cards had been dealt so that you had just enough access to admire how much of a dream he was, but not enough to let you slip away; you could doze off, vaguely picturing what it would be like in a world where the steep heights and pitless hollows of your affection could be reciprocated, but every time, you would be jolted back awake.

the more you thought about it, there had to be a reason why you seemed to want things more after coming to find there was no feasible way you could make them yours - because you wanted control.

control, particularly over your own life, was something you had long wanted yet long been denied. you wanted to be able to make decisions for yourself without having your circumstances be shaped around the decisions of others. you didn’t want to suffer the consequences of a choice you had no say in. you wanted to reap what was rightfully yours.

seeing someone like sunghoon, someone that you knew you could never have, only made him attractive tenfold. until now, you never noticed how this manifested similarly in other parts of your life, like in your overwhelming urge to prove yourself. to be the adult it seemed like everyone doubted you could be.

that’s why it’s so hard for me to accept denial and handle rejection, you rationalized as you peeled yourself off the floor and onto your bed, having finally stopped sobbing. because i’ve been denied simple pleasures my whole life, and yet people try to deny me even more.

thinking back to the little girl you once were, the one that was full of life and imagination, the one that foolishly had hoped her mother and father would stay together, the one that was innocent and naive, and knew nothing about how brutal reality truly was, you couldn’t help but burst into tears all over again.

because that little girl didn’t deserve to have to grow up so quickly. if you could have undone it all, if you could have spared that little girl the trauma of crying herself to sleep as she heard her parents arguing down the hall, if you could have stopped her dad from leaving for years, if you could have stopped her mom from inviting man to man into her life, you would have done it in a heartbeat.

and then there was the part of you that had always craved romance, the part of you that remained unfulfilled. combining this lifelong grapple with control with an unattainable lover, it was no secret why you wanted to prove the stars wrong.

just this once, you wanted to know that you deserved good things too.

after a long moment of drifting between the sickness in your mind that had been infecting your thoughts, you eventually cried yourself to sleep. it was something you hadn’t done in years, but when you woke up, you almost felt better.

you dragged yourself out of bed and slipped on your house shoes, trudging downstairs while mumbling prayers about how you hoped you wouldn’t bump into your mother. you knew she would give you an earful about earlier.

to your surprise, rather than your mother, sunghoon was in the kitchen. he turned when he heard your heavy footsteps. “hey, doll,” he said, shutting the refrigerator.

you grumbled a response and waved weakly, moving past the island so that you could join him near the refrigerator. you would have opened it yourself, but sunghoon beat you to it, handing you a water.

when your eyes widened a little in surprise, sunghoon snickered and asked, “what else do you drink?”

he had a good point there. it was rare you drank anything but water in the house, not that you had a specific reason for it. it was just a habit you hadn’t broken. “and what if i was hungry?” you asked playfully, accepting the water from his hands.

“you wouldn’t have touched the refrigerator, because you always get everything delivered.”

you gasped in mock offense. “hey, i cook sometimes!”

sunghoon chuckled. “yes, you do, doll. but i know not to expect you to cook anything if you look like you just crawled out of bed.”

you hummed, sitting down at the island and twisting the cap off the water. you didn’t realize how long you had been asleep, but it had to have been a while if sunghoon was home.

sunghoon followed you, sitting beside you. he didn’t say anything for a minute, wanting to carefully think over his words so that they came out as intended. “i went up to your room earlier to talk to you about something, but you were sleeping, so i left you alone.”

you glanced over at him, finishing your swig before you asked, “talk about what?”

“your mother wants me to address your… disobedience, as she puts it,” sunghoon started levelly.

you sighed, slamming your head against the counter. of course, she did. “i guess she told you jake was here earlier?”

“she did.”

you were almost certain that that woman just didn’t want you to breathe. she had been able to control you less and less over the years, and the more you resisted, the more determined she seemed. like mother, like daughter. “well, it’s your house. if you don’t want me to have boys over, then fine, i respect that. but she doesn’t have the right to police me.”

“it’s not just the boy,” sunghoon replied, although he had his own set of grievances about that. “she feels like you’re becoming rebellious in general.”

you almost rolled your eyes. “and why couldn’t she tell me that herself?”

sighing, sunghoon said, “because she pointed out that you only seem to listen to me, not her.”

“yeah, because it’s surprising i’m more inclined to obey someone who knows how to have an actual conversation than someone who just wants to yell and doesn’t care to hear me,” you retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “daddy, she’s been trying to control my life since forever. i’m sick of it.”

“i know how you feel, doll, but you haven’t exactly been making smart choices lately, either,” sunghoon answered gently, resting a hand on your knee. “like your boyfriend, for example.”

“i told you, i don’t like him.”

sunghoon didn’t skip a beat. “and i asked you, why are you dating him, then?”

“god, you just don’t get it,” you grumbled, opening your water bottle to take another large gulp.

“then, explain it to me,” sunghoon said gently, eyes meeting yours with a reservoir of adoration. “make me get it. i’m here to listen to you, baby girl. i want to understand you, but i can’t do that if you don’t let me in.”

but you couldn’t let him in, not that far, because then he would see something that startled him. it was easier to break your own heart over and over than it was to risk his opinion of you changing, all for some closure. “i don’t want to talk about it.”

sunghoon heaved a breath. he absolutely despised when you froze him out. he wasn’t stupid; he noticed that you were only this less forthcoming when it came to the topic of your boyfriend that he couldn’t understand for the life of him why you kept seeing. every time he thought he’d had a productive conversation with you about him, sunghoon heard something else about that boy.

something more infuriating than the last.

you stood up from the barstool, an idle box of cereal on top of the refrigerator catching your eye as you did, and you remembered the dream you’d had about him that inspired everything to happen today. “i love you, daddy,” you whispered, throwing your arms around him. “thank you for trying.”

“i’ll always try,” sunghoon told you, voice featherlight.

you believed him, you truly did, but it hurt to think that he was the only man that would ever say that to you and mean it. “i know.”

sunghoon placed a hand on his shoulder before you could leave, hoping to get one more sentence in. “i know it’s not easy for you, doll, but can you try to appease your mother every now and then? for me?”

you stifled a sigh, nodding your head. “i’ll do whatever you want me to do, daddy,” you murmured.

sunghoon smiled softly and pat your shoulder.

for the next couple of days, you pathetically waited by your phone, hoping to hear from jake again. normally, he would text you the day or two after an unresolved argument, apologizing profusely until you gave him a satisfactory answer.

or in other words, until you forgave him. but on the third day, you knew something was wrong. you hadn’t even argued, and yet he was ignoring your existence as if you had committed the most unjustifiable crime against humanity ever recorded.

this is really it, you thought fretfully, heart swelling with dread. he doesn’t want me anymore.

you tried to act like it didn’t hurt, like he didn’t wield this immense power over you, but you knew you were lying to yourself. and that jake had lied to you. he had said that you could never disappoint him, after all, but you were fairly certain that ship had sailed.

it was half past noon when you noticed a notification on your phone from one of your friends, an attachment with a text that read, hey, did you break up with jake? just asking because someone sent me a photo of him kissing another girl yesterday night.

surely enough, the attached image was of jake swallowing some other girl’s face, blurry in quality, but you knew your boyfriend’s face when you saw it. he had his hands round her waist, holding her close exactly like how he’d held you, only it seemed like it’d been so long since he’d touched you like that.

only one minute ago, you had been convinced that you had no more tears left to cry. staring at the image, pieces of your wounded heart dropping heavily to your stomach, you didn’t realize you were crying until the phone went black by itself and you faintly saw your reflection in its screen, mirroring you.

whatever had happened between you and jake the other day, you didn’t consider it a breakup. it was your understanding that you were still together, given that he hadn’t necessarily said something to indicate the opposite. maybe you were mistaken, but that didn’t make it feel like anything less of a betrayal.

but to call it a betrayal implied some level of trust, a level deeper than you thought you had possessed. your feelings for jake were complicated, but you knew that you had trusted him not to stab you in the back the second it was turned. you had trusted him to take care of you, to protect you. you had trusted him not to hurt you.

now that you thought about it, you weren’t sure why. the past couple of weeks alone had been hell, his advances becoming more frequent than ever now that you had turned eighteen, and he had always shown signs of wavering. but you ignored them. you were desperate to fill the void left behind by every man you’d ever loved.

torn from head to toe with the sting of emotion, you pushed open your bedroom door and went straight for your parents room. fortunately, it was empty, neither of them home to watch you sulk; the last thing you wanted was for your stepfather to see you sobbing over a boy he hated, and for your mother to say that she told she so.

the first place you touched was the closet, where you knew sunghoon kept his hoodies. you missed him. you missed him in ways you’d never genuinely known him, or felt him, or possessed him. perhaps it would have made more sense to say that you longed for him, but in your heart, those moments you’d dreamt of felt real sometimes.

taking one of his cozy, black hoodies down from where they hung, you hurriedly threw it on, quickly engulfed by its size. it was comforting. the smell was, too. if you closed your eyes, you could pretend that sunghoon was there, holding you in his arms and whispering in your ear that everything would be okay in the end.

you pinched the loose material of the hoodie that was dropping around your body as you sat on the floor and held it to your nose, eyes fluttering closed. he had been wearing it around the house a lot lately. you were very fond of the way he smelled. it was heavenly and masculine, but also safe and familiar.

it was uniquely his own, and, breathing in the scent of sunghoon, you exhaled calmly, pretending that he could want you.

his scent had another effect on you, too. it made you feral, to say the least. though you were mostly used to it, when you saw him for the first time after a while, it made you feel like a ferocious animal, hungry with lust and ready to pounce.

for a moment, you tried to be stronger. you tried to pull yourself together and remind yourself that this man was your stepfather, the man who was married to your mother. but the shame could only contend with the gravity of want for so long until one finally emerged triumphant.

you pulled the hoodie over your head and stared at it for a second, like you were giving yourself one final chance to not do something you’d regret, but lust prevailed over reason.

with nothing to hold you back, you wiggled out of your favorite pair of tiny house shorts, temporarily tossing them aside. you grabbed a hold of the hoodie and bunched it into shape between your thighs, slowly rocking your hips into it.

your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to think of something that would help get you off, every thought you were capable of developing revolving around your stepfather. what most of them had in common, however, was the vivid picture of sunghoon on top of you, weight crushing you hard as he rutted into you nice and deep.

it was too arousing to think about, what he would feel like buried so many inches deep inside you, face tensing as he fucked you with total abandon. you wanted him to lose self restraint, to whisper in your ear that he loved you, that he wanted you, that he needed you. and only you.

your needy hips moved faster. the muscles in your thighs were spasming, your whole body alive with the sparks of desire that were killing you slowly. breathy pants escaped your mouth, your jaw slacking as your body worked harder to exhale. you couldn’t breathe through the thick, muddled haze of your uncontrollable hunger.

how could you? the mere sight of sunghoon made your heart hammer sometimes, because it knew what it wanted. your entire body, at this point, knew what it wanted, but more importantly, it knew what it needed. you couldn’t shake the idea that sunghoon was good for you. that he was meant for you.

maybe thinking of sunghoon as some exquisite gift sent from the gods as a reward for enduring so much in so little time, rather than a titillating manifestation of everything you wanted but could never have, was merely an extreme sign of desperate coping, but you couldn’t help yourself. you deserved him, more than your mother ever would.

you could make him feel so good, if he only gave you the chance. if he only let loose for a moment and let himself indulge in the wonders between your legs that called out for him and sang his name. you didn’t know what you were thinking, almost letting another man claim what was so surely his, even if he didn’t know it yet.

one of your hands pushed up your skirt and you squeezed your breasts, imagining it was sunghoon’s bigger, stronger hand instead. your hips were now moving with a mind of their own, rough pants getting louder, and you thought of sunghoon touching you with just as much fervor and need. it felt more like you were hoping.

the heat in your core finally reached its peak and you orgasmed with a shaky moan, trying to milk the high for all it was worth, but the relief disappeared just as quickly as it had come. you sighed, hole throbbing emptily, and you inspected the hoodie for any signs of your arousal leaking through your underwear.

you pushed it aside and lied down on the floor, catching your breath as you tried to shake the guilt. you hated how much of a slave you were to this insatiable need, sinning in return for only a fleeting second of relief. but more than that, you hated settling. if you had it your way, sunghoon would have been fucking you every night.

the thought made your thighs clench against each other. sometimes, you foolishly hoped sunghoon would come into your room at night and ravage you in your sleep, fucking you awake. you knew he was so tired when he came home from work. he deserved to come home to a young, tight hole. and he deserved to use it whenever he wanted, however he wanted.

knees kicking up, your eyes shifted underneath your parents’ bed, and you noticed something hidden underneath. your curiosity got the better of you and you reached out to grab it. a tiny box came into your hands, and for a moment, you just looked at it, wondering what was inside.

there was no better way to find out than having a look yourself. you figured it was sunghoon’s, given that it was on his side of the bed, and that knowledge only made you want to open it more; you were itching to know everything about him.

your brows furrowed when you opened the box. the first thing you saw was a picture of a teenaged girl, maybe about thirteen or fourteen. you were confused about why he had it, but there were more pictures stacked beneath. the more you glanced through them, the more you realized she looked a little too much like sunghoon.

those cute, deep dimples, his deep, honey eyes, and his peachy, plump lips. you gasped, coming to only one reasonable conclusion: this was his daughter. but if true, why had you never seen her, or heard him speak about her?

you had to assume that he loved her. for one, he was keeping pictures and belongings of her beneath his bed. other than the photos, you saw a necklace with an initial that wasn’t his own, a charm bracelet, a bottle of feminine perfume and other items. a part of you felt like this was something you weren’t supposed to see, and out of respect, you put everything back just as you had found it and slid the box underneath the bed.

it felt like a violation of privacy and there was a pang of regret in your chest, but you couldn’t help but have questions. though sunghoon would be coming home later than usual tonight, so even if you somehow mustered the courage to ask him, it would be a while before you got the opportunity.

you reached out to grab your shorts and put them back on. the only thing left for you to take care of was sunghoon’s hoodie, which you weren’t sure what to do with. you could have put it back as if nothing had ever happened, but you would have felt bad if you didn’t wash it.

so, you did. mostly everything you did from that point on was to distract yourself from thinking about sunghoon. every now and then, you remembered what had happened with jake and there was a throbbing ache in your chest, but you pushed the thoughts away.

it was easier to think about sunghoon, to wonder how many things you really knew about him, this man that had taken on the role of father for the past five years of your life. after all, it was never him coming to you for advice on life, but you supposed that made sense. he was older than you, had gone through many of the things you were experiencing for the first time, and had the benefit of hindsight.

still, you were curious about him and the many years that had shaped him into the person he was now. were they kind? every person had their fair share of hardships and encounters with adversity, at least in some fashion, but you hoped he’d had it relatively easy. you knew what it was like to suffer and you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy, much less him.

the efforts to distract yourself went on for so long that you even ended up making dinner, considering that your mother wasn’t home for whatever reason and you figured sunghoon would be hungry when he came back; you were hungry, and you hadn’t even done anything but think about him excessively.

like clockwork, sunghoon came in through the foyer and went to the kitchen, spotting you putting the finishing touches on dinner. “you’re cooking?”

you laughed at his surprise and nodded your head, turning off the stove. “i’m basically finished now,” you chirped, donning oven mittens. “i told you, i cook sometimes.”

sunghoon leaned against the counter, watching you take a pan out of the oven. “smells good,” he commented, humming in approval. “is your mother home?”

“nope,” you replied, setting the pan down on the stove. you had no idea where she was, nor did you care as long as she was safe.

“mm.”

you turned around to face sunghoon, taking a deeper look at him. he looked tired, exhausted even. you knew he would always deny how bad it was, though. “hungry?”

sunghoon bobbed his head and set a hand on his stomach. “starving.”

you and sunghoon sat down at the table beside each other and ate dinner, talking in between bites. your heart warmed to see how delighted he was while eating, the smile on his face at the first spoonful putting one on yours. your relationship with your mother had always been strained, but you had to thank her for teaching you how to cook.

while you had contemplated bringing up what you had seen earlier during dinner, every time you tried willing yourself to mention it to sunghoon, you got nervous and didn’t follow through. it wasn’t like it was something you were supposed to know about and you knew that by mentioning it, you would be telling on yourself.

not only that, but you didn’t know how sunghoon would feel about telling you about it, or if he would even want to talk about it. the last thing you wanted to do was overstep your boundaries, which was something you probably had already done the second you went into his bedroom and pried into his personal belongings.

after the dishes were washed, something sunghoon volunteered to help you take care of, you followed him into the living room where he usually went to relax after work. you managed to stay quiet for all of fifteen minutes before the guilt overwhelmed you and you apologized, “i’m sorry.”

sunghoon turned his attention way from the television to look at you, brows furrowing. “for what?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. you could have gotten away with it, but it didn’t feel right not to mention. “i went into your room today.”

sunghoon didn’t mind you being in his bedroom, but it was unusual that you were there when you had your own. “why?”

you smiled anxiously, fidgeting with your hands. that was the important part. you left out what you had done with the hoodie, deciding he didn’t need to know that. “i just did,” you replied, your voice quiet. “but that’s not the part i’m apologizing for. i saw something under your bed. and, i looked through it.”

sunghoon’s face changed, something more melancholy tensing his features. “oh.”

“i’m sorry,” you repeated, faint. the look on his face made you feel even more guilty than you already had.

sunghoon pat the top of your head, as if he knew that you needed the reassurance. “it’s okay,” he said, smiling thinly. “i guess you have questions now, don’t you?”

you nodded reluctantly. those questions were essentially all you had thought about it since you discovered that box underneath his bed. “i do, but… you don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“it’s alright,” sunghoon replied, exhaling. that shroud of melancholy was still hanging over him. “she was my daughter.”

your heart stopped. “…was?”

for a moment, sunghoon was silent and he didn’t immediately respond. you wondered if you had said the wrong thing, overthinking everything you were doing. he exhaled yet another breath and replied, “she passed away six years ago. car accident.”

that explained everything, but now you felt worse than you had before and it was killing you. “daddy…”

it looked like it pained him to talk about it, but he did it anyway. “i was married before i met your mother,” he explained. “everything was good. we had a few problems, but hey, no marriage is completely perfect. my ex-wife took our daughter out and they were coming back home when they got into a car accident. she wasn’t paying attention. she lived; our daughter didn’t.”

you were silent. you didn’t know what to say.

tensing a little, sunghoon continued, “we had a divorce because i blamed her, and i couldn’t stand to be around her anymore. i don’t think i can ever forgive her for being so reckless.”

“i wish that never happened to you, daddy. you didn’t deserve that,” you said compassionately.

“you lost someone, too.”

the thought of your father left a sour taste, and to be frank, you never wanted to think about him again. “yeah, my dad left me, but at least the bastard’s still alive. if i wanted to talk to him, i could. but you don’t have that option.”

sunghoon’s eyes flitted over you and he reached out to push your hair out of your face. “that’s why i want to protect you, doll. you mean more to me than you will ever know.”

there your heart went again, acting a fool at the smallest words and actions. “you mean a lot to me, too.”

after much internal wavering, sunghoon reluctantly confessed, “i was never going to tell you this, but when i met your mother, part of what i liked about her was that she had a daughter. just a year younger than my daughter would be. and i wanted her back. i wanted her back so badly. so to me, it felt like god was giving me a second chance.”

your eyes flickered. you had always wondered what it was he liked about your mother in the first place. they made a strange pair; he seemed so different from her type, and his personality was much softer than hers. “really?”

“that’s why i tried so hard in the beginning to grow on you. even though it couldn’t have been more obvious that you didn’t want anything to do with me,” he told you lightheartedly.

you giggled, remembering how much you had been against your mother getting married to this man you barely knew. “you’re a great father,” you whispered. “thank you for not giving up halfway.”

“i’ll never give up on you.”

you were beaming. “i know.”

this conversation had taken a different direction than you had initially expected, but ultimately, you were happy with it. you had been so afraid of him getting upset with you, and though it would have been justified, you knew rationally that it just wasn’t in his nature.

at least, not when it came to you. you had noticed the anger bristling within him when he spoke of the mother of his child; it made you angry on his behalf. but even then, sunghoon’s anger was nothing like the kind you had grown up surrounded with. it wasn’t loud, aggressive, or dangerous. it was quiet, composed, restrained.

much like the rest of him.

in the time that you had spent thinking about sunghoon’s life and all the secrets it contained, you had figured something out about yourself. “i’m going to break up with jake,” you announced.

though he didn’t expect the topic change, sunghoon couldn’t hide his relief. “what took you so long?”

you chuckled, because that was a good question, to be fair. “well, for one, at least to my knowledge, he hadn’t cheated on me until now,” you retorted.

the anger was back, only this time, you swore it had a more hostile air to it than ever. “he did what?” sunghoon exclaimed.

you shrugged your shoulders. it wasn’t that it didn’t bother you, because it did. come to think about it, it mostly hurt because you would have never done the same thing to him, no matter how much you lusted after your stepfather.

taking a deep, frustrated breath, you explained, “yeah. long story short, when he came over the other day, it was because i had agreed to have sex with him. but when he saw my room for the first time, he basically called me childish and said he wasn’t doing it there. then he marched out.”

sunghoon shook his head, but he wasn’t surprised. at least you had enough self-respect to end it now. he was starting to become afraid that he would need to shake some sense into you.

jake had served a purpose. he was unbelievably handsome, undoubtedly smart, and told you everything that you wanted to hear. he distracted you from what you were really after, and in return, you ignored what he was really after.

there was a large part of you that felt ashamed for lying to yourself for so long. but now you were being honest. you owed yourself that much. “i was so stupid. part of the reason i didn’t want to have sex with him was because i wanted him to stay, and i wasn’t sure if he would still choose me afterwards. i was scared he would get what he wanted and leave. but the reason i agreed to have sex with him was because i could feel him getting bored and pulling away. and in the end, he left me anyway.”

you had already decided you weren’t going to hold it against him, because you were both guilty of something. you had lied to each other, taken advantage of each other, and bled dry each other. both of you had tried to force something that was never really there. you would never forgive him for cheating, but you could understand him leaving.

sunghoon listened intently, watching your face as you talked about your relationship and what went wrong. he picked out his words, not wanting to be blinded by his lack of disappointment. “you’re not stupid for wanting someone to like you.”

your eyes met his. i want you to like me, you thought to yourself, wishful. “am i stupid for staying even though i knew deep down that it wasn’t really me that he liked?”

“no, doll,” sunghoon replied gently, bracing a hand on your knee. “you’re just disillusioned.”

you chuckled. “you sure you’re not just saying that?”

sunghoon squeezed your knee, giving you comfort that he knew you needed. it would be complicated, you already knew, coping with your feelings for him now that you wouldn’t have jake’s shenanigans to distract you. not that they really ever helped. “you’re young. even your mind has a mind of its own. i think it’s only stupid if you make the same mistake twice.”

you hummed, knowing that that probably wouldn’t be happening. you weren’t the type of person to jump from relationship to relationship. you were too afraid of abandonment for that. you could only handle so many of them before you snapped.

as sunghoon looked at you, he couldn’t help but feel guilty, thinking maybe he should have done more to keep you safe from a boy like that. but you were an adult now, and he was trying to give you the space to take care of yourself on your own. “did you ever really like jake?” he asked after a pause.

“i think i just liked feeling wanted,” you murmured, ashamed of your own stupidity.

sunghoon let that sink in. he knew you had been dealing with certain insecurities for years, and the thought that he still had yet been able to help you made him feel worthless. “what kind of boyfriend do you want?”

there was a lull of silence as you thought about it thoroughly. you had liked jake because you thought he could be everything you should have wanted, but he wasn’t necessarily your type. “someone who’s tender,” you decided, something jake selectively was. “someone who’s assertive, protective, and takes care of me.”

“mm.”

your heart was racing, but somehow you found the courage to add, “someone like you.”

sunghoon tried to rationalize that, he truly did. in his mind, the idea of wanting someone who embodied the traits of a strong father figure was a perfectly normal desire. but he wasn’t an idiot, and he could hear everything you didn’t say, and recognize the sudden change in your body language.

because you didn’t want a boyfriend; you wanted a father.

sighing, sunghoon relaxes his eyes for a second before he opens them again, taking in how fragile you appear and feel beneath his heavy hands. “doll, you’re my daughter.”

“stepdaughter,” you corrected in a heartbeat.

sunghoon ignored you, continuing, “and you’re so young.”

“i’m eighteen,” you replied, heart thudding so fast you couldn’t stay still. “i’m an adult.”

sunghoon didn’t seem pleased, or convinced for that matter. it was as you feared; he would always see you as this little girl that needed saving. “you may legally be an adult,” sunghoon started, quiet. “but mentally, you are still a little girl.”

that stung. you never knew sunghoon was capable of it until now, but he had really burned you with such few words. your eyes even burned with the threat of tears. “if that’s how you feel,” you murmured, standing up from the sofa.

sunghoon softened, immediately regretting having ever said anything. “doll, wait.”

you didn’t, making a beeline straight for the stairs. you weren’t sure what you were expecting. he thought of himself as your father and he was married to your mother. why would he see you like that?

why did you see him like that?

to make matters worse, sunghoon didn’t follow you. you didn’t turn around, but the lack of footsteps behind you wasn’t lost on your ears. pretending it didn’t bother you, you went to your bedroom, shut the door, and dropped on your bed.

maybe you should have been grateful that your biggest problem in life was unreciprocated feelings. you knew there were all too many things you had to be grateful for, especially things sunghoon provided for you, like education and a nice home and fatherly love. there was no good reason to expect more than that from him. maybe you were just greedy.

or maybe you were needy. at worst, you were a little bit of both, but that wasn’t completely your fault. when bred from incompetence and instability, no one could rationally expect anything but insanity. if no one had ever given you a fair chance at normalcy, then no one could expect you to know how to reinvent yourself into something ordinary.

it was just so exhausting to be continuously rejected, because you were too this or not enough of that. you never knew how to be what anyone wanted. you never knew how to make anyone stay. just once, you wanted someone to care for you the same way you cared about them, and nothing less.

just when you were beginning to accept that you were hopeless, there was a knock on your door. wiping at your eyes, you reluctantly called out, “it’s open.”

sunghoon came in, shutting the door behind him, heart clenching in his chest when he noticed your reddening eyes. “calm down yet?” he asked.

you shrugged your shoulders, but murmured, “i don’t know if i’ll ever calm down.”

he could tell that you didn’t just mean the exchange downstairs; no, whatever storm was raging and rushing within you unbeknownst to him, it was only festering. “i try not to say the wrong things,” sunghoon said, slowly coming to sit beside you on the edge of your bed.

you knew that. it was something you had come to like about him. he was careful, loving. it was never his intention to hurt anyone. but he was only human, and humans made mistakes and had lapses in judgment. “maybe you weren’t wrong. maybe i’m just immature.”

“maybe a little bit,” sunghoon told you, frank, but lighthearted. “but i could have said it a little better.”

you rolled your eyes, almost feeling better already. but the faint echo in your heart had yet to cease. “you don’t need to sugarcoat everything for me all the time, you know.”

sunghoon hummed. you were saying that, but he knew that he could break you into pieces if he wanted. tinier, more insignificant pieces than the ones you already were broken into. but he wouldn’t. he was realizing the full scope of power he wielded over you, and now that he knew, he wanted to be cautious. “i think i understand you now.”

your eyes leapt up to his face, almost like you were begging for that to be true. “what do you mean?”

“why you do the things you do,” sunghoon continued, dabbing at a tear that had fallen down your cheeks. “you don’t want a boyfriend. you want a father.”

saying nothing, you fidgeted with your thumbs and held your breath. you weren’t used to having your heart laid flat on the table.

sunghoon stopped you, setting his palm on the back of your hand. “you want me,” he said, making you wish you could disappear. “and that’s why you kept saying that you didn’t really want jake, but never explained to me why you kept dating.”

you leaned your head on his shoulder. “i love you so much, daddy.”

sunghoon’s heart was pounding in ways it hadn’t in a long time. “i know you do, baby girl. but you know that this isn’t right.”

“i don’t care.”

sunghoon sighed. “i’ve known you since you were thirteen, doll.”

“so? am i thirteen right now?”

“no, but you’re barely legal.”

“i’m legal. you don’t need to put unnecessary adverbs in front of it. i’m not some kid, daddy.”

there was no doubt that sunghoon was trying to change your mind, hoping to say something that would make you realize how foolish this was. too bad for him, you were too far gone. “your mother…,” he started.

“i don’t care,” you repeated a little harsher. “you told me yourself, you basically married her for me. and all she does is leech off you. i know it and you know it. we don’t even know where she is right now. say that you love her more than you love me, say it!”

“i don’t like your tone right now, doll,” sunghoon told you, stern, but level.

obeying the silent command in his voice, you quietened, murmuring, “i’m sorry, daddy.”

sunghoon sighed, stuck between a rock and a hard place. he put a hand on your thigh. “but you’re right. i do love you more.”

“then, prove it,” you whispered, inviting him. daring him. prove that you love me. prove that you’re just as sick as i am. prove to me that i have you in every way, that i’m not alone.

sunghoon knew that he shouldn’t. he was considering everything you had failed to acknowledge - your mother, his marriage, proper morality, and the fate of his relationship with you. but where he had been ignorant to your fermenting feelings, he hadn’t failed to notice exactly how much you had grown up.

the way your body had matured. the way you’d began coordinating your signature scents into something that was indisputably yours. the way your taste in fashion had changed from fluffy, pink skirts to short ones that were one wrong move away from flashing your plush cheeks and the cute, thin fabric of your underwear clinging tightly onto your cunt it just hardly concealed.

sunghoon had, too, noticed, and been rather fond of, how you were usually the meekest thing in the world only for him. with enough conditioning, in a world that was darker, he could put a gun in your hand and turn you into his little obedient vixen. you just wanted to heal him, please him, satisfy him.

but it would be wrong. and sunghoon had once prided himself on the fact that he did everything right. he got the most compelling grades in school to prove that he had genuine smarts to pair with his wealth, he went to a top university and worked hard, he got a job straight after graduation, met who he thought was the perfect woman, married her, bought a opulent house with her, and had a beautiful daughter with her.

so what if he still had to repeat a couple of steps, and so what if he had messed up on a few? at least he didn’t mess up on you. the only thing he regretted when it came to you was not completely noticing, not doing more to keep you from struggling.

you were more than just a reclaim of what he had lost. sunghoon didn’t think of his first daughter when he thought of you, not anymore. with you getting older and growing into your own person, your own way of life, it was difficult to see her in you. so, he accepted you as your own person, and in turn, he let go.

but that fact didn’t make him feel any less guilty or conflicted. you were still his stepdaughter, and you trusted him to protect you. your mother trusted him to protect you. everybody trusted him to guide you, steer you, lead you.

looking into his brown, troubled eyes, you instantly knew what it meant. he needed some persuasion, something to hinder his overthinking.

“please,” you pleaded, resting a hand on his lower abdomen just as gingerly as the way he handled you in mind and in body. he was still in his work shirt, broad shoulders catching your eye as you succumbed to the urge to rub your smooth palms over them.

look at you, begging him to fuck you. gazing up at him with those big, hopeful eyes with a shimmer that was so sweetly sparkling he almost mistook it as innocent. but he knew better. those were eyes that hoped for corruption, that sought comfort in destruction, and that were molded into the puppet of pain.

you lowered your hand again, stopping just shy of his crotch hidden by his work pants. fumbling with the fly, you looked into his eyes, searching for something. any indication that he was resisting. but you only saw him watching like even he didn’t know what he wanted.

it was surprising. you had been half expecting him to put his hand over yours and stop you, to remind you again that this was wrong and he didn’t see you how you saw him, but he just kept his eyes focused on you as if he was trying to see just how far you would go.

testing the waters, you undid his pants and went straight for his cock, the sound of a strained grunt making your cunt clench around emptiness. it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. you had imagined pulling those sounds out of sunghoon, closed your eyes and immersed yourself in a resewn fabric of another reality, but nothing measured up to hearing it for yourself.

sunghoon knew that things were rapidly approaching the point of no return and he groaned, “doll…”

“make me stop,” you whispered, gently wrapping your fingers around him and moving your hand in a relaxed motion. “make me stop, daddy.”

it wasn’t for lack of trying. sunghoon closed his eyes, wanting to will himself to be the rational person in the room since you had forwent reason entirely, but the second your small, supple hands tightened around his shaft, he knew he had failed.

he didn’t want you to stop. and you you didn’t want to stop, either.

you beamed victoriously, his silence being a telltale sign that he had succumbed to the same infectious wanting that had long plagued you. you moved your hand only a little faster, endeavoring to stroke him hard. it seemed that with every touch and movement of your wrist, his breathing was growing louder, more labored.

when he was fully hard, you had to suck in a gasp. you weren’t sure how you were going to fit every inch of him inside you, and the only thing that seemed clear was that you had your work cut out for you. nevertheless, you still wanted to make him feel good, so you glanced up at him and said sweetly, “tell me what to do. teach me, daddy.”

you caught a quiet, “fuck,” from underneath sunghoon’s breath as he heard what you had said, on the verge of losing his mind altogether, and it was doing unmistakable damage to his psyche. doing the right thing was no longer an option. all that was left was ache and need. without it, you didn’t know who you were.

releasing a shaky breath, sunghoon brushed his thumb against your bottom lip with affection and whispered, “take it in your mouth. go slow and gentle.”

you nodded your head obediently, opening your mouth just wide enough to fit his girth between your parted lips. the first inch was fine; the second inch had its complications, given that you hadn’t adjusted to the pressure of his cock in your mouth and breathing through your nose. by the third, you folded, withdrawing.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, feeling like you should have at least been able to do that much.

sunghoon shook his head, smiling, and smoothed a hand through your hair. “that’s okay, baby,” he said, understanding. “try again.”

you sucked him into your mouth again, right between your lips, cheeks hollowed and everything, but for some odd reason, you couldn’t relax. you already felt like you were about to gag and it was only the first couple of inches. when you tried to take another, you had to pull back again.

there was a faint burning in the back of your throat. you didn’t even notice that a few tears had fallen from one of your eyes until you pulled your mouth off. you frowned, unable to shake the fear that you would disappoint him somehow if you couldn’t do it.

“you’re okay,” sunghoon reassured you, patting your head. “you’re okay, doll. i promise.”

with another nod, you decided to give it one more go, determined. not only because you wanted to prove yourself, but because you wanted to make him feel good. you couldn’t think of anyone that deserved it more than he did.

this time, sunghoon held your hair comfortably behind your head and caressed the strands as you tried to pleasure him once more, accepting what you could into your mouth bit by bit. you were less tense than before and it enabled you to concentrate on breathing and not overwhelming yourself too quickly.

afraid that you would gag again if you tried to take another inch, you decided to use your hand to take care of the remaining amount that wouldn’t fit. fortunately, it seemed to work; your mouth kept one part of him company, and your hands moved to prevent the other from becoming too neglected.

sunghoon moaned, curses falling here and there. you could feel the wetness soiling your underwear and he hadn’t even done anything yet. his voice was low and deep, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. minute by minute, you became more and more aware of how aroused you were, and your mind, friend and foe, tempted you with pictures of what it would be like to finally have sunghoon inside.

to your surprise, sunghoon cautiously pried you off his cock, making you look up at him and wonder if you had done something wrong, but all he said was, “i don’t want to come yet.”

your thighs squeezed together in excitement. if not now, then later. and if not in your mouth, then hopefully deep, deep inside.

“daddy,” you called out, somewhat timid. “are you gonna fuck me?”

sunghoon was maybe a few seconds away from short-circuiting and it was admirable that he hadn’t done so already, all things considered. he didn’t reply immediately, having to catch his breath. “do you want me to?”

“yes,” you replied in a heartbeat.

the room felt hot, and sunghoon couldn’t tell if it was real or it was in his head. “say it.”

it was a little awkward for you to say it so bluntly, but given that you had come this far, you might as well. “i want you to fuck me, daddy.”

sunghoon grunted and said something that sounded like, “come here,” as he gingerly pulled you off your knees and back onto your mattress. before you even blinked, he was pressing his lips to yours, enveloping them in a sweet, fiery kiss.

it felt like a daydream. maybe because you had dreamed of him before and this captured the exact floaty, cloudlike feeling of his arms cushioning your body in a dream, only the speeding thud in your heart making it undeniably real.

you couldn’t liken it to any kiss that you and jake had shared. while you would admit that jake was objectively a good kisser, almost everything you did together lacked passion; there was no spark behind even the most tender of touches. and yet somehow just being this close to sunghoon made your whole body scorch with the fever of suppressed want.

sunghoon slowly forced himself away and began to descend down your body, tugging your shorts down your thighs. heat filled your cheeks when his fingers hooked under your underwear next, but you raised your hips so that he could pull them off. what caught you by surprise, however, was when his tongue flicked over your sensitive flesh.

you gasped, a jolt making your body snap. “wait, daddy, you don’t need to. i’m already wet enough.”

that you were. sunghoon could see plain as day how your wet folds glistened with an arousal that had been building longer than he could ever imagine, gone ignored and neglected no longer. “i know,” he grunted out. “i want to.”

then without another word, sunghoon went to town. he started slow, gentle; his larger hands were firm on your plush thighs as he held them apart, almost as if he expected you to eventually resist him. for now, though, there was no need; he was tasting your devotion on his tongue, in no apparent hurry to let this moment end.

your breaths were becoming increasingly heavy, and a part of you still couldn’t believe that this was really happening - sunghoon was in between your legs, prepared to make you seen every star that hung in the night sky. you did what you could to commit the sight to memory, refusing to let it get away.

sunghoon wanted to see you unravel. you nearly died when he pressed his tongue deep inside you, abruptly tearing a sweet cry out of your mouth. the muscle wandered over your walls, savoring what he would feel soon enough. but for now, he was more than content to gather every bit of your arousal on the very tip of his tongue and make you feel sensations unimagined.

“god, you taste so good, baby,” sunghoon groaned, hands clamping tightly around your thighs. “so goddamn good.”

it was from that moment forward he lost control; his self-restraint broke; he was consumed with abandon. sunghoon licked and sucked at your bundle of nerves, drawing out more noises than before. your hips jerked as you laid sprawled out before him, entirely at his mercy.

just the way you always wanted.

“does that feel good, baby?” sunghoon pulled away for the shortest second to ask. “do you want me to slow down?”

you shook your head, hands desperately fisting the sheets. “no, please. don’t slow down. down stop,” you begged.

hearing you say that only made sunghoon harder, but he was still a man with some inhibitions if it meant drawing out the pleasure you felt at his hands. “just tell me if you need me to switch things up, okay?”

then he went back to work. this time he steadily worked two fingers into you, and you knew without a shred of doubt that you were positively ruined. they were long and thick, much more compared to yours; you would probably feel his cock for days to come.

you could feel yourself devolving into pure madness. sunghoon’s fingers were working you open at the same time his tongue flicked over your clit, and you could hardly keep still, your body convulsing every which way. if not for how tight his hands were around your trembling thighs, you wouldn’t have been able to keep them spread for him.

“daddy, please don’t stop. i think i’m gonna come,” you said between quick pants.

“i know, baby girl. just relax for me.”

with every nerve in your body going haywire, you felt anything but relaxed. between your thudding heartbeat and the ecstasy shooting its way through your spine, your body was bursting at the seams with fervor. but you tried for him. you couldn’t think, at least. there was too much physical stimulation to allow for passing thoughts.

sunghoon only had only goal in mind and that was to make you feel nothing short of the absolute peak of pleasure. he could see what things your body was responding to best and he took advantage of every reaction you had to offer, twisting his tongue the way you so clearly loved.

you couldn’t handle it anymore, and something within you snapped; you cried out, back arching off your fluffy pink bed, jake and the stupid stuffed toys the furthest thing on your mind as warmth fluttered in your stomach.

“that’s it, doll,” sunghoon crooned. “you’re okay, baby. i promise. just let go.”

all the while, his fingers didn’t stop as he spoke. they kept moving as he assured you between gentle kisses to your thighs, almost as restless as your entire body was. “daddy,” you whimpered, thoroughly wrecked.

“i know,” sunghoon whispered, lips flush against your skin. “you did so good, doll. so good for me.”

sunghoon got up from his knees and draped himself over your body, leaning down to kiss you breathless. though you tried to ignore it, you could feel his hard cock pressing against you and just the feeling itself was mouthwatering.

“so perfect,” sunghoon murmured, pulling back to pepper kisses down your jaw. “did you really think daddy wasn’t gonna make sure his doll was taken care of?”

you had nothing to say, so you just watched him begin to peel off what was left of both of your clothes, piece by piece. when you completely naked, you noticed sunghoon’s unbudging eyes stuck to your figure. “do you think i’m pretty, daddy?” you asked with a smile.

“pretty?” he murmured, brows stitched in amazement. “you’re… you’re beautiful, doll. don’t you forget it.”

you wanted to hear him say that a thousand times over.

even as sunghoon moved to reposition himself between your legs, you could hardly believe that this was actually - genuinely - happening. but every touch of his body had felt so real, and you’d dreamed of moments like this enough to know the difference. giving you one last chance to back out, sunghoon asked, “are you sure you want to do this, baby?”

“please,” you begged. the brushing of his tip against your slick folds made your mouth run dry. “i need it. i need you.”

that was all it took for sunghoon to push inside you, slow and steady as ever. you sucked in a breath, your hands already clenching the sheets again as he coaxed the head of his cock deeper inside your sticky cunt.

“oh my god,” you gasped out.

sunghoon chuckled. “i’m barely inside you, baby.”

you knew that, but the feeling of him inside you even this far was enough to make your mind unravel. you’d imagined that it would be a tight fit, but despite him preparing you to take him, that seemed like an understatement. though you were nothing if not purely determined. you would take all of him, no matter how long it took.

sunghoon’s brows furrowed the deeper he sunk into you, his jaw slacked. “god, you’re so tight,” he murmured. to sunghoon, this was the moment that cemented everything into reality, the moment that made everything true. the tight, wet feel of you stretching around his cock as he moved deeper and deeper was too insane to be imagined even if he tried. and he had tried.

your chest and core fluttered at the compliment. you enjoyed the praise. knowing that you were satisfying him, that you were pleasuring him the way he was pleasuring you, was something that filled you with an immense sense of accomplishment. there was nothing you wanted more than to serve him, than to be his girl.

sunghoon took his time, still hardly moving. every time he heard you abruptly suck in a gasp, his hips ground to a stop, wanting to give you time to adjust. he knew better than anyone that he wasn’t lacking in the size category, and the last thing he wanted was to make his sweet girl’s first time uncomfortable. for the right reasons, he wanted to give you a time to remember.

“do you need a minute, doll?” he asked, one brow lifted as he glanced down at you.

you shook your head. “no, it’s okay. you can keep going.”

“you sure?” he pressed. it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t dying to move even deeper, but not at your expense.

not to mention that your mother probably wouldn’t return until after midnight, but that was another conversation.

“i’m sure, daddy,” you replied, reaching out to cradle his face in your hands. you didn’t want him to look away. “don’t stop.”

“fuck,” sunghoon groaned. you watched his lips part with the noise and felt his cock become buried further inside your cunt, working you open for him. he was taking his sweet time, because you both knew that if he was going to destroy you, he was going to make every second of it count.

“daddy, are you almost done?” you asked quietly.

“halfway, babe,” sunghoon told you.

you gawked. “halfway?”

sunghoon shushed you with a kiss, pushing himself yet another inch within your heat. he couldn’t wrap his mind around how perfect you felt around his cock and he wasn’t even fully seated inside you yet. you tried to focus on the way his lips moved against yours, but not even that could distract you from how he was stretching you out beyond belief.

“daddy, you’re so big,” you whined.

“i know, baby girl,” sunghoon replied softly, a hint of guilt on his face. “almost there, i promise. does it hurt?”

“a little bit,” you admitted. “but i can take it.”

sunghoon swept his finger over your bottom lip. “you sure, baby?”

you nodded your head. for him, you were convinced that you could do anything. and on top of that, there were no bounds to the things that you would do for him.

when sunghoon’s length had finally penetrated you to the very end, he stilled again, giving you a moment to recover before he started. it felt like an eternity before he actually moved, but when you gave him a nod of approval, he slowly drew back and penetrated you again. you were at a lost for words. nothing had ever been inside you that deeply. there were your fingers and maybe a hair brush, but neither rivaled the depth of your stepfather’s thick cock as he began to take you like you were his.

because you were.

“jesus christ,” sunghoon hissed. “you feel so good, doll. do you know that?”

“you feel good too,” you stammered out.

sunghoon took that as a sign that he was doing everything right, which was more than enough for him to relax. his mind was reeling. the mere wet sound of your skin meeting was making him lose control, and that was to say nothing of your pretty moans. the way you desperately called out for him was almost too much to bear.

you reciprocated his feelings. with every deep, guttural grunt that escaped sunghoon’s mouth, your body was less and less yours. he owned you, head to toe, inside out. you were more than prepared to surrender everything to him, to let him claim all that you were. because you relied on him. you needed him. and little did you know, in some twisted way, he needed you even more.

sunghoon’s hands were balled at your sides, clenching the sheets fiercely. he dreaded hurting you, but imagine his surprise when you grabbed a hold of his hands and redirected them to your perfect hips. “you can hold me, daddy,” you reassured him. “please. i won’t break.”

and even if you did, you were willing to let him put you back together. sunghoon could feel whatever remained of his restraint crumbling into pieces, and he held your hips in his palms tightly, his eyes boring into yours. his gaze, as relentless as it was, wasn’t challenging; it was piercing, loving, understanding. he saw you, he knew you, because you were familiar. you were what kept him whole.

something made sunghoon hold you even tighter. there was a thought that struck him. you needed him to take care of you, to depend upon, to guide you. and he needed you to bring back a purpose which was unfairly stolen from him. he knew it was wrong, that it was sick, but it couldn’t be helped. you had become everything to him, and there was no way in hell he was going to let that go.

“i need you,” he panted, his hips keeping a comfortable pace that you seemed to enjoy, judging from how you continued to throb and moan. “i need you so much, doll. you don’t understand.”

you shook your head, arms wrapped around his neck. you wanted to be inseparably close. “i do understand, daddy,” you insisted. “i need you too.”

sunghoon felt heat surging through his stomach. he said your name. “i love you.”

your lips curled into a smile. your body shook with rapture, so much that you thought you could cry. “i love you too, daddy. i love you so much. i’d let you have me whenever. i’m yours and i wanna take care of you.”

“mine?” sunghoon repeated, so quietly it could have gone unheard if not for how close his face was to yours.

you nodded your head.

sunghoon prodded, “all mine? and not that stupid little boy you call a boyfriend?”

the mere mention of jake made you feel disgust and you knew that you were over him, for good. “won’t see him anymore, daddy. i promise. i never wanted him. i always really just wanted you.”

sunghoon didn’t even bother willing himself to keep calm after he heard you say that. he was insane about you and he didn’t care to hide it anymore. “always?” he repeated.

you hummed. “the first time i came was on that bunny rabbit right there.” you turned your head to gesture towards the stuffed animal.

sunghoon saw it and his eyes darkened as he pictured you mounting the poor bunny, grinding your hips against it as you wished and hoped and prayed it’d soon enough be him bringing you pleasure. he wondered exactly how many times you had used it. how many times you had thought of him.

you cried out as his hips began slap against yours faster, but you took it. sunghoon wasn’t particularly rough, but each thrust drove you closer to insanity than the last. wrapping your legs around your waist, you drew him closer, your arms around his neck and his big hands firm at your hips. “fuck,” you stammered.

“you think about me a lot?” sunghoon asked.

you nodded your head eagerly. “yes, all the time!”

sunghoon was unrelenting. he lowered his head, sucking your nipple into his mouth, before he let it fall and pressed, “how much do you think about me?”

“every day,” you told him honestly. “there’s not one day… where i don’t.”

“every day?” sunghoon repeated. “you think about me fucking you every day?”

“sometimes i dream about it,” you confessed.

sunghoon groaned. he had dreamed of you too. he had constantly tried not to think about you in that light, but he couldn’t help what he dreamed of. “i dream about you too,” he whispered. “of making love to you and fucking you full of my cum. will you let me, doll?”

“yes,” you answered him without a second of hesitation. “please, daddy. come inside me!”

sunghoon almost came just from hearing those words, but he couldn’t yet. not before he felt you tighten around his cock with climax. removing his hand from his hip, he began to toy with your sensitive clit, eager and desperate to make you come, to see you come, to feel you come.

your body arched into his hand, knowing who its owner was and willing to submit to his every whim. it felt like your mind was floating somewhere between earth and heaven, lost in space where there was no life, no time. only infinity.

it wasn’t long before your vision brightened white and you swore you could see every star. your legs tightened their grip around his waist as you shuddered with ecstasy, and your mouth hung open as you moaned.

“that’s it,” sunghoon crooned. “good girl. you’re amazing, doll.”

you stilled after a moment, sated.

the sensation of your cunt gushing tightly around him as you orgasmed made sunghoon moan himself, and you listened to the sounds of your heat kneading his cock as he used your cunt to push himself to the end. it had felt so good to you too; having something to grip on as you came made the experience all that much better.

“come for me, daddy,” you said, trying to coax the orgasm out of him. “come inside your doll… i need it.”

that did it. hearing you referring to yourself as his doll sent him completely over the edge and you gasped out loud when you felt sunghoon dumping his thick, sticky hot load into your cunt with the deepest grunt of your name. it was so good, so warm. you held eye contact with him the entire time, not once daring to look away even as his hips slowed to a stop.

for a long moment, you both simply lay there in each other’s arms, neither of you wanting to move when you were this close. but you did pull him in for another heated kiss, because you couldn’t think of another way to somehow bring yourself even closer. sunghoon kissed you back passionately, holding your body against his protectively, almost as if he was afraid you’d be taken from him too.

you thought nothing could ruin the moment. then, out of the blue, your phone rang. you and sunghoon both let out a collective sigh of exasperation and you withdrew to peak at your phone on your nightstand, wholeheartedly expecting it to be your mother.

your eyes went wide when you saw that it was jake.

and you wouldn’t have answered it, but you needed to call it quits anyway. though you initially planned to meet him in person, in that moment, you decided he didn’t deserve to see you again in his life. “hello?” you answered.

“baby, you picked up,” jake said, sounding amazed. “listen to me, baby. i’m so sorry i haven’t been answering your calls. i just needed some space, you understand that, right?”

before he could utter another word, the phone was abruptly snatched from your hands. “don’t call my daughter again, or i swear to god, i will find you, and then i will fuck you up,” sunghoon hissed.

he hung up without another word and tossed the phone to the side.

you gawked at his words, but you both felt the way you’d throbbed. “daddy!”

“quiet,” sunghoon said, withdrawing from inside you. “now show me what you did to the bunny.”

#park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #enha x reader #enha smut #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x you #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon hard hours #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x you

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satoruined · 2 days ago

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18+

if there’s one thing to gripe about when you marry a man as obscenely perfect as kento nanami—though calling it a flaw feels blasphemous—is that when you want to be tossed like a ragdoll and fucked breathless against the kitchen counter, he brings you a glass of wine and a foot massage instead. (by no means a complaint) you love him. and you love the vanilla sex. but sometimes you want to be ravaged instead of worshipped.

“ken,” you say one night, kneeling up on the bed while he unbuttons his shirt, “do you think you could, like… manhandle me a little?” he pauses. “you want me to hurt you?”

“not hurt hurt. you’re so gentle. always.” you tilt your head. “i want to be roughed up. pulled around. pinned down. i want to feel how strong you are.” his expression twitches, baffled and a bit concerned, like you’d just asked him to choke out a nun.

“i see,” he says after a moment. “…and this would bring you pleasure?”

“ken.” you crawl toward him, fingers curling over his waitband. “i get wet thinking about your hands. if you held me down properly i think i’d lose consciousness.”

he lets out a breath through his nose. after weighing the odds, his hand closes around your neck and you see something stifle and spark behind his gaze.

“then lie back,” he says coldly, “and don’t speak unless it’s to say thank you.”

what follows is depraved and exquisite. he shoves the hem of your nightdress around your waist, rips down your panties before spitting into the heat between your legs. two thick fingers enter you without gentleness. a broken whimper escapes your throat, and his palm smacks your thigh, sharp and stinging.

“stay still.”

your body locks up. incredibly aroused, your pussy flutters shamelessly around his fingers and he clicks his tongue.

“filthy girl. is this what you wanted? debased?”

“yes,” you gasp. “please, yes—”

his hand slides up, fingers squeezing your cheeks together until your lips pucker. “you are my wife. if you want to be ravaged, i will be the one to do it.”

and ravage you, he does. over the mattress, with your face pressed into the sheets, hair wrapped tightly in his fist, spine arched as he fucks into you, harder than he ever has before, each thrust battering your cervix like he’s trying to carve the shape of his cock into you. when the ache twists into a sob, he stops cold, buried deep, breath sawing through his nose like it’s him who’s in pain.

pulls out. holds your waist. looks down. you’re shaking. not with fear though.

“don’t stop,” you whisper, voice barely functional. “i want the whole thing. i can take it. please, ken.”

his eyes soften. and then he lines back up and slides home with a guttural groan.

“then take it,” he says, and fists your hair. “all of it.”

and this time, he doesn’t hold back.

you wake up the next morning sore and so thoroughly fucked, your legs wobble like a newborn foal when you walk. kento meets you in the doorway with tea, your favourite sweater folded over his arm, and a calm smile like he hadn’t spent the night fucking the sanity out of you. he eases you toward the bath he’s already drawn, bubbles steaming, lavender in the air, and steadies you by the waist. “easy,” he kisses your temple, like it’s a privilege to care for you. and it is. “next time, you’ll use the safe word before you cry. okay? i don’t want to really hurt you.”

you smile and nod. you’ve never felt more loved.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #kento nanami #nanami smut #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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heavenlybodies333 · 2 days ago

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Almost Caught -C.K

Setting: Kent family farm, Smallville

Synopsis: You visit the Kent farm for the weekend and watch Clark play the perfect son in front of his mom—but he’s anything but innocent when he’s alone with you in the barn.

cw: Rough sex, semi-public sex, exhibitionism risk, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, creampie, slightly bratty reader, dominant Clark, near-caught scenario, suggestive teasing, unprotected sex, filthy language.

You really were trying to behave. You swore you were.

You’d come out to Smallville for the weekend—supposed to be sweet and wholesome, meet-the-mom energy. Martha Kent was everything you expected and more: kind, warm, soft-spoken, with those homemade pies that made you question if she had some magical abilities of her own. The woman adored you, welcomed you like family.

But you were one blink away from throwing all that kindness straight out the barn window because Clark Kent in farm boy mode was something dangerously unfair.

T-shirt sticking to his chest with sweat, biceps flexing every time he lifted a hay bale, that damn cowboy hat he wore backward while fixing the tractor. You watched him from the porch like a woman possessed, thighs pressed together, sipping lemonade with trembling hands.

He’d kiss your cheek sweetly in front of his mom, whisper “you okay, baby?” with that boy-next-door charm like he didn’t fuck you raw the night before in the backseat of his truck with your panties shoved in his pocket.

By noon, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You caught him in the barn, alone, wrench in hand, working on some old farming equipment. Sweat dripped down his neck, his white tank clinging to every ridge of muscle.

“Clark,” you breathed, stepping in behind him and shutting the barn door.

He turned, brow furrowed, wiping his hands on a rag. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you pouted, toeing off your shoes. “My boyfriend’s being way too good in front of his mom and it’s driving me insane.”

He chuckled, setting the wrench down and crossing his arms. “You like seeing me play the perfect farm boy?”

“You have no fucking idea.” You closed the space between you, slipping your fingers under the waistband of his jeans, your voice dropping. “It makes me want to be a very bad girl.” Clark’s jaw tensed—his kryptonite wasn’t green anymore. It was you.

“You know we can’t—”

“I locked the door,” you whispered, licking up his throat. “Unless you want your mom to find out what a dirty mouth her sweet son actually has when he’s knuckle-deep in me—”

“Jesus,” he hissed, grabbing you by the waist and pinning you to the nearest stall wall. The air left your lungs as your back hit the wood, his thigh forcing its way between your legs.

“Thought I was being nice,” he growled against your throat, “but you just don’t know how to act, do you?”

“Not when you walk around like that,” you whined, grinding down on his thigh, your panties soaked through your shorts. “You’re killing me, Clark.”

He popped the button on your shorts like he was pissed, yanking them down with your underwear in one go. He didn’t even bother undressing himself—just pulled himself out, already hard, thick, angry.

“You want to get fucked like a slut in my mama’s barn?” he muttered, hiking one of your legs around his hip.

You nodded desperately, arms thrown over his shoulders. “Want you to—

You didn’t get to finish the sentence—he shoved into you in one brutal thrust, knocking the wind from your lungs as your nails dug into his back.

“Oh fuck— Clark—”

“Shut up,” he grunted, pounding into you with slow, punishing thrusts. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“You’re the one—oh God—fucking me like this!”

He bit down on your shoulder to keep himself from groaning too loud. You were soaking wet, squeezing him like your pussy was made for him, and the sounds of skin slapping filled the barn with every thrust.

“You like being fucked where anyone could walk in?” he hissed into your ear, holding you up like you weighed nothing.

“Yes—yes—fuck me harder—”

He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back, and then—just as you were spiraling, breath caught in your throat—

“Clark? You seen the pie dish?”

Your heart stopped. Martha’s voice came through the window, clear and close. Clark froze, one hand clamping over your mouth, the other still gripping your ass as your body trembled on the edge of orgasm.

Your eyes met his—wild, terrified, turned on as hell. He stayed still, cock buried inside you, both of you straining to hear.

“Check the pantry!” he called back, voice perfectly casual. The man didn’t even stutter.

You wanted to moan, but his hand stayed firm on your mouth. You both waited in silence, barely breathing. Then—footsteps retreating.

Clark smirked. “Told you we’d get caught if you kept acting up.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders as you whispered, “Don’t you dare stop now.” He didn’t. He fucked you harder. He had you coming in seconds, his hand still over your mouth, soaking his abs with your slick as your body shook. He didn’t stop until he was full of you, pumping you full of hot cum with a grunt in your ear. You gasped into his shoulder, body twitching from overstimulation as he stayed buried inside you, panting against your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” you whimpered when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes blown, sweat dripping off his temple. “You’re gonna make me walk back in there leaking down my thighs.”

Clark laughed, breath hot against your neck, voice low and smug. “Good. Maybe you’ll behave now.”

You scowled, still trembling, tightening your legs around him. “You’re an asshole.”

He nipped your jaw. “Keep it up and I’ll take you right here again after dinner. Bet you’ll still be wet.”

He let you slide off him slowly, steadying you with that absurd strength like you weren’t melting. You wobbled when your feet hit the barn floor, thighs slick and sore, your pussy aching and stuffed full of him.

You reached for your shorts, legs jelly, but Clark caught your wrist. “Leave ’em,” he said, smirking as he pulled your panties from his back pocket—the same ones from last night. “I’ll hold onto these.”

“Clark,” you hissed, wide-eyed. “I have to sit at the table with your mom!”

He leaned in, kissed your swollen mouth, and whispered, “Then try not to squirm too much, sweetheart.”

Back in the house, you sat at the Kent family table like nothing happened. “Everything okay?” Martha asked sweetly as you stepped back inside the house.

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile and ignoring the way your legs wobbled. “Just needed some fresh air.”

Clark kissed your cheek like the gentleman he absolutely wasn’t. And under the table, he slid his hand up your thigh again.

a/n: my cat is sick and im writing smut to not lose my mind lmao. i hate adulting. luckily the vet can see us tomorrow morning so im hoping for the best for my furbaby. sorry for ranting like this im losing my mind because thats my baby and if anyone has a cat who stopped eating all of a sudden any advice/comfort would be appreciated<3

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guliexe · 2 days ago

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━━━RAGE QUIT 18+

Gamer!Lee Heeseung x Gamer!Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: slow burn, gaming buddies, video game terms, texting, sexting, soft dom!heeseung, shy!reader, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, pet names (princess, baby), praising, dry humping, oral (f & m rec), cum eating, unprotected sex, p in v, confessing, reader is down bad for heeseung, fluff

♡ you started as friends who played games at night—now he’s the one making you moan into his pillow.

.ᐟwc: 15.9k (no proofread)

It’s been a year since Heeseung joined the friend group. Some random guy Jungwon brought into the server one night for a last-minute League match, and who never really left. Every night like clockwork, your group piles into Discord: Valorant, League of Legends, horror co-ops that get you all screaming in sync. Most nights end in swearing, laughing, or someone rage quitting, usually Heeseung, and sometimes everyone. He’s sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and stupidly good at every game he touches. A little cocky, kind of a menace, and unfortunately for you, exactly your type.

You’ve had a crush on him almost as long as you’ve known him. Actually no, you’ve been in love with him, not that he’d ever guess. Or maybe he would. He teases you like he knows you’ll blush, throws in little pet names and innuendos like he’s testing you for a reaction. But you always brush it off as just another part of the bit. You’re just the girl he likes to mess with during late-night ranked queues. It doesn’t mean anything. Even if your heart does this weird flutter thing whenever he says your name.

“Where’s my duo?” you ask the second you join voice chat, headset sliding over your ears. “You bitches better not have started without me.” A chorus of greetings erupts, Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and two others you recognize from another Discord server. Everyone’s already in the Valorant lobby, bouncing around agents and bantering over voice chat. “Calm down,” Sunghoon laughs. “You’re only, like, twenty minutes late.” You correct him, “Fashionably.” Then his voice comes through. Lazier, deeper, more smug than usual. “Nice of you to show up, princess.” You roll your eyes even as your stomach flutters. “Sorry, didn’t realize I had to run my schedule by you.” you shoot back. Heeseung hums in your ear like he’s unbothered. “You do when you keep dodging games just to avoid being carried.” You scoff. “Carried? Please. You’re always the first to die.” Jay cuts in, laughing. “Here we go again.” It’s always like this, bickering that toes the line between hostile and flirtatious, drawing amused reactions from everyone else in the group. It’s part of the rhythm now. You give Heeseung shit, he throws it right back, and everyone else acts like it’s some kind of soap opera they’ve been watching for seasons. “Bet she top frags this round.” Jungwon says, grinning. “She won’t,” Heeseung says at the exact same time. Then adds, “If she does, it’s because I softened them up first.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, snorting a laugh. “Cope harder.” You lock in Clove. Heeseung picks Jett. Predictable. The match loads in, and everyone starts joking over vc while you check your loadout. Your team takes the first site, and somehow the round is over in seconds, three clean shots from you, one assist, and Heeseung’s kill coming in dead last. “Damn, she’s actually carrying.” Jay says with mock awe. “Say thank you.” you say sweetly. “Thank you, queen.” Then someone else, a guy you vaguely know named Kai, who’s only been playing with the group for a week or two, speaks up. “Carry me again like that and I’ll eat your pussy, mama.” You freeze for half a second, just long enough for your brain to register what he said, and then you giggle. Not because you’re actually into it, but because it’s so fucking unhinged. “Yeah?” you say, leaning into the joke. “Say less.” The whole call erupts in laughter. “Bro.” Jay wheezes.“You’re wild for that.” Sunghoon says.

“Don’t test me.” Kai says again, voice still flirty. And then Heeseung speaks. Calm. Too calm. “Jesus Christ, can you not be a pain in the ass for, like, one game?” The laughter stops for a second. You glance at the chat window instinctively, it’s like the air shifted. He didn’t sound like he was joking. Kai lets out an awkward laugh. “Relax, man. It’s a joke.” Heeseung hums, dry. “Then try making a funny one.” It goes quiet again, not dead silence, but that weird kind of pause where everyone’s pretending not to notice the tension. You hear someone’s keyboard clack in the background. In-game footsteps echo in your ears. “You good, Hee?” You speak up carefully. “I’m great,” he says, “Just bored of hearing you flirt with losers.” Your heart stutters. That one didn’t sound like a joke either. Even Jay seems caught off guard. “Yo, that sounded personal.” “It’s not,” Heeseung says immediately. Too quickly. “Let’s just win the round.”

And he does exactly that, goes full sweat mode for the rest of the match. Dashes into sites solo, gets two aces in a row, doesn’t speak unless it’s a callout. The rest of the group fills the silence with jokes and teasing, but you don’t miss the shift. Heeseung always plays aggressive, but tonight it feels pointed. Like he’s got something to prove. To you. Or to someone else, you’re not sure, but your stomach is buzzing.

The match ends with a win, somehow, Heeseung top frags, of course, and Kai logs off without saying goodbye. The group starts leaving one by one. “Alright, I’m out.” Sunghoon yawns. “GGs.” “Same.” Jay says. “I can’t feel my eyes.” “Goodnight, lovebirds.” Jungwon mutters under his breath before he leaves. You scoff. “Shut up.” Heeseung doesn’t say anything. Eventually, it’s just the two of you. Still in voice chat. The lobby music looping softly in the background. You think about leaving, but your hand hovers over the disconnect button and never quite clicks. Heeseung exhales. You hear the soft creak of his chair. Then, “How come you’re not leaving?” You blink at your screen. His voice is different now, low and quiet, not teasing. “I don’t know,” you say. “Didn’t want to so early.” He hums. “Guess that means I scared everyone off.” You smile faintly, chewing on your lip. “You kinda went off on that guy.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. “Yeah. I didn’t like what he said.” You tilt your head. “Because it was gross or…?” There’s a pause. “Because it was you.” he says.vYour breath catches. You wish you could see his face, but all you have is the green ring around his icon lighting up. “…Oh.” Another pause. It stretches long enough to border on awkward, until he cuts the silence with a sudden, dry little mutter, “God, don’t make me say something corny at 3AM. I’ll literally throw myself out the window.” You laugh, soft and surprised. “There it is,” he says, pleased. “I was waiting for that.” You raise a brow. “For what?” you ask. “You always laugh like that when you’re trying not to.” You protest, “i do not.” But your voice is too light, too amused to sound serious. “You do,” he says, and you can hear the grin behind his words. “It’s cute.” Your stomach flips. “Are you flirting with me, Heeseung?” you ask, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it comes out breathy, shy. He lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t know. Are you gonna flirt back this time or just ignore it like always?” You go quiet. Then, “You notice that?”

“Course I notice that,” he says. “I notice everything when it comes to you.” Your cheeks go warm. You look away from your screen, heart thudding stupidly. “…You’re not as smooth as you think,” you mumble. He yawns, loud, exaggerated. “Mmm. Still made you laugh. Still made you stay in call.” You roll your eyes, “You’re impossible.” and smile. “Yeah, but you like me.” You want to say something back. Something playful or clever. But instead, you just go quiet. He doesn’t push. After a beat, he says, softer this time, “You sound tired.” You lean back on your chair. “Mm. Kinda am,” you admit. “But comfy.” “Yeah?” he says. “Stay a little longer?” You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “Okay.” There’s a long pause where neither of you talk, just the sound of keyboard clicking as he hovers around his screen, maybe checking stats, maybe just filling the silence. Then, quietly, “You know I wasn’t just teasing, right?” Your eyes flick to your monitor. “About what?”

“Earlier. The guy. The flirting.” His voice drops an octave, a little husky now. “I don’t like hearing other guys talk to you like that. Even if it’s a joke.” You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy staring at your screen like it’s going to tell you what to say. “I didn’t think you cared.” you admit. He laughs again, gentler. “I’ve been caring for a while, princess.” Your heart stumbles. You bite your lip. “…I kinda like when you call me that,” you whisper. He hums, satisfied. “I know.” You giggle, sleepy and flustered and way too warm all of a sudden. He lets out a soft sigh, then mutters, “If we were on cam, you’d be blushing, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“That a yes?”

“Shut up, Heeseung.”

He laughs, warm, lazy. “Sleepy girl.”

You giggle softly, cheeks already warm. “You’re so corny, Hee.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “You love it though.” You pause, just a second too long. “Mmm… kinda.” He chuckles, just this soft, fond sound that sinks right into your skin. “Cute.” Your heart skips. You don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile to yourself, suddenly way too aware of how quiet it is now, just you, him, and that little green ring lighting up every time he speaks. Neither of you says much after that. You just sit there in the silence, not awkward, not heavy, just full of something unspoken. Your eyes start to flutter closed. You think you hear him shift in his chair. Maybe yawn. You don’t log off. Neither does he.

It’s almost midnight by the time everyone’s in the lobby again. League this time, ranked. You’ve got your hoodie on, cup of something warm on your desk, legs curled up in your chair. Your screen lights up with everyone’s icons, voices overlapping in Discord. “Why are we doing this to ourselves.” Jay groans as he hovers over his champion. “Because,” you reply sweetly, “we have no self respect.” Then, “Speak for yourself,” Heeseung mutters. “I’m here to carry.” You roll your eyes, “You wish.” smiling already. “Oh my god,” Sunghoon groans. “You two start the exact same way every game.”

“Wait until she dies in lane,” Heeseung says. “Then she’ll blame me like usual.”

“Because you gank at level six like a coward.”

You hear him snort. “Don’t need to gank when you feed their mid laner for me.”

The game loads in. You settle into your rhythm fast, poking, last-hitting, barely listening to the chaos on comms. But every time Heeseung’s voice filters through your headset, you feel it, that lingering buzz from last night. The way he called you cute. The way you didn’t want to leave the call. You don’t know if it meant something. But you feel different now. Every time he says your name, it lands heavier than before. Fifteen minutes in, you’ve got your third kill, and Heeseung’s still climbing his way up in the jungle. You start pushing your lane harder, greedy. “Damn,” Kai says over comms. “She’s actually carrying again?”

“She does that,” Sunghoon says. “Every once in a while.”

Kai laughs. “Shit. If I play support next round, will you reward me, mama?”

You groan, already bracing yourself. “I mean damn,” he adds, “I’d let you leash me any day.”

The call explodes with groans. You groan too, out of habit, “You’re actually insane, dude.”

“You like it,” he says, clearly proud of himself.

You don’t reply, clicking back to lane. You’re not even thinking about it really. Until you hear…nothing. Heeseung’s gone silent. Not muted. Not disconnected. Just quiet. Then your phone buzzes. You glance at it out of instinct, brows furrowing.

Heeseung [12:16am]

tell your little fanboy to chill lol

You glance at the screen, smirking a little. You don’t reply , just keep farming, like your heart isn’t suddenly going crazy.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

kinda annoying hearing him talk to u like that tbh

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

doesn’t even say it right

if anyone’s gonna call you mama it should be me

You choke on your own breath. Your mouse stutters for a second. One of your minions dies.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

unless u like it

Your skin is burning. You tuck your phone away without replying, biting back a smile. Across your headset, the match keeps going—Kai’s talking again, but his voice barely registers. You’re not listening to him anymore. You’re only hearing Heeseung. You don’t reply to his messages. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to. Your fingers are still shaky on the keyboard as the match rolls on. Heeseung’s acting normal again in vc, throwing out short callouts, occasionally bickering with Sunghoon, playing it cool like he didn’t just imply he wants to call you mama.

Your phone buzzes again once, but you ignore it this time. Your lane’s pushing, and your team is moving toward Baron. You focus. You click fast. And when Kai dies again, whining about being “baited,” you’re already ready to kill. You slide in, ult ready, and drop three of them before they can react, smooth, clean, and so fast that Jay literally yells through his mic. “OH MY GOD—okay, she’s cracked tonight.”

“Bro, what was that?” Sunghoon laughs. “Are you sweating?”

You’re already smiling to yourself when you hear it. Low. Offhanded. Just one beat late.

“Good job, baby.”

Everything stops. No one else reacts. But you hear it. Loud and clear. Your brain scrambles. You don’t know if anyone else caught it, maybe he was leaning too close to his mic, maybe it just blended in with the chaos, but your stomach drops. In a good way. In a terrifying way. You go quiet for a few seconds, and then, “…What’d you just call me?” There’s a beat of silence. Then Heeseung’s voice, smooth as ever, “Hm? I said good job.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Might’ve added something,” he says casually. “You complaining?”

You hate that your face is hot. You hate it more that you smile.

“…You’re annoying,” you mumble, half-giggling.

“Still blushing though.” he replies, grinning into his mic.

Sunghoon: “What did I miss?”

Jay: “I knew something was going on with you two.”

You groan, tugging your hoodie over your mouth. “Play the damn game,” you mutter, but your voice is way too giddy to be taken seriously. And even though everyone goes back to screaming over objectives and team fights, your head’s somewhere else completely. Still stuck on that word. Baby.

It’s the next night. Everyone’s in voice chat again—same group, same vibe. But now you know what he said last time. He knows you heard it. And he hasn’t brought it up since. He’s acting normal again, but you’re not letting him off the hook that easily. The match is halfway through. You’ve just landed a perfect kill steal on Heeseung’s target, claiming the bounty right out from under him. He groans dramatically. “You seriously just took that?” You smirk, leaning into your mic. “Mhm. Had to show off for you, baby.” Silence. Total, absolute, silence.

Jay wheezes. “Wait.”

Sunghoon: “Did she just—?”

You don’t say anything else.

But you can feel Heeseung scrambling on the other side of his headset. He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, which, for him, is a lot. Then he clears his throat. “You trying to start something, princess?” You smile. “Just matching energy.” He lets out a low laugh, little breathless, a little impressed. “Dangerous game,” he mutters. “Careful or I might start taking you seriously.” You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Maybe I want you to.” He doesn’t respond right away. And when he does, his voice is quieter. “…Noted.”

You’re walking behind Heeseung in-game, flashlight beam jittering as you peek into dark hallways. You are playing Phasmaphobia, already regretting letting the boys talk you into this. “Is that—? No, okay, that’s just a shadow.” you mumble, heart racing. Heeseung laughs softly through the mic. “You alright back there?”

“No,” you whisper, sticking close. “Why do you sound so calm?”

“‘Cause I’m brave,” he says casually, like it’s obvious. “You’re the scaredy cat .”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“You are,” he continues, voice smooth. “Cute though. I like it.”

Your stomach flips. You keep your eyes on the screen, trying to act unfazed. “Not my fault you’re so bad at protecting me.” you murmur. He pauses for half a second.

Then, “Oh, that’s how we’re playing tonight?”

You smile, shy but satisfied. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Mm. You didn’t have to.”

Jay’s voice cuts in on voice chat, “Guys? Where the hell are you two?”

“Clearing the hallway,” Heeseung answers smoothly. “She’s being brave.”

You don’t say anything, but you know he hears your quiet giggle, even through your mic.

It’s almost 3AM when the final round ends. Everyone’s laughing, still on edge from that last chase. Jay’s cackling over some glitch, Sunghoon’s threatening to uninstall the game, and you’re still trying to slow your heartbeat. Then Heeseung’s voice cuts in, calm and lazy through the mic. “Alright, I’m out. I need to shower before I crash.” You blink at your screen, suddenly still. “Damn, it’s that serious?” Jay says, yawning. “Alright, night bro.”

“Night, losers,” Heeseung says with a smirk in his voice. “Later, princess.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a reply, his little green Discord ring goes gray. Gone. You try not to pout. The call slowly empties, one by one, goodnights echoing into silence until it’s just you. Alone in the lobby, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, still hoping he’d maybe rejoin. But he doesn’t. So you log off too. Toss your headphones aside, get up and do your skincare, brush your teeth, your hair, fluff your pillows. But you don’t feel sleepy yet. You’re scrolling aimlessly on your phone, tucked under your blanket, when it lights up suddenly.

Incoming call: Heeseung

Your breath catches. He’s calling you. At 3:27AM. You stare at it for half a second, then answer. “Hello?” you say, voice soft and a little surprised. “Hey.” His voice is warm, low, a little rough. You can tell he’s laying down too. “I thought you were going to sleep,” you murmur. “I was,” he says, quieter now. “Shower helped, but… I don’t know. Something felt off.” You wait, heartbeat picking up. “Didn’t get to talk to you.” Your lips curve into the softest smile.

“I was waiting for you to stay.”

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to.”

Then there’s a pause, intimate, quiet. “You comfy now?” he asks. “Mhm. Just got in bed.” Another pause. “Wish I could see you.”

You bite your lip. “You’re sweet tonight.” you whisper. He chuckles. “You make me sweet.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a few seconds. Then, casually, “You played good tonight.” You blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Carried my ass a couple times.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I always do.” He chuckles too, low and warm. “You’re not gonna let me be nice, huh?”

“Mm, maybe not.”

There’s a pause, not awkward, just weighted.

“You ever think about playing just us?” he asks, voice a little softer. Your heart stutters. “Like duo by ourselves?” you say quickly, trying to play it cool. He hums. “Something like that.” You bite your lip, smiling into the darkness. “Maybe.” He doesn’t push it. Just lets the silence stretch again. “You sleepy?” he asks gently. You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah. You?”

“Mhm.” A beat. “Didn’t wanna sleep without hearing you again.” You go quiet, your heart going crazy. “…You’re sweet,” you whisper. He breathes a little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone.” You smile. “Secret’s safe with me.” There’s one last pause, so full of things neither of you say. Then finally, he says, “Sleep well, princess.”

“Goodnight, Hee.”

He hangs up. But you don’t sleep for a long time.

Discord is chaotic as always—half the team is yelling over each other mid-match, someone’s mic is echoing, and Sunghoon’s pretending to AFK just to piss people off. You’re trying to focus, but your mind’s a little too full of Heeseung. Ever since that late-night call, everything feels shifted. More intense. Every time he talks in call, your chest gets tight. And when his icon lights up just to say your name, it’s worse. “Okay, Saturday—Heeseung’s place?” Jake says. “Yeah, I’m in,” Sunghoon says. “Someone bring snacks.” Then Heeseung, smooth as ever, “You coming, princess?” You blink. Swallow the flutter in your chest. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” you say quickly, trying to sound casual. But barely a beat later, your screen lights up with a DM.

Heeseung [11:45 pm]

u don’t sound excited

Your lips twitch.

You [11:45 pm]

i am

Heeseung [11:46 pm]

lol?

that’s all i get?

You shake your head, smiling to yourself.

You [11:46 pm]

focus on the game hee

There’s a short pause.

Heeseung [11:47 pm]

not when you say my name like that

You bite your lip.

But before you can answer, Heeseung suddenly says in vc, “Yo—who just stole my red buff? I swear to god.” Everyone starts yelling again. The moment breaks, but not completely. It lingers underneath the noise, quiet and warm.

It’s almost 2:30 a.m. when your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, scrolling aimlessly, already half-asleep. The soft glow of your screen lights up your dark room.

Heeseung [2:28 am]

u still up?

You blink at the message, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

You [2:28 am]

barely

was abt to sleep

Heeseung [2:28 am]

wait

look at this

A photo comes through. It loads slowly, thanks to your shitty Wi-Fi, but when it does, your breath catches. Heeseung, shirtless. Pyjama pants slung low on his hips, just enough to tease, the band of his boxers peeking out. And right in the center of the frame, curled up perfectly in his lap, his small, fluffy kitty, fast asleep.

Heeseung [2:30 am]

isn’t she cute :)

You swallow, staring at the picture a little too long.

You [2:31 am]

so cute

must be comfy there too

The typing bubble appears almost immediately.

Heeseung [2:31 am]

yeah?

u jealous princess?

You grin at your screen, heart racing.

You [2:31 am]

hmm

maybe a lil :3

He doesn’t respond right away. You wonder if you went too far, until your phone vibrates again.

Heeseung [2:33 am]

could make room for u too

You stare at the words, pulse jumping.

You [2:33 am]

bold

Heeseung [2:34 am]

not bold if it’s true

u always look tired after carrying me anyway

You let out a soft laugh, trying to hide the way your cheeks are burning.

You [2:34 am]

i hate u

Heeseung [2:34 am]

no u don’t

you like me too much

You don’t reply right away. Instead, you bite your lip, heart pounding in the quiet dark.

You [2:35 am]

maybe :>

Heeseung [2:35 am]

see you saturday bby

sleep tight

You set your phone down on your chest and stare at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot. No shot you’re sleeping now.

You hadn’t seen Heeseung in two weeks, not in person, at least, but the late-night texts and flirty voice chats had kept him pressed into your mind like a fingerprint. Every time he called you “princess” every teasing message he sent before bed, made you blush behind your screen like some lovesick idiot. So yeah, now that you were about to see him again, you were nervous. Stupidly nervous. You stood in front of your mirror for way too long that afternoon, picking out something cute but not obvious, landing on a short, flowy dress that made you feel pretty. It felt casual enough not to raise eyebrows, but still, you hoped he’d notice. You wanted him to.

You met up with the others at the corner near Heeseung’s place. Everyone was buzzing with energy, talking about what games they’d play, what movies they’d watch, how long they were gonna stay. You tried to laugh along and act normal, but your heart beat louder with every step closer to his house. And then, you were there. One of the guys knocked on Heeseung’s door, you held your breath. A few seconds later, it swung open. He was standing there in a black hoodie and gray sweats, hair a little messy like he’d just run a hand through it before opening up. His eyes skimmed lazily over the group, and then landed on you. They didn’t move for a moment. Neither did yours. “Yo.” one of the others greeted him. Heeseung smirked. “You guys are late.” Then, to you, voice a little quieter, a little warmer, “You coming in, princess?” Your stomach flipped. “Uh, Yeah.” You tried to play it cool, stepping past him like your skin wasn’t already prickling from just hearing his voice up close.

You walk into the apartment, your eyes adjusting to the soft orange glow spilling across the living room. It was warm in there, literally and figuratively, the kind of cozy that made you want to curl into a blanket and never leave. Lamps instead of overhead lights, a couple of pillows tossed lazily across the couch, the faint scent of something like vanilla and laundry detergent lingering in the air. You quietly took a seat on the couch, smoothing your dress under your thighs. The fabric felt short when you sat, but you kept your expression neutral, pretending like you weren’t already hyper-aware of Heeseung moving around behind you. He dropped down into the armchair across from you, spreading his legs slightly, elbows on his knees. The hoodie he wore was unzipped, the edge of a plain white t-shirt barely clinging to his collarbones. He caught your eye for a second, just a second, and gave you a small smile. You looked away first.

The rest of the group slowly filtered into the living room, loud and casual like always. One of them kicked off their shoes and flopped dramatically onto the rug. “So,” someone said, clapping their hands together. “Are we being normal and playing something like Monopoly, or are we ruining friendships tonight with Uno?”

“Uno,” Heeseung said immediately, leaning back in his chair. “No mercy.”

“I’m voting for Mario Kart,” someone else chimed in from the floor. “Get on later and let me kick your ass, Lee.”

“Bro, last time you said that, I fucking stepped on you.”

Laughter erupted across the room. You giggled quietly, tucking your hands into your lap. It was easy being here. Loud, chaotic, but safe, like always. The way it always had been. Except…Except now Heeseung looked at you differently. They eventually settled on starting with a few board games, pushing aside the clutter on the coffee table and pulling out the boxes. Sunghoon opened the food delivery app and started taking orders—half the group wanted ramen, the other half wanted pizza. You stayed mostly quiet, watching it all unfold with a small smile, your knee gently bouncing on the couch. Every now and then, Heeseung’s eyes flicked toward you. When they did, he didn’t look away. He just watched, like he was content to see you sitting there, finally within reach again.

The living room had grown quieter since earlier, the post-game, post-food lull settling into everyone. Someone had queued up a movie, someone sprawled out across the couch and floor with blankets, while the others argued over what snacks were left and who was going to eat them. You slipped away quietly, rising from your seat and heading into the kitchen with an empty soda can in hand. The orange glow from under the cabinets bathed the room in a soft warmth, the hum of the fridge buzzing steadily behind you. You opened it, pretending to look for something, even though you weren’t really hungry. Your heart was beating too fast anyway. You closed the door and turned around, only to find Heeseung standing in the doorway. He wasn’t looking for snacks.

His hands were stuffed casually into the front pocket of his hoodie, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The laughter from the living room felt distant, muffled by the walls between you. He stepped inside slowly, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Been looking at you all night.” he said, voice low. You blinked, caught off guard. “What?” His eyes dropped, just for a second, to your dress—the way it clung softly to your waist before fluttering down your thighs. “That little dress,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?” You scoffed softly, trying to hide the way your stomach turned. “Shut up.” He tilted his head, amused. “What? I’m wrong?” You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. Not touching you yet, just close enough that you could smell the fabric softener clinging to his hoodie.

“You look so pretty, princess.” he said gently. Your breath hitched. The nickname sounded different when he said it here, alone, with the world gone quiet around you. No Discord call. No other people. Just him—tall and warm and real in front of you. “You’re gonna make me blush.” you whispered, glancing up at him through your lashes. He smiled. “That’s kind of the point.”

His hand rose slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you, and he touched your cheek. Fingers warm against your skin. You leaned into it without thinking, eyes fluttering shut. And then he kissed you. Soft and slow. Just enough pressure to make your knees feel a little unsteady. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for a while. And you kissed him back. Your hand came up to rest against the curve of his chest, clutching the fabric of his hoodie like you were afraid to let go. His thumb brushed your cheek. You sighed into him, and he pressed his forehead to yours for a second before pulling back slightly.

Before either of you could say anything, a voice echoed faintly from the other room, “I’ll go grab a beer, y’all want something?” You both froze, then stifled a laugh. Heeseung’s hand lingered on your face a moment longer before slipping away. “You should go,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Before someone comes in here and ruins it.” You smiled, breathless. “Yeah…” But neither of you moved.

You were the first to step back into the living room. No one looked up, the movie was too loud, and everyone else was too busy bickering over what just happened in the plot. You sank back into your spot on the couch, heartbeat still trying to even out, trying to act normal. Like Heeseung’s mouth hadn’t just been on yours. A few seconds later, he came in too, casually, like he’d just gone to the bathroom or gotten a drink or something. But instead of dropping into his old seat across the room, he sat beside you.

Right beside you. No one said anything. No one noticed. But you did. You were hyper-aware of every shift—the way the cushion dipped slightly under his weight, the warmth of his thigh brushing yours. You didn’t even dare look at him at first. You just stared ahead, pretending to focus on the screen. Then, his hand landed on your thigh. Your breath caught, but it wasn’t like that. It was soft, subtle. Just a palm resting over the fabric of your dress like it belonged there.

He didn’t move it. Didn’t squeeze, didn’t tease. He just…let it be there. And somehow, that was even worse. Eventually, the others started yelling at the TV again, someone shouting “YOU IDIOT WHY WOULD YOU GO INTO THE BASEMENT ALONE?” and the whole room dissolved into laughter. Heeseung’s hand slid away. But only to settle beside your thigh, knuckles just barely brushing the hem of your dress. You hesitated, heart thudding, before you let your pinky drop, feather-light, against his.

And he hooked it, like it was nothing. Like it was everything. You finally looked up at him, hust briefly. His gaze was already on you. He didn’t smile, not quite. But his expression softened, like he was memorizing this, keeping it tucked away somewhere quiet just for him. Your cheeks burned, you looked away, but you didn’t pull your hand back.

It was late when everyone finally started gathering their things. The movie had long since ended, and the energy in the room was quiet and warm, a buzz of satisfied laughter and sleepy goodbyes. Shoes were slipped on, jackets thrown over shoulders, as one by one, people trickled toward the front door. You were the last to follow. Dragging your steps a little, pretending you were still putting your phone in your bag, but really, you were just hoping he’d say something. Do something. And he did.

As you reached the door, Heeseung caught your wrist gently. Just for a second. Just enough to make you stop and glance back at him. He stepped closer, leaning down just slightly. And before you could even say anything, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. So casual, but not casual at all. His lips lingered for just a second before pulling back. “Goodnight, princess.” he murmured. Your chest fluttered. You tried to respond, but your words caught somewhere between your throat and your racing heart. All you could do was smile, cheeks burning, as you stepped out into the night. You didn’t even remember saying goodbye to the others. You just kept touching your cheek where his mouth had been.

Another night, another game. Everyone was online, the Discord call full of laughing and yelling as you all loaded into a League match. But it felt different this time. You could feel it immediately, even before Heeseung joined. Your heart jumped a little when his icon lit up green. “Yo.” he said, like always. “Hi.” you replied softly. He hummed, low and warm. “Miss me already?” Someone snorted in the background, Kai probably, but you didn’t even flinch. “Maybe a little,” you said, light and teasing. “Don’t let it get to your head.” He chuckled. “Too late, princess.” Nobody commented. Nobody knew. But you could hear the grin in his voice, and the sound made something tug low in your stomach. You played League. You laughed with the others. The usual trash talk flew back and forth, but the way Heeseung talked to you now? It wasn’t the same.

When you stole a kill from him, he groaned dramatically. “Wow. Can’t believe my own girlfriend would do me like that.” You choked. “Heeseung—!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Still pending, I guess.”

Kai laughed. “Damn, she’s got you whipped.”

Heeseung only hummed again. “Can you blame me?”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. You just pushed your mic away a little, smiled at your screen, and kept playing.

You were mid-game, headset on, pretending to be fully focused, but your phone kept lighting up beside you. You shouldn’t have looked.

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

u looked really pretty yesterday btw

Your fingers stuttered on the keyboard.

You [11:26 pm]

heeseung please focus i’m literally dying in mid rn

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

how am i supposed to focus when u looked like that in that dress

unfair tbh

Your face was burning. You typed quickly, glancing at your minimap.

You [11:26 pm]

stop distracting me :(

Heeseung [11:27 pm]

can’t help it

u get all shy when i text u and it’s cute asf

You tried so hard to keep a straight face. Then, right when you were getting pushed under tower, Heeseung’s champion appeared in lane. Ganked clean. You got the kill. “Nice!” you said out loud, a little breathless. And then you heard it through the headset. “That’s my girl,” Heeseung murmured. You giggled. Couldn’t even help it. The call exploded.

“Kill me already,” Sunghoon groaned. “Get a room.”

“I’m gonna uninstall.” someone else muttered.

You pressed a hand over your smile, pretending to focus again, but your phone lit up once more:

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

u liked that baby?

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh again. The match was still going, your screen full of chaos, but all you could think about was the heat spreading over your cheeks.

You [11:30 pm]

maybe i didd

The typing bubble popped up right away.

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

yeah?

bet you’d like it even more if i whispered it in ur ear while u were on my lap

Your stomach flipped, pulse thudding deep in your chest. You squeezed your knees together under your desk and stared at your screen, barely registering the game anymore.

You [11:31 pm]

hee.

stoppp that’s not fair :(

Heeseung [11:31 pm]

aww baby’s getting all shy now?

cute

You didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t need you to. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. And when he pinged on the map again to come help you in lane, you swear your hands were trembling.

It was past 2 a.m. now. The group was deep into another League match, your sixth of the night. And the fourth loss. Everyone was tilted. Half-joking, swearing under their breath. But Heeseung…Heeseung was seething. You could hear it in the way he was clicking. Rapid, furious, sharp. His voice had dropped into this low, tight drawl as he muttered, “This jungler’s a bot. Actually brainless.” You shouldn’t have found it attractive. But the heat in his voice, the frustration curling behind every breath, it made your stomach flutter. But then his mic went quiet. You knew that silence. The kind that was dangerous. “Bro, this is unplayable,” Heeseung muttered suddenly. His voice sounded a bit raspy and tired. “I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m out.” Disconnect.

The call fell into stunned silence for a second. Then Sunghoon sighed. “Yikes.” Your heart dropped. You stared at your screen for a long second, your fingers frozen over your keyboard. You hadn’t even typed “gg.” You stayed quiet. Just tried to blink back the weird sting that hit you way too fast. “I’m gonna switch to Valorant,” Jay said. “Anyone else?”

“I’m in,” you mumbled, a little too quickly. You didn’t want to log off. Not yet. Not if he texted. So you launched the game, joined a party, and tried to laugh along with the others, but every second that passed, your eyes flicked down to your phone. Still nothing.

It was almost 4 a.m. by the time you logged off. You barely said goodbye, too drained from the string of losses, but more so from the ache in your chest that had settled there after Heeseung left the call. He didn’t text. Not once. You went through your usual motions anyway. Washed your face, pulled on an oversized tee, got under the covers with your phone still in hand, brightness low, just mindlessly scrolling. Checking Instagram, discord, his profile—more than once. Still nothing. Your screen dimmed. You stared at the faint glow on your ceiling, curled under your blanket, and tried not to overthink it. You told yourself he was just mad at the game, not at you. Your phone eventually slipped from your hand onto the pillow beside you. And sometime after, you drifted off, eyes closed, heart a little too heavy for sleep to come easy.

Buzz.

Your screen lit up softly in the dark. You squinted one eye open.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

sry abt that

Your heart thumped. You reached for your phone with a sleepy hand, your fingers a little clumsy as you unlocked it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

wasn’t mad at u or anything

And then, after a moment:

Heeseung [4:23 am]

missed ur voice tbh

Your breath caught. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, your chest warm, a smile curling on your lips as you looked at the screen.

You [4:24 am]

it was boring without u :(

There was barely a pause before your phone buzzed again.

Heeseung [4:24 am]

yeah baby?

That one made your breath hitch. You turned onto your back, screen hovering above your face now, your lips pressing together to contain the smile threatening to break free.

You [4:24 am]

mhm

wanted u there

The typing bubble appeared again. Stopped. Then came back.

Heeseung [4:25 am]

wanted to be there too

but u know how i get with that game lol

You giggled softly.

You [4:25 am]

i do

but u still sounded hot all pissed off like that

You waited, then cringed a little, your heart racing like ‘shit why did i say that’. A second later:

Heeseung [4:26 am]

oh yeah?

u like when i’m mad baby?

should’ve seen me after i logged off

was thinking abt u

Your heart stilled.

Heeseung [4:26 am]

couldn’t stop thinking abt ur thighs

Your hand went to your chest like you could calm the thunder in your heart.

You [4:26 am]

hee.

you can’t say stuff like that rn

Heeseung [4:27 am]

why not?

no one’s around

just me n my sleepy girl

You [4:27 am]

hmm

u like my thighs? :3

Heeseung [4:27 am]

i love them baby

You stared at his last message, your pulse loud in your ears. You swallowed. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before you typed.

You [4:28 am]

u love them?

Heeseung [4:28 am]

mmhmm

love how soft they looked when u sat next to me

kept thinking abt how warm u’d feel on my lap

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, breath catching. You hesitated. Then, slowly, like some part of you needed him to see, you pushed the blanket down. Your legs were folded up, thighs squished slightly together. Your tiny shorts clung to you, barely covering the top of your legs. With one hand, you tugged your shirt up just enough to show a sliver of your tummy, skin warm and soft under the low light of your phone screen. Your finger trembled as you tapped the shutter. You stared at the photo for a long moment. You didn’t look perfect, not posed like other girls might be. But something about it felt so real. So you sent it anyway.

You [4:30 am]

here :)

Three seconds passed. Then five.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

jesus baby

you’re gonna kill me

so fucking pretty

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

can’t stop looking

want u so bad right now

Your body was warm all over. You stared at his words with your bottom lip between your teeth, your legs slowly stretching under the blanket again, your heart racing faster than it had all night. You type with shaky fingers.

You [4:31 am]

want u too :(

miss u

You don’t even care how needy it sounds, because it’s true. You miss the way he looked at you when no one else was watching. You miss the warmth of his hand next to yours. You miss how soft his lips were on yours.

Heeseung [4:31 am]

fuck baby

wish i could sneak into ur bed rn

kiss u slow n make u feel good

You bite your lip hard. Your whole body feels electric , flushed with adrenaline and want. You prop your phone up for a moment, your hand slipping under your oversized shirt. Your palm covers your left tit, squeezing softly. Your thighs shift and spread slightly as you angle the camera, lifting your shirt a little, enough to show a peek of tummy, the curve of your waist, the swell of your thighs pressed together in the low light. You snap the photo, heart hammering. And before you can change your mind, you send it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

holy fuck

look at u baby…

can’t believe u sent this to me

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

ur unreal

my pretty girl

all mine yeah?

Your legs curl up under the blanket again, warmth spreading between your thighs as you try to calm your breathing, but it’s impossible now, he’s everywhere, in your head, under your skin.

You [4:34 am]

mhm! only urs

want u so bad :((

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you shift on the bed, tugging your shirt higher. You take your shorts off, leaving your panties on, the cotton clinging to your pussy, soaked through, and you let your legs fall open. One hand moves to squeeze your tit, fingers covering your nipple, the curve of your breast spilling out just enough. Your shirt’s bunched under your chin, tummy soft and exposed. You lift your phone, and take a picture. You stare at it for a moment. You feel sick with nerves. Then:

You [4:35 am]

see? :(

You send the photo and immediately regret it. Not because you don’t want him to see it—you do, so badly—but because now there’s nothing. No reply. You stare at your screen, chewing your bottom lip. One minute passes. Then two. Then three. Your stomach twists, nerves bubbling up like soda fizz under your skin. Was it too much? Did you freak him out? You reach for your phone again just as the screen lights up.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

….

Your breath catches.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

princess i’m so fucking hard rn…

You bite down on your lip, heart pounding, legs still spread. His message replays in your head again and again. You can’t help yourself.

You [4:40 am]

proof? :3

The typing bubble appears instantly. Then disappears. Then it’s still again for a moment, until your screen lights up with a photo. He’s shirtless, skin flushed, abs tight. His hand is cupping his bulge through soft gray sweats, and the outline is obscene. Big. Thick. Heavy. You swear you let out the softest gasp, your thighs instinctively rubbing together. He’s huge. You press your phone to your chest, eyes wide, heart fluttering out of rhythm.

You [4:40 am]

ugh hee this is so unfair :((

Heeseung [4:41 am]

wanna make it fair baby

want u to touch yourself for me

You don’t even think. Your fingers are already slipping under the waistband of your panties before you start typing, your other hand barely steady.

You [4:41 am]

i’m already touching myself hee :( can’t stop

Your cheeks burn, your breath shaky as you press down, wet, aching, throbbing for him.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

fuck princess

wish i was there

i’d take care of u so good

you’d be shaking on my fingers

Your head falls back against your pillow as you whimper, reading and rereading his messages. He’s so good with his words, you feel them in your chest, between your legs, everywhere.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

how are u touching yourself baby?

You can’t even think straight anymore. His messages have your body burning, soaked and aching, and your fingers are moving slow, desperate circles over your clit, and all you can think about is him. The weight of his hand. The sound of his voice. His lips saying “that’s my girl.” You need him to see you like this. You pull the covers back just a little, breathing shaky as you lift your phone. One hand slips back under the waistband of your panties, your fingers teasing just enough to make your thighs twitch. You snap a photo. Your hand between your legs. Your panties slightly tugged down. Your thighs soft and parted. You’re trembling when you hit send.

You [4:43 am]

…

Seconds feel like hours.

Heeseung [4:43 am]

jesus fucking christ

look at you

fuck

keep touching yourself just like that

pretend it’s me

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, the other hand still moving—slow, desperate circles on your clit, slick and messy. You’re so close already it’s dizzying.

You [4:43 am]

i always pretend it’s u hee :(

You hit send, barely able to see straight. It takes him a moment.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

fuck baby

you’re driving me insane

wish i could hear u right now

whimpering all soft and needy

Another sharp flick of your wrist and you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. You are whimpering, broken, breathy sounds you try to muffle into your pillow.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

keep rubbing that pretty little pussy for me

slow circles baby just like i’d do it

make yourself cum for me yeah?

You [4:44 am]

mhm :((

are u touching yourself too?

You send it while circling your clit just the way he told you to—slow, trembling, and wet. You can barely keep your hand steady, your thighs twitching at every glide. A second later, his response lights up your screen.

Heeseung [4:45 am]

yes baby

can’t help it

your pictures, your little sounds in my head

i’m so hard it hurts

That does it. You rub harder, faster, the heat coiling deep in your belly, your hips stuttering into your hand as you let out a tiny gasp, cheeks flushed, lip caught between your teeth. You need more, and he knows it.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

baby

put ur fingers inside for me

pretend it’s my fingers deep inside u

You whimper at the message, already sliding your fingers down lower, slipping them in without resistance. You’re so wet, they glide in easily, your head tilting back at the stretch, the heat, the ache.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

god i wish it was me

wish i could feel how tight you are

i’d fuck u nice and slow

You moan into your pillow, fingers curling, fucking yourself just like he would—thinking about his voice in your ear, his breath on your skin, the way he’d whisper praises in your ear while kissing your neck. It hits hard, your orgasm ripping through you in waves, thighs trembling around your hand, lips parted in a silent cry. You stay like that for a moment, ruined and flushed, before managing to pull your hand away. Still breathless, you lift your phone with shaky fingers and take another photo—your soaked fingers, a glossy string of cum stretched between them.

You [4:48 am]

made a mess for u hee :)

Heeseung [4:48am]

fuck…

fuck princess

i’m gonna cum

You’re still catching your breath when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [4:50 am]

you’re unreal baby

so pretty

so good for me

my perfect girl

You smile, cheeks hot, curled beneath your blanket now, the ache between your legs softening into warmth. You type slowly, eyes heavy with sleep.

You [4:50 am]

hee

u make me feel so good :(

want u here

wanna fall asleep on your chest

Heeseung [4:51 am]

i’d hold u so close princess

kiss ur forehead

play with ur hair til u fall asleep

You let out a soft, sleepy giggle into your pillow.

You [4:51 am]

mm that sounds perfect

goodnight hee <3

Heeseung [4:51 am]

goodnight baby

dream of me yeah?

<33

You tuck your phone under your pillow, smile still lingering on your lips as your eyes flutter shut, his words wrapped around you like a blanket.

You wake up to the soft buzz of your phone against your sheets, light from the screen spilling across your pillow.

27 new messages.

Your stomach flips. The group chat is blowing up and your name is all over it.

Sunoo

okay so it’s settled?? Heeseung’s place again??

Jungwon

yup tonight

Sunghoon

y/n don’t forget your controller

Jay

does she even know what’s happening rn

You stare at the screen, frozen. Heeseung’s place. Your cheeks burn as last night flashes in your mind, his voice, his texts, your fingers between your thighs. The pictures you sent. The ones he sent. And now… this? What if it’s weird now? What if it was just fun for him in the moment, but he doesn’t actually want you? What if he regrets it, and you’re showing up like a fool? You’re overthinking. Still, your fingers hover above the keyboard, hesitation burning in your chest. Then a new message pops up.

Heeseung

y/n are u in?

Three words. That’s all it takes to make your heart skip. You wait, ten seconds, twenty, trying not to read too much into it. Then, finally, you reply.

You

yeah :)

You stare at the little smiley face, hoping it doesn’t look too nervous. Hoping he sees it and hears the ‘please still want me’ in your head. Your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [1:27 pm] (privately)

morning princess

missed u already

You [1:27 pm]

morning hee

missed u too <3

You send it before you can overthink, then hide your face in your pillow, kicking your legs. Your stomach is still tight with nerves, but his reply melts them just enough to let a smile creep in.

You’re staring at your reflection again. For the third time. Your skirt is short, but not too short, you tell yourself, sitting perfectly on your waist. The soft grey cardigan you picked out earlier clings to your frame just enough to show it off, the top buttons left undone so collarbones and chest show. You’re wearing perfume, a subtle one, the same one you wore last time at his place. You look cute. You know you do. You just hope he notices. Hope he wants you still. Hope none of what happened the other night has changed the way he looks at you.

Your phone buzzes again.

Sunoo

on our way! be there in 10

You grab your bag, swipe on a little extra lip balm, and head out. Fast-forward to Heeseung’s front door, everyone’s already inside laughing and talking as you step in. The same cozy orange light glows through the living room, voices echoing through the apartment. And then you see him, sitting on the edge of the couch in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair slightly messy like always, exactly how you like it. He turns his head the second you walk in. And you swear his eyes trail down your body, slow and shameless.

“Hey.” he says, voice low, lips lifting into the slightest smirk. “Hey.” you mumble, already feeling your cheeks warm. “You look cute.” he says simply. Like it’s just a fact. You barely manage a quiet “thank you.” before Sunghoon yells something about Mario Kart and the moment is gone. But not really, because you can feel his gaze on you even when you’re looking away.

The night has that same warm, familiar glow as last time—soft lights casting a gentle hue over Heeseung’s living room, the TV humming low as the next movie rolls. Everyone’s sprawled around the room now, Sunghoon’s half-asleep already with a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest, Jay and Sunoo are arguing playfully about which horror movie is better, and Heeseung’s legs are stretched out in front of the couch where you’re curled up on one end, hugging a fluffy pillow. Your skirt’s ruffled from how you’ve been shifting to get comfy, the neckline of your cardigan dipping slightly as you sink deeper into the cushions. You feel his gaze again, subtle but heavy. You glance up just in time to catch it, and he doesn’t even look away. He just smirks a little. You flush. Again.

Trying to act casual, you tuck your legs under yourself, tugging the hem of your skirt down just a little more. The warmth of the room, the quiet chatter, the way Heeseung hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in, it’s all making you drowsy. By the time the third movie starts playing, your head is dipped against the couch, your cheek pressed to your arm. You fight it for a bit, blinking slow, barely following the plot, but your body is already giving in. Your breathing slows, your limbs go still, and eventually…you fall asleep. Heeseung notices immediately. At first, he just glances over, ready to make a comment, maybe tease you, but the words never come out. Instead, his expression softens. The curve of your lashes against your cheek, the way your lips part ever so slightly when you exhale, it’s enough to make his heart stutter.

He shifts, propping his elbow on the couch, letting his fingers curl against his cheek, watching you in silence while everyone else reacts to whatever’s happening on screen. You’re practically glowing under the dim light, blanket half falling off your thighs, cardigan slipping off one shoulder just enough to make him swallow hard. A while passes like that. Quiet. Intimate. Like it’s just the two of you in the room. Then Jay says something about it being past 3AM, and someone stands, stretching with a dramatic groan. “Should we bounce?” Sunghoon asks, rubbing his eyes. Jay nods. “Yeah, i’m dead. Heeseung, all good?” Heeseung tears his eyes away from you for the first time in a while. “Yeah.” Someone notices you next. “She’s out cold.” Jay leans in, whispering loudly. “You want us to wake her?”

Heeseung shakes his head, protective without even realizing it. “No. Don’t. She’s fine.” And just like that, they gather their things. Shoes are slipped on, phones grabbed off chargers, quiet goodbyes are mumbled, but Heeseung stays seated beside you, gaze still locked on your sleeping form. When the door finally closes and the apartment is quiet again, he stays still. His living room is bathed in that same soft orange glow, the credits roll on the TV, and you’re still there, breathing slow and peaceful, curled up with your lashes fluttering faintly, as if even in your sleep, you know he’s watching. He shifts just a little closer. You stir slightly when you feel the couch dip beside you, your body still heavy with sleep. “Hey, princess,” a voice murmurs, soft and warm near your ear. “Everyone left.” You blink up at him, slow and disoriented, eyes adjusting to the dim light. “Oh…I fell asleep?” Heeseung’s face is close, framed by the golden hue of the room, his smile gentle and just a little smug.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing a thumb lightly over your cheek. “You looked too cute to wake up.” You bite back a flustered smile, pulling the blanket tighter around your body. “You could’ve at least nudged me…” He shrugs, still looking at you like you hung the stars. “Didn’t want to. You looked peaceful.”

Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as your sleepiness starts to fade. He doesn’t move away, his face is still close, his hand resting beside your waist. The room feels warmer than it did earlier, quieter. Like everything outside of this couch doesn’t matter right now. You shift a little, your voice still a bit hushed. “So…it’s just us now?” Heeseung hums, tilting his head. “Yeah.” A pause.“You wanna stay a bit longer?” he adds. “Just us?” And the look he gives you isn’t teasing, not this time. It’s curious and hopeful.

You nod, still wrapped in the blanket, and sit up a little. A quiet yawn slips out before you bring your hand up to rub your eyes, still groggy, still warm from sleep. When you look up at him again, Heeseung’s already watching you, so closely, his gaze soft and heavy, like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. His lips are slightly parted, his expression unreadable but so full of something you’ve never seen from him before, not like this. Your heart stutters. Maybe it’s the quiet of the room. Maybe it’s the way he hasn’t looked away from you once. Maybe it’s the leftover warmth from your late-night texts, from the ache you haven’t been able to shake since. But something makes you reach out, slow and uncertain, your fingers brushing against his cheek before settling there gently. His skin is warm under your touch, and his lashes flutter just slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t move away.

Heeseung leans into your hand just the tiniest bit. And then, before you can overthink it, before you can get too scared, you lean in. Your lips press softly against his, barely there at first, just enough to feel the way he exhales sharply through his nose. His hand brushes lightly against your knee under the blanket, but he doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t rush it. He just lets you kiss him, lets you decide. When you slowly pull back, your breath catching in your throat, you meet his eyes again. He’s smiling, soft, in awe, and he whispers, “Hey.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, bashful and sweet. “Hi.” You don’t say anything else for a second, both of you just sitting there in the glow of the room. And something in the way he’s looking at you, so soft, so wanting, makes the nerves dissolve into something deeper, heavier, needier. So you kiss him again.

This time with more pressure, more feeling, like all the nights of tension are finally spilling out through your lips. Your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his head, threading into his hair gently, and you feel him breathe in sharply when you do. His hands grip your waist and pull you effortlessly into his lap, and you melt against him, thighs bracketing his hips as his touch slides down to caress them slowly, reverently. You sigh softly into his mouth, and he hums in response, the sound low and satisfied. His fingers squeeze just above your knees, coaxing you closer until there’s nothing between you but heat and fabric.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair as the kiss deepens, grows hungrier, but still soft around the edges. His lips break from yours for only a moment, breath shaky against your cheek. “Could kiss you forever.” he whispers, voice rough and thick. Your lips are still barely touching when you whisper it—quiet, breathless, almost like a confession. “I missed you.” He pauses, eyes searching yours, hands still resting on your waist like he’s afraid to let go. His voice is gentler when he replies, like he’s matching your softness.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along the hem of your cardigan. “I missed you too, princess. So much.” You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away, not this time. Not when he’s holding you like that, not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. A shaky breath escapes you before you murmur, “You have no idea how much I thought about you.” Heeseung tilts his head, his thumb tracing slow circles on your waist. “Yeah, baby?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to hope. “Tell me.” You press your lips together for a moment before whispering, “I couldn’t stop replaying everything…the way you looked at me, the way you talked to me last night. I couldn’t sleep.” He lets out the faintest exhale, something between a sigh and a groan, like your words hit him right in the chest. “I know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve been in my head ever since i met you.” You look up at him again, shy and aching. “I was scared maybe you changed your mind.”

“Not even close,” he says without hesitation. “You don’t get it…I haven’t wanted someone like this, ever.” Your fingers curl into his hoodie, heart thudding. His lips find yours again, slower, more sure. His hands cradle you like he can’t believe you’re real. “I want you, Heeseung.” For a second, he just stares at you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Then he leans in, lips brushing yours, voice dropping into something husky and warm, so low it shoots straight through your spine. “Show me how much, baby.” You don’t hesitate. You crash your lips to his in a filthy, needy kiss—nothing like the soft ones you shared before. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body presses flush against his. He groans into your mouth, both arms wrapping around you, dragging you further onto his lap. His fingers slide up beneath your cardigan, caressing the soft skin of your waist, and your hips roll instinctively. Heeseung’s lips move feverishly against yours, and everything about him feels hot and overwhelming, like he’s been holding himself back for far too long. “You drive me crazy.” he mutters against your lips, breathless. You only kiss him harder in response, fingers clutching the sides of his jaw like you never want to let go.

His hands drift lower, until they slip beneath the hem of your skirt. You gasp softly into the kiss when his palms find the soft flesh of your thighs, then higher, until he’s gripping your ass with both hands, squeezing gently but possessively. “You’re so cute, baby.” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice thick with need and affection. You whimper, biting down softly on your lower lip as you pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, hooded, roaming over your face like he’s trying to memorize every little expression. Your cheeks flush, your hands stay tangled in his hair, your body warm and trembling in his lap. “You make me feel so…” you whisper, unsure how to finish the sentence with how full your chest feels. Heeseung leans in again, kissing you slower this time, his thumbs tracing soft circles over your skin. “I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Without even thinking, your hips begin to move , slow, subtle rolls against his lap, just seeking friction, something to ease the ache building between your thighs. You don’t even realize what you’re doing at first, too lost in the feeling of him, the way his hands are holding you, the way his lips feel on yours. But the second you hear him exhale, a deep, shuddering breath, you freeze. “Princess…” he murmurs, his voice all rough and low, like he’s holding back. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your cheeks burning. “Hee…” you whisper, flustered, your fingers gripping his shoulders for balance. “I didn’t mean to—” His hands slide up your back slowly, soothing. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, and you feel him smile softly against your temple. “Keep going, baby.” Your breath catches, and you nod slowly, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. Your hips keep moving against him, soft and needy, your fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you. “Hee…” you breathe, your voice trembling as your lips brush against the warm skin of his neck. “You feel so good…”

Your soft moan spills out before you can stop it—quiet, breathy, but it sends a sharp jolt through Heeseung. His grip on your waist tightens as his cock throbs beneath you, straining against his sweats. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, his voice rough and low. “You sound so good—gonna make me lose my mind.” You shiver at his words. You try to bury your face even deeper into his neck, cheeks burning. “Stop…” you whisper shyly, squirming in his lap, but not enough to actually get away. “Don’t say stuff like that…” He laughs softly, the sound husky and fond as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Why not?” he murmurs. “It’s true. You’re so fucking cute when you’re like this…all needy and shy in my lap.”

Your body moves again, hips rolling against him with a little more need, a little more desperation. Each soft moan and whimper that escapes your lips only fuels him more, your breath catching every time your clothed core drags along the thick bulge in his sweats. “Ngh…” you whimper, clinging to him. “Mmh—just like that, baby…” Heeseung groans, deep and low, his hands sliding down your waist until they’re gripping your ass again, squeezing it firmly. His fingers dig in just a little as he helps guide your movements, encouraging you to grind harder against him, a soft moan leaving your mouth. “Yeah?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “That what you want, princess?” You nod quickly, too dizzy to speak. He chuckles under his breath, hands keeping you steady as he rocks you against him, the pressure sending sparks through your whole body. “So pretty—so fucking soft—can’t get enough of you…”

His hands slip beneath your cardigan slowly, warm palms cupping your breasts over your bra, and the soft moan that escapes you only makes his breath hitch. “Fuck…” he murmurs, voice low and strained as he palms at you, thumbing over the fabric. You’re trembling, but still, you find the courage to sit back just enough to slowly shrug your cardigan off, cheeks burning as it falls to the couch behind you. You look up at him with wide, shy eyes, your chest rising and falling. His jaw drops slightly. “Holy fuck…” he breathes, eyes glued to the way your breasts spill against the bra, soft and full. He wastes no time, hands grabbing them over the fabric, squeezing them in his palms. “You like them, Hee?” you whisper shyly, barely able to meet his eyes.

He lets out a soft, strained laugh, eyes dark. “Princess,” he groans, “I’m so fucking hard right now, what do you think?” Your whole face flushes hot, lips parted slightly. Still, you manage a soft, almost breathless, “You can take it off…if you wanna,” your voice fragile, and your eyes impossibly big and trusting. He stares at you like you just gave him the universe. Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you for a moment, barely holding himself together. Then, slowly, he leans in. His lips find your neck, soft and warm, pressing kisses down the delicate skin like he’s savoring you. Each one slower than the last, trailing lower with every breath you take. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers threading back into his hair as a shaky sigh slips from your lips.

His hands move with purpose, sliding behind you, and you feel the gentle tug as his fingers find the clasp of your bra. With one flick, it comes undone. The straps fall loose against your arms, and he pulls back slightly, eyes meeting yours. You give him a small nod, cheeks burning. He pushes the straps off your shoulders and lets the bra fall between you. Then his hands return to your chest, palms warm and reverent as he cups you fully now, skin to skin. He groans softly, like he can’t help it, like the feel of you is too much. “So soft,” he mutters, squeezing you gently. “So fucking perfect…” Your head tilts slightly with a quiet whimper, lips parted, body buzzing with heat as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, teasing and slow. “You’re driving me insane, princess,” he breathes, voice thick and low. “You’re too pretty for your own good.”

You lean in just a little, shy but needy, and Heeseung catches on instantly. His hands slide up your sides again, and he brings his mouth to your chest, kissing over the soft swell before wrapping his lips around one nipple. He sucks gently, warm tongue flicking, lips tugging just enough to make you gasp. One of his hands squeezes the other breast while his mouth works you, slow and purposeful. You whimper, back arching instinctively, and your hips begin to move again, grinding softly against the bulge straining beneath you. He switches sides, his mouth now on your other breast, sucking, licking, groaning low in his throat like he can’t get enough of you. “You like it, princess?” he murmurs between kisses, breath warm against your skin. “mhm” you whine softly, your eyes shut tight as you let the pleasure wash over you. He chuckles, proud and a little breathless himself. “Yeah? Then keep going, baby.” he murmurs, voice thick. His hands settle on your hips, helping guide your rhythm as you rock against him. “Just like that.”

His mouth returns to your chest, and the room fills with quiet whimpers, heavy breathing, and the soft sound of his lips on your skin. Your fingers tug gently at the hem of his shirt, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hee…” Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, he pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion and tosses it aside, and you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes your lips. Your eyes roam his toned chest, the sharp lines of his abs catching the dim light. You bite your lip, hands instinctively rising to trace along the ridges, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your trembling fingertips. Still grinding against him, you lean forward slowly, pressing soft kisses to the side of his neck. One after another, each one deeper, needier. His breath catches when your lips suck gently, leaving behind faint red marks, proof of how badly you want him.

He groans, low and raspy, and his hands return to your ass, squeezing hard, pulling you closer as your grinding becomes more desperate. “Fuck, baby.” he whispers, voice thick and strained, his head falling back just slightly as your mouth moves along his neck. His grip on your ass tightens as he helps guide your hips faster, harder—grinding down on the thick bulge straining beneath you. Every drag of him against your clothed cunt sends sparks through your body, his cock catching perfectly on your clit, the pressure unbearable in the best way. Your moans come out higher now, breathy and helpless, and it only spurs him on. He groans low, “You’re gonna cum, princess?” You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, hips rocking with desperate rhythm. “Please…Hee, please—”

He doesn’t make you beg more than that. One of his hands slips down between your bodies, under your skirt, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. He rubs small, fast circles on your clit, syncing with your grinding, the friction making you cry out. “Shit, you’re so wet.” he breathes, watching you fall apart on top of him. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” And you can only nod again, whimpering, as your orgasm builds sharp and fast in your gut—his voice in your ear, his hands on your body, everything pushing you closer and closer. You tremble as the wave crashes over you, tugging on his hair as your orgasm hits—your soft, broken whimpers filling his ears as you finish, your body melting in his arms. Heeseung wraps you up, his hand stroking gently up and down your back as he whispers, “Good girl…so good for me.”

Still catching your breath, you lift your head, take his face in both your hands, and kiss him deeply, slow and messy and full of all the want that had been simmering between you for weeks. When you finally pull back, your lips are kiss-swollen, your cheeks flushed, your eyes shy, but burning with something he can’t look away from. You shift off his lap, still trembling a little, and settle down between his legs instead. Sitting back on your knees, you look up at him through your lashes, arms resting against his thighs, pressing your soft chest together just a little. “Fuck.” he breathes, his voice raspier now, his eyes dark as they rake over you. His cock is twitching in his pants, straining, aching, just from the way you’re looking at him. Just from you. “Princess…” he says low, barely holding himself back. Your voice comes out breathy and shy, but so full of want it makes his head spin. “I wanna make you feel good, Hee…”

Heeseung’s eyes drop to your hands as they move gently over the hard bulge in his pants, slow and curious, your fingers tentative but so eager. He swears under his breath, biting down on his lip, the way you look up at him so innocent while touching him nearly making him lose his mind. “Shit, baby…” he groans, hips twitching slightly into your touch. “You’re driving me crazy.” You blink up at him, a soft smile tugging on your lips as your hands press a little firmer, rubbing him through the fabric. “Let me?” you ask quietly, so sweet, so soft, like you’re asking for permission to ruin him. He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your skin, voice low and wrecked. “You can do anything you want to me, princess.” You give him the softest kiss on the cheek, your lips lingering just a second longer, like a promise.

Then, slowly, with trembling fingers, you tug down his sweatpants and boxers, your breath catching when his cock springs free—big, leaking, heavy against his stomach. Your thighs instinctively press together at the sight, and your lips part slightly, like you’re already imagining how he might taste. “God…” Heeseung exhales, his head tipping back as he watches you through lidded eyes. You wrap both hands around him delicately, like you’re handling something precious, and lean in, placing a soft, innocent kiss right on the tip. Your eyes flick up to meet his as you do, wide, shimmering, so sweet it makes his jaw clench. “You’re so pretty, Hee…” you whisper, kissing him again, lips brushing lightly down the side of his shaft.

He twitches in your hand, groaning low. “You’re the one that’s pretty, princess,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “So fucking pretty…down on your knees for me.” He cups the back of your head gently, fingers threading into your hair as you continue kissing along his length, so slow, so teasing, savoring every second. Your tongue flicks out slowly, tasting the tip, salty and warm. You kiss it again, before dragging your tongue just a little lower, teasing the underside as you hear Heeseung’s breath hitch above you. “Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, his grip on your hair tightening just slightly.

You kiss him again, and then finally part your lips and sink down just a little, taking him into your mouth, the warmth and weight of him making you shiver. The second he’s inside, even just barely, a soft moan escapes you, quiet, involuntary, but enough to make him groan. “You like it, baby?” he breathes, his voice low and ruined. You hum around him in response, sending vibrations up his shaft, and it makes him curse again. You pull back slightly, your lips wet and shiny, looking up at him with that same innocent gaze. Heeseung’s jaw clenches as he watches you. “God, you’re so fucking perfect, princess…” You wrap your lips fully around him, taking him deeper this time, your mouth warm and wet as you start to suck with more confidence. Your hand tightens its grip around his shaft, fingers sliding smoothly as you bob your head up and down, eyes locked on his dark, intense gaze.

A thin strand of drool escapes the corner of your mouth, dripping down his length, but you don’t care, your focus is on him, on the way his breath hitches and his body tenses under your touch. Heeseung groans, one hand curling around your cheek, thumb brushing softly over your skin while the other finds your hair, guiding your movements like a gentle command. “Fuck, baby,” he rasps, voice rough and desperate. “Just like that—keep going.” You obey without hesitation, the rhythm steady and slow, savoring every moment, every reaction from him. You take him a little deeper, the sudden stretch making you gag softly. Your eyes water, tears gathering at the corners, but you don’t stop, driven by the way Heeseung’s low moan vibrates through you. Pulling back just enough to catch your breath, you look up at him with wide, glistening eyes and ask in a quiet, tender voice, “Does it feel good, baby?”

The moment the word leaves your lips, his composure shatters. His grip tightens, jaw clenches, and a guttural growl escapes him.“Fuck…,” he rasps, voice thick with want and disbelief. “You calling me that…I’m losing it.” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you gently but firmly back down as his hips shift, desperate for more. Heeseung’s hands grip your hair firmly, guiding your head up and down faster now. Your soft moans fill the room, the vibrations sending shivers straight through him. He growls low, voice strained with need. “Shit—I’m gonna cum, princess.” he warns, breath hitching. You pull back just enough, lips parted and tongue sliding out to trace the length of him one last time. Your hands move eagerly up and down his shaft, keeping the pace as you wait for him to let go. His hips jerk forward suddenly, and he curses, fingers tangling tighter in your hair as he shudders, spilling hot and heavy into your mouth. You swallow it all and then lean in, lips parted, tongue peeking out to show him it’s all gone—clean, obedient, just for him.

His eyes darken as he exhales shakily. “Holy shit, baby…you’re fucking unreal.” You giggle softly, cheeks flushed, and crawl back onto his lap. Your lips meet his for a tender kiss, sweet and slow, but he kisses you back harder, possessive now, hands sliding over your hips before squeezing your ass firmly. The sudden smack he lands on it makes you whimper against his lips, body jolting slightly. Then, with barely a second to catch your breath, he flips you over on the couch, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thud, his body hovering over yours. He kisses you hungrily, like he can’t get enough, mouth trailing down your neck, your collarbones, teeth grazing, lips sucking until you know there’ll be marks. You whimper beneath him, arching into his touch, needing more.

He pulls your skirt down slowly, followed by your panties, dragging the soft fabric down your thighs with careful hands, like he’s unwrapping something precious. His breath catches when you’re bare for him, eyes darkening as he settles between your legs. His fingers gently part you, slow and deliberate, and he swipes through your slick with a quiet exhale. “So pretty…” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Embarrassment flutters in your chest and you instinctively cover your face with your hands, cheeks burning. He chuckles softly, voice low and warm. “Why are you hiding from me, baby?”

You don’t answer, you can’t, not when he leans in and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to you, licking a slow stripe that has your back arching. You gasp, your fingers reaching down to grab at his hair. He keeps going, licking, kissing, sucking, slow at first, then faster, more purposeful. You whimper his name, thighs trembling as he keeps you open with one arm wrapped around your hip. And then, his fingers. One sliding in, then another, curling just right as his mouth never lets up. The combination makes your toes curl, your moans growing softer but needier, your grip on his hair tighter with every flick of his tongue. “Hee…” you whine, breathless.

He groans against you in response, like he could stay there forever, completely lost in you. His fingers are working you open, curling and thrusting in a rhythm that’s already overwhelming. His tongue moves with practiced precision, flicking and sucking at your clit until your thighs are trembling around his head. And then suddenly, his fingers slip out, replaced by both of his arms wrapping firmly around your waist, tugging you closer to his mouth. His hands slide up your body and cup your tits, squeezing gently at first, then harder when you moan. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending jolts of heat straight through your core. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans between licks, his breath warm and ragged against you. “Could stay here all night, baby. You’re so sweet…so wet just for me.”

You let out a choked sound, high and breathy, your hands flying to cover his on your chest, needing to feel him, hold him, ground yourself. Your hips twitch helplessly as his mouth drags another moan from your lips. “So sensitive,” he mumbles, sucking your clit just right. “So fucking good for me. Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You whimper, eyes squeezed shut, fingers squeezing his tighter. “Please…Baby—don’t stop.” you whine. He moans against your cunt, sucking harder now, his fingers rolling your nipples as your body writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure building like a storm. Your whole body’s trembling, thighs tightening around his head, your hips bucking up into his mouth without you even realizing. “Hee—” you whimper, breath hitching. “I’m—I’m cumming—”

Your hands clutch his over your chest, knuckles white, your back arching as your voice gets higher. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, voice muffled against your soaked cunt. “Cum for me, baby. All over my fucking mouth.” And you do. A broken, high-pitched moan escapes you as your release crashes through your body, your hips stuttering against his face, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He groans again at the feeling, his tongue still working you through it, drinking every last bit of it up like he needs it to live. Your thighs tremble around him, your whole body going warm and overstimulated, but he’s still kissing the inside of your thigh, murmuring softly, “That’s my good girl…”

He pulls back from between your thighs, lips shiny, eyes dark and hungry. Still catching your breath, you reach up with shaky arms and hook them behind his neck, tugging him down into a messy, desperate kiss. You moan softly into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into the kiss, hands sliding under you, one under your back, the other under your thighs, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. You gasp, arms tightening around his shoulders, your forehead resting against his. He carries you through the quiet of his room, the only sound your shallow breathing and the soft creak of the floor beneath his feet. His eyes stay locked on yours, so intense it makes your stomach flutter.

And when he reaches the edge of the bed, he lays you down gently, hands never leaving your body, and whispers, “You’re so perfect like this, princess…” He crawls over you slowly, eyes raking over every inch of your bare body, like he can’t believe you’re really here, like this, under him. His hands trail down your waist, squeezing gently before gliding to your hips, your thighs, your ass. He lowers his head to your neck, kissing and sucking softly, then down to your chest, lingering there, murmuring sweet nothings between kisses.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he whispers against your skin, voice low and rough. You nod, already breathless, lips parting into a pout. “Please, baby…” you whine, fingers slipping through his hair, playing with it softly. His eyes flicker between yours as he pushes his sweatpants down, his voice low and breathless. “My sweet little girlfriend, yeah?” he murmurs, gaze heavy with want, but also something softer. You gasp, heart pounding, but you nod quickly, eagerly. “Yes, baby… please. Wanna be yours, Hee.” He groans under his breath, palming himself through his boxers. “Fuck…” Then he slips them off, his cock springing free once again. He positions himself between your thighs, stroking himself slowly as he looks down at you, completely bare and trembling beneath him. “All mine,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, “Gonna take care of you.”

He finds your hand beside your head and gently intertwines his fingers with yours, grounding you, holding you close. “Got you, baby.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. Then he slowly starts to push inside, inch by inch, his breath stuttering. “God…you’re so tight, princess. Love this pretty pussy…” You whimper, brows furrowed as you cling to his hand, squeezing it tightly. The stretch burns a little, making you wince, your thighs trembling around his waist. He pauses, his free hand stroking your cheek, eyes locked with yours. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice laced with care. You nod shyly, breathless. “Y-Yeah… just go slow, baby.”

As he inches in the rest of the way, your mouth parts in a sharp gasp from the stretch, but before the sound can fully escape, Heeseung leans in and kisses you, swallowing the noise and grounding you with his lips. “Doing so good for me.” he murmurs against your mouth. He stays there, buried deep, holding still, giving you time, kissing your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your lips. You squeeze his hand tighter, chest rising and falling as you adjust to the size of him. “Y-You can move…Hee.” you whisper shyly, blinking up at him with watery eyes. He nods, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Okay, baby. I’ll be gentle.” And then he starts to move, slow and careful, dragging his hips back and rolling them forward again. He keeps holding your hand, his other brushing down your side. Every thrust melts the ache into something warmer, deeper, and you whimper softly beneath him, each sound making his heart clench. “That’s it,” he breathes, kissing your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Feels good now, doesn’t it?”

You nod quickly, lips parted, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Mhm…feels so good…” Heeseung leans closer, voice rough and low in your ear. “Been thinking about you like this since the first time I saw you…” You gasp, your back arching at his words. “All wet and shy…wrapped around my cock like this.” His thrusts get slower, deeper, savoring every second. “Fuck, you feel like a dream, princess.” Your hands cling to his shoulders, lips brushing against his ear as you pant, your voice trembling but honest, too far gone to hold back now. “I touch myself to your voice…” you whisper, so shy but so desperate.“Every time you spoke, I’d get so wet.” You whine, tightening around him. “So wet for you, Hee… always.” His hips falter at the confession, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, voice rough with desire, and then he thrusts harder, faster, trying to reach deeper just from your words alone.

“You’ve been mine this whole time, hm?” he breathes against your lips. “Getting off to my voice, fuck—dirty little thing.” You whimper, completely unraveling, and he’s loving every second of it. “Please, Hee…wanna ride you, please.” Your voice is all breathy and sweet. He groans low, twitching inside you, the tip of his cock nudging that spot that makes your thighs tremble. “Fuck…yeah, baby,” he breathes. “C’mere.” He pulls out gently, lays flat on the bed, eyes burning into yours as he guides you up. “Come ride your man.” You’re quick to move, desperate, aching. You straddle him with shaky thighs and grab his cock, lining him up and slowly sinking down, whining as he stretches you open again. Your hands splay on his abs for balance, your head falling back at the fullness. “So deep…” you breathe. “F-fuck, Heeseung…” He watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, thumbs brushing under your breasts. “That’s it, baby… take what you need,” he says, voice low and full of want. “Look at you…riding me so good already.”

You start bouncing on him, slow at first, then faster, the wet sound of you taking him again and again filling the room, making his breath catch in his throat. Your head tilts to the side a little as soft, high-pitched moans spill from your lips, your eyes fluttering with every drag of him deep inside. “Holy shit…” Heeseung groans, eyes roaming all over you—your flushed skin, your bouncing tits, the way your stomach tightens every time you sink back down on him. His hands move up to your chest, squeezing your tits in his palms, thumbs brushing over your nipples just to hear you whine again. Then down, caressing the curve of your waist, trailing lower until they find your ass, gripping it hard, pulling you deeper on his cock, then suddenly landing a sharp slap to one cheek.

You gasp, a broken moan leaving your throat as your hips stutter. He smirks, rubbing the spot he slapped. “So fucking cute when you sound like that, princess.” Then his hands slide down your thighs, fingers dragging over the soft skin, admiring the way they tense as you keep moving. “Feel so good riding me, baby.” he says, voice breathless.

Your rhythm turns desperate, bouncing faster and harder as your hands cling to his abs, nails digging slightly into his skin. “Want you—so bad, Hee—need you,” you pant, voice high and breathless, “Need to be—under your skin…” He lets out a soft chuckle, the need in your voice making his cock twitch deep inside you. “God, baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down to rub tight, fast circles on your clit. “You’re so fucking needy…” You nod, crying out as his fingers work you harder, your thighs trembling. “Hee—Hee, I love you—love you so much—ahh!” His hips twitch beneath you, and he sits up just enough to pull you in for a kiss, messy and deep, all tongue and breath. “I love you too, princess,” he whispers against your lips, “I’ll always take care of you—my sweet, perfect baby.” You nod frantically, fingers tangling in his hair, overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion. “I’m gonna cum—gonna cum for you, Hee!”

“Cum for me, baby.” he groans, fingers still circling your clit as you crash into your orgasm, moaning loud, hips stuttering. He holds you through it, eyes fixed on your face, utterly in love. Then, with a low curse, he lifts you just enough to slide out of you, stroking himself fast and desperate before finishing all over your belly with a strangled moan, his hand trembling from the force of it. You both stay still for a moment, catching your breath, your skin warm and glowing, his cum sticky on you, his arms still wrapped around you as you sit on his lap. He’s pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your hips. “Was that okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and hoarse. You nod slowly, leaning your head against his. “It was perfect.” He smiles, nuzzling your neck, “You’re perfect.”

After a moment, he shifts gently, reaching for a tissue from the nightstand and cleaning you up carefully, his touch tender, eyes always flickering up to check if you’re okay. You just watch him, dazed and dreamy and completely in love. He tosses the tissue aside and pulls you into his chest. You tuck yourself under his chin, your fingers playing softly with his hair. His heartbeat’s still a little fast. “I still can’t believe i did this to you.” he whispers. You smile against his skin. “I always wanted you to do it.” You lie there like that for a while, tangled up, warm and soft, only the sound of your breathing filling the room.

His hand finds yours again, fingers interlacing without thought. Then, very quietly, you murmur against his chest, “Want you to fuck me again, Heeseung.” He freezes. Blinks. Tilts his head to look at you, his eyes wide. “W-What? Now?” You look up at him innocently, smiling, eyes wide and full of mischief. “Mhm!” He groans, dragging a hand down his face as the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Princess…you’re gonna kill me.” You giggle, tugging at his hair and pulling him back down for a sweet kiss.

a/n: got lazy at the end. also left a sneaky easter egg whoever finds it gets a kiss :p idk how this got so long sry if it was annoying

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valeisaslut · 2 days ago

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࿐𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 - 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥.

⚢ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆— Actress!Ellie x Actress!Reader

⊹ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — introducing our charming little lovebirds: a shy, wide-eyed girl with a barbie pencil case and dreams that far exceed the confines of her locker, and a quirky transfer student who believes that spider-man comics outshine the brilliance of stage lights. their paths cross in the drama club, but that marks merely the start—prior to the fame, before the headlines, and before everything unraveled.

⊹ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓— 5,7k

⊹ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒— loser!ellie x loser!reader as pre teens and cute nerdy theater kids, modern au, fluff, purely introductory, internalized homophobia, parental dismissal, quiet yearning, high school awkwardness, AFAB!reader, multiple part series.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⭒࿐

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

“𝐈𝐟 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.”

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"𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒈𝒐 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅." — 𝑺𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒉𝒐, 𝑭𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝟏𝟕

𝐅reshman year was a letdown.

You’d imagined something cinematic—hallways with lockers slamming shut in rhythm, a secret staircase where cool kids smoked after lunch, someone falling in love with you in the library. You thought it’d feel like High School Musical.

But it didn’t. It felt like the cafeteria smelled like boiled carrots and the fluorescent lights buzzed loud enough to fry your nerves. It felt like a blank notebook you were afraid to mess up.

The other girls at fourteen seemed like they were living in a different timeline than yours. They knew how to contour, how to gloss their lips just right, talked about boys like it was a language you’d never learned. Who kissed who at Maya’s party, who was chatting with a sophomore. They had hundreds of friends on Facebook, cropped tops from Forever 21, and big phone cases that matched their nails.

You didn’t hate it, not at all, it just wasn’t you.

You weren’t the cool girl, not even close. You had glasses way too big for your face that always slipped down your nose no matter how many times you pushed them up. You had pink braces that clicked when you tried to laugh quietly, and a glittery pink pencil case with matching Barbie notebooks that nobody except you thought were cool. Your backpack was covered in pins of cartoon characters and hand-drawn hearts, crooked little doodles you’d outlined in gel pen the night before the first day of school. You weren’t popular, you weren’t stylish, you weren’t mysterious. You were just… there. Quiet. Easy to miss. But honestly, you didn’t mind it. Being invisible was safer. Less room for disappointment.

Your two best friends from middle school had moved away over the summer. New cities, new schools, new lives that no longer included you.

But had one thing.

One bright, shining, indestructible thing: acting.

It wasn’t just a hobby— it was the thing that made your chest feel full, that made your skin feel electric. Since you were old enough to talk, you were reenacting movies in front of the mirror, memorizing monologues you didn’t fully understand, and watching the Tony awards with your heart in your throat.

You’d seen your first broadway show at six—Annie—and something cracked open in you like a warm, glowing firework. The lights, the voices, the way everything and everyone seemed larger than life when it was onstage. It was like magic. And from that moment on, it wasn’t even a question. You knew what you wanted.

To be there. To make people feel something.

You said it out loud for the first time at eight years old.

“I want to be an actress.”

Your mom laughed. Not cruelly, not with venom, but in that soft distracted way parents do when they don’t think you’ll remember.

“Sweetheart, don’t be silly….that’s just a phase. Like when you wanted to be a vet, remember?”

And she never really got it.

She said she didn’t want to encourage you too much, because “you’ll just get your hopes up and be let down.” She said it kindly. With love, even. She made your lunches and tucked you in and told you she was proud of your grades. But when it came to acting, her face would always go still, eyes shifting to the left like she was already preparing for your heartbreak.

“You’re smart,” she’d say. “You could be a lawyer. You could be anything…else.”

Your sisters were no help either. Both older, both terrifyingly cool. At dinner, the conversation always veered toward their lives.

“Sarah’s studying for her MCATs.”

“Caroline made homecoming court.”

Sarah was in college already, pre-med. She had a boyfriend who drove a Jeep and wore cologne that made the whole house smell like a department store. She wore real makeup and never got pimples. Caroline, the middle one, was a senior at your high school and acted like she didn’t know you in the hallways. She had perfect hair, long and glossy and always curled just right. She was in student council, dated boys on the football team, and once said that drama club was “just for weird kids who don’t get invited to parties.”

The first day of drama club was held in the small black box theatre tucked behind the gym, where the lights always flickered and everything smelled like dust and stage paint. You sat in the second row, because the first row felt too eager and the third row was already filled with girls in varsity jackets who’d done Broadway Bootcamp over the summer. You tucked your hands in your lap and tried not to bite your nails.

And then a girl walked in.

Late, obviously. Freckles. Rectangle glasses. Short auburn ponytail. The sleeves of her hoodie were too long, dragging over her fingers. She wore a Spider-Man backpack, one of those bright red ones with the cartoon eyes, and scuffed-up black converse that looked like they hadn’t survived a single day of middle school without battle scars. No makeup, no notebook, and no damn clue where she was supposed to sit

The teacher pointed her towards the empty chair beside you without a word. She dropped into it with a thud, one leg bouncing under the seat, and gave you a quick little smile. Shy. Crooked. Nervous.

That’s when Mrs. Dalton, your drama teacher, clapped her hands and said something terrifying, “Let’s start with the name game!”

Everyone groaned.

She made you go around the circle. Say your name, a hobby, and then—horrifyingly—“Hold hands with the person next to you while you say it. Acting is about connection!”

You wanted to vanish. When it got to you, your cheeks were already burning.

“Um. I’m—uh—I’m…” you stammered.

“Louder, please,” Mrs. Dalton prompted.

“I’m Y/N. I like musicals. And… I dunno. I have a cat.”

There was a little polite fake laugh from the group. You turned to Ellie. Her green eyes went wide for a second, like you’d passed her a live wire. And then—slowly—she held out her hand.

God, it was sweaty. Yours too. You both laughed quietly under your breath.

“I’m… I’m Ellie,” she said, voice scratchy like she hadn’t used it all day. “I like comic books.

And that was it.

You liked her right away in that instant, safe way girls sometimes find each other when they’re young and dorky and alone in a too-bright school with tile floors and slamming lockers.

You squeezed her hand, just slightly.

“Nice to meet you, Ellie.”

You early noticed that Ellie was like nobody else.

She couldn’t sit still for more than a second—always fidgeting, bouncing her leg, interrupting herself mid-sentence to chase some new thought. She didn’t care about boys or lip gloss or whatever shoes were trending. She liked the things boys liked, carried herself like she didn’t notice or didn’t care who was watching. Once, her shirt rode up when she stretched, and you caught a glimpse of Superman boxers hanging loose on her hips. You remembered blinking, your curiosity sparking sharp and sudden like maybe there was a whole universe inside her you didn’t understand yet, but wanted to.

Two weeks after those first drama club afternoons—smiling at each other in the hallways, passing notes instead of real conversations—you finally sat together in the cafeteria and actually talked. You asked where she was from, and she told you, matter-of-fact, that it was her first year here because she and her dad had just moved after the accident. No sisters, no brothers—just Joel. Her mom had died in a car crash last year, and she said it like she was filling out a school form, clear and steady, not a flicker in her voice. But you saw it anyway, in the way she didn’t quite look at you when she said it, in the way her thumb kept worrying the edge of her tray.

“Joel’s cool,” she added, shrugging, “You should come over after school if you want. We can watch Marvel movies or…something.”

And just like that, with those green eyes and a lopsided grin, she cracked your whole world open.

You became the kind of girls that got shushed during warmups.

The kind that whispered through tongue twisters and giggled through breathing exercises, who were always caught mouthing the wrong lines during someone else’s scene. The kind that stayed after class to “rehearse,” only to end up curled sideways on the prop couch with your heads pressed together, talking about life and movies and dreams.

You always sat together in class, in the back row, whispering commentary during boring lectures and pretending to take notes when really you were writing fake movie scripts in the margins of your notebooks. You shared your snacks. She gave you her hoodie when you forgot yours and never asked for it back. You even had your own handshake.

By November, you weren’t just best friends. You were limbs tangled in a heap on the auditorium floor after rehearsals, breathless from laughter. You were secrets whispered behind the curtain, gum shared under the risers, matching doodles in the corners of each other’s binders. She always carried an extra sharpie, and everyday you both drew something stupid on your arms—stars, a frog, dumbass in messy block letters. Neither of you washed it off.

By December, there was no you without her. You didn’t sit anywhere unless she was already there, kicking her feet against the table leg, saving you a seat with her backpack. You didn’t walk to class without her shoulder brushing yours. She didn’t go to the library unless you tagged along.

She made stupid jokes every two seconds and talked about Superheroes like they were real and the best thing in the world, debated why Andrew was a better Spiderman than Tobey with her whole chest, and made you rank the movies on a napkin at lunch. You instead talked about musicals—The Last Five Years, Waitress, Hamilton—and she’d pretend to hate them but knew all the songs.

One afternoon, when rehearsal ended early and she was walking you home, you asked, “Okay, but if you don’t like musicals, why are you even in drama club?”

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected you to call her out.

“I like acting,” she said with a shrug. “But like, dramas. Serious shit. Not all the singing stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow. Ellie. Serious. Yeah, sure.

She groaned. “Okay, fine, the main reason was because I wanted to make friends. Happy?”

You smiled, eyes soft. “Did it work?”

She looked at you for a second. Then grinned, crooked and sheepish.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think it did.”

She tried to educate you on what she called “real music,” rolling her eyes at your room full of Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift CD's before handing you a stack of Joel-approved essentials — Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, Pearl Jam. One afternoon she even played guitar for you in her garage, perching on an amp like she was at the Michigan Stadium. It was objectively terrible; her fingers stumbled over the frets, her voice cracked on the high notes of Stairway to Heaven, but you’d clapped like she’d just won a grammy and told her, “I’m sure you were a rockstar in your past life.”

She’d rolled her eyes and muttered, “...You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

Then smiled like maybe she didn’t mind.

You told her about your mom, about how she always said it was just a phase. You told her about your sisters, how they never saw you as anything but the weird one with too many dreams and too little chill.

You told her you wanted to be an actress. Like, a real actress. Capital A. The kind who gets her own trailer and the biggest line on the poster, the kind who cries on cue and wins Oscars and thanks her high school drama teacher in her speech.

She tilted her head at you, fingers laced behind her neck, one foot thrown lazily over the arm of the couch. The overhead lights buzzed, but in that quiet little pocket of the world, it felt like the only thing that existed was her gaze—steady, unreadable, resting right on you.

She looked at you like none of it was embarrassing. Not the dream. Not the barbie notebook stuffed with movie ideas. Not your pink braces or your crooked glasses or the pimple that had just appeared in the middle of your forehead. She looked at you like it all made sense, like maybe you could actually do it.

“You’re gonna be famous one day,” she said. “And I’m gonna tell people I knew you before you were cool.”

You rolled your eyes. “So you don’t think I’m cool now?”

“You’re cool in, like… a deeply tragic loser kind of way.”

You hurled a throw pillow at her head. She caught it, laughed, and pulled you down onto the couch with her in retaliation. You ended up tangled in a heap, breathless and cackling, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

“I don’t believe in God,” she then said, voice low. “But maybe I believe in fate. Especially if fate’s pretty and knows every lyric to City of Stars.”

Your face went hot immediately. You tried to scoff, but she just grinned, smug and soft all at once, like she knew exactly what she’d done.

And in that moment—pressed against the cushions, your hair static-stuck to her shirt, your cheeks aching from smiling—it hit you.

It didn’t matter what your mom said. Or what your sisters thought. Or how invisible you felt most of the time.

Because someone finally believed in you.

Not out of obligation. Not out of kindness.

Just because she did.

It happened on a Tuesday. Two weeks after you turned fifteen and right after fifth period. You were halfway through blocking Act II, Scene 4—the scene with the kiss.

Originally, your scene partner was supposed to be Jackson Mullins, a sophomore with a fake mustache he definitely drew on with eyeliner and a tendency to say “line?” every ten seconds like it was part of the script. But he wasn’t there. He’d skipped rehearsal to go to his cousin’s birthday or something, and Mrs. Dalton—already ten seconds from full meltdown—rubbed her temples and asked if anyone could just step in so we can please move forward today, thank you.

Ellie raised her hand immediately. Way too fast, like her elbow had launched on instinct.

“I’ll do it!” she said, voice higher than usual. “I... I mean—if that’s cool. Or, like… not weird.”

She then blinked at you through her glasses.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Yeah. Sure. Cool.”

Your voice cracked on cool.

Everyone assumed you’d skip the kiss, that’s what most people did. Block the scene, wave vaguely at the kiss line, mutter we’ll add it later, and move on. No big deal.

But that afternoon, something felt… different. The air buzzed, the stage lights were too warm, the script pages in your hand felt heavier than usual. When Ellie stepped into Jackson’s spot, her hoodie sleeves half-covering her fingers, eyes wide, chewing on the inside of her cheek, you didn’t want to pretend.

The script said: She moves in close. Then, with a pause—she kisses him.

Your palms were sweating and so were hers. You could see it.

And still—you reached out.

Ellie’s breath caught. She smelled like cinnamon gum and that exact kind of Axe deodorant boys wore in middle school, except it didn’t bother you. It smelled like her. And she was standing so still. She didn’t even blink when your fingers brushed the sides of her face.

You leaned in without even thinking.

Your noses bumped and your lips landed crooked and too soft. It was quick, awkward, sticky. You forgot to close your eyes. She gasped—literally gasped—like someone had spoiled the ending of her favorite movie. Then she jumped back, hand flying to her mouth.

Silence. Total, all-consuming silence.

The entire cast stared. The sound of a water bottle dropping from someone’s lap echoed like a gunshot. Mrs. Dalton’s mouth was halfway open. Even the tech crew peeked out from behind the curtain.

Ellie stood frozen, then she blurted out, “Thatwasmyfirstkiss.”

The words came out like one breath, fast and panicked, and the second she realized she’d said them out loud her hands flew up to cover her face.

“Oh my God, that was—sorry. That was dumb. I shouldn’t’ve said that. That’s so dumb, right? I just—uh—yeah. Sorry.”

You blinked as your heart was hammering. You could still feel the ghost of it—your lips on hers, the way she smelled, how warm her cheeks were under your fingertips.

“D-don’t worry,” you said quickly. “It was just for the scene. I don't know why I did it.”

A lie. Not to hurt her, just to protect the moment. To not make it worse.

But she looked at you, a little too long. A second passed—then two—before she nodded, eyes flicking down to her converse.

“Right,” she said softly. “Yeah. Totally. Scene stuff.”

Mrs. Dalton clapped her hands once, too loud. “Okay! Great work, girls. Let’s… move on to Scene 5, please."

After the kiss, things with Ellie were a little… different. Not bad or weird, just tight. Like a string pulled between you that neither of you wanted to tug on too hard. You still sat together every day and shared oreos and playlists and whispered about the drama club mean girls like nothing had changed. But there was something in the air now. Charged. Floaty. The moment before lightning.

She’d brush your hand when passing you a pen, and your skin would sizzle like she'd pressed a lighter to it. She’d laugh at something you said—really laugh, full-body, head thrown back—and your stomach would do this horrible, fluttery thing that made you want to throw up and kiss her at the same time. You’d catch her looking at you sometimes when you weren’t doing anything special—just tying your shoe, or doodling mandalas in the margins of your papers—and your face would flush so hard it made your ears ring.

You told yourself it was nothing.

You didn’t like girls. Right?

But the truth was, you’d never liked boys, either. You’d never daydreamed about kissing them or held your phone waiting for texts or felt anything when they smiled at you in the hallway. You used to think you just hadn’t met the right one yet. That your crush would come like a lightning bolt.

Unlike you, Ellie had always known she liked girls.

It wasn’t dramatic or difficult or complicated. It was just the truth. It was there when she saw Megan Fox bend over the hood of that yellow Camaro in Transformers, her whole body going still in the living room as unknown tingles curled in her lower belly. It was there when she developed an impossible crush on her sixth-grade biology teacher. When she realized she liked girls in tank tops and girls in band tees and girls who would never, ever like her back — and she’d carried it with her like a secret she never thought was shameful, only inevitable.

But when it came to you? It was different.

You made her feel fuzzy and stupid, like her chest was too small for her heart. Like the world narrowed every time you said her name. You made her feel like maybe being fifteen and confused and nervous was the best thing that could ever happen to a person.

She stayed up all night sometimes, filling her notebook with dumb little comics of you and her. She’d draw herself as Spiderman and you as Gwen Stacy, swinging between buildings, saving you in the nick of time, being impossibly cool — at least on paper. She’d kick her feet while she sketched the upside-down kiss, giggling like a crazy person, erasing and redrawing your smile until it looked just right.

One time Joel walked in without knocking, and she panicked so hard she literally chucked the notebook across the room like it was about to incriminate her in court, then immediately leaned back in her chair in the most unnatural, “I’m totally just chilling” pose the world had ever seen. Joel just gave her a long, confused look, shook his head, and scoffed like he didn’t even want to know.

One night, at a sleepover, you were lying side by side on her bed, both in old pajamas, your legs tangled under the blanket. The lights were off, just the soft orange glow of her lava lamp filling the room, and your arms were barely brushing. You’d been talking about nothing until there was a charged pause.

Very softly, Ellie asked, “Have you ever… liked a boy?”

You swallowed. “I…I don’t think so.”

There was a long silence as you felt her breath shift beside you.

“Like, like liked?” you added. “No, you?”

Ellie exhaled as a little laugh slipped out. “Hell nah.”

You waited. Then you whispered, like it was a secret passed under a pillow.

“Is that… weird? I mean, girls our age are fucking them.”

“I mean, I don’t think it's weird." She laughed, nervous, small. "It's just the way... we are. There's nothing wrong with it, right?”

You turned your head to look at her, and she was already looking at you. Your faces were close. Too close. Not close enough.

You could see her freckles in the dark, the way her mouth parted like she wanted to say more. But she didn’t. Neither did you.

You didn’t know if you liked girls. You just knew you maybe liked Ellie. Her smile. Her jokes. The way she said your name. The way she tapped her pencil against her nose when she was thinking. The way she looked at you sometimes behind her glasses, like you were something more than just her best friend, and how much that scared you, and how much you wanted it anyway.

It was so pure, so naive. A little clumsy, a lot of heart.

But still — you couldn't be in love with your best friend. You were just fifteen. You still wrote your i’s with hearts. You were still figuring everything out. And you couldn't fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to you just by being confused... right?

But the inevitable happened on the opening night, months later.

The curtain was scratchy velvet and the stage lights were blinding, the whole auditorium smelled like hairspray and old wood. You’d spent the entire afternoon in the girls' bathroom with a hot curling iron and glittery eyeshadow, reciting your lines in the mirror until someone banged on the stall door and yelled “five minutes!”

Jackson had come down with the flu three days before opening. Typical. Left the whole production in chaos and Mrs. Dalton nearly cried in the hallway.

But Ellie—Ellie, who had been helping with props and lights and knew every line by heart just from being around—offered to step in. She’d shrugged and said, “I mean, I’ve seen the play like a hundred times. How hard can it be?” She’d spent every lunch since then cramming monologues with you in the corner of the cafeteria, script pages stuffed between your trays of pizza and chocolate milk.

She was so nervous that night. She tried to hide it, but she kept tugging at her costume collar and muttering things like “Do I look like a ghost? I think I look like a ghost,” and “If I forget my line, just, like, improvise. Or faint. Fainting’s dramatic, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “You look fine.”

“Fine?” she gasped. “I was going for devastatingly handsome.”

“You look like a Shakespeare nerd lost in a thrift store.”

She grinned, cheeks flushed under the warm buzz of backstage light. “God, thank you. That’s literally the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

The show went perfectly. Better than perfect. You remembered every line, every cue. Ellie stumbled once and called a chandelier a “lamp-thingy” by accident, and it made the audience laugh right on cue, and Mrs. Dalton whispered “genius” like she’d planned it.

Under the amber stage lights came the slow dance. Just the two of you, swaying in time to the quiet swell of strings, her hand on your waist, your fingers laced with hers. The backdrop faded. The audience blurred. All you could feel was her—warm and nervous and whispering the lyrics under her breath like a secret only you were meant to hear.

The kiss scene was late in the second act. The theater was hushed. Every spotlight was on you. The music swelled, soft and slow, just like you’d rehearsed.

You stepped toward her.

Ellie’s hands were shaking. You could feel it when you reached for them, pulling her closer. Her eyes were huge and terrified and starry, and you mouthed it’s okay just before your lips met hers.

This time, you got it right. Your noses didn’t bump. Your eyes closed exactly when they should. The whole auditorium exhaled with you.

And right there, forehead to forehead, breath shared between words you weren’t even acting anymore, it hit you like a line you hadn’t rehearsed.

You were in love. Real, actual, heart-thudding, word-stumbling love. And from the way Ellie looked at you—like you were the scene and the spotlight and the whole damn play—you were pretty sure she knew it too.

The audience exploded when the curtain fell. Parents clapping, people cheering, Mrs. Dalton actually wiping a tear under her little glasses. You searched the crowd, heart in your throat.

Joel was in the third row, standing on his feet, clapping harder than anyone. Big proud-dad smile on his face like he’d just watched his own kid win the Super Bowl.

Your mom didn’t come, neither did your sisters. But somehow, that didn’t sting as much as it used to. Not with Ellie beside you, grinning with glitter smudged on her cheek, hands still warm in yours.

Backstage, amid the chaos of costume changes and crumpled programs and half-finished water bottles, Mrs. Dalton talked to the principal. Her voice was low but firm, sharp in that way only theatre teachers could pull off when defending a choice they knew was right.

You didn't know it but apparently a few parents had already filed complaints. Said it was “inappropriate” to have two girls kissing in a school production. Said it wasn’t “family-friendly.” The principal mumbled something about context and community expectations, but Mrs. Dalton only crossed her arms and said, clear as day, “They’ll have to get used to it.” And that was that. She walked back inside with her head high and gave you and Ellie the proudest smile either of you had ever seen.

You noticed Ellie was standing weird when she came inside your dressing room after knocking. Her shoulders were drawn up tight, chin dipped, her weight rocking almost imperceptibly on the balls of her feet. She’d changed into those too-big pants she always wore some minutes ago, the ones that swallowed her whole, and she had her fists shoved so deep into the pockets it looked like she was trying to disappear into them entirely.

Her glasses kept sliding down the bridge of her nose. She didn’t push them up the usual way with her index, but with the side of her knuckle, like she couldn’t risk unclenching her hands. A small, jittery motion, over and over.

You turned slightly in your chair, wiping the last bit of stage makeup from under your eye, yapping without really thinking like you always did. “You did really well on stage, Ells! Seriously, I think Mrs. Dalton is gonna want us to do, like, waaay more plays together after this. You were totally in character the whole time, and—”

Ellie wasn’t listening to a single word you were saying. She was too busy staring at you, the way the yellow bulb above the mirror caught in your hair, the way your face always made her feel weirdly punched in the chest, as if some ghost pressed its hand into it.

You’d always been beautiful to her, since the first time she saw you.

Not in the way people said it casually, but in the way that kept her up at night. Dreaming about you so much it almost felt like a sickness, wishing you’d stop looking at her like she was just your friend and start looking at her like she was something you could maybe want. She wanted to kiss you again. God, she wanted that so bad her hands were still shoved in her pockets so she wouldn’t do something stupid like reach for you, but before she could even—

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Your brain stalled, the makeup wipe freezing mid-swipe. Your jaw dropped just a little bit as your head turned sharply toward her. Ellie’s eyes then went huge, wide, green and panicked like she hadn’t meant to say that, the words had slipped out by accident, tripped over her tongue and tumbled into the air before she could stop them.

“I—shit—no, wait, that’s not what I meant, I didn't mean to say that— I mean, I do like you. Like like. A tiny amount. A normal, non-psychotic, totally chill person who definitely wasn’t thinking about how your laugh makes me feel like I’m standing under a stage light—oh my God, I fucked up so bad—”

You blinked and stepped forward, your heart threatening to jump out of your chest from the force of its beat. “Ellie.”

“You probably think I’m just some creepy obsessed dyke now—”

“Ellie.”

“I mean I do like you, but like a normal crush. My brain did a stage dive.”

“Ellie.”

Her mouth finally clamped shut as you reached out, your hand going to her warm freckled cheek.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

She stared at you. “Wait. Like... actual love love? Or are you just saying that because I blacked out and confessed like a total loser?”

You laughed, cheeks burning too. “I said it for real, dumbass."

Her whole face turned red. She looked like her brain had blue-screened, like her Gay Windows XP had a shutdown. And then, very softly, in a voice like she was trying not to explode: “…cool. Coolcoolcool.”

You snorted.

She blinked, like she needed to reboot again.

“So like… um…” She cleared her throat and scratched the back of her neck. “Would you wanna—do you wanna, maybe… be my girlfriend?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

Her face dropped. “Wait—fuck, no—I didn’t mean like—shit, I made it weird again, didn’t I—”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you interrupted, smile so big it made your jaw hurt.

Her mouth dropped open. She blinked again as her even her ears turned red.

“Wait—for real?” she whispered. “Like… seriously? You’re not just saying that to be nice? Oh my god, you’re gonna realize later this was a mistake and dump me in the cafeteria and I’ll have to transfer schools and—”

You just leaned in and kissed her. Quick and soft, just enough to make her shut up.

Her hands stayed awkwardly at her sides for a beat too long before they finally floated up, hesitant, brushing your elbows.

“Wow... I have a girlfriend…I think I’m gonna die.”

You laughed. “You’re not gonna die.”

“I am. But like, in a good way.”

“𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒘 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 / 𝑻𝒐 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 —” — 𝑬𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝑫𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒆

𝐘ou sit back in the chair, legs elegantly crossed beneath the gentle cascade of your black velvet dress, the slit high enough to catch the glimmer of studio lights with every subtle movement. A thin microphone is clipped to your collarbone, delicate as jewelry. Across from you, the interviewer leafs through her notes with practiced grace, her smile gentle, professional.

And then—like it’s merely another item on her agenda, just another piece of trivia—

“So, you’re dating Chris now… but who was your first love?”

You hesitate. Your smile doesn’t fully blossom—just lingers there, ghostly, like a memory tucked between the pages of a cherished book.

“...My first love?” you echo, voice softer and deeper now. It had traveled a long way to get here. “I was fourteen.”

Your gaze drifts slightly off-camera, as if you’re observing something invisible to others. “It was very important to me.”

A pause stretches. The interviewer leans forward slightly.

“And… how did it end?”

Your hand shifts against the satin armrest. Sitting a bit a bit taller, shoulders drawn back like a shield. Yet your eyes lower, just for a moment. Just long enough to reveal something—grief, guilt, perhaps a blend of both.

“Uh…”

You clear your throat, smile thinning to a fragile thread.

“Can we… change the question?”

𝐄llie reclines in the chair, one boot casually hooked on the stool's rung, her fingers idly twisting the silver ring on her thumb. Her short hair is tousled, pushed back with a carefree ease, as if she had just stepped out of the rain or simply skipped the mirror. She wears a faded black shirt rolled up to her elbows, and jeans that fit just right. Ink traces her forearm, faintly visible under the lights.

Her posture is relaxed, but her eyes tell a different story.

The interviewer��s voice is warm and manly. “So, Dina is your first public relationship. But… was there someone before?”

For a moment, Ellie remains silent, pressing her thumb against the ring, watching it spin. Then, without the usual smirk that cushions her truths, she replies quietly:

“I had a big someone before,” she says, voice raspy but softer than the room around them. “She was like… my first everything.”

A shift in the atmosphere, the kind that goes unnoticed by those not paying close attention.

“And what happened?”

She raises her gaze just enough to meet the question, then lets it fall again. Her expression flickers—something unnameable dances through it like a breeze behind a curtain. The usual sharpness of her jaw softens. Her lips part, then close again. She almost speaks, but hesitates.

And when she finally finds her voice,

“I’d rather not respond.”

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OHHH MY GOD. i’m so, so excited for this new chapter, this whole new era of writing we’re stepping into. i genuinely can’t believe i’m launching myself into actually starting this series, but here we are. i won’t lie, i feel a lot of pressure, but it’s the good kind, the kind that means i care so much about making it special for you. i’m so ready for you to follow me into this new journey that is unscripted, to build this world together the way we did before. it makes me so happy to be writing a series again, and even happier to be doing it with you. love you all endlessly <3

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓— @talyaisvalslutsoldier @miajooz @andieprincessofpower @mayfldss @sunflowerwinds @coastalwilliams @thinkingabtellie @ssijht @pariiissssssss @liddy333 @sewithinsouls @beeisscaredofbees @d1catwhisperer @the-sick-habit @elliescoquettegirl @elliewilliams-wife @yueluv3rrrr @your-eternal-muse @ellies-real-wife @katherinesmirnova @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @thxtmarvelchick @natscloset @lesbiansreverywhere @2against3 @wwefan2002 @ilahrawr @harmonib @piastorys @azteriarizz @starincarnated @natssgf @ukissmyfaceinacrowdedroom @iadorefineshyt @claudiajacobs @urmomssideh0e @kingofeyeliner @womenlover0 @ferxanda @marscardigan @elliewilliamsloverrrrrrrr @bambi-luvs @maru0uu @mikellie @gold-dustwomxn @nramv @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @les4elliewilliams @elliewilliamskisser2000 @azxteria @elliecoochieeater @doodl3b3ans @savagestarlight28 ࿐

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saltysbiscuits · 2 days ago

Text

Silence Isn't Golden

Saja boys x reader

Warnings: Omegaverse, poly relationships, female reader, eventual smut, MDNI 18+

*Italicized is for the reader's thoughts. A/N: I know, I know- It's not the heat chapter quite yet. I'm sorry! I had some things I wanted to get out of the way with Rumi before that chapter. Next chapter will be the Reader's heat, I promise! And I've already started writing it so, soon! Not proofread! Sorry if there are any mistakes!

Previous - Next

Chapter 5.

Rumi walks down the quiet streets, her hoodie pulled all the way up so no one recognizes her, but she wouldn’t care if they did. Not right now. All she can think of is how you were probably with the demons now, how it jeopardizes the Honmoon. Everything feels so wrong like her life was falling apart. She wants you to be happy, really she does, but to jeopardize the Honmoon… and her chance to be normal? She won’t let that happen. She fiddles with a bracelet on her wrist; one you made her way you guys were kids and one of the only things Celine let her have that was remotely connected to you.

She growls to herself, her patterns pulsing along her arms. It was all falling apart. She watches the Honmoon flash red and continues down the street. The instant the girls found you were gone; they all immediately set out to find where the Saja Boys live though none of them had any luck yet. She startles when her phone rings and she quickly answers it. “Any luck yet?” Mira’s voice comes over the phone, irritated and tired. “No… Rumi we need sleep, the fan signing is tomorrow, we can look again after.” Zoey’s joined the call on Mira’s end. “Yeah Rumi, we’re going to be useless if we’re exhausted.”

Rumi really doesn’t want to agree, she wants to continue, but they are right. “Alright… Let’s head back to the tower for now. I’ll see you guys there.” She hangs up the call and takes a deep breath. She will find you and then she’ll keep you safe and away from the demons. She heads back to the apartment, taking down several demons on her way. She stops halfway back and detours. Her patterns are too noticeable right now, too alive. It makes her feel disgusting and useless. She can’t protect the Honmoon when she has the very things that make her the enemy.

She climbs up several houses and sits down on a roof overlooking the city. It’s gorgeous, the way the lights reflect in the night sky. “I want you to be happy ___... I really do, but your happiness… It’s the very thing I’ve been told is evil, the thing I must destroy for the good of the word. To banish Gwi-ma and all demons forever, to be rid of my patterns… I know you’ll hate me, I know and I’m so sorry… S-so sorry for what I must do.” She curls up on herself and sobs, her shoulders shaking as she cries. Her happiness will cause one of her sisters to suffer and that weight is so heavy on her shoulders.

She cries and cries before her sobs dissolve into sniffles. She looks at the city again, her eyes puffy from crying. The Honmoon ripples blue, but the large red spots show the weak spots caused by the demons ___ is bonded to. She sniffles again, wiping her face with her sleeve, she will do what needs to be done and it will hurt. She knows it’ll tear her and ___ apart, but for the safety of the world and… selfishly herself, she’ll do it. She finally stands and casts one more look at the city view before hopping off the roof. She takes her time heading back to the tower, relishing in the quiet night, allowing herself to think about everything she must do. “Alright, fan signing tomorrow… idol awards… I can do this; we can do this.” Though her tone was confident, a flicker of doubt flickered in her heart. When she finally enters the tower it’s past midnight and she quietly slips in, hoping Mira and Zoey are asleep. They’re not. She winces when she sees them sitting up on the couch like angry parents when their teenager comes home too late. “Where the hell have you been? It’s past midnight and we spoke over two hours ago.” She sighs and sits next to them. “I know… I just need a minute to process everything.” They could see how heavy something was weighing on her shoulders. Zoey and Mira each take up a spot on either side of her and squish her into a hug. “Yeah, but the great part is, you don’t have to do it alone.” Zoey whispers quietly, resting her head on Rumi’s shoulder. “We’re here for you Rumi. I may be gruff around the edges, but you know I’ll always listen to what’s on your mind.”

Rumi usually never shows her emotions in front of them, it makes her too vulnerable, and her patterns always act up. She can’t help herself this time though, she starts crying. “I… I d-don’t want to hurt ___... E-everything we’ve been working for… i-it’ll tear her in pieces…” Mira and Zoey look at each other and hug Rumi tighter. “Maybe we can find a way to undo the bond? Maybe Celine would know?” Zoey suggests quietly, rubbing circles on Rumi’s back. Mira gives Zoey a flat look. “We know what she would say. Your faults and fears must never be seen. She’d tell us to ignore all distractions and do what must be done to complete the golden Honmoon.”

Once Rumi calms down Zoey moves to make some warm tea, setting the kettle on the stove. “Don’t worry, Rumi. We’ll figure something out.” Mira nods, agreeing with Zoey. “Yeah, maybe there’s even a way to break the bond?” Rumi pauses, thinking about something for a moment. “You know, there might be something at Celine’s house. There was always an attic room she never let me in, saying it was too dangerous and full of old stuff. Maybe she kept something up there?”

Zoey walks back over to the couch, balancing three cups of tea. “Great! We should go visit her after the fan signing tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll find something.” She sets Mira’s and Rumi’s tea on the table before sipping her own. They sit in silence before Rumi stands. “We should get some sleep; it’ll be a busy day tomorrow.” She gives them both a half-smile and heads to her room.

Once her door closes, Mira and Zoey look at each other. “There is more she’s not telling us.” Zoey nods, sipping her tea again. “Yeah… I don’t know why she won’t just tell us.” Mira scoffs, standing. “She doesn’t trust us with it… whatever it is. But it doesn’t really matter, we can’t do anything about it. Let’s just get some sleep.” Mira heads to her room as Zoey cleans up the tea before also heading to her room.

Rumi sighs, walking out onto her balcony. “Breaking the bond… I wonder if it is possible. That way, it’ll save ___ the pain of being separated from those demons when we seal the golden Honmoon.” She leans on the railing, glancing down at the weak spots in the Honmoon. “Just a little bit longer… then I’ll be normal. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Hey! That’s my spoon.” Baby snaps, lunging at Mystery over the counter. Abby stands in front of the stove, stirring some rice in a pot. “It’s just a spoon you two.” Romance glances over at the drama as he cuts several different vegetables for the soup Abby is making. “No, it’s war.” Baby growls, trying to grab the spoon from Mystery.

Mystery just smiles and moves over to you, gently slipping the spoon in your mouth. “Good?” He asks softly. The flavors of the soup blend into a rich and creamy taste. You nod, smiling at him. “V-very.” Abby grins in pride, turning to face you. You nearly fall off the stool you’re on from laughing. He’s wearing a pink apron that says, ‘Mr. Good Looking Is Cooking’. “You hear that? She likes my soup!” “Your apron is stupid, and it’s our soup. We’re helping too.” Baby scowls at Abby, grabbing a new spoon from the drawer. Romance shakes his head, a smile on his face as he dumps the veggies from his cutting board into the pot, while Jinu measures the amount of seasoning needed. You sit on a stool by the fridge, watching them all in amusement and love. The bickering, the simplicity, you can feel the bond thrumming in happiness. If only the stupid suppressants would wear off, then the bond can truly be complete. You shake yourself out of your thoughts when you hear a crash. Baby had successfully crashed into Jinu who was putting seasoning in the soup… now the soup is on the floor. You blink in shock; Baby is squished under Jinu who looks absolutely pissed at Baby. “NOT THE SOUP! “BABY!” “WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” Romance, Jinu, and Abby all yell out as their hard work ends up on the floor. You wince, covering your ears as they all yell at once. Mystery appears behind you and covers you hands with his. "Enough!"

That’s enough for everyone to stop. Mystery never raises his voice. As soon as they see you with your ears covered, they immediately look like a bunch of kicked puppies. “Sorry…” Jinu looks like he might cry. He walks over and hugs you, pressing your face to his shoulder. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have yelled like that.” Mystery steps back and helps Baby up, letting Jinu have his moment. You wrap your arms around Jinu and inhale his scent. He smells like a library. “I-it’ss… okay..” You stutter out, not wanting him to feel guilty. “Let’s just order pizza. We can make soup another day.” Abby picks up the soup pot, setting it on the stove before tossing a cloth at Baby. “You’re cleaning up the mess though.” “What? Hell no-“ He starts protesting, but Romance makes a ‘tsk’ sound and walks away. “Nope, not helping you. You made the mess; you clean it up.” Mystery sits on the counter, dialing the number of a random pizza place and you sigh, relaxing into Jinu’s embrace. ‘He’s comfy…’ You think to yourself and before you can stop it, you yawn. With a smile, Jinu picks you up and moves to the living room. “You can take a nap baby. We’ll wake you when the pizza gets here.” All the boys move into the living room after Baby finishes cleaning the kitchen. They all just gravitate towards you. “Look at her, so peaceful.” Mystery purrs, the sound echoing in the room as he sits down next to you and Jinu. Baby plops on the other side and lays over, his head resting on your lap. “No fair.” Romance whines, pouting as he sits on the floor close to you. Abby just chuckles and sits in the chair opposite the couch, stretching out.

It's only half an hour before the pizza arrives, but when the pizza delivery driver knocks everyone jumps. You shift, yawning softly as you wake, glancing over as Romance answers the door and pays for the pizza. “Foods here.” He came back with 5 boxes of pizza. You look at it with wide eyes. “F-five?” Abby winks already opening a box. “What can we say? We need our fuel.” Baby is off to the side of the room looking intently at his phone, not even paying attention to the pizza. Mystery snatches three pieces of pizza from Abby’s box before disappearing again, smirking to himself. You shift and look to see what kind of pizza they have. “Ch-cheese.” You mumble softly as you open the box and take a piece out. As you eat you keep looking over at Baby, wondering what he has on his phone that’s so interesting. He eventually notices you look and walks over. “So, HUNTR/X is having their fan signing tomorrow.” They all go still. The plan had been to crash it, but now... They all glance at you then back at each other. “It’s fine, we can skip it. It won’t make much of a difference.” Until it did. Suddenly with a flash of light all the boys were gone. You drop your pizza and freeze, glancing around. The bond tugs painfully, almost panicked. “W-where…” You look around in a panic, fear creeping up your spine. They were gone. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Far below the Honmoon. “You dare defy me, Jinu?” Jinu freezes, slowly turning to face Gwi-ma. “You think your little mate is safe from me? I want the Honmoon broken, you will go to that ‘fan sign’ you will take more of HUNTR/X fans. Do I make myself clear?” Jinu glances behind him, the other boys are at the bottom of Gwi-ma’s altar looking just as distraught as he feels. “Do not think I cannot reach your mate. She is bound to you, and you are mine.” Jinu’s mind was racing. It’s true, they had all forgotten their purpose for being in their human disguises when they found ___. If Gwi-ma hurt one hair on her head… “Alright. We’ll go, but don’t touch her. Please.” Gwi-ma chuckles, his flame growing brighter. “Ah, Jinu. Reduced to begging. Do not forget what happened to the last people you loved. You. Left. Them.” Jinu cried out, clutching his head as visions of his mother and sister flash through his mind. “Do as I wish, destroy the Honmoon, the hunters, and she will be yours. Fail me, and I will feast on her soul.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As quickly as it happened, they were back. All of them gasping, cheeks wet as they shudder. The visions Gwi-ma forced into their heads were anything but pleasant. They all take a long moment to get their bearings again before they realize you’re gone. “Where did she go?!” A thud from the other room causes all of them to rush down the hallway. After they disappeared, you started searching every room in panic. “Darling?!” “Sweetheart!?” You stumble out of a storage room, looking at them with wide eyes like they were your whole world.

You immediately rush towards them, Baby darting forward and pulling you into a crushing hug closely followed by the others. You tremble in the middle of the group hug; when you realized your hearing was gone you had been so scared they had left you. Abby wraps around you from behind, cocooning you between him and Baby. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know that was probably really scary, but we’d never leave you, okay?” Abby presses several kisses to the top of your head while Baby nuzzles into your neck. Romance takes one of your hands and presses kisses to each finger. “Your ours darling. We’ll always keep you safe.” Mystery scoots closer and just starts purring, hoping to sooth your nerves. Jinu stans off to the side, eyes looking at you, but his mind is miles away. ‘Gwi-ma… the fan signing so close to her first heat, it’s asking for trouble.’ Jinu growls under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he quietly slips away to think. “It’ll be fine… The fan signing will only last a few hours and then we can come right back. ___ won’t be left alone very long.” He looks out the penthouse window, his human disguise falling away, leaving him with glowing eyes and purple skin with his demon patterns. “I won’t let anything happen to her. Not so long as I’m alive.”

The next morning is slow and lazy. Abby makes some eggs for breakfast, Romance makes some heart shape toast, Baby gets several different drinks for everyone to choose from, Mystery keeps himself close to you either purring or just lightly brushing his shoulder against yours. After everything that happened last night, they refuse to leave you alone, not that you’re complaining. When everyone sits down for breakfast Jinu enters, looking tired and drained. When breakfast is ready and everyone sits down to eat, Jinu stands. “So, ___... Me and the boys are going to have to leave this afternoon. It’s only for a few hours, but… you must stay here, okay? With only twenty-four hours max until your heat starts, we don’t want you wandering around.” Baby leans on the table, poking his eggs. “We don’t want to go either, but we have to.” You look at all of them, there was something different. ‘They’re not telling me something… I don’t want to push though; they might get angry.’ You take a deep breath and nod. “O-okay. Be safe?” Abby leans over and kisses your cheek, before cupping your face in his hands. “We’ll be fine, sweetheart. It’s you we’re worried about.” Romance whimpers quietly, scooting his chair closer so he can hug you. “We’ll feel if you need us darling. The bond is strong enough now, anything you feel, we also get twinges of.” “Just… stay in the penthouse. There are other demons who… who would want to try and get to you when your heat starts.” Mystery whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. With a surge of warmth, your cheeks flush at their concern and you nod. “Promise.” Everyone goes back to their breakfast, Baby and Romance bickering about the last piece of toast, Abby watching them in amusement as Mystery takes the last piece of toast from them. You smile at their antics before looking for Jinu. ‘He must have slipped out…’ You quietly stand and move to the living room, where Jinu sits by the window. You quietly pad over to him and sit down next to him, your head leaning on his shoulder. You want to say something, but harder words still won’t come easily. So, you settle for taking his hand and intertwining your fingers together. Jinu squeezes your hand and rests his cheek on the top of your head. “I love you. I hope you know.” He whispers softly into your hair. You gasp softly when you feel something wet on your head and try to move. “No… please… let’s stay like this for a little longer…? Please…?” There was something in his voice, so soft and broken, that made you agree. “Yeah.”

You don’t know how long you both sit there, but the bond thrums contentedly. Eventually Baby quietly enters, pausing when he sees you both. “…Not to interrupt, but it’s time to go Jinu.” Jinu tenses, slowly letting you go and not letting you see his face. “Okay.” He presses one more kiss to the top of your head before heading into the other room. You look over at Baby who’s staring right at you, there is an intense look in his eyes. “You really don’t know how important you are to us.” You tilt your head, patting your chest over your heart. “The bond...” Baby shakes his head. “It’s more than that. Something far more intimate, more vulnerable. You think Jinu would cry in front of anyone else?” Baby gives you another look before popping a sucker in his mouth and heading to the other room. ‘Something more than the bond? What am I to them? I thought I was just their mate, but now…’ You stand and head into the other room to see them off. “There she is!” Abby sweeps you into a big bear hug, inhaling your scent. “Mm, well see you soon sweetheart. Remember to stay inside.” He gently sets you down and lets Romance drape himself over you. “My darling, my precious. Promise me you will stay inside?” He gives you a look, almost like he has hearts in his eyes… “Back off.” Baby shoves Romance’s face out of the way and pulls you in for a kiss. “Be safe. Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll kick your ass.” “Baby!” Romance scolds, trying to smack him. “What? I will.” He looks at you with a smirk before heading towards the door. Mystery hugs you from behind, nuzzling the back of your neck. “Be safe. Call us if you need anything. We’ll feel it.” He gently spins you and pulls you into a gentle kiss. Before you can turn again, he lifts his hair lightly for you to see. Gorgeous golden eyes stare back at you, a small gasp leaving you, his eyes are the most beautiful things. “Stay here. We love you… I love you.” His lips twitch into a smile and he steps back like nothing happened.

Jinu waits by the door; eyes locked on you. You smile and walk over to him and pull him into a kiss, earning a whistle from Abby. Jinu’s ears go pink, but he kisses you back. When you pull back and look up at him you whisper quietly in his ear. “..I.. l-love.. you..” He freezes, his whole face flushing slowly. “I love you too…” He presses a kiss to your nose before they all leave. You wouldn’t trade them for anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright team! I know everything is Saja, Saja, Saja, but we’re going to turn into HUNTR/X, HUNTR/X, HUNTR/X Yay!” Bobby looks at the girls, excitement in his eyes. “Some of these fans slept on the sidewalk. Overnight!” Mira, Zoey and Rumi look at each other, taking a deep breath and nodding. “Happy fans, happy Honmoon!” Bobby gestures for security to let the fans in, waving his arms for them to calm down. “Hey, hey, hey! Single file, no pushing.” Rumi pulls a poster out of her pile, looking up at the person in the sleeping bag. “And who should I make this out to?” Silence. Then a smirk. “To our biggest fans.” All the sleeping bags drop and show the Saja Boys, who pose. The crowd goes wild. “The Saja Boys!!” Bobby takes a deep breath; he can handle this. “It’s an honor! Table, now!” Half the fans move over to the second table, causing Rumi to gasp. “We loose have the fans…” She thinks for a moment before wincing, dreading what she’s about to say. “The Saja Boys will sit with us!” Mira and Zoey look at her in horror. "What?!” No!” The crew moves the second table closer to where the girls are sitting and brings more chairs. Romance sits on Mira’s right, looking at her with a smirk. “We keep meeting like this~” Though internally he’s cringing in disgust, flirting with anyone who isn't you. Abby sits on Mira’s other side, making impressions of his abs and signing them for the fans, though he’s not really enjoying himself without you. Baby sits on Zoey’s left and just rolls his eyes and drinks his soda, while Mystery sits on her right and ignores her attempts to show interest.

Jinu sits next to Rumi who glares at him from the corner of her eyes. “Where the hell is ___?” She hisses at him and he just smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Sorry, she’s ours now.” Rumi snarls, before grinning back at a fan and signing a poster for them. “She’s our sister, she’s not yours to possess.” Jinu smirks and signs something for a fan. “Well, I’m afraid that’s not true. The bond links us all together. She is ours.” “Are you two whispering?” A fan asks and they both laugh nervously and sign a poster for the fan, who just smiles and points at her shirt. Rujinu. “Your secret is safe with me.” They both cringe internally but just smile. On the other end of the table Romance, Mira and Abby were arguing over who was going to sign a fan’s cast. “I’ll sign first~” Romance purrs and tugs the fan’s cast towards him. Mira snatches It back. “No, I’ll sign first.” “No, I will.” Abby grabs it with a smirk. Down the line, Zoey smiles at a fan. “Thank you for coming!” The fan tries to reach and touch Mystery, so he barks at them. Zoey gasps and smacks him with a pen.” No! Bad Saja Boy!” Mystery growls under his breath at her, not liking that she hit him. A small girl approaches Jinu. “Mr. Jinu? I made this for you.” She hands her drawing to Jinu, who freezes, staring at the drawing. Rumi glares at him, still wondering where they’re holding you. Jinu stands abruptly. “Unfortunately, the Saja Boys have to run. Thank you everyone!” The boys all bow before heading off stage, their shoulders dropping in exhaustion after they’re out of sight. “That was horrendous. I hated every second of flirting with anyone who isn’t our precious ___.” Romance gags, looking like he might fall over. “She hit me.” Mystery growls, rubbing his head where Zoey had smacked him. “We should get back now.” Jinu stares at the little girl’s drawing ‘Jinu, you have a beautiful soul.’ He sighs and tries to say something when the bond suddenly tugs. Hard. They all freeze when suddenly they feel it. Heat. Intense and bordering painful. “She’s in heat!” “Let’s go.” In a poof they were all gone. They weren’t going to let you go for a moment without the love and care you deserve. Especially not on your first heat. They would be sure to take care of you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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honeyciders · 3 days ago

Text

sin bin sweetheart.

summary: when your housing falls through, the last person you want to end up living with is your best friend’s arrogant, hockey-playing brother, satoru gojo. sharing a space with him feels like being trapped in the sin bin, but the longer you live together, the harder it is to ignore the fact that breaking the rules might be worth the penalty.

pairing: ice hockey player!gojo satoru x fem!reader details: fluff, angst, smut (fingering, nipple play, riding, couch sex, shower sex), enemies to lovers au, roommates au, best friend’s brother au, college au. contains: profanity, alcohol consumption, mentions of death. art by kynlv1. 16.2k words.

sin bin (n.) – (in sport) a box or bench to which offending players can be sent for a period as a penalty during a game, especially in ice hockey.

01. how to piss off your new roommate 101 (an introductory course).

There are only three rules you asked Satoru Gojo to follow:

No bringing random girls home.

No hockey gear all over the living room.

Do your own laundry.

Sure, it might not be your house, because, technically, you’re the one moving in, but you think you’re being pretty reasonable. It’s just your bad luck that your new roommate happens to be the worst at following rules, because right now, at one o’clock in the morning, you are subject to him breaking rule number one already—and very loudly, at that.

There’s a thud against the wall, and a muffled laugh, followed by a low, drawn-out groan that sends every nerve in your body firing at once—though not in the way Gojo’s current “guest” might be feeling. You clutch the pillow over your head, suffocating yourself with cotton in a desperate attempt to block out the obscene noises. It doesn’t work. Nothing does. Not your loud sighs, not the rustle of your own blanket, not even the way you jam your phone’s speaker against your ear and crank your playlist until the bass rattles.

Your playlist doesn’t stand a chance against Gojo’s bedroom door and his absolute disregard for your sanity.

Rule number one, you think bitterly, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was the bare minimum. You had been so clear when you’d moved in three days ago. No random girls; no trail of hockey gear sprawling through the apartment; no mountains of dirty laundry festering in the communal space. Simple, enforceable rules—or so you thought. Apparently, Satoru Gojo is not the kind of man who respects laws, rules, or any other socially acceptable guidelines for how to coexist with another human being. Especially not when he’s this loud.

A particularly obnoxious moan makes you snap. You swing out of bed, feet hitting the cold wooden floor, and stomp into the hallway. You pause in front of his bedroom door, hand hovering in the air, knuckles inches away from knocking. Maybe you should just let it go. It’s not worth the fight. Not worth seeing that infuriating grin of his, the one that makes you want to throw a shoe at his face.

You hear another giggle from inside.

Nevermind. Definitely worth it.

You pound on the door. “Gojo!”

The noises cut off instantly. For a blissful moment, there’s silence—no laughter, no groans, just the sound of your own shallow breathing and the pounding of your fist against the door. Then comes the telltale rustle of sheets, followed by footsteps, slow and deliberate, as if he’s taking his sweet time just to make you more irritated.

“Roomie?” His voice drips with amusement, low and lazy, as if he’s been waiting for this moment all night. “Can’t sleep? You could’ve just asked nicely if you wanted me to tuck you in.”

Your jaw drops, heat rushing to your cheeks—not from embarrassment but from pure, undiluted fury. “Rule. Number. One,” you bite out, enunciating every word. “Do you even remember what rule number one is?”

There’s a soft laugh on the other side of the door, and you can hear his guest giggling faintly too, like this is all some joke to them.

“You’re no fun,” he says. The doorknob clicks, turning slowly.

The door swings open to reveal Satoru Gojo, all six-foot-something of hockey-playing, rule-breaking glory, leaning against the frame. He’s shirtless—of course he’s shirtless—skin glistening with a sheen of sweat that makes you roll your eyes so hard you swear you see your brain. His white hair is mussed and sticking out at odd angles, like he’s just come off the ice—or, well, not the ice, but something just as irritatingly active.

He smirks down at you. “Didn’t know you were such a light sleeper. Or… Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks an octave higher. “Of what, exactly? The fact that you sound like you’re starring in a bad porno?”

His laugh is immediate, loud, and unrestrained. He leans closer, bracing one arm against the frame just above your head, his bare chest far too close for comfort. “If you were watching, it’d be a good one.”

Your face burns hotter. “You’re disgusting.”

He laughs again, and the girl—this poor, probably very lovely girl—steps into the hallway behind him, wearing one of his oversized jerseys and looking anywhere but at you.

“I should… probably go,” she mumbles.

“Yeah,” you mutter before he can say anything. “You probably should.”

She scurries past you without a second glance, and you suddenly feel a little bad for her. Not because of Gojo—though he is the worst—but because she has no idea what she’s walked into. She’s just another girl in a long line of them, another notch on his stick, and probably clueless to the fact that he thrives on the attention, not the intimacy.

Gojo watches her disappear around the corner, then turns back to you, his smile gone slack. “You didn’t have to be mean.”

“I wasn’t,” you snap. “I was trying to sleep. Sorry if that’s inconvenient for you and your—whatever.”

Gojo studies you for a moment, his head tilting just slightly as if he’s trying to decipher something written on your face. It’s unnerving, the way his eyes—bright and unnaturally sharp even in the dim hallway—linger on you, taking their time. For the first time tonight, he’s quiet, though not in a way that feels like victory. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you more aware of the rise and fall of his chest, the glimmer of sweat on his skin, his overbearing presence in the narrow hallway.

“Whatever?” he repeats. “That’s harsh, even for you.”

“Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Not really,” he says. “Keeps me young and pretty, don’t you think?”

The audacity of this man. Pretty. He says it like it’s a fact, like he’s fully aware that half the campus would line up just to run their fingers through that ridiculous white hair. You hate that it is a fact, that his lean, cut frame and infuriating confidence somehow make him stupidly, obnoxiously attractive.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “Do you even remember the rules we agreed on when I moved in? Or was I talking to one of your empty hockey helmets?”

“You wound me. I’m a great listener. I heard every word you said that day. I just don’t… care.”

Your hands ball into fists. “You don’t care.”

“Not about rules,” Satoru teases. “You, though? I care about keeping you entertained.”

“Entertained?” you echo, incredulous. “By waking me up at one in the morning with—” You cut yourself off, scowling as the words die on your tongue.

He grins and steps forward. “With what, sweetheart?” he asks, voice dipping into that husky, too-casual tone that makes your stomach do stupid things.

You take a step back; then another, until your back almost hits the opposite wall. “You’re impossible,” you spit out, but your voice is thinner than you’d like.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Stop saying that!”

“What?” His grin widens. “It’s true. You get all flustered. Bet you don’t even know you’re pouting right now.”

“I’m not—” You snap your mouth shut, realising that you are, in fact, pouting, and that only makes his grin that much more smug.

“Adorable,” he says simply, leaning back.

“You’re annoying as fuck.”

“And yet, you moved in here.”

You inhale sharply, the reminder stinging more than you’d like to admit. He’s right—you did agree to this arrangement. You had convinced yourself it was temporary, a few weeks max while you figured out your own place. Riko’s brother had been the last resort. You never expected it to feel like… like this. The hallway feels too small. He’s too close, too much. You can smell his cologne—clean, a little sharp, something that clings to him even after a game or whatever this was. You hate that your brain even registers the detail.

“Go to bed,” you manage to grit out.

“Careful,” Gojo drawls, stepping back. “Sounds like you’re starting to like telling me what to do.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. You spin on your heel, storming back to your room, and slam the door behind you.

You don’t see him again until morning, which, unfortunately, is only a few hours later.

The scent of coffee drags you from your room, bleary-eyed and determined to avoid any and all conversation. But the moment you step into the kitchen, there Satoru is—shirtless again, because apparently he doesn’t own clothes—leaning against the counter. His white hair is damp, still dripping from a shower, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips as he scrolls lazily on his phone.

“Morning, roomie,” he drawls, not looking up. “Sleep well?”

You grab a mug and pour yourself coffee. “You’re lucky I don’t own a bat.”

“Ah, threats of violence. My favourite way to start the day.”

You don’t answer. You can’t, not when he’s standing there like that: hair damp and curling at the ends, little droplets of water slipping down the curve of his neck, trailing over his collarbone. It should be illegal to look that good at 7:42 in the morning, and in sweatpants, no less.

Instead, you wrap both hands around your mug and focus on not throwing it at his stupid, smirking face.

“Awfully quiet this morning,” Gojo muses, locking his phone and tossing it onto the counter. “What happened to the yelling? The righteous fury? The deeply unsexy threats about noise ordinances?”

You take a long, scalding sip of your coffee. “I’m choosing peace today.”

“That so?”

“Yup. Thought I’d try being the bigger person and see how it feels.”

“You sure it’s peace you’re feeling? ‘Cause it kind of looks like repressed rage. Or maybe,” he says, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on the counter, “you’re just still flustered from last night.”

You nearly choke. “Flustered?”

“Uh-huh. You did knock on my door in the middle of a good time.” He winks. “Can’t blame you for being curious.”

“You’re delusional,” you state.

“Maybe so,” he acquiesces. Gojo’s grin is lazy and crooked, shamelessly amused as he watches you struggle to maintain even a scrap of composure. You busy yourself with sipping coffee again, even though it’s too hot and definitely burning the tip of your tongue. Small price to pay for the distraction.

He shifts his weight and the movement draws your eyes before you can stop yourself—down to where his sweatpants slouch indecently low, the V of his hips on full display. Your eyes snap back to your mug so fast you’re surprised you don’t get whiplash.

“I’m not flustered,” you mutter, mostly to your drink.

Satoru hums, unconvinced. “Of course not. You’re the picture of serenity.”

He reaches for the coffee pot and you realise, with a petty kind of satisfaction, that there’s not enough left for a full cup. You watch, vindicated, as he tips it all into his mug and frowns down at the half-full result.

“You’re the worst,” he says, utterly serious.

“I’m the one choosing peace, remember?”

“That was obviously a lie.”

You shrug and sip. “Maybe I’m just learning from the best.”

Gojo laughs, low and bright, and leans further over the counter, like he’s trying to invade your personal space just for the hell of it. “You’ve got a mouth on you, huh? I like that.”

“Bet you say that to all your roommates.”

“You’re my first,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Be gentle with me.”

You scoff, setting your mug down with more force than necessary. “I don’t even want to know how you ended up on the lease.”

“Simple,” he says, straightening and sauntering toward the fridge. “My old place burned down.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Well. Not all the way down. But it did get very, very singed.”

“And they let you sign another lease?”

He turns, carton of milk in one hand, and says, “Yup,” popping the ‘p’ at the end. You roll your eyes so hard you see stars, but there’s a weird warmth curling in your chest now, beneath the irritation and caffeine. Despite yourself, your gaze lingers on him a beat too long—on the line of his shoulders, the relaxed slope of his spine as he leans down to peer into the fridge.

“You gonna keep ogling me or…?” he says without turning.

You startle, cheeks warming. “I wasn’t ogling.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wasn’t!”

He straightens again, milk in hand, and gives you a look that says he knows he’s won. “You’re bad at lying. Your ears go all red.”

You clap your hands over them instinctively, which only serves to make him chortle. “I hate you,” you grumble, grabbing your mug and heading for the living room.

“I love our morning chats,” he calls after you. “They really centre me for the day.”

You flip him off over your shoulder.

“You’ve got a great energy, roomie! Keep it up!”

It turns into a sort of game, after that: who can rile up their roommate the fastest. Satoru Gojo, of course, plays to win.

He starts small—mild provocations disguised as “accidents.” The shower mysteriously runs cold whenever you step in after him. Your favourite snacks vanish from the cupboard, only to be found later half-eated and crumpled under his bed. He starts setting his alarm ten minutes earlier than yours and singing obnoxiously loud in the mornings. It’s always the same song—something bubblegum pop and irritatingly catchy, like Twice or Britney Spears—and it sticks in your head all day, pulsing behind your eyes like a migraine.

You retaliate, of course. You start leaving passive-aggressive sticky notes around the apartment:

Replace the toilet paper next time, you sicko.

If you touch my almond milk again, I will cut off your balls in your sleep.

Why do you shed like a cat? Buy a lint roller. Freak.

You switch the labels on his shampoo and conditioner. You hide the remote. You change the password on the Wi-Fi.

It only fuels him. The worst part is, the bastard laughs. Every time you glare at him, every time you yell his name across the apartment, every time you swear you’re going to murder him in his sleep, he just grins like the cat that got the cream. Somehow, impossibly, he always wins.

Nanami is already at your usual table in the campus café when you arrive, tossing your bag into the seat opposite him with a force that rattles the salt shaker. He doesn’t look up from his coffee when he asks, “What did he do this time?”

“He unplugged the fridge, Kento,” you groan, slumping into your chair. “The fridge. All my groceries are ruined. My oat milk exploded.”

“Did you check the breaker?”

“Do I look like someone who knows what a breaker is?”

“Yes,” he says. “You are a functional adult. You are enrolled in a university. You should know how electricity works.”

“Okay, Mr. Engineer,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “I was too busy trying not to throw Gojo out the damn window.”

“I thought you lived on the first floor.”

“Exactly my point.”

You look down, picking at your cuticles. You wish Gojo, your best friend’s annoying brother, wasn’t your last resort. The student dorms were all occupied, and you had to find housing at the last minute. Gojo offered, because he’s known you since you were an acne-riddled teenager in middle school, and also, most likely, out of obligation for his little sister’s best friend. Why else would he put up with you and pay half the rent? You remind yourself that you’re in his house, and not the other way around, and try to stay grateful for that fact.

You also wish you could tell Riko about her older brother, but you can’t because Riko’s dead.

Nanami sets down his cup with a soft clink, eyes lifting at last to meet yours. There’s no pity in them—he’s not the type—but there’s understanding. With every ounce of his understanding nature, Nanami says, flatly, “You’re going to give yourself a stroke before midterms.”

You exhale through your nose, pressing your palms to your eyes. “It’s like he wants me to lose it. He keeps bringing random girls home, Kento. At 3 A.M. And they’re loud. One of them used my toothbrush.”

Nanami looks visibly disturbed. “Why do you know that?”

“Because it was wet.”

“You should throw that out.”

“I did throw it out. And then I wrote a note. And you know what he said? He said, ‘Oh, my bad, was that your toothbrush? I thought it was for guests.’ Guests, Kento. He has a guest toothbrush now, that he keeps in the same cup as mine. I’m being psychologically tortured.”

“He’s always been like this,” Nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s the one being victimised.

“You were on the same team as him for three years,” you say. “How did you not murder him in a locker room?”

“Because I’m not an idiot,” he replies. “I kept my earbuds in and my mouth shut. You, on the other hand, are picking a fight with a man who once got suspended for pelting a referee with jello shots.”

“That was him?” you gasp.

“Of course it was. Who else brings jello shots to a game?”

“I knew it wasn’t a food poisoning incident,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “They kept blaming the vendors, but one of those things hit Riko in the back of the head.”

Nanami’s expression softens for a second. He clears his throat, glancing out the window. You follow his gaze, the familiar ache blooming in your chest. It’s been two years since the accident, since the call you never thought you’d get. Since Satoru’s voice broke down over the phone, rasping your name, saying it over and over again like it would change something, like you could undo it just by being there.

Sometimes you forget she’s gone. You still scroll through your photos and stop at the ones of her, still think to text her dumb updates about your day. You still reach for your phone when Satoru does something particularly stupid, your thumb hovering over her name like muscle memory.

It’s worse around him. He reminds you of her—same nose, same stupid grin. Same laughter echoing off the apartment walls, loud and fearless and full of something that’s been missing since she died.

You scrub a hand over your face. “I don’t even know why he let me move in,” you say quietly.

Nanami, annoyingly perceptive as always, says, “Because you’re the only person left who reminds him of her.”

Your throat closes up. You glance away, blinking hard. It’s easier to talk like this with Nanami, with someone who knew her, who understands what’s been left behind in her absence.

It’s just harder when you go home, when Gojo’s waiting in your kitchen, stealing all your forks, leaving crumbs everywhere, making a mess of your carefully managed grief. It’s harder when he smiles at you, wide and unbothered, like nothing in the world could touch him, like he isn’t hurting just as much. Maybe that’s why you haven’t packed up and left, or haven’t demanded he take you off the lease.

“Do you want to come watch us practice today?” your friend asks gently. “You could use the break.”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding.

The rink on campus is mercifully empty, barring the ice hockey players and their coach. You huddle deeper into your hoodie, tugging the sleeves over your palms as your breath fogs in the cold air. The bleachers are metal and unforgiving beneath you, but there’s something calming about the sharp scent of ice and the dull echo of skates carving into the rink. Nanami’s team is already mid-practice, moving like clockwork in their matching jerseys, passing the puck to each other. Nanami’s form is unmistakable—broad shoulders, crisp turns, no-nonsense efficiency. He’s the kind of player who never wastes energy, never showboats.

Which is probably why it takes you a second to notice the blur of white helmet skating circles around everyone else.

Even from here, you can tell it’s Gojo. Nobody else plays like that—reckless, fast, stupidly dramatic. He doesn’t pass so much as he dares his teammates to keep up with him. One second, he’s flicking the puck behind his back to someone mid-sprint; the next, he’s skating backwards while taunting the goalie, stick dragging lazy arcs on the ice. It should be annoying. It is annoying. But it’s also hypnotically, infuriatingly graceful.

You watch, arms tucked tight around your ribs, as Gojo ducks past a defender and pivots sharply on one skate. The move is flashy, unnecessary, but completely effective. He spins just out of reach, like he’s showing off for a crowd that isn’t even there. Then again, knowing him, maybe the absence of an audience is what makes it fun.

He catches the puck again mid-glide, lets it roll across his blade for the briefest second, and sends it arcing across the ice with a lazy flick of his wrist. It lands right where he wants it—at Nanami’s feet. Nanami redirects it into a clean slapshot that smacks against the boards with a heavy thunk. The coach blows his whistle and yells something you can’t quite make out, and the players all begin to split into drills.

Gojo circles back to the bench, tugging off his helmet. His hair is damp and flattened at odd angles, cheeks flushed red from exertion, but he’s smiling. He laughs at something one of the younger players says, throwing his head back like everything in the world exists solely for his amusement. His grin is sharp and his posture is loose with confidence, like he’s never known a moment of self-doubt in his entire life. He stretches his arms overhead, the hem of his jersey riding up just a little over his pads, and you force yourself to look away before your eyes linger too long.

It’s stupid. You’re here to support Nanami. You’re here because your friend thought you needed fresh air, something different, something other than the quiet churn of your own thoughts. You’re not here for him.

But when Gojo finally turns, like he’s felt your eyes on him all this time, and spots you across the rink, he smiles—wider this time. Brighter. You look away too fast to know if he waves.

The drills resume. They’re brutal, repetitive, the kind that test stamina more than strategy. Nanami is steady and solid, the way he always is, never showy but always in the right place at the right time. Gojo, by contrast, is everywhere. He darts around the rink, weaving in and out of formations, making near-impossible shots just to see if he can land them.

You settle into your seat, arms hugging your knees, and try not to think too hard. But it’s hard not to, especially when every stupid little memory rushes in like floodwater. The way Gojo always takes the last Pop-Tart in the box but leaves the wrapper on the counter; the way he sings obnoxiously loud in the shower and always, always manages to steal your charger right when you need it most; the way he tilts his head and looks at you, eyes too blue and too knowing, like he enjoys seeing how close he can get to pissing you off before you snap. Perhaps worst of all: the way he never apologises, just looks at you, smug and smugger, until you roll your eyes and pretend you weren’t mad in the first place.

Asshole.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been staring blankly, wrapped up in your own thoughts, until someone else joins the bleachers. The guy’s tall, wrapped in a wool coat and beanie, sipping a coffee that steams in the cold air. He glances at you briefly, offers a polite nod, and turns his attention back to the rink.

Gojo’s still showing off. The team’s moved to scrimmage now, red versus blue, and he’s the first one to score. He raises both arms in triumph, sticks his tongue out, and skates backward toward the bench, basking in invisible applause.

You groan quietly and bury your face in your hands. “God, I hate him.”

The guy next to you chuckles. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” you say looking up.

“He’s not so bad. Bit of a drama queen, but he’s good. Probably the best player we’ve got.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t want to give Gojo the satisfaction, even by proxy. Instead, you wait for the moment he inevitably catches sight of you again—because of course he does, because nothing in his life is ever subtle. His head tilts. His grin turns sharklike. He lifts his stick and points it right at you, mouthing something across the rink. You groan again and pull your hood up.

Later, when you’re halfway back to your shared apartment, your fingers still freezing from the cold, your phone buzzes.

Gojo: you looked cute freezing your ass off up there Gojo: want me to warm you up? 😇

You: 🖕

02. the beginnings of affection (an existential crisis).

In high school, you made the grave mistake of telling Riko you thought her older brother was hot. It wasn’t a lie, because he was—tall, lean, unfairly pretty in that model-off-duty way, with a smile that had left many a classmate in a state of ruinous delusion. But back then, he was an idea, a rumour, a hallway myth in an expensive uniform and designer sneakers.

Now you live with him. Now you know better. Underneath his veneer of hotness lies a cold, twisted soul incapable of feeling remorse.

Yet. This morning, you catch yourself staring.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into a chipped mug that says World’s Okayest Roommate. His hair’s still damp from a shower, falling in soft curls over his forehead, and he’s wearing a hoodie that doesn’t belong to him. Yours, actually—the one you thought you lost three weeks ago. It fits him, though it’s oversized on you, the faded design on the front nearly unreadable. His sweatpants are slung low on his hips, and one of the pant legs is tucked into a sock for some godforsaken reason. There’s a smear of toothpaste on his cheek.

And yet you think: cute.

Which is concerning.

You frown into your cereal, spoon halfway to your mouth, and try to rationalise it. Maybe it’s sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s the new shampoo he’s using. Maybe you’ve finally been broken by the sheer absurdity of sharing space with him. That must be it. A slow descent into madness. Like Stockholm Syndrome, but for roommates.

He catches you looking and grins.

“What?” you snap.

“You were staring,” he says smugly, raising his mug to his lips.

“I was zoning out,” you lie. “You just happened to be in the way.”

“Mhm. Don’t worry,” he says, winking. “Happens all the time.”

“You’ve got toothpaste on your face, weirdo.”

He wipes it off with the sleeve of your hoodie. Not his hoodie. Yours. You make a mental note to burn it.

“I’m going to start charging you rent for borrowing my clothes,” you mutter, standing to rinse your bowl.

Gojo hums. “Then I’ll start charging you for moral support. You know, the way I bring light and laughter into this apartment.”

“You bring irritation and trauma.”

He laughs. You pause, hand on the faucet. You shouldn’t feel warm. You shouldn’t feel anything. But there it is again—that awful flutter in your chest; that twist in your stomach like you’ve just misread a question on an exam and realised too late. You stare down at the water running into the sink and think, no. No, no, no. Not this. Not him.

Your hand tightens on the faucet. You don’t look up. If you do, he’ll see it: the flicker of something not quite annoyance, the hiccup in your heartbeat. The very beginnings of affection—or, worse, the remnants of it you thought you’d long since buried.

“You’re being quiet,” your roommate observes, voice languid with interest.

“I’m thinking about how I’ll kill you,” you reply. “Maybe poison. Something slow. Arsenic in your overpriced protein shakes.”

“Ooh. That’s hot. Do I get a last meal?”

“You already ate the last of my oats yesterday.”

“Untrue,” he says cheerfully. “I gave it to my teammate—”

You finally turn to glare at him, but it’s a mistake. He’s still wearing your hoodie, still smiling with toothpaste in the corners of his mouth and hair curling at his temples. His mug is held loosely between his fingers and he taps it against his hip like he’s about to say something clever.

He doesn’t. Instead, he just looks at you. You blink first.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say something stupid and ruin my morning.”

Satoru grins. “I was gonna say you look nice. But I see now that would be stupid.”

Your cheeks burn. You hate that he still gets to you. Hate that, despite all the bickering and unsolicited borrowing of clothes, you still feel something twist inside when he looks at you like that. He finishes his coffee and sets the mug down. “I’m going to be late,” he announces, stretching until the hem of your hoodie rides up and reveals the slope of his back. You look away like you’ve been burned.

“Don’t forget your umbrella,” you say, because it’s drizzling outside.

He grabs the umbrella by the door. “I’ll be back around seven,” he calls, halfway out. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t.”

But the door shoots behind him before the lie is even fully out of your mouth. There’s no point denying it. The problem isn’t that he’s hot. It’s that he’s warm, sometimes; thoughtful in ways you don’t expect, and annoyingly perceptive. The problem is that, in the hazy moments between arguments and insults and irritation, you’ve let your guard slip.

God. You’re so screwed.

“Hey. Hey. I thought I told you not to wait up.”

“I didn’t wait up for you.”

He toes off his shoes with a grunt, dropping his keys into the dish by the door and pulling off his jacket in one fluid motion. The collar of his t-shirt is wrinkled, stretched a little too wide at the neck, like someone had tugged at it—maybe he had, or maybe it was already like that. His hair’s a windblown mess, strands sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes are rimmed with red like he’s either been up too long or had one too many drinks. Or both.

But he’s still Satoru, still maddeningly good-looking in that careless way of his, still the same insufferable guy who leaves the toilet seat up and sings Twice songs in the shower.

You’re curled up into the far corner of the couch, blanket wrapped around you, half a bowl of popcorn abandoned on the coffee table. You weren’t waiting up—really, you weren’t—but the TV is playing some old sitcom on mute, the light from the screen flickering across your face in soft, silvery flashes. Your phone is dark in your lap. You’ve read the same sentence in your book five times. You glance up when he speaks, and he stops mid-step, tilting his head at you.

“I didn’t wait up for you,” you repeat, quieter this time, and go back to pretending to read.

He smiles faintly, like he doesn’t believe you but won’t push. “Right,” he says, voice low. “Of course not.”

He throws his jacket over the back of a chair and pads into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. You try not to follow him with your eyes. Try not to notice the way his shoulder blades shift beneath the fabric of his shirt, the way he hums softly under his breath as he opens the fridge and lets the light spill out across the tiles.

“You didn’t answer my text,” you say after a moment, tone sharper than you mean it to be.

“My phone died.”

You nod, once. Stupid. You don’t say anything else.

Satoru walks back into the living room, glass in hand, and sinks into the armchair opposite you with a groan. “Rough night,” he says, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “Didn’t think it would go that late.”

“Didn’t think you were going out at all.”

That makes him crack an eye open, a ghost of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. “Jealous?”

You snort. “Of your terrible taste in dive bars and worse taste in company? Never.”

“I didn’t stay long,” he says. “The music sucked.”

“You go for the music?”

“I go for the distraction.”

Outside, it’s started to rain again, a slow, gentle drizzle against the windows. You stare at the pattern of drops sliding down the glass, trying to ignore the shape of him in your periphery—broad shoulders and long legs and bare feet resting against the edge of the coffee table. He’s too close and too far all at once.

“Do you… want some popcorn?” you ask eventually.

Satoru opens his eyes again and blinks at you. “Is this the part where you admit you were waiting for me?”

You scowl. “Forget it.”

“I’m kidding.” He sits up, leans forward slightly, eyes warm now, too warm. “I’d love some.”

You push the bowl towards him, watching as he picks out a piece and pops it into his mouth.

“This,” he says, chewing thoughtfully, “would be the part in a romcom where we kiss.”

“This,” you say, rolling your eyes, “would be the part in a horror movie where the protagonist makes a terrible decision and dies five minutes later.”

“That’s just rude.”

“Good.”

But he smiles at you, bright and boyish, like there’s no place he’d rather be than in this shitty living room at one in the morning with rain tapping against the windows and you scowling over a bowl of popcorn. You hate that it makes your heart ache; hate that, for all your better judgement, for all the times he’s made you want to scream into a pillow, there’s a part of you that softens around him. A part that keeps watching the door when he’s late. A part that stayed up, no matter what you said.

“We should bond,” Satoru says suddenly. “Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

You blink. “Bond?”

“Yeah. Like team-building. Except we’re not a team, and there’s no building.”

“That’s the worst pitch I’ve ever heard,” you say, but the corners of your mouth tug upwards despite yourself.

He shrugs, leaning back into the armchair again and tossing a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it clumsily with his mouth. “I don’t know. I feel like we’ve been circling each other. Might as well make it official.”

“Make what official?”

“This thing,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Our roommate truce-slash-rivalry-slash-situationship.”

You nearly choke on your own breath. “What—what situationship?”

“Okay, fine. Maybe not that last one.”

You throw a pillow at him, and he catches it with one hand, laughing. The room is too warm, or maybe that’s just your face. You glance away, shaking your head.

“Anyway,” he continues, “I was thinking. Since it’s Saturday tomorrow, and we’re both obviously in need of deep, soul-cleansing joy—”

“You mean you want to avoid your hangover.”

“—we should go skating.”

“Like, on the ice?” you ask.

“No, on a frying pan,” he says. “Yes, on the ice.”

“Come on,” Satoru calls. “It’s just frozen water.”

“I know what ice is,” you hiss.

He skates back toward you, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, cheeks flushed pink from the cold and a beanie pulled snug over his snowy hair. Of course he makes gliding over a frozen lake look like second nature. He probably was born skating. You glare at him from your self-imposed prison at the edge of the ice. Your fingers are locked in a white-knuckled grip on the guardrail, your knees slightly bent like your body already knows it’s about to betray you.

Satoru stops a few feet away, his skates coming to a perfect halt with the faintest spray of ice. “You’re going to have to let go eventually,” he says, amused but not unkind.

You shake your head immediately. “I don’t trust frozen water. Or you.”

“That’s fair.” He shrugs. “But one of those things is going to get you moving, and it’s not the ice.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Doesn’t have to. Come on,” he coaxes, holding out a gloved hand. “I’ll go slow. Promise. Baby steps.”

You glance down at the ice, then at his hand, then back at the ice. It’s unfair, really, the way he looks so annoyingly trustworthy in moments like this. As if he hasn’t spent the better part of your shared time together being the most irritating man on the planet. As if he didn’t just spend the last twenty minutes zipping across the lake like a show-off while you contemplated your mortality from the safety of the shore.

Still, you let go of the guardrail. Just a little. Your hand slips into his, and his fingers tighten reassuringly around yours. He doesn’t tug; he waits, steady and warm and patient, until you peel yourself entirely away from your comfort zone and step onto the ice.

You immediately regret everything. Your foot slides, your balance tips, and you let out a strangled noise as you clutch at him with both hands now, absolutely abandoning any pretense of dignity. Satoru laughs, open and delighted, the sound echoing across the lake like it belongs in a different world.

“I’ve got you,” he says. His grip is solid, his body a firm counterweight to your graceless flailing. “Just stand. Don’t try to walk yet. Feel how your skates sit on the ice.”

“I hate this. I hate you,” you mutter, clinging to his coat.

“You’re doing amazing,” he says, and you scowl because he’s grinning now, and it’s not helpful at all.

Slowly, he eases you forward, step by wobbling step. The cold nips at your cheeks, your breath fogging between you in soft white puffs. Every movement feels like a gamble, your muscles tense with the knowledge that at any second, you could end up flat on your back.

“You skate like Bambi,” he observes cheerfully.

“Say that again and I’m taking you down with me.”

“You’d have to catch me first,” he says. “And given your current progress, I’d say that’s not happening in this lifetime.”

You lurch at him, purely out of spite, and he lets out a surprised yelp as he stumbles back a little, catching you both from falling with more grace than you’ll ever possess. You end up in his arms, your face smushed embarrassingly against his chest, heart pounding from more than just the cold.

“You’re not bad at this,” he murmurs near your ear. “For someone who looks like they’re skating on stilts.”

You pull back to glare at him, but his smile softens into something almost fond, and you blink. He’s still holding you, hands braced at your waist now, fingers curled against the fabric of your coat. His touch is warm through the layers. You don’t say anything. You’re not sure you can.

He leans back, clears his throat a little, and says, “Alright. Lesson one: don’t look down.”

“What?”

“No, seriously. Head up. Trust yourself a little. If you stare at the ice, your body will think you want to meet it.”

You lift your gaze slowly, reluctantly, and focus on the horizon instead: trees dusted in frost, a sky bruised with early twilight, and Satoru’s impossibly pale eyes, sharp and bright and filled with something you can’t name. He starts guiding you again, his hands still at your waist, your balance a little steadier now. Each glide is cautious; it’s progress, however painstaking.

You’re still clumsy—more shuffling than skating—but the panic has dulled, replaced by a nervous sort of awareness: of your feet, of your breathing, of him. The cold cuts through the air with a crispness that sharpens everything, from the bite in your lungs to the sting in your cheeks, but somehow, with Satoru’s hands anchoring you, it all feels a little softer.

“Look at you,” he says, low and a bit smug. “You’re a natural.”

You snort. “I’m one step away from death.”

“Death by ice is very poetic,” he muses. “We’ll put it on your tombstone. Beloved roommate. Skated once.”

You elbow him weakly, the motion throwing off your centre of gravity just enough to send you pitching forward—again. You gasp, arms flailing, but he catches you effortlessly, laughing as he draws you back upright like it’s nothing. Like it’s second nature to steady you.

“That’s lesson two,” he says, grinning down at you. “Don’t do that.”

“You are the worst teacher.”

“And yet,” he says, steering you in a slow arc, “you’re still standing.”

The lake is quiet, save for the dull scrape of blades against the ice, the rustling of wind in the trees, and the shouts and hoots of a group of teenagers skating on the other end. You imagine the rink gets really crowded later in the evening, but for now, it’s just the two of you, wrapped in shades of silver and slate, the world narrowed down to the stretch of frozen water and the steady cadence of his voice in your ear. You take another step. Then another. Satoru doesn’t let go, even though you think you could maybe handle it on your own now. But you don’t ask him to.

“This wasn’t just about the skating,” he says after a while.

You glance up at him. His expression is unreadable now, the teasing stripped back to something quieter. You try for lightness. “Oh? Is this the part where you declare your undying love for me?”

“No. I did that last week. You were too busy yelling at me about the dishes.”

You huff a laugh, but it catches in your throat, because he’s looking at you in that way again—like you’re the only thing in focus. Like the cold and the ice and the time you called him a walking disaster don’t matter.

“I just wanted to do something with you,” he says. “Riko—Riko and I used to do this all the time as kids.”

“...Oh,” you say dumbly.

He doesn’t look away when you say it. His hands haven’t moved from your waist, and you realise, belatedly, that you’re not gripping onto him anymore. You’re standing.

“She used to hold my hand like you’re doing now,” he continues, a half-smile flickering across his face, wistful. “Only, she had these tiny little gloves with cats on them, and she’d nearly pull me down every time she slipped.”

You can see it, easily—Riko as a small blur of determination, dragging her too-tall older brother around a rink, shrieking with laughter while he pretended not to be terrified of falling. You wonder what it was like, growing up with someone like that; with someone who looked at Satoru and saw more than the smirking exterior, who loved him before he learned to weaponise his charm.

“Is this where you guilt-trip me into being nicer to you?” you ask.

“No,” he says. “You being mean to me is the only thing that keeps me grounded.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Not when your chest is doing that awful thing again—that fluttery, traitorous ache that started as irritation and now feels like something worse. “Do you ever stop being—” you begin, but you don’t finish.

Because he lets go. Just like that.

Your breath catches, skates faltering as your arms instinctively reach for him—but you don’t fall. Your legs wobble, sure. Your equilibrium protests. But you’re still upright, and still moving, slowly and awkwardly and without grace. And he’s just standing there, a few feet away now, watching you with a look that’s proud and amused and terribly fond.

“You’re doing it,” he says, and the words hang in the air like steam, like warmth in the cold.

You stare at him. “You tricked me.”

“Obviously.”

“You let go.”

“I did.” Satoru’s smile is maddening. “But look. You’re fine.”

You aren’t sure if you’re grateful or angry or both. The lake is wide around you, open and echoing, and your arms feel empty without his to cling to. But you’re skating. When you reach him again—because of course you make your way back, clumsy half-glides bringing you close enough to grab his coat again if you want to—he doesn’t move away.

“I hate that you’re right,” you mutter, breathing hard.

“I’m always right.”

“You’re never right.”

“You’re right,” he says solemnly. “I’m only ever hot and devastatingly charming.”

You shove him. It doesn’t do much; he’s solid, annoying, smug. But he laughs, and it echoes across the lake again, bright and honest. Then his hands find yours once more. “Next time,” he says, leaning in close, “we’ll try a spin.”

You gawk at him like he’s insane. “I will murder you on the ice.”

“I’d die happy.”

You should pull away. You should say something cutting, something that reestablishes the boundaries he’s always so eager to toe. But you don’t, because he’s warm even through your gloves, and the sky above you is bleeding into a soft lavender dusk, and his breath is a whisper against your cheek when he adds, “You were really brave today.”

“Don’t make it weird,” you mumble.

“Too late.”

You close your eyes, just for a moment. Without warning, you tug his hand and take a step back on the ice, away from him. It’s shaky. Messy. Maybe even stupid. But you don’t fall, and when you glance over your shoulder, he’s already following.

You don’t end up at the ice hockey team’s practice on purpose. It’s all a matter of circumstance: you’d forgotten to bring your keys, and Satoru had practice immediately after classes, so you decided to pay him and Nanami a visit because you’re meticulous and already ahead of all your assigned readings, so you have some free time anyway.

Your boots squeak faintly against the rubber mat lining the entrance as you step inside, the sharp scent of ice and that weird rubbery tang from equipment stinging your nose. It’s colder than you expect it to be—not just chilly, but biting—and you hug your coat tighter around yourself, muttering under your breath about your own stupidity for forgetting your keys.

Through the glass panels that separate the stands from the rink, you catch sight of the team already in warm-ups, skating brisk laps along the boards. Nanami is easy to spot, with his clean-cut form and too-serious expression, weaving between teammates. Satoru, in contrast, is a blur of motion and colour—grinning, flippant, always moving like he’s daring gravity to catch him. You know it’s him even with the helmet on. There’s something unmistakable about the way he skates, fast and loose like he was born with blades for feet and no sense of self-preservation.

You slip into the bleachers, choosing a middle seat and tucking your hands between your thighs for warmth. Your breath fogs in front of you in soft clouds. Below, the players yell instructions at one another, the thud of pucks hitting boards punctuated by the scrape of blades on ice. You expect to be bored within ten minutes, but strangely, you’re not.

You catch yourself watching Satoru more than you should.

He’s wearing a dark jersey with the number six on the back, paired with white hockey pants. He skates like he owns the ice, like the world is some elaborate game designed for his entertainment, and he’s the only one who knows all the rules. He’s obnoxiously good, of course. His passes are sharp and clean, his puck handling seamless, like the stick is an extension of his arm. He doesn’t celebrate the goals he scores, but you can tell he enjoys each one. It’s in the way he glances towards the stands after every shot, like he’s half-expecting applause. Like maybe—just maybe—he knows you’re watching.

And, of course, the one time you lean forward with genuine curiosity, Satoru catches your eye. You immediately sit back and pretend to examine the very interesting metal railing in front of you. When you look up again, he’s skating backwards towards the centre line, grinning like a lunatic. You roll your eyes.

Practice drags on, but in that weird hypnotic way that makes time pass fast. The drills shift from technical to scrimmage-style, players darting about, sticks clashing, shouts echoing through the space. Nanami plays with all the joy of someone forced into it by obligation, but you admire his skill all the same. Satoru, on the other hand, is infuriatingly smooth, darting past defenders and spinning to block shots.

At some point, you begin to lose feeling in your toes. You pull your legs up into your seat and burrow deeper into your coat. Satoru scores another goal with a fancy little flick of his wrist and has the nerve to wink at you through the glass. You flip him off, and he beams like you’ve handed him a bouquet of roses.

When practice ends, the players skate to the benches, pulling off their helmets and guzzling water. You consider leaving before Satoru can come find you, but by the time you make the decision, he’s already peeled off his gear and is jogging toward the stands, a towel slung around his neck and his hair a snowy mess of sweat-damp curls.

“You stalking me now?” he calls up, voice echoing through the cavernous space.

“I forgot my keys,” you reply flatly. “Trust me, if I had other options, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Aw,” he says, leaning on the railing in front of you. “So you missed me.”

You stare down at him, unimpressed. “You smell like a wet dog. I can smell it all the way up here.”

“Still came to see me, though.”

You open your mouth to reply with something scathing, but the words don’t quite come. Not when he’s standing there with flushed cheeks and a grin that’s more sunshine than snow, squinting slightly because of the overhead lights. Not when you remember, fleetingly, that Riko once told you her brother was really quiet, and you remember, again, that he changed after she died. The thought vanishes before you can dwell on it.

“We’re out of milk, by the way,” you say instead.

Nanami skates over. His jersey is soaked through, but his hair remains irritatingly neat under his helmet. He slows to a stop beside the boards, stick tucked under one arm, and gives you a nod in greeting. You nod back.

“She came all the way out here just to tell me we’re out of milk,” Satoru says.

“I didn’t—” You cut yourself off with a sharp exhale and gesture vaguely in his direction. “Why do you talk like that?”

“He talks like that because he has no concept of shame,” Nanami says.

“You wound me, Nanamin.”

Nanami doesn’t dignify that with a response—just raises a single brow and skates off toward the locker room. You watch his retreating figure for a second, then glance back at Satoru, now balancing precariously with one arm out.

“You are so dramatic,” you mutter, standing and starting down the bleachers.

“I prefer being called expressive,” Satoru calls after you, hopping off the railing and jogging to meet you at the base of the stairs. He smells faintly of sweat, rubber, and whatever chemical funk lives permanently in every locker room, but he’s grinning so widely you almost forget to wrinkle your nose. Almost.

“I can see your hair freezing,” you say as you fall into step beside him. “That’s disgusting. Go shower.”

He throws an arm around your shoulders; the gesture makes your skin bristle from the chill still clinging to his clothes. “But you like me gross,” he says, bumping your side with a playful swing of his hip.

You scoff and shove him off, barely managing to keep your balance as your boots skid slightly on the damp rubber flooring. “I like you better when you’re not radiating the scent of boiled socks.”

“So specific,” Satoru laughs. “Were you composing that one in your head the whole time I was on the ice?”

“No,” you mutter. “It came naturally. Like an allergic reaction.”

You follow him through the back hallway toward the locker rooms. It’s quieter here, the sounds of the rink replaced by the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional groan of old plumbing in the walls. The linoleum floor is scuffed and water-stained, and everything smells like damp towels and disinfectant. You slow your steps, lingering near the door to the players’ lounge while Satoru pushes through the locker room entrance.

He peeks back before disappearing inside. “You waiting out here, or are you coming in for the full experience?”

“I value my life,” you deadpan.

“Suit yourself,” he singsongs, tossing the towel from his neck over your head before ducking inside with a grin. You yank the towel off with a sound of disgust and drop it on the floor. A few minutes pass. You idle on your phone, scrolling through old messages, then flick over to your calendar. Everything’s already done: papers outlined, deadlines logged, readings colour-coded and annotated. You’re bored.

Ten minutes later, the door creaks open and Satoru emerges, hair damp and pushed back from his face, now in grey sweats and a university hoodie two sizes too big. He looks softer like this, more human, like he could’ve been anyone else, if the world had been a little gentler.

“What?” he says, catching you staring.

You blink. “Nothing.”

He tosses his duffel bag over one shoulder and jerks his chin toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s hit the store. You said we’re out of milk, right?”

“And bread,” you add as you fall into step beside him again. “And you used the last of the eggs and just… put the empty carton back in the fridge.”

“False accusations. I plead innocent.”

“You plead lethargy.”

03. conflict resolution (the eternal affliction).

Christmas comes and goes, and the new year begins with you and Satoru deciding to sell the TV. It had been half-broken for weeks anyway—Satoru insisted it gave the screen a “vintage haze,” but you insisted it gave you migraines. So, on the second day of January, in a rare moment of mutual decisiveness, you both posted a picture of it on Facebook Marketplace with a joke caption, and watched the replies pour in. Some poor soul came to pick it up that evening, and just like that, your living room was quieter than it had been in days.

Maybe you needed the quiet. The holidays had been a blur of noise—family phone calls, missed trains, clinking glasses, and Satoru’s very enthusiastic and very drunk rendition of Last Christmas that made your upstairs neighbour leave an aggressive Post-It on your door.

Now, it’s snowing—thick, slow flakes that coat the windows and silence the city. You’re curled up on the couch with two blankets and a cup of peppermint tea you don’t really like, watching Satoru fiddle with the thermostat.

“It’s broken,” he says for the fifth time, shirt riding up slightly as he bends down to look behind the radiator. “I’m gonna sue the landlord.”

“You say that every week,” you reply, blowing on your tea. “You’ve never sued anyone in your life.”

“I could,” he says indignantly, standing upright. He looks infuriatingly good in sweats and a hoodie, even with socks that don’t match and a piece of tape stuck to his elbow from when he tried to fix the window seal this morning. “You don’t know what I get up to when you’re asleep.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re usually asleep before me.”

Satoru points a finger at you. “Exactly. That’s what I want you to think. But maybe I’ve been moonlighting as a lawyer in the dead of night. Ever think about that?”

You take a long sip of your tea to hide your smile. “You can’t even read the rental agreement without getting a headache.”

“You said you’d never bring that up again!”

“You were crying, Satoru.”

“It was printed in a size 10 font, what do you want from me?”

You laugh. Outside, the streetlights blur into glowing halos. Inside, it’s dim and warm, the air thick with the scent of peppermint and laundry detergent, and something you can’t quite place—Satoru, probably, who always smells like something slightly sweet, like sugar cookies and whatever shampoo he uses when he forgets yours isn’t his. You look over the rim of your mug at him. His hair’s messier than usual, falling into his eyes. You’ve told him to get it trimmed. He hasn’t listened.

“It’s still getting colder,” you say quietly, watching the snow. “You think we’ll get snowed in?”

Satoru flops onto the couch beside you, his body warm where it presses against your blanket-wrapped one, his knee knocking lightly into yours. “God, I hope so,” he mutters, tugging the throw off your legs to cover himself. “We could use the time off.”

“You don’t even work a real job,” you remind him.

He frowns, the expression exaggerated and pouty. “Excuse me. I’m a public servant. I’m out there risking life and limb every day, for our stupid old landlord. Or did you forget who shoveled the steps this morning?”

“Badly,” you point out. “You missed half the landing.”

“I was conserving energy,” he says primly, “in case we do get snowed in. You’ll be thanking me when it’s day four of no groceries and you’re chewing on the couch cushions.”

You scoff, curling your feet under you. “We’ve got food. I made sure.”

“I saw.” He grins, tilting his head to rest against the back of the couch, blue eyes sparkling. “I saw you hide the good snacks in the cereal box. You’re so sneaky.” Satoru reaches for the remote out of habit, then remembers the TV is gone. “Oh. What are we supposed to do now? Talk to each other?”

You smile around the rim of your cup. “We could play cards.”

“We could commit tax fraud.”

You nudge his leg with yours. “Satoru.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighs. “But only if I get to cheat.”

“You always cheat.”

“You always let me.”

He says it quietly, but he looks at you like he’s talking about something else entirely. Maybe he is. You set the mug down carefully, your fingers too warm now to keep holding it. You’re suddenly aware of everything: how his thigh brushes yours, how he’s slouched so far down the cushions that his hoodie’s ridden up again, showing a sliver of pale skin and the waistband of his sweats; the scar on his hip he told you he got from an ice hockey accident; the way he shifts when you don’t say anything, like he feels your gaze and likes it.

The peppermint flavour in your mouth goes sticky and sweet.

“I’m bored,” he says again, softer. “You wanna do something stupid?”

“Like what?”

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Like take a really hot shower. Together. For environmental reasons.”

You huff, trying not to laugh, even as your stomach does a slow somersault. “Very eco-conscious of you.”

“Exactly. I’m a hero.”

You roll your eyes, but the thought lingers—his body wet and close, fogging up the glass, your cold skin pressed to his. It lingers longer than it should. You lean your head back against the couch and try to chase it away, but Satoru leans closer, propping his chin on your shoulder, voice lazy and low, as he says, “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You’re such a bad liar.”

You shoot him a look, about to say something, but it dies on your lips. He’s close. His eyes are sleepy but sharp, his breath warm where it brushes your cheek. You blink slowly. You think you could kiss him and he’d let you. You think if you said please, he’d let you crawl into his lap and never leave.

“I don’t even like peppermint,” you deflect, mostly to yourself.

“Riko used to say you always drank it in winter.”

“It’s supposed to feel festive.”

“You’re festive,” he says, almost absentmindedly, like the words slipped out without thinking.The snow falls harder. The pipes groan, and the heater hisses weakly. You pull the blanket higher around your neck. “You’re not warm enough,” he observes.

“Thanks for the update.”

“I’m just saying. We could fix that.”

“Is this you trying to seduce me?”

“Is it working?”

You stare at him. He’s gorgeous like this—half-lazy, half-serious, the kind of effortless pretty that shouldn’t be allowed in sweats and two-day-old hair. You think about the way his voice goes low when he’s teasing you, like it is now. The way he always runs a hand down your back, firm and gentle, when he knows your day’s been long. It’s unbearable, sometimes, the want. The wanting him like this.

“I could be convinced,” you say quietly.

“Oh, yeah?”

He doesn’t move right away; he watches you—searching, maybe, or waiting for you to change your mind. You don’t. He shifts to face you more fully, and leans in slowly, like he’s giving you time to pull away. His fingers brush your jaw, warm and careful, and then he kisses you.

It starts soft, the kind of kiss that feels like a question. You answer with a small sound at the back of your throat, leaning in, tilting your head, letting your mouth part just slightly under his. Satoru deepens it with a low noise that vibrates between you, his hand slipping to the back of your neck to anchor your close. His lips are warm, his mouth sweet—peppermint and the leftover hint of something honeyed from dinner. He kisses like he does everything else—wholeheartedly, a little cocky, and all-consuming. Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, needing something to hold onto as he presses in.

His other hand slides beneath the blanket, settling against your waist. You’re still bundled up in layers, but you feel the heat of his palm through the cotton. Your whole body reacts to it: shivering, softening, leaning closer. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound.

When he finally pulls back, it’s just barely, his nose brushing yours. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown, a flush high on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold. “You sure?” he asks roughly. “Because I’ll stop. I’ll stop right now if—”

You kiss him again, quick and firm. “I’m sure.”

Satoru lets out a breath, then nudges the blanket off both of you. The cold air hits your skin for half a second before he’s pulling you onto his lap, coaxing you into straddling him. You go willingly, knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of his hips. It’s clumsy at first—your feet slide, your knee bumps the coffee table—but he steadies you with both hands on your hips, and it stops being funny.

Your faces are inches apart. You can see every speck of silver in his eyes, the pink curve of his bottom lip, the threadbare collar of his hoodie that dips just low enough to show the line of his throat. Your fingers slip under the hem of it, and he shudders.

“This okay?” you ask quietly.

He nods, but adds, “Don’t ask like that. Like I’d ever say no to you.”

You kiss him again. His hands move—up your back, under your shirt, leaving trails of heat where they go. You’re both flush with warmth now, the kind of warmth that fills your chest and settles low in your belly. The radiator’s broken, and your tea’s gone cold, but it doesn’t matter, not with his body beneath yours, not with his mouth at your neck now, pressing soft, reverent kisses to the place where your pulse beats.

“Satoru,” you whisper, and he groans softly against your skin like it’s the best thing he’s heard all week. You tighten your fingers in his hoodie, tugging just slightly, and he lifts his head to look at you. You run your hands down his chest, over the soft cotton. “This has got to go.”

He grins, crooked and flushed. “You just want an excuse to touch me.”

You tug the hoodie up, and he raises his arms without a word, letting you pull it over his head. His hair is mussed even further, sticking up in a dozen directions, and you can’t help smoothing it down with your hands. His skin is warm beneath your palms, the planes of his chest scattered with faint scars.

“You’re staring,” he says, softer now.

“You’re pretty,” you reply, just as quiet.

His smile falters—not in a bad way, but in that way it does when you say something that actually gets to him. He swallows, reaches up, and brushes your hair back behind your ear. “You’re not supposed to say things like that when I’m trying to be cool.”

“You’re never cool,” you whisper, leaning in again. “I’m on birth control. Just so you know.”

His laugh is rough, but it dies in his throat the second you crush your mouth to his again—all heat, no patience now, just the wet slide of his tongue against yours. His hands are already pushing under your shirt, fingers tracing every rib, until his thumbs drag slow circles under your breasts. You arch into his touch.

“Off,” he says, yanking your shirt up. You lift your arms, letting him strip it away, leaving you in just your bra—some flimsy lace thing he’s already eyeing like he wants to tear it off. The cold air hits your skin, but you barely feel it, not with the way his gaze burns over you. His hands are on you again instantly, palming your tits through the lace, squeezing just hard enough to make you whimper. His thumbs flick over your nipples, already stiff, and you gasp when he leans down to lick a hot stripe over the fabric.

“So beautiful,” he says, teeth catching the edge of the cup. He tugs it down, freeing one breast, and seals his mouth over it with wet, filthy pulls of his lips while his tongue flicks the peak. You moan, thighs clenching, already grinding down against his lap where his cock strains against his sweatpants.

“Satoru—” Your fingers twist in his hair, holding him to your chest as he switches sides, biting lightly at the other nipple through the lace before dragging the cup down to give it the same treatment. His free hand slides between your thighs, cupping you through your pants, and you shudder when he presses the heel of his palm hard against your clit.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he groans against your skin, fingers rubbing slow, torturous circles. “Can feel it through your pants.”

You’re panting now, hips rolling against his hand, chasing the friction. He undoes the string of your pants with one hand, shoving them down your thighs along with your underwear. His breath hitches when he sees how wet you are, glistening and swollen.

“Look at that,” he rasps, dragging two fingers through your folds, spreading your slick. He slides one finger inside you, just to the first knuckle, teasing. “Already so fucking tight—how’re you gonna take me?”

You whine, hips jerking, trying to him deeper, but he just chuckles, adding a second finger, curling them just right to make you gasp. He pumps them slowly, his thumb circling your clit in time, until you’re trembling, your thighs shaking around his wrist.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers free with a filthy sound. You nearly sob at the loss, but he unbuckles his jeans, shoving them just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking.

“Ride me,” he orders, voice rough.

You don’t hesitate. You reach between you, guiding him to your entrance, and lower yourself into him inch by inch. The stretch burns, the way he fills you so perfect, it steals your breath. Both of you groan as you take him to the hilt, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

You start to move, rolling your hips in slow, deep circles, and his head falls back against the couch with a groan. His hands roam your body—squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples, then sliding down to grip your ass, urging you faster. You comply, bouncing on his cock now, the slap of skin echoing in the room. Every thrust drags him against that perfect spot inside you, and you can feel the coil of pleasure tightening, your clit throbbing with each movement.

“Gonna come,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. “Satoru, I’m—”

“Let go,” he urges, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles. “Come on my cock.”

The orgasm crashes through you—your back arches, your walls clamp down on him, and you cry out, shuddering as pleasure rips through every nerve. He fucks you through it, his hips jerking up to meet your frantic movements, until he groans and spills inside you with a low moan.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting, sweat-slick and spent. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as your heartbeat steadies. He tilts your chin up, after a moment, kissing you slow and lazy.

“So,” he mumbles against your lips. “About that shower.”

“Yes, please.”

He peels you off the couch with a groan, your legs shaky, your skin still fever-hot where his come drips down your inner thighs. The bathroom tiles are cool under your bare feet as he guides you in, his palm never leaving the small of your back, like he can’t stand not touching you for even a second.

Steam fogs the mirror before the water even hits your skin. Satoru adjusts the spray with a rough twist of his wrist, testing it with his fingers before pulling you under the warm heat. The water sluices over your shoulders, your breasts, his hands following its path like he’s trying to watch every inch of you with his touch instead.

“You missed a spot,” you tease, breath hitching when his thumbs drag over your nipples, already stiff again from the contrast of heat and his calloused fingers.

“Fucking smartass,” he says, but there’s no real bite to it—not when his cock is already thickening against your hip, the tip flushed and leaking. He crowds you against the tile, his mouth searing a path down your throat, sucking bruises into the tender skin below your ear. Water beads on his lashes when he looks up at you, fingers hooking under your knee to hike your leg over his hip.

“Turn around,” he orders, voice frayed with want.

You obey, bracing your palms against the slick wall as he presses flush against your back. His cock nudges between your thighs, not quite inside it—just rutting against your slick folds, teasing. The head catches on your entrance, the stretch just shy of unbearable, and you whimper, pushing back.

Satoru chuckles, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head aside. His other hand slides between your legs, fingers spreading your slick over your clit. “Still dripping,” he says, circling that swollen bud just hard enough to make your knees buckle. “Like you’re fucking made for me.”

You gasp when he finally pushes inside—slow, deliberate, stretching you with every inch until his hips meet your ass. The water cascades over both of you as he starts to move, deep, rolling thrusts that have you arching, your nails scraping against tile.

“Look at you,” he groans, tightening his grip on your hip. His other hand leaves your hair to grab your breast, pinching your nipple as he fucks into you harder. “Taking me so fucking good.”

It’s too much—the drag of his cock against your walls, the slap of skin, the way his teeth sink into your shoulder. You’re babbling, half-formed pleas and his name, your thighs trembling with every thrust.

“Gonna make you come again,” he grits out, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing circles. You come with a cry, your walls fluttering around him as your climax crashes over you. Satoru fucks you through it, his hips stuttering as his own release hits—a harsh groan against your neck as he spills inside you.

He holds you up when your legs give out, turning you in his arms to kiss you slow and filthy under the spray. His tongue licks into your mouth, while his hand drifts down to your ass.

“Clean now?” you mumble against his lips, dazed.

He laughs, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Dirty as hell.” His other hand slides between your thighs, gathering the mix of water and come dripping down your skin. “Gonna have to do this again.”

You shiver as he brings his fingers to your mouth, watching your lips part to suck them clean.

Spring is sprung, but nothing changes between you and Satoru. It’s as if the two days you spent snowed in right after New Year’s are just that—two days that exist outside of your usual periphery, kept locked away in the recesses of your mind like a dream you can’t decide whether to revisit or forget. The world has thawed and so, seemingly, has he. No more late nights curled together on his couch. No more cereal-for-dinner declarations or tangled limbs under too-warm blankets. That strange liminal space you existed in, suspended in the hush of snowfall and the hum of radiator heat, disappears as soon as the city begins to bloom again.

Instead, things shift back into old rhythms.

You start finding mismatched socks in the laundry again. His cereal bowls accumulate in the sink in quiet protest of dishwashing. You bicker over the thermostat settings like you always used too—Satoru insists that 24°C is the perfect temperature while you’re constantly reaching for the dial to turn it down. He steals your phone charger without asking. You use his shampoo out of petty revenge. He hogs the bathroom mirror every morning, combing through his hair with a devotion that borders on tragic. And you… you go back to pretending that none of it ever meant anything more.

You try not to notice how careful he is now, how his gaze lingers a little too long but his fingers don’t. How he keeps his distance—playfully, almost purposefully. As if closeness is a privilege that’s been revoked. As if intimacy was a mistake that neither of you are willing to acknowledge.

And because it’s easier this way, you don’t ask.

Instead, you both fall into the easy charade of Just Roommates, the same performance you perfected before that blizzard rewrote the script. It’s familiar, comfortable—until it isn’t.

Because one night, he doesn’t come home.

You notice it sometime around 11:30 P.M. His shoes aren’t by the door, his keys aren’t clattering into the dish like they usually do. The apartment is quiet in a way it hasn’t been for months. You try not to worry. He’s an adult. He disappears sometimes. That’s just Satoru being Satoru. But something in your chest prickles with unease, and your thumb hovers over your screen for a good five minutes before you finally open your messages.

You: hey, you coming home tonight?

No reply. The text sits there, read but unanswered. You sit on the couch for another half hour, idly scrolling, not really seeing anything. Your eyes keep darting to the door like he might waltz in with some dumb excuse and a bag of chips. When the clock hits 1:04 A.M., you give up pretending and text Nanami.

You: do you know where satoru is?

Nanami: hold on. Nanami: yeah. unfortunately.

Two seconds later, an image pops up.

It’s a picture taken at a frat party—one of those messy, overcrowded events where the music’s too loud and the floor’s sticky with God-knows-what. There’s a blur of colour and movement, people crowding the frame, but it’s not hard to spot him: Satoru, in the centre of it all, unmistakable even with the grainy quality of the photo. He’s half-sitting on the back of a couch, red solo cup in hand, sunglasses perched uselessly on the bridge of his nose despite it being well past midnight. His head is tilted toward a girl beside him—brunette, bright lipstick, her arm draped over his shoulder.

You stare at the image for longer than you mean to.

The girl’s laughing. Satoru’s smiling. And not that small, soft sort of smile he gives you when he thinks you’re not looking, but wide and lazy, the kind he usually wears when he’s trying to charm his way out of something.

Your stomach curls, cold and unpleasant. You shut your phone off. The apartment is still too quiet. You brush your teeth with shaking fingers, climb into a bed that feels a little too big, and press your eyes shut like that might block out the sudden ache in your chest.

It shouldn’t matter. You’re just roommates.

You think about the girl he’d brought home that day, three days into your moving in. You’d felt bad for her, knowing that she was just a notch in his over-filled stick. Is that what you are, too? Just another person he slept with? His little sister’s best friend, who’s never been the same after she died, just another name on his list?

Maybe it’s your own fault. You knew what he was like.

The morning after, you don’t reach for your phone. You don’t check to see if he came home sometimes after you fell asleep. You don’t look for his shoes by the door. You just go about your day like you’ve got somewhere to be.

It’s easier this way. To keep moving. To stay busy. To pull your focus away from the image etched into the backs of your eyelids: the shape of him in someone else’s orbit, grinning like he didn’t have your heartbeat tucked between his palms only a few weeks ago.

When you finally do check your phone, there’s no apology. Just a half-hearted “my bad lol” text that arrives sometime around 10 A.M., flippant and thoughtless, as if it never even occurred to him that you might’ve waited up.

You don’t answer. He doesn’t push. The silence becomes your new rhythm.

Where once there was casual ease between you, there is now only space. Deliberate, careful space. You start closing the door to your room whenever he’s home. You keep your headphones in, even when you’re not listening to anything. You stop making dinner for two. You stop leaving him notes on the fridge. He seems to notice, but doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s relieved. Maybe he’s too oblivious to put the pieces together. Or maybe this is just easier for him, too.

You start planning your exit. You don’t tell him. You don’t know how to. You start searching on your laptop late at night, under the covers like it’s something shameful. Studio apartments, room shares, sublets posted by strangers who spell everything in lowercase. Nothing looks promising, but you scroll anyway, determined to find something, anything, that doesn’t have him in it.

You start making lists in your notes app. Things you’ll need: a kettle, your own set of plates, a bathroom rug. Things you’ll miss: the way he sings when he’s in the shower, the sound of his laugh echoing down the hallway, the smell of his shampoo. And then there are the things you don’t let yourself write down. Like the way his arms felt around you that night on the couch. Or the look in his eyes when he thought you were asleep. Or the fact that, for a brief few moments this winter, you really, truly believed he could be something more.

You don’t talk about any of it. Not to him, not to Nanami, not to your friend who sits next to you during class. You just swallow it down like a bitter pill and keep moving.

Some nights, he comes home late and you pretend to be asleep. Some mornings, he lingers in the kitchen a little too long, like he’s waiting for you to say something, anything, but you never do. You sip your coffee in silence, watch the steam curl up, and keep your eyes fixed on the window. It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him. It’s that you don’t trust what you’d say.

Because the truth is this: you’ve overstayed your welcome, not just in this apartment, but in the idea of him. You let yourself want, and now you’re paying for it.

And Satoru—he’s still Satoru. Beautiful and reckless and untouchable in the ways that matter most. He flits around you like he doesn’t notice you pulling away. Or maybe he does, and he’s letting you go. So you send in applications. You tour a too-small studio with cracked linoleum and convince yourself the peeling walls are “charming.” You lie on your bed at night and stare at the ceiling and imagine what it’ll feel like to live in a place where his laugh doesn’t echo through the walls.

Spring has sprung. The world is warm and blooming again. But you—you’ve never felt colder.

When you tell Nanami you’re moving, he doesn’t chide you for it. Just shrugs, and asks if you want any help with packing. You nod, grateful, and ask if you can accompany him for their ice hockey practice that evening. You need to give Satoru your keys back, and you would prefer to do it with your friend next to you.

The rink is always colder than you expect. Even in the early blush of spring, when your jacket is too light and the wind a little gentler, the ice rink clings to winter. Nanami doesn’t say much on the walk over. He’s not the type to pry unless invited, and you’ve been… quiet, to say the least. A silence cushioned in resignation more than sadness. As if the version of yourself who cried into her pillow over Satoru in January has finally dulled into someone softer, steadier.

You sit in the bleachers with your arms tucked close to your chest as Nanami skates onto the ice. The boys are already roughhousing, and Satoru—he’s grinning. Always grinning.

You spot him the moment he hops the rail. His hair is a mess under his helmet, and his jersey hangs a little lopsided over his pads, but there’s that same carefree energy, as though nothing in the world has ever really touched him. Not even you.

You fold your fingers around the keys in your coat pocket and press them tight into your palm. Practice is what you’ve come to expect. Fast. Loud. A blur of bodies in motion, blades on ice, the occasional thud as someone crashes into the boards. You watch the way Satoru moves—like he owns the rink, like gravity is just a suggestion. You realise, belatedly, that you are looking. Maybe too hard.

When the whistle blows and the scrimmage ends, the team filters off the ice in staggered waves, peeling off helmets, slapping shoulders, shouting about drinks and dinner plans. Nanami nods at you from the bench, motioning that he’ll meet you outside. You’re halfway down the bleachers when you hear his name.

“Hey!” Satoru’s voice cuts through the buzz of conversation. You turn. He’s jogging over with that same impish grin, helmet under one arm, hair sweat-damp and eyes far too blue. “You came.”

You blink. “Yeah.”

“You missed me, huh?” he teases, bumping your shoulder with his. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you love watching me play.”

There it is—that familiar tilt of his head. A part of you wants to smile back, the way you always do. Fall into the rhythm again. Pretend.

But not this time.

You pull your hand from your coat pocket and extend it toward him, fingers curled around the small, silver ring of keys. “Here,” you say simply.

Satoru stills. He looks at your hand like he doesn’t quite understand what he’s seeing, like the keys might bite him if he takes them. “What…?” his voice falters. “What’s this?”

“Your spare,” you reply. “I’m moving out.”

He doesn’t take the keys right away. He stares at you, the confusion sharpening into something quieter, something more serious. “You’re serious.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

You don’t say I wouldn’t have watched you skate around like nothing ever happened if I wasn’t. You don’t say I wouldn’t have dragged myself back into this space, this icebox version of our past, if I didn’t want to close the door for good.

He finally reaches out and takes them, curling his fingers slowly around the metal like it might dissolve. You notice the way his smile has faded. The rink is suddenly very quiet.

“I see,” he says. It’s the most subdued you’ve heard him in weeks.

You take a step back. “Good game, by the way.”

You walk away.

04. the end (happily ever after).

“You can’t leave until the end of the month,” Satoru says by way of greeting, toeing off his shoes at the entrance. “You signed the lease with me. You have to stay until April.”

You pause halfway through stacking one of the moving boxes, fingers curled around a stack of your dog-eared books. “Are you seriously quoting the lease at me right now?”

Satoru shrugs out of his jacket. “I’m just saying. It’s legally binding.”

You set the books down a little too hard. “What, so now you care about the rules?”

“I’ve always cared,” he says.

“No, Satoru. You care when it’s convenient. You care when it means getting the last word. You don’t get to act like this now, after weeks of pretending I don’t exist.”

“I wasn’t pretending—”

“You stopped coming home,” you snap, the words catching in your throat like thorns. “You stopped showing up. You stopped talking to me.”

“I needed space,” he says, and you laugh—cold and bitter and hollow.

“From what? From me? From whatever happened that weekend?”

He says nothing. Just shifts his weight and stares at the floor like the grain of the wood might suddenly rearrange itself into answers.

You swallow. “Right. Of course. That weekend didn’t mean anything. Just like everything else.”

“Don’t do that,” Satoru says quietly. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what we are,” you retort defensively. “Were. Because you clearly figured it out a long time ago and didn’t bother telling me.”

“It’s not like that.”

“No?” Your voice shakes. “Then what about the girl from the party, Satoru? What was that?”

His head jerks up. “What girl?”

You cross your arms. “Nanami showed me a photo. Some frat party. You and some girl. You looked—happy.”

Something flickers across his face—confusion first, then something like hurt. “You mean Misaki?”

“I don’t know her name. I just know you were smiling. With your arm around her. And I know I don’t sleep with people I don’t care about. So maybe it didn’t mean anything to you, but it did to me. And you were just going to go back to your life like nothing happened, I wish you’d said so before I gave a damn.”

“Misaki,” he says again, stunned. “She’s dating Hajime.”

You blink.

“She’s my teammate’s girlfriend. He wanted a photo of all of us for her birthday because she’s moving to Osaka. That’s it. We all posed for a stupid picture, and then I left. I didn’t even want to go.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But your chest still aches with weeks of uncertainty, with that night you nearly cried yourself to sleep on the mattress you were already half-packing away. “Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I thought I already fucked everything up,” he admits. “You stopped talking to me. You looked right through me. I thought I crossed a line, and you regretted it.”

You shake your head, disbelieving. “You—you thought I regretted it? Satoru, I—” You cut yourself off. Swallow it down.

He steps forward, hands out like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed anymore. “I didn’t want to risk making it worse. But then you stopped coming to practice. You stopped leaving your door open. You were just… gone.”

“The only thing we ever had in common,” you say, “was Riko.”

His face falls.

“She’s dead, Satoru. And maybe… maybe we were just trying to hold on to each other because she was the one who tied us together.

“No.” His voice is firm. “No, that’s not true.”

You look away. “Isn’t it?”

“Maybe at first,” he says. “But not anymore. Not for a long time.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I’m an idiot. Because I thought I had more time. I miss you. Every day. I miss going grocery shopping with you. I miss your hair in the drain and your mugs on the counter and the way you used to fall asleep on the couch back when we still had the TV. I miss you,” he repeats, quieter this time, “so no. You can’t leave. Not until I get to ask you out properly.”

For your first date, Satoru sneaks you into the campus ice rink at one in the morning.

“Nicked the keys from the coach,” he says. “Don’t tell Nanamin.”

The air inside the rink is biting and crisp, even colder than you remember from the times you’d come to watch practice. Satoru flips the lights on, flooding the empty arena with a soft, almost romantic glow—clean white against the polished glass, shadows stretching long along the bleachers. You stand near the edge of the rink, hugging your coat tighter around your body.

“I can’t believe you stole from your coach for this,” you say, though you’re smiling.

Satoru shakes the keys at you. “Borrowed. It’s borrowing if I return them.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m endearing,” he corrects, walking backwards towards the ice, arms spread wide. “And this is your first official date. Has to be memorable.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is soft and melty, like it always is around him now.

He’s already laced into his skates, having arrived with them slung over one shoulder. You, on the other hand, have to sit at the benches while he kneels in front of you to help you with yours. His fingers are quick and practiced, tugging the laces snug before double-knotting them with a flourish. It should be embarrassing—being fawned over like this—but there’s something reverent in the way he moves, like this is a ritual of his own making, and it tugs at something in your chest.

“You do this for all your first dates?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but failing. You’re too aware of the way his breath fans over your thighs, or the way his touch lingers just a little too long against your ankles.

He glances up at you, bright eyes amused. “You’re my first. Be gentle with me.”

The ice is smooth, freshly resurfaced. Satoru leads you to the centre, gliding effortlessly, show-offy as ever. He does a little spin, throws both arms in the air like he’s just scored, then turns and offers you a hand.

“You know I can’t skate like that.”

“Lucky for you,” he says, stepping closer and tucking his fingers through yours, “I happen to be very good at holding people up.”

You’re wobbly at first, your legs unsure, and he skates backward slowly, pulling you along. His hands are steady on your waist, his smile wide and proud. And once you find your rhythm—still shaky, but upright—you circle the rink together, the only sounds the soft hiss of blades on ice and your laughter echoing against the rafters.

It’s surreal. You’ve seen him like this before: in his element, cocky and sure of himself on the ice. But it’s different now, because now, every glance he throws your way feels like it means something. Halfway through, he slows to a stop and pulls you in close. “You know,” he says, softer now, “I used to dream about this.”

You blink up at him. “About breaking and entering university property?”

“No,” he says. “About you. Being with you. I used to imagine all the ways I could maybe get you to see me the way I saw you. And it always started with something like this.”

You flush. “Satoru…”

“Do you remember,” he says, nudging his forehead against yours, “after the snowstorm? When I told you I wouldn’t regret it?”

You nod.

“I meant it,” he says. “I still mean it.”

The kiss comes naturally, like exhaling. You’re both half-frozen, and he tastes like mind and cold air, but it’s perfect anyway—slow and warm and just a little clumsy, because you’re still in skates and your balance is terrible, and he laughs into your mouth when you nearly topple over.

“I’ve got you,” he says, arms anchoring you close.

When you eventually sit on the benches again, sipping hot chocolate from a thermos he’d smuggled in his bag, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and leans in to whisper, “Next time, I’ll bring you here in the daytime like a normal person.”

You hum, smiling against the rim of the cup. “But I think I like this version better.”

Satoru’s fingers find yours and squeeze. “Me, too,” he says.

The final buzzer sounds.

The crowd erupts around you—horns blaring, feet stomping, voices swelling into an anthem of unbridled celebration. On the ice, bodies collide in a heap of jerseys and helmets, gloves flung into the air like confetti. The scoreboard flashes a victorious 5 – 4, and you swear your heart’s beating just as fast as the game-winning slapshot Satoru landed in the final two minutes.

You stay seated in the bleachers, slightly breathless, fingers clenched around the hem of your coat. The whole rink pulses with energy. You could cut the adrenaline with a knife. Students are screaming their heads off. Someone nearby throws a foam fingers into the rink. Your ears are ringing and your eyes are locked on the number 6 jersey, skating lazy circles while his teammates swarm Nanami in a dogpile near the goal.

Satoru Gojo.

You watch him turn, searching the stands. The grin on his face is dazzling, sweat-slicked hair sticking out of his helmet in damp tufts. He lifts his stick over his head like a banner, pointing it directly at you when he finds you in the crowd.

Your heart stutters. You’re not even embarrassed about how wide your smile stretches.

He doesn’t even wait for the rest of the ceremony.

Not ten minutes later, he’s climbed the barriers and jogged up the bleacher steps, ignoring the photographers, the shouts of “Gojo! Pictures!” and Nanami’s loud, “Get back here, Gojo!” He finds you in the fifth row, standing now, half-shocked and half-laughing, and barrels straight into you.

“Hey—” you start, but then he’s kissing you.

It’s not the first time—God knows it won’t be the last—but something about it makes the rest of the world dissolve. Your hands find the sides of his face, fingers catching on the straps of his helmet, as he presses you back gently against the guardrail. He tastes like mint and ice and sweat, and his smile never fully disappears against your mouth.

“I knew you’d come,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice rough with exertion. “Could feel it.”

You swat him lightly on the chest, breathless. “Of course I came. It’s the finals.”

“You didn’t come to the semi-finals,” he teases, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Thought I’d been demoted.”

“You were in the sin bin for half the game,” you retort. “Not exactly sweetheart behaviour.”

He grins against your cheek, pulling back just enough to look at you. The crowd’s still losing their minds around you, but neither of you seem to notice. His helmet’s off now, clutched in one hand, and his forehead leans against yours.

“You came tonight,” he repeats. “That’s all I needed.”

It hits you, then, just how many people are watching. Phones are out. A chant’s already building in the lower rows—Gojo! Gojo! Gojo!—but he doesn’t care. He kisses you again like you’re the only person in the arena.

Maybe you are.

“God,” he says, breathless as he pulls away, “you’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that after a win.”

You smile, fingers curled loosely in his jersey.

“Well,” you whisper, tugging him closer, “guess you’ve earned it.”

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pleasantlycrazyworld · 15 hours ago

Text

Put My Dog Tags Back On

Warnings: NSFW/explicit smut, possessive Bucky, a bit of a breeding kink, dog tag kink, unprotected sex, praise, eye contact kink, soft!dom Bucky

Summary: You wear his tags to sleep because it makes him smile. You didn’t know taking them off would make him snap.

You weren’t trying to be seductive. You weren’t to get a reaction. You were just tired, had just finished brushing your teeth and you had basically floated barefoot back into Bucky’s room, your skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and soft against your shoulders. The borrowed t-shirt you usually wear to bed was in the hamper, leaving you in just a plain black bra and cotton panties.

And his dog tags.

You’d started wearing them one night, joking that if he could mark you with hickeys like a possessive punk, you should get to wear his tags like a soldier’s girl. He hadn’t even laughed just slid them around your neck with that quiet, reverent look like he wanted to worship the ground you walked on.

So you wore them. Always. Because they made his eyes go dark in that very special way.

You were half-asleep as your fingers reached up to unclasp them. And that’s when you heard it.

“No.”

You blinked before slowly turning.

Bucky stood in the doorway. Still in his tactical pants, black shirt damp with sweat, eyes locked on your bare chest more specifically, on his tags in your hand. “You don’t take those off,” he said, stepping forward, voice low and edged with something sharp. “Not when you’re in my bed.”

Your breath caught. “I--I was just-”

“Uh-uh.”

He crossed the room in two long strides and took the tags from your hands, draping them back around your neck with slow, deliberate fingers. They settled cold between your breasts, and you shivered.

“You wear these to bed,” he murmured, leaning in, his mouth brushing your cheek, jaw, neck. “You wear them when you wake up in my arms. You wear them when you go to the store or talk to one of our little team mates. You wear them when I fuck you. You wear them always, sweetheart. You got that?”

The tone if his voice, the way it got deeper, and allowed his Brooklyn accent to thicken made your knees go weak.

“Y-yeah,” you breathed nodding dumbly.

“Good.”

Then he was kissing you, devouring you. His hands gripped your waist as he walked you backward until your knees hit the bed. You dropped with a soft gasp, and he followed, hovering over you like a stormcloud about to burst.

Bucky peeled your panties down your thighs, slow and hungry, and tossed them to the floor. He undressed in pieces each button and buckle undone with purpose until he was bare and hard above you.

“You don’t take off what belongs to me,” he growled, lining himself up. “Not without asking. Not when it marks what's mine.” Then he pushed in, deep and thick and claiming, and your head fell back with a strangled moan.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

You looked up; meeting his gaze. He was already watching you like you were the only thing that existed, his dog tags swaying gently between your chests, clicking softly every time he rocked into you. “Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel like home... Always fucking do.”

His pace was slow, deliberate-- possessive. Like he wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was imprinting on you. Staking his claim, right down to the bone.

“You like this?” he asked, voice like gravel and honey. “My tags bouncing on your tits, my cock buried so deep you’ll feel it for days?”

“God, Bucky--yes-”

“You’re mine.” His hand slid between you, thumb brushing your clit. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, hips jerking. “Fuck-I’m yours--”

He leaned down, nose brushing yours. “That’s right. My girl. My bed. My tags.”

Your thighs were trembling, back arching, slick sounds echoing in the room as he worked you open, fucked you through it--made you feel it. And the whole time, those damn dog tags stayed cold and heavy against your chest like proof.

“Gonna come for me?” he murmured. “Let me have it, baby. Wanna feel you crumble for me.”

You crumblee with a choked cry, nails digging into his back, your body clamping down around him so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of him. He buried his face into your neck and cursed against your skin. Thrusting into you harder one last time before staying there--grinding deep, grinding in as far as he possibly could as he spilled with a growl and a shudder, fingers bruising your hips.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of you, panting, forehead resting on your shoulder. The room was quiet except for your breaths. And the sound of his dog tags clicking against your skin as your bodies slowly relaxed into one another.

You finally whispered, “You really like those tags, huh?”

He laughed, voice still rough. “Baby, you could be wearin’ a trash bag as long as those are around your damn neck.”

You grinned. “So I shouldn’t take them off?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Only if you want me to fuck you like that again.”

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Tagging:

@its-in-the-woods

@nomajdetective

@ghost-wolf34

@all-by-myself98

@luannastylinsonlupin

@rockmelikeahurricaneee

@freakyflora

@nishinoyastoes

@zzz000eee

@nubecita040

@awesompawsum

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yungistiny · 2 days ago

Text

1-800- HOT- AND - MAD

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which you find out your boyfriend is really hot when he’s pissed off

warning: jealous/possessive/ dom yunho, bratty/sub reader, descriptions of violence (yunho gets into a fight) agonophilia, oral, anal fingering, overstimulation, mentions of blood, slightly toxic behavior, mirror sex, finger fucking, unprotected sex, slight degradation, JUST FILTH YALL

genre: drama, smut

pairing: yunho x afab reader

word count: 9.3k

masterlist:

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The car was quiet. Too quiet.

Not peaceful quiet, thick quiet. Choking, humid, argument still lingering in the air like smoke kind of quiet. The kind where the windows should’ve fogged just from the heat of it all, even though no one had touched anyone in hours.

Yunho’s knuckles were tight around the wheel, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he took the left turn toward the club a little faster than necessary. He hadn’t looked at you once since you got in the car, which would’ve bothered you more if you weren’t still fuming yourself.

The tension between you had started this morning when you made the mistake of reading one of his texts over his shoulder. Your mom asked if you’re single again?” you’d said, your voice already edged with something sharp.

He’d tensed up immediately, like he knew what was coming. “She wants me to meet some girl from her church,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. Not when this wasn’t the first time. Not when you’d been together for three years and she still referred to you as “that girl from the city.”

So naturally, you snapped. And then he snapped. And then came the hours of passive aggressive silence followed by sharp edged comments about your flirting habits, like how you couldn’t possibly go a night out without batting your lashes at some bartender to get free drinks.

“Maybe if you had a better job, I wouldn’t have to,” you’d shot back and immediately felt bad for saying it but too damn stubborn to apologize.

Now you were in his passenger seat, legs crossed, arms tight against your chest in your barely there black dress, because fuck his mom, and fuck being the respectable church girl she wants him with. You were wearing sin like perfume.

The air conditioning was blasting but your skin was hot. From anger, from guilt, from him. From the way he kept shifting in his seat like the veins in his arms were trying to keep him from doing something reckless. Like dragging the car over to the curb and telling you exactly who you belonged to.

“You gonna talk to me at some point,” you asked, eyes trained out the window, “or are we just going to arrive in awkward silence and pretend we haven’t been at each other’s throats all day?”

His hand flexed on the gearshift. “You wanna keep fighting?”

You turned your head slowly. “You’ve barely said ten words since we left.”

He scoffed. “Because if I open my mouth again, I’m gonna say some shit I can’t take back.”

You leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Try me.”

His head snapped toward you, his voice low and deadly. “You think it’s cute, don’t you? Playing dumb, dressing like that, laughing at every goddamn joke some guy tells you like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” you snapped. “I’ve spent the last three years watching your mom try to set you up with her fantasy nun in training while I’ve bent over backward for you, so yeah, maybe I like it when people treat me like I’m worth something.”

The tires screeched slightly as he pulled into the club lot, slamming the gear into park with a growl deep in his chest. “You think I don’t know your worth?” he asked, finally looking at you. Really looking, like he was seeing you through the fury, the hurt, the weeks of pushing it down and pretending things were fine. “I know exactly how much you’re worth. That’s why I haven’t ripped the head off every asshole who so much as breathes in your direction.”

His voice dropped, almost a whisper now, as his eyes dragged down your body. “But tonight? You so much as smile at the wrong guy… I might just stop holding back.”

Your breath caught. Not fear. No, nothing like that. It was want. Ugly, bitter, bone deep need. For him to snap. To do something reckless. To remind you why no sweet little church girl could ever survive the heat of his hands on her skin.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The music hit first, bass thick enough to rattle your ribs, lights strobing like the club was trying to induce collective blackout. It was already packed inside, bodies pressed together in sweaty celebration, and the second you stepped in, Yunho’s hand brushed yours like he might take it.

But he didn’t.

He just pulled it away, shoved it into his jacket pocket, and set his jaw like he’d rather chew glass than touch you right now.

Mingi spotted him immediately from the upper section, two empty shot glasses in his hands and that stupid birthday grin that could charm the pants off anyone. “Yunhoooo!” he called out over the music, barreling down the steps. “There’s my man!”

You didn’t even get a second to adjust your dress or shake off the frost between you and Yunho before Mingi wrapped a heavy arm around your boyfriend’s neck and tugged him into a hug so aggressive it probably knocked his spine back into alignment.

“Come on,” Mingi grinned. “There’s a bottle with your name on it upstairs. I’m two tequila shots from legally changing my name to Park Seonghwa, so you’re babysitting tonight.”

Yunho opened his mouth like he might say something, to you, maybe, or to protest, but Mingi was already dragging him off by the shoulder, weaving through bodies like a man on a mission. And just like that, Yunho was gone.

You stood there alone for a beat, the throb of the music suddenly too loud in your ears.

“Rough night?” came a voice beside you.

You turned to see Seonghwa standing with a fresh drink in his hand, dressed in all black and already looking faintly amused, like he could read the tension radiating off you like heat waves. Hongjoong was beside him, half a head shorter and smirking like a little gremlin who knew everything.

“Oh, the roughest,” you said, shaking it off and forcing a smile. “Remind me why I didn’t just stay home and drink in my bathrobe?”

“Because I texted you three times that I’d be offended if you didn’t show up,” Hongjoong said, sipping his drink. “And because you knew you’d look hot in that dress and make Yunho insane.”

You raised a brow. “I’m not trying to make him insane.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Seonghwa muttered into his glass, eyes casually dragging down your body. “That dress is weaponized.”

You shrugged one bare shoulder. “He was already mad before I put it on.”

Hongjoong leaned in. “Still mad about his mom?” Him recalling the conversation, well you snapping about everything earlier on the phone.

You didn’t answer at first, just accepted the drink Seonghwa handed you, a dangerously pink thing with way too much vodka and sugar, and downed half of it in one go.

“He won’t say it, but yeah,” you muttered. “She invited him to brunch with that girl from her church. Again. Vanessa, Veronica or whatever.”

Seonghwa made a noise that sounded vaguely like a dying cat. “Does she think he’s gonna marry someone who plays acoustic guitar in the church choir and makes casseroles?”

“She made her own rosary beads,” you said flatly.

Hongjoong choked on his drink.

“I can’t compete with that,” you added. “I’ve said fuck six times since I walked in the building.”

“Seven,” Seonghwa corrected, then winked. “Make it eight and I’ll buy your next round.”

You laughed, finally, genuinely. It felt good. It felt like your ribs weren’t made of stone anymore.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Yunho was watching.

And he was. From the top floor, half a glass of whiskey in hand, pretending to listen to Mingi and San argue about who had better taste in partners. But his eyes?

They hadn’t left you once. Not since the moment you smiled at Seonghwa. Not since you leaned in a little too close to Hongjoong and tossed your hair like you knew exactly what you were doing.

Not since you crossed your legs in that dress and gave someone else the laugh he hadn’t earned all day.

And the way his jaw clenched?

It said you were about to learn what happens when Yunho stops pretending to be calm as he kept watching you now as the three of you grabbed shots.

Three shots in, the burn didn’t hurt anymore.

The first one had seared its way down like punishment, sharp and heavy in your chest, maybe for everything you wanted to say to Yunho but didn’t. The second tasted a little like regret and mango syrup. And the third? That one just made you warm.

You were sitting at the bar now, legs crossed, back arched just enough to be comfortable and just enough to make that slinky dress of yours hug the dangerous parts. Seonghwa had pulled up a second stool beside you, and Hongjoong stood between you both, drink in one hand and your wrist in the other like he was trying to show you how to fold a damn origami crane with a cocktail napkin.

“No, no, you have to crease it like this,” Hongjoong insisted, smirking as he pressed his thumb over yours. “You don’t just fold and hope for the best. It’s not your love life.”

Seonghwa snorted, and you flipped Hongjoong off, but not before laughing, real and unguarded.

It felt good to laugh. You needed it. And if Yunho wanted to stew in his own petty silence all night, that was his choice.

You snuck a glance upward, toward the balcony section. He was still up there. Still with Mingi, still nursing the same whiskey, still watching, but only occasionally. Not like before.

Which annoyed you. Which, you could admit it, hurt a little too. You wanted him to look.

You wanted him to care that you were here, having a good time without him, even if every laugh felt just a little bit hollow.

“You okay?” Seonghwa asked, nudging you with his shoulder, sharp eyes reading yours too easily.

“Yup,” you said, and took your fourth shot.

He didn’t believe you. Neither did Hongjoong. But bless them, they didn’t push.

The music was better now, less aggressive, more rhythmic. The kind that made your hips start to sway on instinct, even seated. Around you, the club pulsed with sweat and bodies and light. It felt like the kind of night that could go anywhere. Dangerous. Loose. Free.

You leaned in toward Seonghwa. “Do I look like I’m trying too hard?” His mouth twitched. “No. You look like a girl trying not to care about the fact that her boyfriend’s being a dick.”

“Good,” you said, lifting your chin.

Because you were. Trying not to care. Failing miserably, but trying.

And Yunho? He was back at the railing now. Still quiet. Still unreadable. Still stewing. He’d seen your fourth shot. He’d seen the way you smiled after it. The way Seonghwa leaned in to whisper something in your ear and you tilted your head, giggling into your shoulder.

He wasn’t mad at them. Not really. He trusted them, maybe more than anyone. But you? You were his. And watching you fall into that easy charm you always used when you were trying to prove a point…..

It fucking burned.

Mingi, oblivious and a little drunk, slapped his chest and offered him another shot. Yunho waved it off.

“I’m good.”

Mingi raised a brow. “You don’t look good.”

Yunho didn’t respond. Because his fists were clenched again. Because you were smiling again and it wasn’t at him.

And because deep down, somewhere under the bruised ego and unsaid apologies, he knew the longer this night went on, the closer he was to snapping.

You’d just finished twisting your straw into a coil of plastic frustration after Hongjoong and Seonghwa went to talk to Yeosang, when you felt a familiar weight drape dramatically across your back.

“Babe…” Wooyoung’s voice drawled against your ear, theatrical and soaked in tequila. “Why is your man up there glaring at everything like he’s about to set the entire club on fire with his mind?”

You didn’t even turn around. “Because he’s mad at me.”

“I can see that,” Wooyoung said, arms winding loosely around your shoulders as he leaned his chin on your head. “He’s staring like he wants to fight me just for being this close. Which, rude, considering I’m your favorite.”

You snorted, finally twisting in your stool to face him. “You are not my favorite.”

“Your mom thinks I’m your favorite.”

“My mom thinks you’re my gay best friend.”

“Exactly.”

Wooyoung flopped onto the stool beside you, already halfway through someone else’s abandoned drink like it belonged to him. He looked devastating, as always, black mesh shirt clinging to his chest, eyeliner sharp enough to draw blood, and those lips already curled into a shit eating grin.

“Did you two fight again?” he asked, voice sing song as he tapped your glass.

You hesitated, then nodded. “It’s been building all day. All week, actually.”

Wooyoung raised a brow, his voice dipping. “And yet here you are. Looking like sex in heels. Drinking without him. Laughing with Seonghwa. Flirting with Joongie. Mm, baby girl… you trying to start a war?”

You arched a brow. “I’m just living.”

“You’re poking the bear,” he said, eyes glittering as he leaned closer. “And the bear is feral. I haven’t seen Yunho look this pissed since that guy asked if you were single at karaoke night after you first started dating and you said….”

“‘Depends who’s asking,’” you finished for him, grinning.

“He didn’t speak to me for three days after that,” Wooyoung huffed, tossing back the rest of his drink. “I’m not even the one who said it! I just invited the guy to join!”

You giggled, your chest finally starting to relax. The club felt better now. Lighter. Fuzzy around the edges. Yunho was still up there, sure, but right now he felt like a shadow. A beautiful, brooding statue of rage and repressed emotions.

Until you made the mistake of glancing up again. Because he was watching. Elbows on the railing, drink forgotten, eyes locked straight onto you. He looked darker now. Not jealous. Not possessive.

Just done pretending he was okay.

Wooyoung followed your gaze. “Oh damn.”

“What?” you muttered.

“He just licked his teeth,” Wooyoung whispered, sipping someone else’s drink now. “You are so getting railed tonight.”

You rolled your eyes. “Unless he fights me first.”

“Oh, he’ll fight you,” Wooyoung purred. “With his dick.”

You shoved him, laughing, but your gaze flicked back up.

Still Yunho. Still watching. But now? Now he wasn’t just watching. Now he was moving.

Slow. Purposeful. Drink gone, hands flexing as he handed Mingi something and murmured something to San.

The bear had left the cave.

And he was coming straight for you.

You lost him somewhere between the bar and the DJ booth.

One second Yunho was a looming shadow stalking down the stairs, eyes fixed on you like a storm cloud with legs, and the next, he was swallowed by the crowd. A flash of flannel. The glint of his cross necklace. Then gone.

Which, fine.

If he wanted to play emotionally constipated beast, then you were going to be a brat right back.

You set your drink down and turned to Wooyoung, your lipstick stained grin already halfway to dangerous. “Come dance with me.”

He blinked. “Now?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “On my deathbed. Yes, now.”

Wooyoung let out a laugh that turned heads and gave a little bow. “Lead the way, queen of chaos.”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor, already packed, already pulsing, the music vibrating up through your heels and into your bloodstream. Lights flickered hot pink and violet overhead, bodies moved in rhythm, and you let it all wash over you. Let yourself be loose. Let yourself forget Yunho’s cold shoulders and sharp words and that pinched, disapproving scowl.

Wooyoung spun you effortlessly, laughing when you bumped into him, hips brushing. He was warm and silly and sweet, your anchor and your weapon, all rolled into one. And unlike your boyfriend currently brooding somewhere in the shadows, Wooyoung danced with you like you deserved to be seen.

You threw your arms around his neck, tilted your head back, and let your hips roll to the music. The tequila shimmered in your bloodstream, making you bold, shameless. It was harmless. Just you and your best friend blowing off steam.

Until he appeared.

Not Yunho.

Some random half drunk guy with no boundaries.

You didn’t even catch his face at first, just the hands. One on your waist. Then another settling lower. Close. Too close.

You tensed, instinct flaring. But before you could even react, Wooyoung turned, “Uh…. hey man….” just as the guy leaned in behind you, his breath too close to your ear.

“You wanna dance, baby?”

You froze.

Baby.

BABY.

That’s what Yunho calls you when his voice drops into his throat and his hands are on your thighs and he’s about to wreck your entire existence.

You turned, slow and unimpressed, swaying slightly from the shots. Your hand rose to brush his arm off as you said, “Can you back the fuck off….”

CRACK.

The sound was deafening. Not from the volume, but from the shock.

Because in one heartbeat, Yunho was behind him.

And in the next, his fist was flying, slamming straight into the guy’s cheek so hard his head snapped sideways, body stumbling back.

“Yunho!” you shouted, but he didn’t even blink.

The guy barely regained his balance before throwing a punch back, landing hard into Yunho’s jaw with a sickening thud, and then it was on.

Not a scuffle. Not a push.

A full on, fists flying, tables shifting, club goers screaming BRAWL.

“OH SHIT!” Wooyoung yelped, immediately grabbing your arm and dragging you back as the two of them collided in the middle of the dance floor.

Drinks went flying. A table toppled. Yunho didn’t care.

He was all muscle and fury as he swung again, rage in every movement, pure instinct. You’d never seen him like this. Not even close.

Yunho. Sweet, loving Yunho.

Yunho, who once sobbed when he stepped on a roach and tried to bury it with dignity.

Yunho, who cried watching the last scene of Coco and apologized to a vending machine when he kicked it.

That Yunho was gone.

And in his place?

An unhinged, terrifyingly hot version with blood on his knuckles, fire in his eyes, and only one thing on his mind, protecting what was his.

And oh God, you were shamelessly, absolutely, wildly turned on.

“Holy shit,” Seonghwa breathed behind you, as he, Hongjoong, and Yeosang pushed their way through the crowd to join you and Wooyoung.

“Is that?” Jongho’s voice cut through, followed by the unmistakable bark of San yelling, “YUNHO, STOP!”

But he didn’t. Not until security came rushing in, two thick men grabbing the other guy, one grabbing Yunho by the arm. And still, Yunho fought to get one more punch in, his chest heaving, sweat glistening down his throat, lip split, hair wild across his forehead as he growled, “Touch her again, and I’ll fucking bury you.”

“Yunho!” Mingi was there now too, panting, trying to wrestle his best friend back with an arm across his chest. “You’re done, man! You got him!”

The guy, dazed and bleeding, was being dragged out through the crowd.

Yunho finally stopped fighting.

But he didn’t take his eyes off you.

His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, jaw clenched, fists still flexing at his sides as everyone turned to stare.

You should’ve been mortified. Shocked. Maybe a little horrified.

And sure, you were a little shocked. But mostly? You were wet.

Like ruin your underwear, (if you had any on), legs squeezing together, core clenching WRECKED at the sight of your usually quiet, soft spoken boyfriend losing his mind because someone dared to touch you.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asked beside you, genuinely concerned.

You blinked at him slowly. “I think,” you said, voice dazed, “yeah….. I’m….” Need to climb right now. Make him know that you didn’t want that dude. Show him he was the only thing you wanted.

Yunho brushed past the others, not saying a word as he grabbed your hand, rough, fingers locking with yours like steel, like he needed to feel you to stay grounded. He didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t thank Mingi. Didn’t acknowledge Seonghwa’s wide eyed “what the fuck was that?”

He just pulled. Out the side door. Through the alley.

And straight to the car.

No words. No hesitation.

Just heat radiating off him like asphalt in the August heat, his grip ironclad and silent until he threw the driver’s door open, got in, and waited until you did the same before slamming it shut.

The engine roared to life. And still not a word.

The only sounds in the car were the pulse of your heart in your ears and the low crunch of his cracked knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

You swallowed thickly, sneaking a glance at him.

His lip was split, the crimson trailing into the corner of his mouth like a slash of warpaint. His knuckles were smeared with drying blood, his or the other guy’s, you didn’t know. His chest was still rising and falling beneath his black tee and flannel like he hadn’t quite come down yet.

And that look, his eyes glued to the road, the tight line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth twitching like he still wasn’t finished.

You clenched your thighs. Hard. Because it was too much. He looked like sin. Like a punishment.

Like a man who’d been holding it together all night and finally snapped, and now didn’t trust himself to speak because if he did, he might pull over and fuck you against the hood.

You watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he shifted gears, the bracelet on his wrist catching the streetlights in flashes of silver. Your thighs pressed tighter, core throbbing with each quiet second that passed.

You wanted him to say something.

You wanted him to do something. But the silence? It was worse. It was foreplay. Hot. Charged. Lethal.

You shifted in your seat, breath shallow.

“Yunho,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink. Just turned the wheel, took the last corner toward your apartment and parked hard, tires squealing a little as the car jerked to a stop.

He finally looked at you then.

And oh God, the look in his eyes…. Still silent.

Still storming.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The door slammed behind you with a thud, the echo still ringing in the apartment as Yunho strode in like he was trying not to pace. His jaw was still clenched. His shoulders still tight. He was breathing through his nose like every breath might be the one that gets him under control.

You stood there in the entryway, your heels clicking on the wood floor as you watched him pull off his flannel, slow, tense, controlled, then reach behind his head and tug off his shirt.

It stuck to his skin for a second. Bloody, sweaty, soaked in a night that had ruined you both.

And still, he didn’t speak.

He tossed the shirt in the direction of the laundry basket in the hall but didn’t check if it landed.

Just walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, took a sip.

You were still standing there like a fucking Victorian ghost in a slutty dress and smeared lipstick, your thighs pressed together, heat pulsing between them like a warning siren, and he, HE, had the audacity to act like nothing happened.

He ran a hand through his hair, still silent, and finally said, muttering almost to himself, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

You blinked.

Hard.

And then your body moved before your brain did.

“Are you serious?”

He froze.

Slowly turned to face you.

You didn’t even give him time to process it.

“No. No, no, no. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to beat the shit out of someone for touching me, drag me out of the club like I’m about to be claimed in the wild, drive me home in brooding silence, and then, what? Shower? Like this is just a normal fucking Wednesday?!”

He stared at you.

And God help you, he looked even hotter under your kitchen light, busted lip, bruised knuckles, small blood smudged across his forearm, a red fingerprint on his neck where someone tried to pull him off. Bruised jaw. Like war torn sex.

“I am soaked, Yunho,” you snapped shamelessly, stepping toward him. “I’ve been soaked since you threw that guy across the floor like a ragdoll and growled at him like you were about to bite his throat out. And now you’re just gonna rinse off?!”

Yunho blinked once. Twice.

Then he let out a single laugh, dry and sharp, like it had been dragged from his chest against its will.

But it died in his throat almost as soon as it escaped.

Because something shifted in him.

His eyes darkened. His body stilled.

His hand snapped up to grab your jaw, not harsh but firm, fingers curled just beneath your ear, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You want me like this?” he asked, voice low and hoarse, barely more than a growl. “Blood on my knuckles and barely holding it together?”

Your breath caught as he stepped closer, chest brushing yours, the heat of him swallowing you whole. The scent of sweat, blood, his skin, him, was dizzying.

“You want me when I’m this fucked up?” he whispered, words pouring hot against your lips. “When all I can think about is burying myself so deep inside you I forget why I was pissed off in the first place?”

Your knees damn near buckled.

“I almost blacked out on that floor tonight,” he murmured, eyes flicking to your mouth. “Because some asshole touched what’s mine. You think I want to just walk away from that? Go take a fucking shower like I’m not starving for you?”

You whimpered, actually whimpered, and his grip tightened just slightly, dragging your gaze back to his.

“I want you,” he said, voice thick and full of everything he hadn’t said all night. “But you’re gonna say it.”

You blinked up at him, lips trembling.

He tilted his head. “Tell me.”

“I want you,” you breathed.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Your voice cracked.

“I want you to fuck me so hard I forget we ever fought.”

His eyes snapped shut like the words hit him between the ribs harder than that guy hitting him in the jaw as he let you go. The words hung between you like smoke. thick, intoxicating, fatal.

He didn’t see you drop.

He only felt it after.

The sound of your knees hitting the floor. The rush of air as you sank down in front of him, fingers trailing down his stomach as you settled between his legs like it was the only place you belonged.

His eyes shot open.

And what he saw?

You.

Looking up at him through your lashes, mouth already parted, pupils blown wide with lust and vengeance and that sick little spark that always lit up when you wanted to ruin him.

“Fuck.” Yunho choked, the word cracked and useless, falling from his lips as he stared down at you like he couldn’t believe what you’d just done.

But you weren’t teasing.

You were starving.

And so was he.

You let your hands drag up his thighs, slow, deliberate, until you reached the waistband of his jeans, already tented, already twitching with how unbelievably hard he was.

His busted lip split wider when he bit down on it.

“Baby…” he rasped, voice shaking, hands hovering at his sides. “You don’t have to…”

You looked up at him, lips brushing the fabric of his pants.

“I want to.”

One hand slipped beneath the waistband, fingers wrapping around him, hot, heavy, pulsing against your palm. He hissed, hips jerking slightly.

You pulled him out slowly, unzipping him, the way you knew drove him crazy, dragging your hand down his length and watching his body shudder from it.

And when you leaned forward and licked the tip, just the tip, his entire body snapped tight like a livewire.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, one hand flying to the back of your head, not pushing, just there, grounding himself, gripping your hair like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

You didn’t take your time.

Not tonight.

Tonight, you were making a point.

You took him into your mouth, deep and filthy, lips slick and cheeks hollowed as your hand followed, twisting at the base. His breath punched out of him in a moan so ragged it almost sounded like your name.

“F… fuck, baby…” he grunted, head falling back as your tongue swirled, as you gagged slightly and kept going, tears pricking your eyes but your grip never faltering.

The blood on his knuckles. The bruise on his jaw. The taste of him on your tongue and the weight of him hitting the back of your throat, everything about him was violent, raw, and so goddamn yours.

He looked back down, his jaw slack, lips parted as he watched you ruin yourself on him, lips stretched and dripping, your eyes fluttering closed like you’d die if he didn’t come undone.

“You want me to forget the fight?” he growled, voice low and rough. “You’re doing a fucking good job of it.”

You moaned around him in response, sending vibrations up his spine and causing his breath to hitch.

Your mouth was wrapped tight and hot around him, cheeks hollowed and lips swollen, spit trailing down your chin like sin in liquid form. Your hand worked the base, slow and tight, just the way he liked it, just enough to keep him teetering on the edge while your tongue licked along the underside like you wanted him twitching from the inside out.

“Fuck…” he groaned, eyes fluttering closed, hips stuttering forward involuntarily. “You’re gonna make me…”

But he didn’t finish the sentence.

Because he couldn’t.

Instead, he pulled back, not all the way. Just far enough that his dick slipped from your lips and dropped heavy against your mouth, wet and flushed, smearing across your cheek and lips in the filthiest, most possessive display you’d ever felt.

You gasped softly, breath hot against him, tongue darting out instinctively to trace the head, and then slowly, you flattened your tongue along the side of his dick, licking him like a goddamn lollipop.

And when your eyes locked with his? You smiled. “I don’t know why you get so jealous anyways…” His breath stopped as you licked him again. Slower. “your dick’s already ruined me for anyone else.”

Silence. Dead, soul leaving his body silence as Yunho stared down at you like he’d just heard the voice of God and it was moaning his name. His chest heaved, pupils blown wide, chest gleaming with sweat, busted lip dark red and parted in pure shock.

He looked feral. Possessive. His jaw clenched, hand tightening in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you exactly who you were playing with.

“I ruined you?” he asked, voice rasping out like he barely had the air to speak.

You nodded, dragging your tongue up his shaft again before pressing a soft, open mouthed kiss to the head.

“Completely,” you whispered. “You think any other man could make me drop to my knees like this?”

That did it. His hand fisted in your hair. He pulled you up finally but not gently, and not like a man with self control. Like a man who was done holding back.

His mouth crashed into yours, rough, biting, blood smeared, and when he shoved you against the kitchen counter, your back arching and your legs spreading instinctively, you knew exactly what was coming.

“Say it again,” he growled into your mouth, grinding against you through your dress.

“Say you’re mine.”

You barely got the words out between gasps, his mouth devouring yours, the heat of him pressing against you like he was seconds from splitting in two.

“Yours…” you breathed, voice already breaking as his tongue slid hot and hungry against yours. You clung to his shoulders, grinding up against him like your body didn’t care that you were in the kitchen, on the edge, half drunk and half mad.

“All yours.”

Yunho grabbed your waist and lifted you like you, slamming you down on the kitchen counter, the thud echoing through the apartment.

He shoved your knees apart in one motion, his frame crowding yours completely. Then came that dress. That little black fucking dress.

He pushed it up, rough, almost angry, and when his eyes landed on the space between your thighs, everything stopped. His jaw locked. His nostrils flared. “You didn’t wear panties,” he growled.

You met his gaze, all fire and challenge, heart hammering. “Nope.”

A sound left him, low and dark and almost a snarl.

“You went to that fucking club,” he said, voice sharp with disbelief, “after everything today… dressed like that… with nothing on under this fucking dress?”

You didn’t flinch. Just held his stare and whispered, “What’re you gonna do about it?”

His hands gripped your thighs so tight you gasped, bruises incoming, and he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter with a force that nearly knocked the salt shaker over.

His eyes dropped back between your legs, where your pussy glistened under the low light, slick, swollen, already needy just from the weight of his voice. He licked his lips, his busted one splitting slightly again from the pressure. Blood be damned, he needed a taste.

“You walked around all night like this?” he muttered, dragging two fingers up your slit so slowly you saw stars. “With this pussy dripping for me the whole time?”

You moaned, helpless, arching, wrecked from the pressure of just that.

“Answer me,” he snapped, fingers teasing at your entrance but not pushing in, his breath hot against your throat.

“Yes,” you whimpered. “I wanted to mess with you…. to watch you lose your mind.”

He laughed, low and wrecked and dangerous.

“You want to see what that looks like, baby?” he whispered, kissing your neck before his voice dropped darker. “I’ll fucking show you.” He dropped to his knees. Right there, on the tile.

Dragging you to the edge of the counter, spreading you wider, arms locked under your thighs as he dove into you like a starving man, like he was angry, desperate, and starved for the taste of you.

You screamed.

His mouth was brutal, tongue flattening against your clit with every pass, lips sealing around you like he was trying to suck your soul out through your cunt. And when you tried to close your legs, he growled, deep and low, holding you open as his nose brushed your folds and his tongue pushed deep inside you.

You nearly came right there as his tongue fucked into you with a rhythm that felt dangerous, mouth slick and hot as he pinned your thighs wide and buried his face deeper like he wanted to drown in your pussy. And God, he was so good at it.

Every flick. Every suck. Every guttural sound he made as he licked you like a man starving, it hit every nerve, every shaking muscle, until you could barely even breathe. And then you felt it. His fingers.

Two of them, wet from his mouth, slick and long, sliding into your cunt like he owned it. Curling deep and pounding harder, pushing against that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back in your skull.

You clawed at the counter, heels digging into the drawers, hips jerking helplessly as he tongue fucked your clit and finger fucked your pussy with ruthless, relentless thrusts.

“Oh my God…. Yunho, I’m… fuck, I’m….”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down.

And you were too wrecked to notice that while one hand worked your cunt, the other, wet from your own slick, had slid lower, fingers circling your ass. He pushed one inside. You gasped, the sound jagged, more like a sob than a moan. Not pain. Shock. Pleasure so sharp it made you twitch.

Your pussy clenched wildly around his fingers as his tongue licked harder, and then he added a second finger to your ass. Slow at first, then pushing deeper. The stretch. The fullness. His tongue fucking into you. You shattered.

Screaming. Shaking. Legs trembling so hard your heel knocked over a jar of cinnamon that crashed to the floor unheard. Your orgasm hit like lightning, ripping through you as his tongue kept moving, his fingers kept fucking your ass full, your pussy dripping, your voice gone.

But Yunho didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause. He slid his fingers out of your ass and thrust three of them back into your cunt, sticky, soaking wet, so thick it burned deliciously as he shoved them in to the knuckle.

He pulled his mouth away and looked up at you from between your thighs, face soaked, lips swollen, eyes wild as he stood back up.

Then his free hand gripped your chin, hard enough to tilt your head and force your dazed, tear filled gaze to lock with his. “Fuck yourself on them,” he growled.

Your thighs trembled against his forearms, your back arched, sweat clinging to your skin as you tried, really tried, to move. To fuck yourself on his fingers like he told you to. But your body was wrecked.

Still twitching. Still fluttering from your orgasm. Your clit throbbed, your pussy clenched tight around his fingers, still soaking wet and stretched wide, and he hadn’t even really fucked you yet.

“Come on,” Yunho rasped, voice wrecked, his grip on your chin tightening just enough to make you look at him. “You said you were mine. Show me.”

You moaned, high and breathless, as you reached down, trembling hands fumbling for his wrist, trying to ground yourself.

Your fingers wrapped around his thick forearm, nails digging in, and you rocked, hips lifting off the counter, pushing yourself down on his hand with a broken cry. But it wasn’t enough.

Your body jolted from overstimulation. Your legs were too weak. Your core too sensitive. You whined in frustration, grinding down again but gasping halfway through the motion, overwhelmed and desperate.

“I…. I can’t….” you choked out. “I want to, I just… fuck, Yunho, I can’t do enough!” Your voice cracked as he stared down at you like a man seeing divinity for the first time.

You. Completely undone. Trying so hard to please him you were shaking. Still soaked. Still needy. Still his as he leaned in slowly, lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re trying for me even when you’re falling apart.”

You whimpered. His fingers curled inside you just right and your legs jerked.

“You know how fucking beautiful that is?” he whispered. “You look so sweet when you’re desperate for me.”

You moaned into his mouth, still pushing, still riding the edge of madness as your walls fluttered helplessly around his fingers, so close to the edge again it was embarrassing.

“Let me take over,” he murmured against your lips.

And when you nodded, meek and broken and begging, he growled, low and feral.

“Good girl.”

He pulled his fingers from your pussy with a filthy sound, and you gasped, collapsing against his chest, body shaking. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you like you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, still dazed, lips brushing his throat.

“Bed,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Please, Yunho…”

He didn’t answer, just carried you down the hallway and into your bedroom like a man on a mission, and made a hard left.

Straight past the mattress.

Straight to the far wall.

To the floor length mirror.

You blinked, confused, until you met the cool surface of the mirror and Yunho pressed into you, hips grinding against you as his hands slid down to your ass.

Your eyes opened wide.

And you saw it.

You saw everything.

Your ruined dress hiked around your waist.

Your slick thighs trembling.

Your lipstick smeared from moaning into his mouth.

Your chest rising and falling like you were trying not to cry from how badly you needed him again.

Yunho stared into the mirror, one arm braced beside your head, the other hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread open against the glass.

His voice was low, rough, and feral.

“I’m not taking you to bed,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Yunho…”

“No.” His eyes burned into yours. “I want you to watch.”

“I want you to see how I fuck you,” he growled. “I want you to look in that mirror and watch me really ruin you for anyone else.”

You were breathless.

Heart pounding.

You turned your head slightly to look at him, still expecting him to slide into you, to lift your leg and finally, finally take what was already his.

But instead? He stepped back. And started taking off the rest of his clothes.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Your breath caught as you watched his busted knuckles.

Dried blood flaking down the side of his ring finger. A smear near his wrist. A dark bruise already blooming on the back of his hand.

And then your eyes dragged upward, over the slope of his jaw to that beautiful mouth. His lips, still swollen. The bottom one split and drying now.

You clenched your thighs so hard it almost hurt.

And the worst part?

You knew his mother would call this blasphemy. She’d throw holy water at you through the phone, clutch her rosary, say three Hail Marys and ask Saint Veronica or whatever the hell that girl’s name is, to shield her baby boy from the succubus in the mirror.

Too late.

Because you weren’t sorry.

You were more turned on than you’d ever been in your entire life.

You couldn’t stop staring, at the bruises, at the blood, at the way he stood before you, naked now except for the weight of his rage and the throb of his dick, hard and leaking.

“Fucking look at you,” Yunho muttered, stepping closer. “Pressed up against that mirror, staring at me like I’m a goddamn drug.”

You whimpered as he stepped behind you again, his dick brushed the swell of your ass. One big hand came up to cup your throat, not tight, just there, possessive and warm and so him.

“That what I am to you?” he whispered against your neck. “Something you can’t quit?”

You moaned.

And in the mirror, your eyes fluttered shut.

“No,” he growled, hand tightening just a little. “Keep them open. I want you to see exactly what kind of man you’re letting ruin you.”

Yunho’s voice was dark silk, frayed, trembling on the edge of something unholy. His hand was still wrapped loosely around your throat, not choking, just there, a reminder. A claim.

And behind you, you felt him line up.

Thick. Hot. Ready.

He didn’t thrust, not yet. Just slid the head of his dick through your folds, slow and teasing, smearing your slick everywhere as you twitched against the mirror, your breath fogging up the glass.

“You feel this?” he muttered, rubbing the tip against your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp. “You’re soaked. Messy all over me.”

You moaned, pushing back against him, thighs shaking.

“Still begging for more even after I finger fucked your ass and made you come all over my face.”

Your eyes rolled back and he growled, deep, rough, animalistic.

“Eyes on the mirror. Now.”

You obeyed. Because how could you not? The reflection was pure sin.

You, flushed, lips parted, eyes wide and dazed.

Him, bruised, blood streaked, dark and towering behind you, dick thick, big and twitching against your pussy. He pushed in. Just the tip.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, your fingers clawing at the mirror, trying to stay upright as he held you still and slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid in another inch. Then another. Stretching you wide, your body pulsing around him.

“Still so fucking tight,” he rasped against your ear, voice strained like it was costing him everything not to slam into you. “You take me like you were made for me.” And you loved it.

Every possessive word. Every filthy groan. The bruises, the blood, the way his dick made you feel owned. A little toxic. But you didn’t care. You arched your back, pressing your ass against his hips.

“You like this,” he said, tone dark and almost accusing, like he couldn’t believe the shameless, needy moans falling from your lips. “You like knowing you’re mine. That no one else’ll ever get this pussy again.”

You looked right into the mirror. Met his eyes. And grinned. “Your mom would be so disappointed in me,” you panted, voice high and wrecked. “Guess Saint Vanessa, or Veronica, or whatever the hell her name is, doesn’t get off to blood and bruises.”

Yunho snapped.

His hand clamped tighter around your throat, not choking, but claiming, and he slammed into you with one brutal thrust that shook the mirror and knocked every coherent thought from your skull.

You screamed. Loud. Messy. Wrecked. He didn’t stop.

He fucked you hard, each thrust knocking your body forward as he held you up like a doll, his dick driving so deep it punched the air from your lungs. You heard the slap of skin, the creak of the mirror, your own choked moans.

And through it all, you watched in the reflection of the glass.

Watched your body shake. Watched your mouth fall open in silent pleasure. Watched the dark, dangerous man behind you lose himself in you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

He wasn’t coming yet. This wasn’t about that. This was about making you remember exactly who you belonged to.

Your moans cracked apart into sobs. Your hands slipped down the mirror, leaving streaks in the fog from your breath and the heat of your body. He just kept fucking you. Deep. Brutal. Possessive.

One hand gripped your thigh, the other curved tight around your waist like he was afraid to let go. And all you could do was take it, choke on your own cries, mouth falling open with every thrust as your pussy fluttered around his dick, so wet, so swollen, so wrecked.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” Yunho groaned, lips brushing your ear. “Dripping. Shaking. Dumb for my dick.”

Your eyes rolled back. Your hips pushed back on instinct.

“And you love it, don’t you?” he growled. “You love when I’m like this, fucked up, furious, making you take every inch like a good fucking girl.”

“Y…. Yes… yes, fuck, Yunho!”

His grip on your waist tightened as he drove deeper. “You want sweet? That’s for Saint Vanessa. You want me? This is what you get.”

You came again with a scream, your entire body spasming against the glass, legs giving out, completely ruined, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave of sin and surrender.

Yunho kissed your shoulder, soft for just a breath. Then he pulled out.

And you whimpered, the loss unbearable. But before you could collapse completely, he scooped you up, carrying you to the bed like you were made of glass. Only you weren’t. You were made to be broken.

He didn’t throw you down. He placed you, on your hands and knees, your dress bunched around your hips, your body still twitching. But the mirror…

The mirror was still in view.

You caught sight of yourself, face flushed, eyes wide, hair wild, tears dried on your cheeks, and behind you, him. Towering. Silent. Bloody. Bruised. Hard.

Yunho climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your legs wider. His palm came down on your ass, hard, the crack echoing and you yelped, your body jolting forward.

He growled, grabbing your throat from behind, fingers wrapping firm around it, not choking, just owning as he leaned in close to your ear, voice so low it made your spine arch.

“I don’t need church,” he whispered. “Not when I see God every time I fuck you.”

And then he slammed into you from behind. Hard. The bed shook. You screamed.

Yunho set a rhythm that had no mercy, his dick punching deep, every thrust sending shockwaves through your entire body. You could barely hold yourself up on your arms, your thighs shaking, your hands gripping the sheets like lifelines.

And in the mirror, you watched it happen. You. Bent. Spread. Eyes rolled back. Him. Hand on your throat. Blood on his mouth. Possessed.

Wrecking you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Look at you,” he growled. “So fucking beautiful when you’re ruined.” He slipped your dress on off, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

Your mouth dropped open as he slapped your ass again, then gripped it to pull you back harder on his dick, fucking into you so deep your arms nearly gave out.

“Who do you belong to?” he asked, panting, voice shaking now.

“You,” you sobbed. “Yunho…. fuck, you!”

And the mirror reflected it all. Your confessional. Your surrender. Your salvation.

“Fucking perfect,” Yunho growled behind you, hips snapping into yours with a rhythm so brutal it made your vision blur. “You’re taking me so deep, baby. You feel that?”

You did. God, you did.

Every inch. Every vein. Every stretch of his dick had you clenching, fluttering, crying around him.

You could barely hold yourself up anymore, arms trembling as your body rocked forward with every thrust. The mirror still showed the wreckage, your open mouth, your glassy eyes, the way his hand on your throat kept you steady even as he unraveled you from behind.

“I can feel you about to come again,” he panted, breath catching in his throat. “This pretty little pussy’s choking me.”

You sobbed something, his name, maybe, or just a plea, and Yunho groaned, hips faltering just once as his hand slid down your belly, curling around your waist.

And he slowed. Not stopped. Not gentle.

But that punishing pace softened, replaced by something deeper. More intimate. More devastating.

His hand left your throat and slid around your front to cup your chest, pulling you up slowly until your back was flush against his chest and you were both kneeling on the bed, still joined, still locked together.

The mirror reflected everything now. Your body, shaking, your mouth, open, your skin, marked. And Yunho? A mess.

His busted lip pressed to your shoulder. His hand trembling where it gripped your breast. His eyes burning as he stared at the reflection of you both, his forehead pressed to your temple, hips grinding slower now, deeper.

Right there. Right on the edge.

“Look at us,” he whispered, voice raw and broken. “Look what we are.”

You whimpered, body so close to unraveling again you could barely breathe.

“After everything today,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder, “you’re still mine. Still here. Still letting me love you like this.”

You blinked tears. “Yunho…”

“I’m close,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby, I’m…”

He pulled out of you gently, and you gasped, ready to beg for him back, but he turned you around, guiding you down with such care it made your heart seize.

Your back hit the mattress. Your legs fell open.

And Yunho, bruised, blood stained, beautiful, hovered over you like you were the only thing in the world that could save him.

He looked into your eyes as he pushed back in, deep and slow.

You moaned, hands flying to his shoulders, your body stretching around him again like it was made to.

“I love you,” he whispered. “No one’s ever gonna touch you. Not after this.”

You nodded, tears streaking your cheeks. “Only you. Always you.”

He kissed you then, desperate, open mouthed, sweet and ruined as he started to move again. Slow. Deep. Loving.

You clung to him.

And as your body clenched around him, tight and wet and so incredibly his, you felt him gasp.

“Come with me,” he begged. “One more time, baby. Just once more.”

And you did.

Together. Wrapped in each other. Shaking, crying, kissing between gasps as he spilled into you and you shattered around him, lips whispering love and reverence like prayers as your bodies gave out.

You didn’t need anything else.

Just him.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The sun was pouring through the curtains in soft gold, casting lazy stripes across the bed, the sheets… the clothes still scattered all over the floor like the aftermath of a spiritual and physical exorcism.

You were half sprawled across Yunho’s chest, one thigh tossed over his waist, your mouth slack against his collarbone, his hand still curled around your hip possessively even in sleep.

He was knocked out cold, busted lip healing, but otherwise calm, peaceful.

Which was ironic.

Because last night, this bed had been ground zero for a war zone. And the mirror still across the room bore the faint handprint smudges to prove it.

It was a rare kind of silence. Too rare. The kind that should’ve been a warning. The front door opened. You didn’t stir. Neither did Yunho.

But fate didn’t need your permission today.

“Yunho, sweetheart?” a familiar voice called gently. “Are you home? You didn’t answer my calls.”

The sound of heels on hardwood. A gasp. The kind only a Korean mother with a key she wasn’t supposed to have and a deeply Catholic soul could make.

“Oh… oh sweet Virgin Mary!”

You jerked awake.

Yunho startled hard, blinking groggily, hand tightening on your thigh like he’d just woken up in a battle field. “What the fuck….”

That’s when you heard it.

“JEONG YUNHO!”

He sat up so fast he knocked your arm off his chest, blanket sliding down to reveal your entire very naked, thoroughly marked body.

And standing frozen in the doorway?

His mother.

In slacks. With a handbag. And a face that looked like she’d just seen Lucifer himself and he was balls deep in her son’s girlfriend.

“Mom?”

She raised a hand. “Don’t even, don’t you dare speak right now!”

Her eyes swept the room, his busted lip, the mirror across the room with streaks still fogged up, and the unmistakable smell of sex so thick in the air it could’ve been bottled and sold at Sephora.

You, bless your brave, exhausted, freshly fucked soul, pulled the sheet up just enough to cover your chest and rested your chin on Yunho’s shoulder.

Yunho made a choked noise as his mom’s eyes bugged.

“I… You….” she sputtered, clutching her bag like it might save her. “I came to drop off side dishes! I didn’t come to witness my son’s moral collapse!”

“Too late for that,” you mumbled under your breath.

“What was that?!”

“Nothing,” you said, batting your lashes.

Yunho groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Mom, seriously. Why do you even have a key?”

“Because I thought my son was in need of spiritual nourishment, not….” she gestured wildly between your bodies, “living in debauchery!”

You smiled sweetly, full of pettiness. “Would you like some coffee before you go?”

She backed out of the room like she was escaping a crime scene, muttering to herself about incense and repentance and how many Hail Marys it takes to erase what she just saw.

The door slammed. Silence. And then? Yunho looked at you, utterly deadpan.

“She’s never going to cook for me again.”

You shrugged, curling back into his chest. “That’s fine. I’ll ruin your soul and your cooking standards.”

He laughed, truly laughed and kissed the top of your head.

“Worth it.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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#yunho #jeong yunho #yunho smut #yunho x you #yunho x reader #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic

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satorupi · 3 days ago

Text

lowkey pathetic bf!satoru missing you - mdni ٠࣪⭑

satoru feels like a pervert.

a depraved, pervy boyfriend despite having acquired the pictures in his hold in the least pervy way possible. ones you'd gotten him to take during the act or taken yourself.

you'd left with a kiss pressed to his mouth and these pressed into his hand like it was the most normal way to say bye for the couple days you'd be on your girl's trip. a coy little "love you, don't miss me too much!" like he won't do exactly that. like you don't know exactly what kind of reaction the polaroids will elicit.

he tries to hide it from himself at first, honestly. mini photo album he'd bought just to store them tucked in a box, box tucked under the bed. but they taunt him, calling his name every night he'd lay in your spot. snuggled up against your pillow to sleep like you're still here because no, video calls don't cut it.

satoru lasts a grand total of 3 days.

3 days till he's dragging out the box, pretty images splayed all over silky sheets in a disorganized sprawl. you bent over the couch, you on your knees between his thighs with a grin and a messy face. you, you, you—beautiful in every single one and it's devastating. not good for his sanity.

back to the present, the image his eyes are locked on is more than enough to sustain him. to let the memory of the exact situation form and play out like a movie in his mind. 2 weeks ago, negligee the same shade as his eyes, bunched up above your hips. riding him with your palms braced on his chest to lift and drop yourself on his cock. necklace swaying like a pendulum, bouncing against your sternum. the broken, breathless sounds he'd gotten out of you burned into his mind.

he strokes himself slowly, lazily, like drawing it out will make the orgasm stretch twice as long. thumb swiping over his leaky tip, smearing precum all down his shaft. his hips twitch when his wrist twists just right, already painfully close after a few minutes of this. he has your face in his direct view, your voice bouncing around his head. that airy “feels good?” from the last time in particular. another glossy drip wets his knuckles, sweat beading on his forehead.

you'd probably find this funny. possibly endearing. maybe ask him if he misses you that much—which he does. doesn't matter that you'll be home in the next 36 hours. he misses the way you smell, misses the way you feel. how you claw at his back when he pushes into the right spot, how warm you are. how your laughter bursts out of you like sunshine. 3 days and he's going insane. like a dog without it's owner. 3 days only and he's fucking his fist to polaroids of you like a lovesick, perverted loser.

which, well, isn't too far off.

"oh..fuck." he whines lowly, breathless, pinching the base of his cock in hopes of staving off the building orgasm—2nd one, mind you, since the first came too quickly. it doesn't help at all.

the next picture his gaze falls to doesn't make it any easier either. it's a little blurry and he knows he'd taken it because you're on top of him again. head tipped back, straps hanging off your shoulders with your bra shoved below your tits. he remembers it oh so vividly. how wet you'd been, how noisy. how you'd nearly ended him in 4 measly thrusts.

that plan to last a little longer? gone straight to hell with that specific thought. it's that heat at the base of his spine that has him tugging his cock firmer now, frantic. trying to match the feeling of your silken heat with just his hand. he never can, but this works fine enough for now. his breath punches out in little pants, abs flexing every time he jerks upward, chasing that dizzying edge of release. pearly droplets leak past his head and smear down the length of him with every stroke, like his cock is crying at the memory. like it misses you just as much.

his need borders on embarrassing at this point. he wants to bury his face in your neck and listen to you speak. wants to let you just sit on it for hours just so he can feel your warmth. wants you on his face, cunt messy on his tongue till he no longer cares for oxygen—just the taste and familiar smell of you.

he's depraved at this point. wet thwacks loud with the tugs of his hand, toes curling, free hand keeping his favorite snapshot in his line of sight. a sound cracks from deep within him, high and helpless, losing his rhythm only when his abs tense and he's cumming—hard. cock throbbing between his fingers as thick, hot spurts spill over his knuckles, splattering across his toned stomach, over one of the photos he didn't even realize he'd had this close.

for a moment it's all breath and heat in the room, ivory strands of his bangs plastered to his forehead like he'd ran a triathlon. he fumbles for napkins to wipe his stomach and fingers, then the image all tenderly. pink high on his cheeks like he's embarrassed about the mess, murmuring a soft sorry. not entirely ashamed, not really.

then he's curling into your spot to stuff his face in your pillow again, setting aside a bit of time for this before he'd clean up. eyes shut like if he keeps them closed tight and stays still enough, it's like you're home already.

just a few hours left, no big deal.

maybe.

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑ a/n: ty for reading ⭑.ᐟ

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑ temp mlist: #sena's script ⏾ for all works ⭑.ᐟ

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo #jujutsu kaisen smut #sena's script ⏾#satoru gojō x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #jujustu kaisen #satorupi 𓃠 #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk satoru

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revehae · 3 days ago

Text

daddy’s girl

pairing ↠ dilf!jaehyun x (f) reader (ft. bf!jaemin)

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, age gap (18+), unprotected sex, stepcest, underaged drinking, toxic relationship, reader is barely 18, this is like extremely gross don’t say you weren’t warned

summary ↠ jaehyun has been your stepdad since you were maybe thirteen or fourteen. at first, you didn’t want anything to do with him - not to go to his and your mom’s wedding, not to move to his state, and definitely not to live in his house. you had convinced yourself that all men were the same. but jaehyun was nothing like the father that had abandoned you at the worst possible time and left you to deal with your emotionally unavailable mother. he was kind, sweet, caring. and as you grow older, you find yourself falling for the one person you should never, under any circumstances, want.

wc ↠ 20k

a/n ↠ my first real fic all year 🥹 as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

for as long as you could remember, you had never been particularly fond of your boyfriend’s friends.

no comments were spoken squarely to your face, but you knew they were conjured. it made you wonder what they said to jaemin when you weren’t there on his lap, and you wondered if he chimed along.

thick clouds of smoke loomed in the stuffy air, making it difficult to breathe. you coughed into your fist, feeling your throat itch. honest to god, you had absolutely no clue how they smoked that shit. the one time jaemin had coaxed you into putting a joint to your mouth, you had thought you were dying.

haechan said something that abruptly made the group of boys burst into laughter. you jolted, lifting your head from jaemin’s shoulder. he tightened his arm, which was looped around your back, holding you against him. “jaem?” you whispered.

“hm?”

you were reluctant to say anything, knowing how he would likely respond, but you didn’t want to be here anymore. “can we go somewhere else?”

jaemin exhaled through his nose. you knew he didn’t want to leave. to him, these nights with his friends were harmless little exploits that made his life a little easier.

you had never thought of your bright colors and cute patterns as inherently childish. matter of fact, the cute, brown top with stitched teddy bears you were wearing was one of your favorite shirts.

“why do you want to leave?” jaemin asked softly, gently rubbing your back in hopes of soothing you.

“it’s too noisy,” you complained, peering up at him.

jaemin could have rolled his eyes. fuck’s sake, it was a party. obviously, it wasn’t going to sound like a prayer hall. “if you smoked a little, it wouldn’t bother you.”

“i don’t like smoking.”

“that’s because you’re not used to it, baby,” jaemin reasoned.

“i don’t want to get used to it,” you mumbled. “you guys all pass around the same joint. you’ve basically kissed each other. which means that when you kiss me, i’m kissing all of them.”

jaemin groaned, “you’re so dramatic, you know that, sweetheart? it’s just a joint.”

“can you please just take me home?” you pleaded. between the rings of smoke hanging over you and the resounding thud of music and the cacophony of loud voices, you felt like you were suffocating.

jaemin was silent for a few moments, jaw tight. something tightened in your chest, recognizing the look on his face as something angry. before you could change your mind, jaemin pushed you off his lap, watching you scramble onto your feet, and spoke, “gonna call it a night early, gang. my special princess over here is too good to hang with us.”

mark groaned. haechan rolled his eyes. jeno snickered, not so discreetly looking at your legs, and said, “bye, princess.”

jaemin flipped him off and guided you away, murmuring, “come on, baby.” his hand was on the small of your back.

jaemin opened the door on the passenger side of his car, letting you climb inside. by the time you were on the road, his hand was on your thigh.

you didn’t mind that. jaemin was a very touchy boyfriend and he always had his hands all over you. the attention was something you needed, something you craved. it was just safe enough to make you feel wanted within the boundaries of your control.

would jaemin still want you after you gave him what he’d been coveting? would he come back for more? could you meet his expectations, compare to the fantasies he’d crafted in his mind and had been hoping to enact?

“jaemin,” you called out softly. “what are you doing?”

“nothing, baby,” jaemin lied sweetly, feigning innocence. all the while, his hand was continuing to move up your leg. slowly, but surely.

when he got too close, you decided that you were more than a little uncomfortable and gingerly pushed his hand away, as if not to upset him. “babe, i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

jaemin forced a smile, and somehow, that was more unnerving than if he had screamed at you, exasperated. “goddamn it, woman,” he murmured. “you already dragged me away from my friends. the least you could do is make it worth it.”

jaemin scoffed, refusing to look at you. which was probably not so bad, all things considered. “yeah, you should be,” he grumbled.

your eyes watered, but you looked out the window and tried to think of happier, kinder times. you didn’t want to cry, not until you were alone where no one could see. you hated crying in front of others. it was embarrassing. to say nothing of the fact that whenever jaemin reduced you to tears, he called you a crybaby, and he’d already made you feel childish enough.

a feeling you knew all too well.

the only downside was that the longer you stayed there, hardly moving, the longer you had to pretend everything was okay and try desperately not to sob.

it felt like forever before you were finally back home. you immediately got out of the car, having assumed that jaemin wanted nothing more to do with you right now.

to your surprise, he sighed and willed himself to get out of the car, walking you to your front door.

jaemin took his time to answer, exhaling quietly. “no, baby,” he said after a moment. “i’m not mad. but you can’t avoid sex forever, you know. that’s what people do. it’s natural.”

jaemin reached for your hand, tenderly brushing his fingers over your knuckles. “but?”

you released a shaky breath. jaemin understood you, some ways better than others. he may have been completely clueless in some regards, but your body language was not one. shy, you confessed, “but i’m scared.”

“why are you scared?” jaemin asked, keeping his voice soft and level. “do you not trust me, sweetheart?”

“no, i do,” you replied, though you weren’t entirely sure if that was true or not. “but what if it’s not what you’re expecting?”

jaemin chuckled, as if that was absurd. “baby, relax,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “you could never disappoint me.”

your eyes got a little wider, a little starrier, watching him as if he was your whole world. “are you sure?”

“yeah, i’m sure, baby,” he told you, pressing a final kiss to your lips. “goodnight, sweetheart.”

“goodnight,” you whispered, watching him slowly start to back away. “text me when you get home.”

jaemin bobbed his head in acknowledgment and started to walk back to his car.

jaehyun was in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up halfway to his shoulders, drinking coffee out of a mug you’d designed for his birthday when you were roughly fourteen. it was stupid and kind of ugly, but the fact that he still drank from it, even after four years, warmed your heart.

“daddy?” you called, stunned. you weren’t expecting him to be here for another day.

“hey, doll,” jaehyun greeted, setting down his mug for a second. “you look surprised.”

you nodded your head. compared to what you heard in endless amounts of fiction, jaehyun didn’t go on many business trips. one a month, usually, for less than three days. “i thought you were coming back tomorrow?”

“we were able to wrap things up early,” jaehyun explained briefly. he didn’t like to bore you with the details of his job, though you often asked him about it, which was somewhat endearing.

“yeah.” jaehyun’s eyes flitted over your body, making you feel a little self-conscious. he would habitually remember to pick up his mug and wince at how hot his coffee was. “you look cute.”

you blinked. jaehyun always complimented the way you dressed, often reminding you how cute and beautiful you were. you wished your boyfriend was more like that. “thanks,” you replied, coming over to hug him.

jaehyun set his mug down again and threw his arms around you, gentle as ever. but he smelled something on you that he didn’t exactly love. “you went out with that boy again, didn’t you?”

“how did you know?”

“you smell like weed,” he answered bluntly.

jaehyun chuckled. he knew that. you hated the mere smell of smoke, always scrunching up your face whenever it stuck to your mother or whatever spot she’d chosen to get high at. “you don’t need to explain yourself to me, doll. i know you.”

ironically, it was silent for a moment as jaehyun sipped his coffee and you tried to think of what to say. jaehyun spoke first, mentioning offhandedly, “i don’t like your boyfriend.”

you sighed, resting your head against the island. “i don’t really like him, either.”

that threw jaehyun off. “so why are you still dating him?”

“i don’t know,” you huffed.

jaehyun’s eyes were fixed on you, wanting to get to the bottom of it and willing to confront the issue that you weren’t. you had no business staying in a relationship you weren’t content with. “is he threatening you?” he asked.

your shot up, eyes widening. “no, he’s not making me date him.”

if anything, that only served to make jaehyun even more alarmed, and he pressed, “what is he making you do?”

“he’s not making me do anything,” you replied quietly, knowing that wasn’t the best way to put it. “it’s just that… he wants to have sex.”

“and you don’t?” jaehyun finished for you. the topic didn’t make him feel awkward or uncomfortable, even if you were, by law, his daughter. he was the one person in the world you could talk to about anything and everything without fear, and he took great pride in that.

you shrugged, repeating, “i don’t know.”

“well, you gotta know something, baby,” jaehyun teased. “do you, or do not you?”

jaehyun hummed in understanding. “you know that’s not a bad thing, right?”

you sighed, shoulders slumped. “i guess.”

jaehyun placed his hand on your cheek, his touch feather light, as if you had a fragile warning on your forehead. “you can do so much better than him,” he whispered. “i know you’re going to do whatever you want at the end of the day, but as your father, i’m going to look out for you.”

but could you do any better? jaemin was your first boyfriend in years. maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was better than all the failed talking stages you’d been through. if you held onto the good memories, the ones like only a moment ago where he held you tenderly and touched you with affection, you could bear the hurt.

but there was nothing like that with jaehyun. the way he touched you now, his hand on your face, was something you could always expect. “thank you for that.”

jaehyun shook his head. “you don’t need to thank me. it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

but you didn’t let your thoughts wander there. it was too much suppressed pain that you weren’t ready to uncover. “daddy, are you tired?”

jaehyun shrugged. “not really. i probably won’t go to sleep until around two. why?”

“do you want to watch a scary movie with me?” you asked, hopeful. yearnful.

jaehyun could see it in your eyes. he had learned to become very good at reading you after so long, though you’d always worn your emotions on your face. especially when you were thinking. it was very hard for you to lie. chuckling at the thought, he replied, “why not?”

you smiled, removing his hand from your face to slip your fingers through his as you hopped off the barstool, and led him to the living room.

the two of you settled on a nightmare on elm street and you went on to complain about how much you disliked eighties horror, much to jaehyun’s amusement. he tried to remind you that the technology and equipment available decades ago wasn’t the same as in the current age, but you didn’t budge.

apparently, you found the movie so boring that you fell asleep watching young johnny depp get devoured by a mattress. your head was on jaehyun’s shoulder, the couch blanket draped over you as you snored softly.

when you woke up, you were in your bed, cocooned inside your comforter instead and surrounded by stuffed dolls as birds chirped outside your window and the morning breeze whistled through the air.

your mother was standing there in her robe, eyes red. “why didn’t you wash dishes?”

you fought a groan. that was the first thing to come out of her mouth? really? “wasn’t aware i was supposed to,” you said groggily.

clearly, that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. “i don’t want to wake up to a dirty kitchen. we’ve been over this.”

“that doesn’t mean shit,” she snapped. “you don’t have a job, you don’t do anything around the house. you need to take some responsibility.”

with that, your mother turned and walked away.

you closed the door and exhaled through your nose, trying to calm yourself. you had been awake for less than five minutes and she had already managed to piss you off.

in the middle of trying to undo your frustration, you thought of something. you had woken up in bed, even though you’d most definitely fallen asleep on the couch with jaehyun, and you had no memory of making the journey upstairs.

which meant he’d carried you.

it was also worth mentioning that you were very vulnerable when you were just lying there innocently, asleep. he could have done anything to you if he wanted. if only he had wanted it.

almost the whole day had passed when, to your surprise, you had gotten a text from jaemin inviting you to hang out with him again. you had assumed he’d want time to himself after last night. but you wasted no time in getting ready, doing something different with your usually dolly makeup, and putting on a miniskirt to seem a little more mature.

you had been close to walking out of the front door, hurriedly walking past jaehyun and your mother who were sitting in the living room, until you heard your mother say, “come back. now.”

you slowly grinded to a halt, muttering annoyances to yourself, and forced a smile as you spun on your feet. “yes, mother dearest?”

“where the hell are you going at this time of night looking like a whore?” she asked, snappy.

you tried to take that in stride, but it was hard. she never failed to hurt your feelings.

your mother didn’t even give you the opportunity to respond before she demanded, “take that off.”

you stood your ground. “no.”

your eyes stung. how could she say something like that?

jaehyun made a face and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to stop her before she went too far. “doll,” he said to you, taking over. “i know you’re an adult now, but we still want you to be safe. i don’t know where you’re going, but i don’t trust this world enough to honor that wish. can you change, please? for me?”

switching on a dime, you replied meekly, “okay, daddy,” and went back upstairs to change your skirt.

your mother gawked in disbelief. then her expression flashed to anger. “why does she listen to you and not to me?”

“you called her a whore,” jaehyun replied, unsurprised. “i wouldn’t have listened, either.”

“i said she looked like one.”

jaehyun sighed. “that doesn’t make it any better. you know she’s sensitive. either way, you shouldn’t have said that.”

your mother said nothing, sulking. in her mind, it didn’t matter the delivery. she was your mother and she didn’t enjoy being disrespected.

the party he took you to tonight was better than the last one, at least. there were probably still people smoking and partying hard, but jaemin had you in the kitchen, where thankfully few people were.

jaemin handed you one of two red plastic cups with some kind of liquid in them. “here you go, baby.”

though you accepted the cup, you looked at it with scrunched brows, then back up at him. “what is this?”

“a mix of things,” jaemin replied with extreme vagueness. “just try it, sweetheart.”

jaemin furrowed his brows, feigning innocence. “you don’t like it?”

“you have such a stick up your ass,” jaemin teased, taking the cup from you and throwing back a gulp like it was nothing. he was only a year older than you, nineteen, and had no business drinking, either.

you shook your head in disapproval, though you knew it probably wasn’t much worse than him smoking.

“here,” he said, giving you the other cup he had been holding. this one was clear. “try this one. i think you’ll like it.”

jaemin chuckled at your reaction. “good, right?”

you nodded, taking another sip. which became another, and another, until your head started to feel a little woozy. by the time you started to recognize it, you were already more than tipsy.

jaemin hoisted you into his arms like it was nothing and sat you atop the counter, draping his hands over your exposed thighs. “you look so pretty today,” jaemin mused aloud, admiring your skirt. “you get all cute for me?”

“yeah,” you murmured, eyes fluttering. it was all you could do to keep them open and suddenly, you wanted to go to bed.

“sleepy drunk, aren’t you?” jaemin asked, moving his hands to your waist to keep you upright. “jeno’s room is upstairs. wanna go to bed, baby?”

“no, it’s okay,” you told him, shaking your head softly. you gingerly pushed yourself off the counter and onto your feet. “i’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

jaemin grabbed your hand, not wanting to let you loose just yet. “let me help you.”

“it’s okay,” you repeated, brushing him off. your heart thudded, nervous. “stay here.”

jaemin begrudgingly let you go, watching you disappear in the crowd with his jaw set. you just always managed to evade him, didn’t you?

jaehyun picked up on the second ring, answering, “hello?”

“daddy?”

even if it was only one word, jaehyun could hear in your tone that something wasn’t right. “yes, doll? is something wrong?”

“i think i messed up,” you murmured, grabbing onto the sink counter to stabilize yourself.

jaehyun’s brows stitched with worry, even if you couldn’t see. “what did you do? are you okay? are you hurt?”

“i don’t feel so good right now,” you replied, feeling drowsy. “i drank and i shouldn’t have, and… can you just come pick me up? please.”

you heard shuffling in the background, like he was already moving. “send me your location.”

fifteen minutes later, give or take, jaehyun called you and told you that he was outside.

you grabbed your phone and unlocked the bathroom door, heading straight for the stairs and making a beeline for the front door, wanting to leave before jaemin could spot you and do more damage. the second you saw your stepfather’s car, you hurried over, nearly tripping over your own legs.

thankfully, you were able to get inside his car without any problems, shutting the door and dragging the seatbelt over you.

jaehyun glanced at you, relieved to see that you were in one piece, but still worried. “are you okay?”

you nodded your head, sighing in relief just as the seatbelt clicked. “i’m okay,” you said, quiet. “thank you.”

jaehyun knew he should have been scolding you for drinking when you were only eighteen, but he was more concerned about your wellbeing at the moment. “why were you drinking?” he asked softly.

you swallowed, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer, but you had to be honest. “jaemin gave me a cup and told me to try it.”

jaehyun exhaled, starting the car. if you were going to talk about jaemin, it was best that he was far, far away from wherever he was. “he’s no good for you, you know that?”

you turned away and looked out the window, eyes watering.

jaehyun glanced over for a split second and reached out with his right hand, his left one gripping the wheel. “i don’t mean to make you cry, baby. but you know i’ll never lie to you.”

“i know,” you whispered, trying to fight the tears. god, you hated how you couldn’t control them, how they fell at any minor inconvenience and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

he would never understand; no one could. the reason you went back to jaemin even though you knew in your heart of hearts that he was just another boy that would never love you. hell, you hardly understood yourself. it was fair, considering you couldn’t say that you loved him either, but you felt something.

though jaehyun’s eyes were on the road, he still had a tender hand on yours, squeezing it firmly. “why do you keep hurting yourself like this, doll? you’re too smart to be fooling around with boys like that.”

“he’s all i have,” you said, your voice feeble.

jaehyun’s brows furrowed, confused. “that’s not true. you have me, you have your mom, and you have tons of friends and family that love you. what makes you feel like he’s all you have?”

jaehyun didn’t skip a beat. “and how many times is that, baby?”

but jaehyun was nothing like the father that had abandoned you just when you needed him most and left you to deal with your mother who was incapable of expressing any affection to you in a normal, healthy manner. jaehyun was kind, sweet, loving. he was patient with you, spent quality time with you, spoiled you with gifts and listened to your problems.

all things your father did when you were a little girl, when everything had been okay, once upon a time.

you knew it would be a bad idea to look at jaehyun, so you kept your eyes fixed on the gleaming towers and lights shimmering on the water as he crossed a bridge. “i know it doesn’t make sense,” you willed yourself to respond. “it doesn’t make sense to me, either.”

for a moment, jaehyun was silent. he may not have understood, but he wanted to deliver his words in the right way. in the end, he chose compassion. “feelings don’t always make sense, especially not right away, and especially not when you’re young and experiencing them for the first time. but that doesn’t mean you have to let them control you.”

arms crossed, you grumbled, “easier said than done.”

“i know it is, doll,” jaehyun whispered. “i know it is.”

something in his tone made you finally turn to face him. your eyes glimmered and you begged, “please, don’t tell mom.”

jaehyun looked conflicted, like he was weighing his options, but he knew what the most effective choice would be. “i won’t, but you can’t keep doing stuff like this, kiddo. it worries me.”

if there was anything you hated, it was that pet name. “i’m not a kid. i’m eighteen.”

“and thirty days,” jaehyun added dryly.

he said that like it meant something. you retorted, “what, are you keeping track?”

“i’m just good at quick math.”

“thirty-nine.”

“what’s thirty-nine minus eighteen?”

“twenty-one,” jaehyun answered without any forethought.

but on the other hand, none of those things really mattered to you. you may have still been young, but you were an adult now. a legal adult.

“besides,” jaehyun continued, seemingly unaware of where your mind had wandered. “i’ll always worry about you, no matter how old you are.”

your heart did exactly what you didn’t want it to do, what you had been trying to fight against for god knows how long now; it soared.

jaehyun kicked his shoes off by the door and grabbed your hand, lest you fell and hurt yourself. “i’ll help you.”

your eyes flickered in surprise. “you don’t have to do that.”

“it’s okay,” jaehyun replied, already steering you upstairs. “you need some guidance.”

you didn’t know what he meant by that, or maybe you did and you were simply in denial, but you didn’t ask.

sitting you atop the counter in your bathroom, jaehyun picked out the pack of makeup wipes that were already sitting there and gently began to wipe your face, pushing a stray braid behind your ear. he seemed focused, eyes squinting and his thicks brows furrowing.

maybe it was somewhat obsessive, but you didn’t do it on purpose. jaehyun made it easy to tune the world out and ignore everything that wasn’t him.

after washing your face, jaehyun grabbed you something to wear and asked, “need anything else, doll?”

“no, daddy. i’ve got it,” you replied, grabbing a towel for your shower. the water was running behind the curtains. “thank you.”

jaehyun grinned softly and bent down to press his lips to your forehead in a tender kiss. “goodnight, baby,” he whispered.

“g’night, daddy.”

once you had gotten redressed after your shower, you slipped into bed with a sigh. there was always tomorrow.

the cereal boxes were pushed too far back again.

jaehyun watched. his eyes were less on your challenging endeavor and more on the swell of your ass peeking from underneath your tiny nightgown as you rose off the heels of your feet onto your toes, noticing the way it jiggled when you stood normally again. there was a pang of guilt in his chest, watching you like that, but at the end of the day, jaehyun was just a man.

“i’ll get it,” jaehyun insisted, standing up from the bar to swing over without even having to ask which one you wanted. he routinely saw you only eat the same cereal.

you thanked him when he grabbed the box of cinnamon toast crunch and placed it securely into your hands. walking over to the counter where the milk and bowl were waiting, you noticed jaehyun come up behind you. at first, you thought he was just watching for whatever reason, so you ignored the thud in your chest at his proximity and poured the cereal.

jaehyun shushed you, giving your neck a fleeting kiss before he shifted his attention back downwards, pushing your nightgown up so that it would bunch around your hips. “quiet,” he whispered.

“daddy, the milk,” you whined, having lost control of your grip when he touched you, catching you by surprise.

most of it had spilled out of its container, the bowl overflowing with streams of milk dripping off the counter that would stink if not cleaned soon enough. but some of it had splashed onto your face, chest and tummy. “shh,” jaehyun repeated. “don’t worry about it. you can milk something else.”

your face warmed in realization just as he began to press himself against you from behind, and the very big, very hard bulge in his pants made your mouth run dry.

or maybe it was the morning breath. because you woke up, sighing quietly at first, and turned to stretch your arm from underneath your blankets.

“what the fuck,” you grumbled a few minutes later when it dawned on you exactly what kind of dream you’d just had.

sure, you’d had dreams about jaehyun before, but they were nothing to write home about; they were entirely random and didn’t make logical sense, or they were simple and mundane, and very often, you didn’t realize they were dreams at first because they were so realistic that they could have been memories.

that was definitely a dream. you couldn’t imagine jaehyun doing anything like that to you. well, you certainly could, but that wasn’t the point. it wasn’t realistic whatsoever, other than him extending himself to help you.

it made you horny to think about. everything about the dream had physically felt so real to you; jaehyun’s hands on your ass, his bulge pressing against you from behind, and his warmth radiating onto you hotly enough to make you melt.

part of you was tempted to go back to bed, ignoring the faint chirps of birds outside your window and the light reaching through white and pink curtains. if only you could have stayed asleep a little longer, just to see how it ended. if only jaehyun would have ever felt that way about you too, then maybe it could become true.

but he wouldn’t. and even if he somehow did, jaehyun was at work by now. so you did the one you never thought you would do.

“hello?” jaemin said when he picked up the phone.

“hi,” jaemin repeated dryly, wondering what you wanted. you could hear in his tone that he still wasn’t particularly thrilled about last night.

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “i’m sorry for running away last night,” you murmured. “i didn’t want to abandon you like that. i was just… scared.”

jaemin made a noise, but it was so quiet and distorted that you couldn’t decide what to make of it. “you were scared,” he replied, echoing your words again.

“why?”

“i don’t like jeno,” you admitted, although you thought it would be obvious by now. “he looks at me weird.”

“baby,” jaemin sighed. you could hear how frustrated he was. “jeno’s not gonna hurt you. he just likes to have a little fun. but if it makes you feel better, i’ll try to keep him in line.”

you were only half relieved. “thank you.”

“now, is that why you called me? to tell me jeno makes you uncomfortable?” he asked.

“no,” you stammered, playing with the hem of your shirt in attempt to distract yourself from your nerves. “there’s something else i wanted to tell you.”

“what is it, sweetheart?”

you blurted, “i think i’m ready.”

you could practically feel jaemin perk up. “like, seriously?” he asked, stunned.

“yeah,” you replied, but it weak. there was a bit of regret in your chest when the word left your mouth, but you tried to swallow it down and keep it there. “i’m ready, jaemin. right now.”

jaemin was ruffling through something, probably his drawer. “shit,” he said, excited. you wondered if his heart was beating even half as fast as yours was. “where are you right now?”

“home.”

“can i come over?”

“i’m on the way,” jaemin said without missing a beat, quickly hanging up.

you took a deep breath, trying to relax yourself. jaemin was your boyfriend. you were supposed to call him when you had needs; itches that needed scratching.

it was a conflict that had been warring in your mind for weeks, maybe subconsciously months. on the one hand, your lust was only centered around jaehyun and you were afraid of having sex with jaemin for more reasons than one. but on the other, the human desire for release had ran to a peak and now it was unignorable, your body begging to be satiated.

you knew what the most prudent choice would have been: dumping jaemin, getting over these unrational feelings for your stepfather, and no longer settling for men that treated you as less than what you deserved. but what did you look like being alone again, waiting for someone to decide they loved you, especially when your heart belonged to someone who could never be yours?

clearly, you were in no way in the position to make prudent choices. not when the need burning inside you outweighed the reason.

time went by faster than you thought, considering that jaemin didn’t particularly live nearby. you had spent the better half of that time in your own head, wondering what would happen, and the sound of the doorbell ringing jolted you out of your thoughts.

your heart was pounding with all its might as you made deliberately slow, steadys steps down the stairs and to the front door where you knew jaemin would be waiting. seeing his face when you opened the door only made you more anxious.

jaemin, on the other hand, beamed when he saw you. you weren’t sure if you had ever seen him smile at you like that before. “hey, baby,” he greeted, stepping inside.

“hi,” you murmured, shutting the door behind him.

jaemin coiled his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest. his alluring, familiar scent put you at ease a little more. “i missed you,” he whispered, fingers sliding underneath your shirt to draw patterns on your navel, almost as if he could sense your need for comfort. “you ran off on me last night.”

your smile was sheepish as you apologized again, “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay. i know why you did it,” jaemin said, glancing around as you led him out of the foyer little by little. “i just realized i’ve never been inside your house.”

that was not only true, but intentional; for obvious reasons, you didn’t want to be in the house with jaemin by yourself, but you also didn’t want him around your parents, either. your mother would find some way to embarrass you and the few times jaehyun and jaemin had met, there was strange tension in the air.

based on your mother’s behavioral patterns and those interactions alone, you had made the unilateral decision that it would be better for everyone involved if you kept your relationship with jaemin outside. “yeah,” you said, happy to think about anything but what was to come. “it’s better that way, don’t you think?”

jaemin chuckled, nodding his head. when he saw the stairs, he instinctively started heading that way. “yeah. i don’t think your dad likes me very much.”

“he’s just protective,” you replied, although you remembered jaehyun telling you outright that he didn’t like your boyfriend.

“you don’t need protecting from me,” jaemin told you, slipping his hand down from your navel to your hand as you started up the steps. “have you been telling him mean things about me?”

define mean, was what you answered in your head. if anything, you had probably described jaemin too kindly, too gently. he had never hurt you, at least in the sense that he had never put his hands on you, but he was aggressive in other, more hurtful ways. “no, i told him the truth.”

“and what’s the truth?”

“that i love you,” you lied. “and i want to do this with you.”

jaemin looked like the happiest man alive, and something told you that it was unusual for him to be more enthusiastic in this moment than almost any other moment he’d spent with just the two of you. but the fear that had kept you close to him for so long was the same fear that had held you apart, and it was the same fear telling you to be silent.

but when jaemin opened the door to your bedroom, his face fell. “what’s all this?”

your brows furrowed. “…my bedroom?”

“yours?” jaemin echoed, apparently appalled as he scanned your bedroom from left to right.

jaemin scoffed, “what are you, thirteen? i’m not fucking you on that.”

“but, jaemin,” you started, noticing him turning back around. your stomach churned. he was leaving.

shaking his head, jaemin threw the door open and said, “you really have to grow up, baby.”

as if this afternoon couldn’t get any worse.

it hurt more than it should have, watching jaemin leave like that, watching him go despite your pleas. maybe because it felt all too familiar. your brain recognized the feeling belligerently attacking you and your heart weakly surrendered to it, still too broken.

sitting alone by yourself in your closed bedroom with only your stuffed toys to bear witness to your suffering, it still felt humiliating. you had already come to the conclusion that what you felt for jaemin was not love, at least not of a romantic nature. and yet for the life of you, you couldn’t wrap your head around why it still hurt so bad.

and maybe if you meant more to jaemin than what was between your legs, he would still be here now. denying him sex for so long made you feel powerful; he was wrapped around your finger at some point, submissive, so to speak, and willing to do anything with the hopes that you would give it up. you took advantage of that. you used him so that for once in your life, you could feel wanted and in control.

and as you had ultimately come to expect, your woeful thoughts soon wandered to the greatest manifestation of your desires so far: jaehyun. it only seemed just that the world would taunt and tantalize you with the most perfect man you’d ever known, the only one you could ever trust with your heart.

the more you thought about it, there had to be a reason why you seemed to want things more after coming to find there was no feasible way you could make them yours - because you wanted control.

seeing someone like jaehyun, someone that you knew you could never have, only made him attractive tenfold. until now, you never noticed how this manifested similarly in other parts of your life, like in your overwhelming urge to prove yourself. to be the adult it seemed like everyone doubted you could be.

just this once, you wanted to know that you deserved good things too.

to your surprise, rather than your mother, jaehyun was in the kitchen. he turned when he heard your heavy footsteps. “hey, doll,” he said, shutting the refrigerator.

you grumbled a response and waved weakly, moving past the island so that you could join him near the refrigerator. you would have opened it yourself, but jaehyun beat you to it, handing you a water.

when your eyes widened a little in surprise, jaehyun snickered and asked, “what else do you drink?”

“you wouldn’t have touched the refrigerator, because you always get everything delivered.”

you gasped in mock offense. “hey, i cook sometimes!”

jaehyun chuckled. “yes, you do, doll. but i know not to expect you to cook anything if you look like you just crawled out of bed.”

you hummed, sitting down at the island and twisting the cap off the water. you didn’t realize how long you had been asleep, but it had to have been a while if jaehyun was home.

jaehyun followed you, sitting beside you. he didn’t say anything for a minute, wanting to carefully think over his words so that they came out as intended. “i went up to your room earlier to talk to you about something, but you were sleeping, so i left you alone.”

you glanced over at him, finishing your swig before you asked, “talk about what?”

“your mother wants me to address your… disobedience, as she puts it,” jaehyun started levelly.

you sighed, slamming your head against the counter. of course, she did. “i guess she told you jaemin was here earlier?”

“she did.”

“it’s not just the boy,” jaehyun replied, although he had his own set of grievances about that. “she feels like you’re becoming rebellious in general.”

you almost rolled your eyes. “and why couldn’t she tell me that herself?”

sighing, jaehyun said, “because she pointed out that you only seem to listen to me, not her.”

“i know how you feel, doll, but you haven’t exactly been making smart choices lately, either,” jaehyun answered gently, resting a hand on your knee. “like your boyfriend, for example.”

“i told you, i don’t like him.”

jaehyun didn’t skip a beat. “and i asked you, why are you dating him, then?”

“god, you just don’t get it,” you grumbled, opening your water bottle to take another large gulp.

“then, explain it to me,” jaehyun said gently, eyes meeting yours with a reservoir of adoration. “make me get it. i’m here to listen to you, baby girl. i want to understand you, but i can’t do that if you don’t let me in.”

jaehyun heaved a breath. he absolutely despised when you froze him out. he wasn’t stupid; he noticed that you were only this less forthcoming when it came to the topic of your boyfriend that he couldn’t understand for the life of him why you kept seeing. every time he thought he’d had a productive conversation with you about him, jaehyun heard something else about that boy.

something more infuriating than the last.

“i’ll always try,” jaehyun told you, voice featherlight.

you believed him, you truly did, but it hurt to think that he was the only man that would ever say that to you and mean it. “i know.”

jaehyun placed a hand on his shoulder before you could leave, hoping to get one more sentence in. “i know it’s not easy for you, doll, but can you try to appease your mother every now and then? for me?”

you stifled a sigh, nodding your head. “i’ll do whatever you want me to do, daddy,” you murmured.

jaehyun smiled softly and pat your shoulder.

for the next couple of days, you pathetically waited by your phone, hoping to hear from jaemin again. normally, he would text you the day or two after an unresolved argument, apologizing profusely until you gave him a satisfactory answer.

this is really it, you thought fretfully, heart swelling with dread. he doesn’t want me anymore.

you tried to act like it didn’t hurt, like he didn’t wield this immense power over you, but you knew you were lying to yourself. and that jaemin had lied to you. he had said that you could never disappoint him, after all, but you were fairly certain that ship had sailed.

it was half past noon when you noticed a notification on your phone from one of your friends, an attachment with a text that read, hey, did you break up with jaemin? just asking because someone sent me a photo of him kissing another girl yesterday night.

surely enough, the attached image was of jaemin swallowing some other girl’s face, blurry in quality, but you knew your boyfriend’s face when you saw it. he had his hands round her waist, holding her close exactly like how he’d held you, only it seemed like it’d been so long since he’d touched you like that.

whatever had happened between you and jaemin the other day, you didn’t consider it a breakup. it was your understanding that you were still together, given that he hadn’t necessarily said something to indicate the opposite. maybe you were mistaken, but that didn’t make it feel like anything less of a betrayal.

but to call it a betrayal implied some level of trust, a level deeper than you thought you had possessed. your feelings for jaemin were complicated, but you knew that you had trusted him not to stab you in the back the second it was turned. you had trusted him to take care of you, to protect you. you had trusted him not to hurt you.

the first place you touched was the closet, where you knew jaehyun kept his hoodies. you missed him. you missed him in ways you’d never genuinely known him, or felt him, or possessed him. perhaps it would have made more sense to say that you longed for him, but in your heart, those moments you’d dreamt of felt real sometimes.

taking one of his cozy, black hoodies down from where they hung, you hurriedly threw it on, quickly engulfed by its size. it was comforting. the smell was, too. if you closed your eyes, you could pretend that jaehyun was there, holding you in his arms and whispering in your ear that everything would be okay in the end.

it was uniquely his own, and, breathing in the scent of jaehyun, you exhaled calmly, pretending that he could want you.

you pulled the hoodie over your head and stared at it for a second, like you were giving yourself one final chance to not do something you’d regret, but lust prevailed over reason.

your eyes fluttered closed as you tried to think of something that would help get you off, every thought you were capable of developing revolving around your stepfather. what most of them had in common, however, was the vivid picture of jaehyun on top of you, weight crushing you hard as he rutted into you nice and deep.

how could you? the mere sight of jaehyun made your heart hammer sometimes, because it knew what it wanted. your entire body, at this point, knew what it wanted, but more importantly, it knew what it needed. you couldn’t shake the idea that jaehyun was good for you. that he was meant for you.

maybe thinking of jaehyun as some exquisite gift sent from the gods as a reward for enduring so much in so little time, rather than a titillating manifestation of everything you wanted but could never have, was merely an extreme sign of desperate coping, but you couldn’t help yourself. you deserved him, more than your mother ever would.

one of your hands pushed up your skirt and you squeezed your breasts, imagining it was jaehyun’s bigger, stronger hand instead. your hips were now moving with a mind of their own, rough pants getting louder, and you thought of jaehyun touching you with just as much fervor and need. it felt more like you were hoping.

the thought made your thighs clench against each other. sometimes, you foolishly hoped jaehyun would come into your room at night and ravage you in your sleep, fucking you awake. you knew he was so tired when he came home from work. he deserved to come home to a young, tight hole. and he deserved to use it whenever he wanted, however he wanted.

there was no better way to find out than having a look yourself. you figured it was jaehyun’s, given that it was on his side of the bed, and that knowledge only made you want to open it more; you were itching to know everything about him.

it felt like a violation of privacy and there was a pang of regret in your chest, but you couldn’t help but have questions. though jaehyun would be coming home later than usual tonight, so even if you somehow mustered the courage to ask him, it would be a while before you got the opportunity.

you reached out to grab your shorts and put them back on. the only thing left for you to take care of was jaehyun’s hoodie, which you weren’t sure what to do with. you could have put it back as if nothing had ever happened, but you would have felt bad if you didn’t wash it.

so, you did. mostly everything you did from that point on was to distract yourself from thinking about jaehyun. every now and then, you remembered what had happened with jaemin and there was a throbbing ache in your chest, but you pushed the thoughts away.

it was easier to think about jaehyun, to wonder how many things you really knew about him, this man that had taken on the role of father for the past five years of your life. after all, it was never him coming to you for advice on life, but you supposed that made sense. he was older than you, had gone through many of the things you were experiencing for the first time, and had the benefit of hindsight.

the efforts to distract yourself went on for so long that you even ended up making dinner, considering that your mother wasn’t home for whatever reason and you figured jaehyun would be hungry when he came back; you were hungry, and you hadn’t even done anything but think about him excessively.

like clockwork, jaehyun came in through the foyer and went to the kitchen, spotting you putting the finishing touches on dinner. “you’re cooking?”

you laughed at his surprise and nodded your head, turning off the stove. “i’m basically finished now,” you chirped, donning oven mittens. “i told you, i cook sometimes.”

jaehyun leaned against the counter, watching you take a pan out of the oven. “smells good,” he commented, humming in approval. “is your mother home?”

“nope,” you replied, setting the pan down on the stove. you had no idea where she was, nor did you care as long as she was safe.

“mm.”

you turned around to face jaehyun, taking a deeper look at him. he looked tired, exhausted even. you knew he would always deny how bad it was, though. “hungry?”

jaehyun bobbed his head and set a hand on his stomach. “starving.”

you and jaehyun sat down at the table beside each other and ate dinner, talking in between bites. your heart warmed to see how delighted he was while eating, the smile on his face at the first spoonful putting one on yours. your relationship with your mother had always been strained, but you had to thank her for teaching you how to cook.

while you had contemplated bringing up what you had seen earlier during dinner, every time you tried willing yourself to mention it to jaehyun, you got nervous and didn’t follow through. it wasn’t like it was something you were supposed to know about and you knew that by mentioning it, you would be telling on yourself.

not only that, but you didn’t know how jaehyun would feel about telling you about it, or if he would even want to talk about it. the last thing you wanted to do was overstep your boundaries, which was something you probably had already done the second you went into his bedroom and pried into his personal belongings.

after the dishes were washed, something jaehyun volunteered to help you take care of, you followed him into the living room where he usually went to relax after work. you managed to stay quiet for all of fifteen minutes before the guilt overwhelmed you and you apologized, “i’m sorry.”

jaehyun turned his attention way from the television to look at you, brows furrowing. “for what?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. you could have gotten away with it, but it didn’t feel right not to mention. “i went into your room today.”

jaehyun didn’t mind you being in his bedroom, but it was unusual that you were there when you had your own. “why?”

jaehyun’s face changed, something more melancholy tensing his features. “oh.”

“i’m sorry,” you repeated, faint. the look on his face made you feel even more guilty than you already had.

jaehyun pat the top of your head, as if he knew that you needed the reassurance. “it’s okay,” he said, smiling thinly. “i guess you have questions now, don’t you?”

“it’s alright,” jaehyun replied, exhaling. that shroud of melancholy was still hanging over him. “she was my daughter.”

your heart stopped. “…was?”

for a moment, jaehyun was silent and he didn’t immediately respond. you wondered if you had said the wrong thing, overthinking everything you were doing. he exhaled yet another breath and replied, “she passed away six years ago. car accident.”

that explained everything, but now you felt worse than you had before and it was killing you. “daddy…”

you were silent. you didn’t know what to say.

tensing a little, jaehyun continued, “we had a divorce because i blamed her, and i couldn’t stand to be around her anymore. i don’t think i can ever forgive her for being so reckless.”

“i wish that never happened to you, daddy. you didn’t deserve that,” you said compassionately.

“you lost someone, too.”

jaehyun’s eyes flitted over you and he reached out to push your hair out of your face. “that’s why i want to protect you, doll. you mean more to me than you will ever know.”

there your heart went again, acting a fool at the smallest words and actions. “you mean a lot to me, too.”

after much internal wavering, jaehyun reluctantly confessed, “i was never going to tell you this, but when i met your mother, part of what i liked about her was that she had a daughter. just a year younger than my daughter would be. and i wanted her back. i wanted her back so badly. so to me, it felt like god was giving me a second chance.”

“that’s why i tried so hard in the beginning to grow on you. even though it couldn’t have been more obvious that you didn’t want anything to do with me,” he told you lightheartedly.

“i’ll never give up on you.”

you were beaming. “i know.”

at least, not when it came to you. you had noticed the anger bristling within him when he spoke of the mother of his child; it made you angry on his behalf. but even then, jaehyun’s anger was nothing like the kind you had grown up surrounded with. it wasn’t loud, aggressive, or dangerous. it was quiet, composed, restrained.

much like the rest of him.

in the time that you had spent thinking about jaehyun’s life and all the secrets it contained, you had figured something out about yourself. “i’m going to break up with jaemin,” you announced.

though he didn’t expect the topic change, jaehyun couldn’t hide his relief. “what took you so long?”

you chuckled, because that was a good question, to be fair. “well, for one, at least to my knowledge, he hadn’t cheated on me until now,” you retorted.

the anger was back, only this time, you swore it had a more hostile air to it than ever. “he did what?” jaehyun exclaimed.

jaehyun shook his head, but he wasn’t surprised. at least you had enough self-respect to end it now. he was starting to become afraid that he would need to shake some sense into you.

jaemin had served a purpose. he was unbelievably handsome, undoubtedly smart, and told you everything that you wanted to hear. he distracted you from what you were really after, and in return, you ignored what he was really after.

jaehyun listened intently, watching your face as you talked about your relationship and what went wrong. he picked out his words, not wanting to be blinded by his lack of disappointment. “you’re not stupid for wanting someone to like you.”

your eyes met his. i want you to like me, you thought to yourself, wishful. “am i stupid for staying even though i knew deep down that it wasn’t really me that he liked?”

“no, doll,” jaehyun replied gently, bracing a hand on your knee. “you’re just disillusioned.”

you chuckled. “you sure you’re not just saying that?”

jaehyun squeezed your knee, giving you comfort that he knew you needed. it would be complicated, you already knew, coping with your feelings for him now that you wouldn’t have jaemin’s shenanigans to distract you. not that they really ever helped. “you’re young. even your mind has a mind of its own. i think it’s only stupid if you make the same mistake twice.”

as jaehyun looked at you, he couldn’t help but feel guilty, thinking maybe he should have done more to keep you safe from a boy like that. but you were an adult now, and he was trying to give you the space to take care of yourself on your own. “did you ever really like jaemin?” he asked after a pause.

“i think i just liked feeling wanted,” you murmured, ashamed of your own stupidity.

jaehyun let that sink in. he knew you had been dealing with certain insecurities for years, and the thought that he still had yet been able to help you made him feel worthless. “what kind of boyfriend do you want?”

there was a lull of silence as you thought about it thoroughly. you had liked jaemin because you thought he could be everything you should have wanted, but he wasn’t necessarily your type. “someone who’s tender,” you decided, something jaemin selectively was. “someone who’s assertive, protective, and takes care of me.”

“mm.”

your heart was racing, but somehow you found the courage to add, “someone like you.”

jaehyun tried to rationalize that, he truly did. in his mind, the idea of wanting someone who embodied the traits of a strong father figure was a perfectly normal desire. but he wasn’t an idiot, and he could hear everything you didn’t say, and recognize the sudden change in your body language.

because you didn’t want a boyfriend; you wanted a father.

sighing, jaehyun relaxes his eyes for a second before he opens them again, taking in how fragile you appear and feel beneath his heavy hands. “doll, you’re my daughter.”

“stepdaughter,” you corrected in a heartbeat.

jaehyun ignored you, continuing, “and you’re so young.”

“i’m eighteen,” you replied, heart thudding so fast you couldn’t stay still. “i’m an adult.”

jaehyun didn’t seem pleased, or convinced for that matter. it was as you feared; he would always see you as this little girl that needed saving. “you may legally be an adult,” jaehyun started, quiet. “but mentally, you are still a little girl.”

that stung. you never knew jaehyun was capable of it until now, but he had really burned you with such few words. your eyes even burned with the threat of tears. “if that’s how you feel,” you murmured, standing up from the sofa.

jaehyun softened, immediately regretting having ever said anything. “doll, wait.”

why did you see him like that?

to make matters worse, jaehyun didn’t follow you. you didn’t turn around, but the lack of footsteps behind you wasn’t lost on your ears. pretending it didn’t bother you, you went to your bedroom, shut the door, and dropped on your bed.

maybe you should have been grateful that your biggest problem in life was unreciprocated feelings. you knew there were all too many things you had to be grateful for, especially things jaehyun provided for you, like education and a nice home and fatherly love. there was no good reason to expect more than that from him. maybe you were just greedy.

just when you were beginning to accept that you were hopeless, there was a knock on your door. wiping at your eyes, you reluctantly called out, “it’s open.”

jaehyun came in, shutting the door behind him, heart clenching in his chest when he noticed your reddening eyes. “calm down yet?” he asked.

you shrugged your shoulders, but murmured, “i don’t know if i’ll ever calm down.”

he could tell that you didn’t just mean the exchange downstairs; no, whatever storm was raging and rushing within you unbeknownst to him, it was only festering. “i try not to say the wrong things,” jaehyun said, slowly coming to sit beside you on the edge of your bed.

“maybe a little bit,” jaehyun told you, frank, but lighthearted. “but i could have said it a little better.”

you rolled your eyes, almost feeling better already. but the faint echo in your heart had yet to cease. “you don’t need to sugarcoat everything for me all the time, you know.”

jaehyun hummed. you were saying that, but he knew that he could break you into pieces if he wanted. tinier, more insignificant pieces than the ones you already were broken into. but he wouldn’t. he was realizing the full scope of power he wielded over you, and now that he knew, he wanted to be cautious. “i think i understand you now.”

your eyes leapt up to his face, almost like you were begging for that to be true. “what do you mean?”

“why you do the things you do,” jaehyun continued, dabbing at a tear that had fallen down your cheeks. “you don’t want a boyfriend. you want a father.”

saying nothing, you fidgeted with your thumbs and held your breath. you weren’t used to having your heart laid flat on the table.

jaehyun stopped you, setting his palm on the back of your hand. “you want me,” he said, making you wish you could disappear. “and that’s why you kept saying that you didn’t really want jaemin, but never explained to me why you kept dating.”

you leaned your head on his shoulder. “i love you so much, daddy.”

jaehyun’s heart was pounding in ways it hadn’t in a long time. “i know you do, baby girl. but you know that this isn’t right.”

“i don’t care.”

jaehyun sighed. “i’ve known you since you were thirteen, doll.”

“so? am i thirteen right now?”

“no, but you’re barely legal.”

“i’m legal. you don’t need to put unnecessary adverbs in front of it. i’m not some kid, daddy.”

there was no doubt that jaehyun was trying to change your mind, hoping to say something that would make you realize how foolish this was. too bad for him, you were too far gone. “your mother…,” he started.

“i don’t like your tone right now, doll,” jaehyun told you, stern, but level.

obeying the silent command in his voice, you quietened, murmuring, “i’m sorry, daddy.”

jaehyun sighed, stuck between a rock and a hard place. he put a hand on your thigh. “but you’re right. i do love you more.”

“then, prove it,” you whispered, inviting him. daring him. prove that you love me. prove that you’re just as sick as i am. prove to me that i have you in every way, that i’m not alone.

jaehyun knew that he shouldn’t. he was considering everything you had failed to acknowledge - your mother, his marriage, proper morality, and the fate of his relationship with you. but where he had been ignorant to your fermenting feelings, he hadn’t failed to notice exactly how much you had grown up.

jaehyun had, too, noticed, and been rather fond of, how you were usually the meekest thing in the world only for him. with enough conditioning, in a world that was darker, he could put a gun in your hand and turn you into his little obedient vixen. you just wanted to heal him, please him, satisfy him.

but it would be wrong. and jaehyun had once prided himself on the fact that he did everything right. he got the most compelling grades in school to prove that he had genuine smarts to pair with his wealth, he went to a top university and worked hard, he got a job straight after graduation, met who he thought was the perfect woman, married her, bought a opulent house with her, and had a beautiful daughter with her.

you were more than just a reclaim of what he had lost. jaehyun didn’t think of his first daughter when he thought of you, not anymore. with you getting older and growing into your own person, your own way of life, it was difficult to see her in you. so, he accepted you as your own person, and in turn, he let go.

looking into his brown, troubled eyes, you instantly knew what it meant. he needed some persuasion, something to hinder his overthinking.

testing the waters, you undid his pants and went straight for his cock, the sound of a strained grunt making your cunt clench around emptiness. it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. you had imagined pulling those sounds out of jaehyun, closed your eyes and immersed yourself in a resewn fabric of another reality, but nothing measured up to hearing it for yourself.

jaehyun knew that things were rapidly approaching the point of no return and he groaned, “doll…”

“make me stop,” you whispered, gently wrapping your fingers around him and moving your hand in a relaxed motion. “make me stop, daddy.”

it wasn’t for lack of trying. jaehyun closed his eyes, wanting to will himself to be the rational person in the room since you had forwent reason entirely, but the second your small, supple hands tightened around his shaft, he knew he had failed.

he didn’t want you to stop. and you you didn’t want to stop, either.

you caught a quiet, “fuck,” from underneath jaehyun’s breath as he heard what you had said, on the verge of losing his mind altogether, and it was doing unmistakable damage to his psyche. doing the right thing was no longer an option. all that was left was ache and need. without it, you didn’t know who you were.

releasing a shaky breath, jaehyun brushed his thumb against your bottom lip with affection and whispered, “take it in your mouth. go slow and gentle.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, feeling like you should have at least been able to do that much.

jaehyun shook his head, smiling, and smoothed a hand through your hair. “that’s okay, baby,” he said, understanding. “try again.”

“you’re okay,” jaehyun reassured you, patting your head. “you’re okay, doll. i promise.”

this time, jaehyun held your hair comfortably behind your head and caressed the strands as you tried to pleasure him once more, accepting what you could into your mouth bit by bit. you were less tense than before and it enabled you to concentrate on breathing and not overwhelming yourself too quickly.

jaehyun moaned, curses falling here and there. you could feel the wetness soiling your underwear and he hadn’t even done anything yet. his voice was low and deep, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. minute by minute, you became more and more aware of how aroused you were, and your mind, friend and foe, tempted you with pictures of what it would be like to finally have jaehyun inside.

to your surprise, jaehyun cautiously pried you off his cock, making you look up at him and wonder if you had done something wrong, but all he said was, “i don’t want to come yet.”

your thighs squeezed together in excitement. if not now, then later. and if not in your mouth, then hopefully deep, deep inside.

“daddy,” you called out, somewhat timid. “are you gonna fuck me?”

jaehyun was maybe a few seconds away from short-circuiting and it was admirable that he hadn’t done so already, all things considered. he didn’t reply immediately, having to catch his breath. “do you want me to?”

“yes,” you replied in a heartbeat.

the room felt hot, and jaehyun couldn’t tell if it was real or it was in his head. “say it.”

it was a little awkward for you to say it so bluntly, but given that you had come this far, you might as well. “i want you to fuck me, daddy.”

jaehyun grunted and said something that sounded like, “come here,” as he gingerly pulled you off your knees and back onto your mattress. before you even blinked, he was pressing his lips to yours, enveloping them in a sweet, fiery kiss.

you couldn’t liken it to any kiss that you and jaemin had shared. while you would admit that jaemin was objectively a good kisser, almost everything you did together lacked passion; there was no spark behind even the most tender of touches. and yet somehow just being this close to jaehyun made your whole body scorch with the fever of suppressed want.

jaehyun slowly forced himself away and began to descend down your body, tugging your shorts down your thighs. heat filled your cheeks when his fingers hooked under your underwear next, but you raised your hips so that he could pull them off. what caught you by surprise, however, was when his tongue flicked over your sensitive flesh.

you gasped, a jolt making your body snap. “wait, daddy, you don’t need to. i’m already wet enough.”

that you were. jaehyun could see plain as day how your wet folds glistened with an arousal that had been building longer than he could ever imagine, gone ignored and neglected no longer. “i know,” he grunted out. “i want to.”

then without another word, jaehyun went to town. he started slow, gentle; his larger hands were firm on your plush thighs as he held them apart, almost as if he expected you to eventually resist him. for now, though, there was no need; he was tasting your devotion on his tongue, in no apparent hurry to let this moment end.

your breaths were becoming increasingly heavy, and a part of you still couldn’t believe that this was really happening - jaehyun was in between your legs, prepared to make you seen every star that hung in the night sky. you did what you could to commit the sight to memory, refusing to let it get away.

jaehyun wanted to see you unravel. you nearly died when he pressed his tongue deep inside you, abruptly tearing a sweet cry out of your mouth. the muscle wandered over your walls, savoring what he would feel soon enough. but for now, he was more than content to gather every bit of your arousal on the very tip of his tongue and make you feel sensations unimagined.

“god, you taste so good, baby,” jaehyun groaned, hands clamping tightly around your thighs. “so goddamn good.”

it was from that moment forward he lost control; his self-restraint broke; he was consumed with abandon. jaehyun licked and sucked at your bundle of nerves, drawing out more noises than before. your hips jerked as you laid sprawled out before him, entirely at his mercy.

just the way you always wanted.

“does that feel good, baby?” jaehyun pulled away for the shortest second to ask. “do you want me to slow down?”

you shook your head, hands desperately fisting the sheets. “no, please. don’t slow down. down stop,” you begged.

hearing you say that only made jaehyun harder, but he was still a man with some inhibitions if it meant drawing out the pleasure you felt at his hands. “just tell me if you need me to switch things up, okay?”

you could feel yourself devolving into pure madness. jaehyun’s fingers were working you open at the same time his tongue flicked over your clit, and you could hardly keep still, your body convulsing every which way. if not for how tight his hands were around your trembling thighs, you wouldn’t have been able to keep them spread for him.

“daddy, please don’t stop. i think i’m gonna come,” you said between quick pants.

“i know, baby girl. just relax for me.”

jaehyun only had only goal in mind and that was to make you feel nothing short of the absolute peak of pleasure. he could see what things your body was responding to best and he took advantage of every reaction you had to offer, twisting his tongue the way you so clearly loved.

you couldn’t handle it anymore, and something within you snapped; you cried out, back arching off your fluffy pink bed, jaemin and the stupid stuffed toys the furthest thing on your mind as warmth fluttered in your stomach.

“that’s it, doll,” jaehyun crooned. “you’re okay, baby. i promise. just let go.”

“i know,” jaehyun whispered, lips flush against your skin. “you did so good, doll. so good for me.”

jaehyun got up from his knees and draped himself over your body, leaning down to kiss you breathless. though you tried to ignore it, you could feel his hard cock pressing against you and just the feeling itself was mouthwatering.

“so perfect,” jaehyun murmured, pulling back to pepper kisses down your jaw. “did you really think daddy wasn’t gonna make sure his doll was taken care of?”

you had nothing to say, so you just watched him begin to peel off what was left of both of your clothes, piece by piece. when you completely naked, you noticed jaehyun’s unbudging eyes stuck to your figure. “do you think i’m pretty, daddy?” you asked with a smile.

“pretty?” he murmured, brows stitched in amazement. “you’re… you’re beautiful, doll. don’t you forget it.”

you wanted to hear him say that a thousand times over.

even as jaehyun moved to reposition himself between your legs, you could hardly believe that this was actually - genuinely - happening. but every touch of his body had felt so real, and you’d dreamed of moments like this enough to know the difference. giving you one last chance to back out, jaehyun asked, “are you sure you want to do this, baby?”

“please,” you begged. the brushing of his tip against your slick folds made your mouth run dry. “i need it. i need you.”

that was all it took for jaehyun to push inside you, slow and steady as ever. you sucked in a breath, your hands already clenching the sheets again as he coaxed the head of his cock deeper inside your sticky cunt.

“oh my god,” you gasped out.

jaehyun chuckled. “i’m barely inside you, baby.”

jaehyun’s brows furrowed the deeper he sunk into you, his jaw slacked. “god, you’re so tight,” he murmured. to jaehyun, this was the moment that cemented everything into reality, the moment that made everything true. the tight, wet feel of you stretching around his cock as he moved deeper and deeper was too insane to be imagined even if he tried. and he had tried.

jaehyun took his time, still hardly moving. every time he heard you abruptly suck in a gasp, his hips ground to a stop, wanting to give you time to adjust. he knew better than anyone that he wasn’t lacking in the size category, and the last thing he wanted was to make his sweet girl’s first time uncomfortable. for the right reasons, he wanted to give you a time to remember.

“do you need a minute, doll?” he asked, one brow lifted as he glanced down at you.

you shook your head. “no, it’s okay. you can keep going.”

“you sure?” he pressed. it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t dying to move even deeper, but not at your expense.

not to mention that your mother probably wouldn’t return until after midnight, but that was another conversation.

“i’m sure, daddy,” you replied, reaching out to cradle his face in your hands. you didn’t want him to look away. “don’t stop.”

“fuck,” jaehyun groaned. you watched his lips part with the noise and felt his cock become buried further inside your cunt, working you open for him. he was taking his sweet time, because you both knew that if he was going to destroy you, he was going to make every second of it count.

“daddy, are you almost done?” you asked quietly.

“halfway, babe,” jaehyun told you.

you gawked. “halfway?”

jaehyun shushed you with a kiss, pushing himself yet another inch within your heat. he couldn’t wrap his mind around how perfect you felt around his cock and he wasn’t even fully seated inside you yet. you tried to focus on the way his lips moved against yours, but not even that could distract you from how he was stretching you out beyond belief.

“daddy, you’re so big,” you whined.

“i know, baby girl,” jaehyun replied softly, a hint of guilt on his face. “almost there, i promise. does it hurt?”

“a little bit,” you admitted. “but i can take it.”

jaehyun swept his finger over your bottom lip. “you sure, baby?”

you nodded your head. for him, you were convinced that you could do anything. and on top of that, there were no bounds to the things that you would do for him.

when jaehyun’s length had finally penetrated you to the very end, he stilled again, giving you a moment to recover before he started. it felt like an eternity before he actually moved, but when you gave him a nod of approval, he slowly drew back and penetrated you again. you were at a lost for words. nothing had ever been inside you that deeply. there were your fingers and maybe a hair brush, but neither rivaled the depth of your stepfather’s thick cock as he began to take you like you were his.

because you were.

“jesus christ,” jaehyun hissed. “you feel so good, doll. do you know that?”

“you feel good too,” you stammered out.

jaehyun took that as a sign that he was doing everything right, which was more than enough for him to relax. his mind was reeling. the mere wet sound of your skin meeting was making him lose control, and that was to say nothing of your pretty moans. the way you desperately called out for him was almost too much to bear.

you reciprocated his feelings. with every deep, guttural grunt that escaped jaehyun’s mouth, your body was less and less yours. he owned you, head to toe, inside out. you were more than prepared to surrender everything to him, to let him claim all that you were. because you relied on him. you needed him. and little did you know, in some twisted way, he needed you even more.

jaehyun’s hands were balled at your sides, clenching the sheets fiercely. he dreaded hurting you, but imagine his surprise when you grabbed a hold of his hands and redirected them to your perfect hips. “you can hold me, daddy,” you reassured him. “please. i won’t break.”

and even if you did, you were willing to let him put you back together. jaehyun could feel whatever remained of his restraint crumbling into pieces, and he held your hips in his palms tightly, his eyes boring into yours. his gaze, as relentless as it was, wasn’t challenging; it was piercing, loving, understanding. he saw you, he knew you, because you were familiar. you were what kept him whole.

something made jaehyun hold you even tighter. there was a thought that struck him. you needed him to take care of you, to depend upon, to guide you. and he needed you to bring back a purpose which was unfairly stolen from him. he knew it was wrong, that it was sick, but it couldn’t be helped. you had become everything to him, and there was no way in hell he was going to let that go.

“i need you,” he panted, his hips keeping a comfortable pace that you seemed to enjoy, judging from how you continued to throb and moan. “i need you so much, doll. you don’t understand.”

you shook your head, arms wrapped around his neck. you wanted to be inseparably close. “i do understand, daddy,” you insisted. “i need you too.”

jaehyun felt heat surging through his stomach. he said your name. “i love you.”

“mine?” jaehyun repeated, so quietly it could have gone unheard if not for how close his face was to yours.

you nodded your head.

jaehyun prodded, “all mine? and not that stupid little boy you call a boyfriend?”

the mere mention of jaemin made you feel disgust and you knew that you were over him, for good. “won’t see him anymore, daddy. i promise. i never wanted him. i always really just wanted you.”

jaehyun didn’t even bother willing himself to keep calm after he heard you say that. he was insane about you and he didn’t care to hide it anymore. “always?” he repeated.

you hummed. “the first time i came was on that bunny rabbit right there.” you turned your head to gesture towards the stuffed animal.

jaehyun saw it and his eyes darkened as he pictured you mounting the poor bunny, grinding your hips against it as you wished and hoped and prayed it’d soon enough be him bringing you pleasure. he wondered exactly how many times you had used it. how many times you had thought of him.

you cried out as his hips began slap against yours faster, but you took it. jaehyun wasn’t particularly rough, but each thrust drove you closer to insanity than the last. wrapping your legs around your waist, you drew him closer, your arms around his neck and his big hands firm at your hips. “fuck,” you stammered.

“you think about me a lot?” jaehyun asked.

you nodded your head eagerly. “yes, all the time!”

jaehyun was unrelenting. he lowered his head, sucking your nipple into his mouth, before he let it fall and pressed, “how much do you think about me?”

“every day,” you told him honestly. “there’s not one day… where i don’t.”

“every day?” jaehyun repeated. “you think about me fucking you every day?”

“sometimes i dream about it,” you confessed.

jaehyun groaned. he had dreamed of you too. he had constantly tried not to think about you in that light, but he couldn’t help what he dreamed of. “i dream about you too,” he whispered. “of making love to you and fucking you full of my cum. will you let me, doll?”

“yes,” you answered him without a second of hesitation. “please, daddy. come inside me!”

jaehyun almost came just from hearing those words, but he couldn’t yet. not before he felt you tighten around his cock with climax. removing his hand from his hip, he began to toy with your sensitive clit, eager and desperate to make you come, to see you come, to feel you come.

“that’s it,” jaehyun crooned. “good girl. you’re amazing, doll.”

you stilled after a moment, sated.

the sensation of your cunt gushing tightly around him as you orgasmed made jaehyun moan himself, and you listened to the sounds of your heat kneading his cock as he used your cunt to push himself to the end. it had felt so good to you too; having something to grip on as you came made the experience all that much better.

“come for me, daddy,” you said, trying to coax the orgasm out of him. “come inside your doll… i need it.”

that did it. hearing you referring to yourself as his doll sent him completely over the edge and you gasped out loud when you felt jaehyun dumping his thick, sticky hot load into your cunt with the deepest grunt of your name. it was so good, so warm. you held eye contact with him the entire time, not once daring to look away even as his hips slowed to a stop.

for a long moment, you both simply lay there in each other’s arms, neither of you wanting to move when you were this close. but you did pull him in for another heated kiss, because you couldn’t think of another way to somehow bring yourself even closer. jaehyun kissed you back passionately, holding your body against his protectively, almost as if he was afraid you’d be taken from him too.

you thought nothing could ruin the moment. then, out of the blue, your phone rang. you and jaehyun both let out a collective sigh of exasperation and you withdrew to peak at your phone on your nightstand, wholeheartedly expecting it to be your mother.

your eyes went wide when you saw that it was jaemin.

“baby, you picked up,” jaemin said, sounding amazed. “listen to me, baby. i’m so sorry i haven’t been answering your calls. i just needed some space, you understand that, right?”

before he could utter another word, the phone was abruptly snatched from your hands. “don’t call my daughter again, or i swear to god, i will find you, and then i will fuck you up,” jaehyun hissed.

he hung up without another word and tossed the phone to the side.

you gawked at his words, but you both felt the way you’d throbbed. “daddy!”

“quiet,” jaehyun said, withdrawing from inside you. “now show me what you did to the bunny.”

#jeong jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun smut #jaehyun smut #nct smut #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 smut #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x you #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun x y/n #jung jaehyun x reader #revehae fics

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buryhny · 2 days ago

Text

JUNO ( the promise you kept )

"One of me is cute, but two, though?"

➥ rundown ; One night, you pour your heart out to your best friend about your perfect dream life, the kind of love with babies and warm homes and not having to do life alone but no one ever stayed long. He listens. And then he promises to help you find the life you want. another one night, one kiss, one mistake- maybe. Until it isn’t. Until two pink lines show up. Until you’re carrying the future you once only whispered about. You don’t know what happens next. But he’s still here. And maybe, just maybe… he might be the one you always dreamt of.

genre ; best friends to lovers | accidental pregnancy au

✦ Jungkook x y/n ✦ word count ; 21k | 18+ ✦ one-shot | part of the short n' sweet series ( coming soon! )

warnings - contains smut

"I'm exhausted!!" you whine, throwing yourself on the couch. Jungkook closes the door behind him and chuckles. "The party wasn't that bad, you drank a load of shit." You scoff at his words, hands reaching out to hug the cushion. "it was, bad. wasn't what i wanted after a terrible day at work."

It's fall, and everyone's busy preparing for their weddings. As a wedding planner yourself, it's hectic. One after the other, it's endless during this season. For someone like you, it's a lot more dreadful, considering how you hate the thought of marriage being single....yet. Jungkook plops on the couch beside you and chuckles.

"Which one made out this time?" you throw your legs on his lap which he welcomes, rubbing your swollen feet habitually. "i question my job every single day, although I've been doing this for 5 years now. why? just....why must i see all that?

he threw himself on her, like, threw! himself. I'm not exaggerating, i almost puked from my nose." you groan, pushing your head into the cream cushion. Jungkook looks at you and sighs. he witnesses this every other day and he can't relate to you since his job is his everything. he loves his photography, and his camera is his baby. it's the one time he feels free. "ever consider doing something else?" "you ask this, every time i complain about my job-" "what else do you want me to say?! your job's awful, so you need to find something you'd actually love doing!!"

he defends himself, laughing at how mad you get when he questions you. you sit upright, looking at him with tired eyes and flushed cheeks. "you know why i hate this job...." he gazes at you, nodding. his eyes soften when you say that, "you also know why i keep doing it, even if i could leave this dumb job and find something that is not as exhausting and sickening as it is." Jungkook looks at your feet, caressing it gently as you speak. "this is not the job's fault-" "it's you feeling lonely-"

he completes the sentence for you. The silence lingers, the hissing of the air conditioner is loud, and you keep looking at him, while biting the insides of your mouth. "yup!" You toss yourself back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling, pitying yourself. Jungkook glances at you, he lets his head fall back on he couch. "i'm freaking 28 with no ring and kids." "That's a flex." "yeah until my uterus stops producing eggs and menopause hits me at 30," he laughs. "it's not that serious, bubs."

"i'm just saying!! it feels like it." The laughter fills the room, you feel his stomach rumbling at the joke you said. "Adoption is always available. Choose your fighter! boy, girl? blonde, brunette? blue eyes, green eyes? you've got choices. And damn, we could raise a baby together. imagine that!?" "yeah what? not experience pregnancy when that is the literal gift of being a woman? and fuck no, i'm not adopting a kid with you. we both can never handle kids together."

you always got an answer at the top of your tongue, Jungkook cracks up at how fast you respond. "yeah no shit, i wanna see your pregnancy nose." "oh my god! just not that-" you both giggle, remembering Mina. your mutual friend who's been in the little friend group along with Jimin and Taehyung since you all were babies. A thought hits your head, so you sit up, pulling your legs to cross them.

Jungkook knows your mind is brewing something up, so he turns to face you, waiting for you to speak. "do you ever....just think of experiencing pregnancy? like....when i get pregnant, would you be excited?" he rolls his eyes. "excited? Bubs i would run down the lane, knock on each and every neighbour's door, and gift them gold if you ever tell me you're pregnant." you laugh, hitting him on the chest.

"why is no man good enough? Every time i think of getting pregnant by a man, i drop the whole idea... it's scary, don't you think?" you murmur, playing with your fingers, maybe it's the alcohol in the system that makes you speak this. And Jungkook is all ears, allowing you to let loose. "i imagined a whole future with my exes.. none of them stayed. I've had 4 boyfriends-" "dicks." he whispers under his breath.

"i'm so glad they left. they showed me that they could never be a father. so i'm glad but- will i ever be able to find someone i could settle with. because at this point in life, all i want is to settle down. i don't wanna be working my ass off, i wanna be a housewife, have kids and... just live that traditional life. There are so many ways to live life, but i want this, i want the whole- waiting for my hubby to come home at night while i manage the house and kids, get excited to cook dinner for him- instead I'm just...working all day long. For 5 years of my life, longer than that- i just don't wanna count my barista era, that was...lousy."

he chuckles while you sniff. almost in tears at your perfect dream life. "i'm tired, i wanna move on. move to the...next stage." you whisper. Jungkook feels heavy, looking at you playing with your fingers. Jungkook has known this for years, it's been your dream since you were 7. you always wanted to have a family at a young age but it never worked out, none of the men you dated liked the idea of a family at a young age, They said they wouldn't be able to handle the stress,

"do you know how expensive children are?" two guys said. you were never able to find a man who met your needs and it constantly left you worrying about your life and future. you let go of it and didn't realise time flew. You're not 23 anymore. it comes to a point when you're done and finally today, you met your meltdown point. you just had to let it out of your mind even though you didn't want to show anyone that this bothered you, so much.

"i'm scared..." you start again after a long silence. "i'm scared of two things, if it will be too late and...if i will never be able to find someone who.. would want to create a family with me together." you allow yourself to cry. You've been keeping this inside of you for quite a long time. Jungkook didn't know you had such thoughts, he didn't notice how much you kept inside you.

he feels angry that he didn't see behind your mask. he pulls you towards him, hugging your shoulders tight. you cry inside his chest, his warmth only making things worse. "hey bub.." he whispers, caressing your hair. he feels so cosy, like a blanket. "it's gonna be alright. everything is for the best, okay? you're exactly where you're supposed to be, whatever has happened and will happen is all for the best. There's nothing as being too late, you're gonna be married someday, you're gonna have as many babies as you like and you're gonna have the life you want... "

he speaks. "you have to trust yourself. good times will come soon, i promise..." his words heal your tears and clouded mind. "i'm always with you, i'm always gonna be with you. i promise that i'll give you the life you dream." you raise your head to look at him. he looks down at you, and oh...does his heart melt at the sight. your nose is runny like a child's, your eyes are filled with tears, your eyelashes long and beautiful, carrying tears drops like the leaves hold the rain drops.

he notices your red cheeks and puffed lips, pink.. much much pink than the lip gloss you wore today. "you promise me?" you mumble and he nods, cupping your face as he takes in this...sight. his eyes look into yours a little too much, that he feels a little jittery but he keeps it cool.

"i promise bubs. you know i never break promises." Sometimes you think why there aren't men like your best friend. you would do anything to find someone like him. Anything. you push your head inside his chest again, sniffing at his words. The alcohol in your system is slowing down now, leaving you drowsy but you don't wanna sleep. You just want to stay close to him, like this, all night.

You and Jungkook have always been close, too close, some might've said. Moments like this remind you of things people used to say. "It's always him with you, isn't it? Your precious best friend." They'd laugh, sometimes bitter, sometimes just tired... "Why don't you just be with him already?" they'd say when fights broke out.

You didn't understand the weight of those words back then. Not until they left.

When you were in relationships, you knew your lines. Jungkook did too.

Or at least, you thought you did.. you both weren't physically close, like this. but he was always competitive to your boyfriends even when you swore that Jungkook is harmless, he's just protective of you that's just his nature being friends with you since a child. you both barely met each other or texted because you knew your significant other did not like the constant contact you had with your best friend and it's fair, you understood it, Jungkook did too.

he would understand the change of atmosphere whenever he's in the same room as your boyfriend, you didn't hug him the first time you see him, you didn't share dinner with him when everyone sat down to eat, while camping and.. you were always trapped in PDA something Jungkook knows you're uncomfortable of. he finds it funny how your boyfriends didn't know that or maybe they did but they never cared.

Somehow, the men you dated always stood in sharp contrast to your best friends- Jungkook, Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok. Your friends carried this effortless ease about them, never too concerned with their surroundings or trying to prove anything. They were just themselves, no matter the place or company. But the guys you picked? They were always on edge, like they had something to prove, like they needed to dominate the room. It never quite sat right with your group, but they never called it out.

Because that was just your type. You liked your men... different. it took a long time for you to get back with Jungkook, pouring out your heart to him took some time because you would always be reminded of how arguments would rise between your exes and you, how baseless they were and how they always revolved around Jungkook. Sometimes looking at your best friend would make you sad, he's the purest human you've met, how can anyone hate him? but you're glad no one's coming between your friendship, there's peace and.. comfort in his embrace.

somehow Jungkook and you have grown closer in many ways than before, it's also the only way you can complete your physical needs. your lack of physical human contact often leaves you feeling blue and sick. when you're home alone, you feel lonely but when Jungkook's around, no matter where you are, that's home. he's your best friend, best friend for life. and Jungkook feels the same towards you too.

"you're so fucking annoying." you whisper under your breath, making him giggle. "why so?" you take sometime to reply, Jungkook assumes you're asleep, but you were reconsidering if you should say it, your mind is too hazy to think much so you speak. "i'll never be able to find someone like you." Jungkook freezes, he gets flustered, he halts caressing your hair for a second as he gulps. "if only god made one more like you, i probably would be cooking dinner for him right now."

you laugh, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "you're- drunk. really drunk." Jungkook chuckles nervously, he looks down at you, the outline of your face. for a moment. he felt like someone had altered the wires of his brain when you said those words. you speak gibberish when you're tipsy and he loves that about you. everything that you try to hide within yourself, spills out like tea and he's thankful for that, at least that way he knows what's bothering you and keeping you up at night.

the silence is comforting, his warmth is soothing and you've dozed off in his arms while he's stuck inside his thoughts. he'd never felt so burdened in life, he'd always had one goal and that was his profession which he earned, nothing more. he was never worried about marriage, had no wish to be married before 35 or at all.

so relating to you was not something he could do. but he was an empath, he understands, he always tries to and when it comes to you, he's more than ever understanding. growing up with you his whole life, he knows every little thing about you and if he's being honest, he's quite surprised you've not settled yet.

he would never tell that to you or any other soul, but he does not get what the underlying problem is. How come none of your exes were ever good at this? Isn't that something you've always wanted in a man, someone capable of raising kids and building a family? and... you're a sweetheart, you can never be the problem, he bets his life on it. but now.. he must find someone for you, the right man who'll build your perfect life. Jungkook promised to help you, he's determined to find your dream life.

kook : bubs don't take ages doing your makeup

y/n : stfu i'm not gonna take hours, i'm just doing my lips

kook : Jimin's on his way so be down in 5

you put on a layer of clear gloss over your lip tint, pressing some highlighter on the tip of your nose and inner corners of your eyes and you're done. you take your shoulder bag, jacket and dash to the elevator. Jimin's gonna fight you if he stays any longer than 2 mins and to your luck, he'd not arrived yet.

"ma'am!!! why so sexy today?" Jimin whistles as you get inside his Benz, he looks at you with a smirk, batting his eye lashes. "i'm always sexy, darling." he scoffs and drives. "kook's gonna kill you. no shit, he's gonna kill me for letting you get into to the car in that skirt." you groan, throwing your head back on the seat. "he always acts like a dad, it can be annoying at times." you brush your hair a bit more and apply more gloss as you're almost close to the restaurant. "he's protective of you."

"i know but... i just wanna enjoy okay. my periods finally over, i was in the mood to dress up. i wanted to look fucking extra." the two of you walk inside, meeting up with the gang. Taehyung gets up from his seat to give you a tight hug and a kiss on your cheek. "holy shit y/n, you look hot." "thanks tae." Mina and Hoseok wave at you, you notice how tired the two of them look, they really needed this dinner. Handling triplets is not for the easy.

"hello to you too, kook." you murmur, pushing him inside the booth. He leaned back in the booth, arms crossed, tongue pressing into his cheek. Quiet. "what?" you ask and he closes his eyes. "stop being a dad!!" "i told someone to come by to meet you, now how do i tell him to go back?" you deadpan at his words. "someone to meet me?" he glances at the entrance door and back to you. "yeah, a friend, co worker." "what? why?" you're confused, why would he do that? he's never done that before.

"stop asking questions. i'm thinking of ways to cancel this blind date, i'm not, letting him see you like this, i might break his nose if he touches you in anyway." "what's wrong with this outfit?" you're lowkey getting mad at him but you don't wanna show, you see how irritated Jungkook looks. "he's gonna make you come by his place tonight for sure, i mean- look at you, nobody can just sit still and not take you to their place after a dinner." you gape at him, hitting his shoulder.

"are you trynna say i look like a slu-" "guys!!!! stop fighting like kids, please order your meals." you side eye Jungkook (who does the same) and pick your menu. "i'd get the double double spicy meal, with a diet pepsi, thank you." "and i'll get the double-double crispy chicken with a diet coke please." Jungkook says, making you roll your eyes with his order, you know he orders the same meal as yours, he fights you for the last piece after he's done with his own, he keeps hunting to finish yours and he hates coke, he's just trying to be different in arrogance when his order is always the same as you.

so typical of him.

he can be petty sometimes, like you're not in a bikini, it's a black denim mini skirt that stops just a little over your thighs, a lace trimmed, corset style top with an oversized leather blazer and high combat boots. its simple and cute. Jungkook does not think it's cute, your top and blazer are in deep red. your makeup is simple, just clean girl makeup with a dark red lip liner and clear gloss on a hint of lip tint.

your outfits never fail to eat but they can eat him up sometimes, this one. This one's different, it tops the list of all the outfits you've ever worn. and he's afraid he's gonna punch someone tonight if they think about touching you. "how's the little ones, it's been a while i last saw them." you ask Mina. "oh they're doing okay, they had a fever last week and it was chaos. we had a hard time handling them."

Hoseok nods as he gives his wife a smile. yes, they were friends, best friends for years until they eventually figured Mina had feelings for Hoseok and... it was mutual, Hoseok was just good at hiding his part. when the meals arrive, you all talk about everything that's been happening while having your burgers and fries.

Jungkook sips on your Pepsi, he doesn't even bother to act sneaky, he just does it and you don't say anything because meh, you both always share. you see him picking on his burger too, his fault, his ego. "hey why are you drinking mine?" "cause it tastes better, give me a bite of your burger too." "stfu Jungkook, you know you don't order crispy chicken! don't ask mine now." you both fight like kids until you cool down. "who's this guy anyway?" you ask when everyone else is busy in the convo.

"Park Deong Ju." "mmm, like his name." Jungkook nods and that's it, you both don't talk much, keep giving each other side glances and putting out your tongues. you all get going to the club, when you get off the seat, Jungkook gets a better look at your outfit and sighs. he hates being protective, it fucks up his mind and mood too. why can't be he like Jimin or Taehyung? they hype you up and make you happy, but he? he can't do any of that. cons of being a best-est fucking friend.

he walks beside you, as you both get into his car. Jimin and Taehyung go together, of course, Mina and Hoseok go together so you go with Jungkook, as usual. "you're annoying the crap out of me, can you just- be normal??" you say after minutes of silence. "okay ma'am, i'm normal!" "you're not ...Jungkook normal, please be weird and stupid." This makes him laugh involuntarily, he's mad but he laughs at what you said. "tf do you want me to do!" "i don't know, just anything, not this, i don't want a dad, i want a friend." "fine, god damn!" '

he turns the music louder, both of you rolling your eyes before breaking out in a laughter. as you arrive to the club, a guy is waiting outside the entrance with his phone. Jungkook receives a phone call and he looks around, then raises his hand when he finds his friend. "hey man." they both hug, you awkwardly stand next to Jungkook. "this is y/n, my best friend i was talking about-"

Jungkook introduces you to the guy. he's tall, brunette and...hot? he wears a polo t-shirt with linen jeans and loafers, which...may not be the best club outfit but at least he looks hot. "hi, i'm y/n!" you handshake him and he smiles. "i'm Deong Ju. nice to meet you, i must say you..look stunning." you blush and nod with a thanks. Jungkook smiles tightly, of course you look stunning, he managed to see you in the best outfit you've ever pulled, stunning is an understatement.

you three walk inside, you look at Jungkook and he nods when Deong Ju takes you to another table, two booths away from your group. Jimin asks Jungkook what's all this about and he tells him that his co-worker has pretty much the same goals as you do, he wants to settle down soon and he's a good guy, Jungkook's known him for some time now. "if you're setting this up then i trust it-" "one hundred percent!" "i know she's gonna like him then." they all speak at the same time, making Jungkook gulp.

"y'all...really trust me like that?" "duh-" "of course we do! you know y/n way better than any of us do." Hoseok says. "yeah, she trusts you with her life so if you're choosing her a partner then... we're all in it." Jungkook smiles as he looks down at his glass. he definitely feels more nervous now that everyone thinks he will choose the best for you but it's all in your hands, you've got to like the guy, doesn't matter who sets it up, you must like the vibe and that's why Jungkook keeps taking glances to check in on you and to his relief he sees you laughing, looks like you're having a good time. he hopes you don't have too much alcohol.

the man in front of you has no idea about your low tolerance and if you do, he wants to be around just in case. it's been about an hour or so and Jungkook's zoned out of the group convo, everyone seems to be indulged in the gossip of the upcoming college batch party but he's too tired, especially after a long event at work and the dinner, he can't wait to get some sleep when he's back home. he sips on the last of his 5th shot and looks over at your booth only to find it empty.

his eyes dart around anxiously, finally finding you on the dance floor by yourself. you're having fun, arms up in the air, a wide smile, gulping down a shot when the waiter walks past you. Jungkook lets you be yourself, he watches you in a distance. This isn't the first time he's seen you dance like that, he's seen it too many times. But somehow you look so much more beautiful tonight. he's unsure if it's the outfit, dance or the shots but...all he knows is, it's different, it's all got some effect on him.

either him or the atmosphere and that- scares him. there were far too many times he'd felt out of the ordinary with you but it was always something that faded away, he knows this shall too. you're his best friend, best best friend, childhood friend, he's seen every side of you, the good, bad, ugly and beautiful. you're an attractive woman, so crushing on you was a silly feeling that lasted 2 seconds and you would immediately fall back to being the annoying ass. Jungkook smiles as he keeps an eye on you, until he sees a random stranger getting close to you.

soon he gets on his feet, rushing towards you, pushing the drunk guy away and standing right behind you. "why'd you do that?" you ask, squinting your eyes. "i don't know...didn't like it." he says, of course he doesn't like it. The guy looked completely wasted, and if Jungkook hadn't stepped in, those hands would've definitely ended up somewhere they didn't belong. Jungkook looks around, looking for Deong Ju.

"you're being so weird tonight." "yeah, you're hot tonight." That makes you pause, mid-dance. You turn to face him because your body's moving too much, and the beat, the dress, you... it's provoking him in a way that feels completely unintentional but impossible to ignore. He mentally curses himself, brushing it off as the alcohol talking. "where's Deong Ju?" "he left, said it was an emergency." you sigh.

"come on Kook, dance!" You grab his hand and pull him in. He laughs, following your lead, doing a ridiculous move that makes you both double over with laughter. It's easy again, light, stupid, familiar. Until the music slows. Your hands crawl up to his neck. His settle naturally at your waist. You're swaying. It's too comfortable," you really thought i would hit it off with that guy?" you ask loudly so he could hear through the music. "You literally cried to me about wanting kids and a husband.

He's a good guy. What was I supposed to do?" he murmurs into your ears. You look at him closely, your fingers reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. You linger, just for a moment. Softly. Absentmindedly. You think about it, the guy was fine. He wanted the same things but... "you were... just not how you meant to.." you whisper, you don't even think he hears it. But Jungkook always watches your mouth when he's this close.

He reads your lips. And suddenly, something shifts. He doesn't know what it is exactly, maybe the way you're looking at him, maybe the way your thumb brushes his skin. Maybe the alcohol, maybe the song. Maybe none of it. Maybe all of it. But it's there. And neither of you pulls away. "what do you mean by that?" he asks carefully. you look at his eyes and give him a soft smile, looking down at the floor.

"nothing, forget it. i'm tipsy." Jungkook blinks, his brows furrow just a little, mouth parting like he wants to ask again, he doesn't think it's nothing, he doesn't press on it but he can't help it. The air is different tonight, you both feel it. "we should go home." "yeah..." you pull away, and both walk to the booth. Jimin's already passed out and Hoseok tells Mina to drink up fast so they can get home to the triplets.

"you guys going too?" Tae asks. "yup, too late." "yeah, gotta drop Jiminie too." "see you later guys!" you both hug all of them before Jungkook gets his car. you both are quiet. none of you speak. The ride home is filled with silence except when you plug your phone for the music instead of his, like you always do.

you both walk up to your apartment, still a bit tipsy. you kick off your heels and slump on the couch. Jungkook places your bag carefully on the dining table and sits beside you. "my feet are dying." you groan dramatically. "why do you even wear heels?" he asks. he can sense the change. you're not all whiny like you are usually. you're quiet. he knows somethings not right. "what's on your mind?" he asks...slowly.

you drop your head on his shoulder, looking up at him, his eyes don't blink, he fixates them on yours, gazing down at you. he wants you to speak up your thoughts so he waits patiently. your eyes fall back to his lap. "you're okay? wanna talk?" he asks again. you don't answer him. "does it have to do with Deong Ju?"

you shake your head and he nods. At atleast you're giving him some insight. you both sit in silence and it itches him. he doesn't like it. he prefers the blabbering from you. At atleast it keeps the empty room alive, unlike now. the lights are dim, barely any light at all. he keeps a mental note to change your lights to white, the gold doesn't match your aesthetic. he'd notice the few changes you've made, like the additional frames on the wall, the books that sit on the console table.

he didn't see them last weekend, he was here so it had to be done during the week. it's nice, it's you. the light seeping through the windows, brightens up the room by a percent. it's mostly darkness, it's comfortable though. he has you leaning against him, the soft breathing is he only sound to his ears except the air conditioner.

maybe you need some space so he gives it, doesn't further question you because he knows you'll speak if you want to. so he eases, slumps down the couch and closes his eyes. "you didn't have to go all grandma, bodyguard mode tonight, you know." you murmur and he softly chuckles at the 'grandma.' "he was coming at you, i didn't like it. and-" he glances at you, caressing your hair.

"i'm just... protective okay. i get it, it can be frustrating to you but i promise- you're allowed to wear whatever. I'm allowed to worry. i'm your best friend, aint i?" he asks. patting your head. you smile. "You always take care of me. Even when you don't have to." you mumble. "hey...i don't mind it." he whispers, messing your hair like a kid. it's quiet again. you look up to take a glance at him and he's already looking down at you. your eyes meet, longer than a minute."

you looked like you had a great time with him." you chuckle and hit his chest. "i had to play it off well, he was nice, though his flirting skills lacked. i'll still give it to him, he...looked good." Jungkook nods, picking the insides of his cheek. he won't deny it, Deong Ju was a charming man.

You took a moment, trying to figure out how to make him laugh. Tickling? That would work but knowing him, he'd turn it back on you and tickle you to death, so you quickly scrapped that idea. Instead, you decided on a hug. Without any warning, you wrapped your arms around him. pulling him into a tight hug. He lets out a sudden laugh, surprised but quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you even closer. you both giggle as you stay in each other's embrace for sometime.

he's warm, so so warm and it comforts you. his presence feels cozy, you're unsure if it's his wrapped warms, chest or scent but it's godly. he rubs your back, taking you in. the giggles die and it's quiet once again but this time you both enjoy the stillness, you almost fall asleep to his breathing and rubs. his hand reaches up to your hair, massaging it softly. His fingertips glide through your straightened hair, quietly noting how soft it feels beneath his touch.

he pushes your hair behind your ear, a simple, small move that didn't intend to feel anything. but in a way it did, you felt your heart skip a beat at his touch. you look up at him and giggle.

'your giggles sound like a baby's'

he thinks to himself. he smiles softly, warmly. you pull his cheeks, he whimpers in pain while you laugh, enjoying how cute he looks. Jungkook doesn't say a word, he lets you playfully hurt him, before placing a kiss on it, a fun, thankful kiss like you do to all your friends but.. you don't pull back away as fast as you usually do and Jungkook notices it.

the lightness of his gaze fades, his eyes darken. words aren't exchanged but the feeling- the shift...the body understands, the body feels it without the need of words. your lips slowly pull away, as your eyes flicks up to meet his. but they're already on you. the way you look up at him with innocent round eyes, makes his body weak.

the both of you continue to look at each other, the temperature rises and the air changes, you breathe heavily. His gaze flickers between your eyes before dropping to your lips, slow, intentional, like he's tracing an invisible triangle across your face. you swallow hard, unable to look away. your mind raced with a million thoughts,

'what is he doin?' 'what am i doing?' 'are we....really thinking of that?'

but when he got closer to you, you didn't pull away, you didn't move your head. you...wanted it too. you wanted a taste, you wanted to try. you both hesitated for a moment, Jungkook gave you time to think as he slowly got closer to you. he noted how you didn't move, maybe you wanted this too? if you didn't, you would pull away right? you stayed still, allowing him to make the lead and he did.

he pressed his lips gently on yours. your eyes close at the feeling of him. you think, how soft his lips feel while he thinks why he never noticed how plump your lips were, until now. he stayed just a minute long, keeping it brief before slowly pulling away. his eyes searched yours, asking you silently if this was okay, if you liked it, if you ...didn't hate him for this but all he could see was desperation. your eyes wide, moon like. he observes your face, he's never seen you this up close and...

he wonders why he never did. you were beautiful. you've always been. "didn't know your eyes were caramel brown." he says, in a whisper. the both of you an inch way from pressing back your lips breaths mingling. "you don't even know me." he muffles a soft laugh. "i knew they were brown but..." he brushes his nose with yours. your eyes shut at his touch. "how did i miss it all these years?"

he murmurs, you almost couldn't hear it, too focused on his hand creeping up your neck, teasing you with his touch. "just kiss me, kook." you whine, unable to take it anymore. he presses his lips back on yours, this time more hungrily. your hands travel to his hair, pulling him closer to you. Jungkook holds your jaw tight while his other hand wraps itself around your waist, pulling you to his lap.

the kiss is hurried, greedy and passionate. his lip piercing is cold, but it feels so much better when you kiss. you moan into his mouth when he bites down your lower lip, before meeting your tongue. "kook-" you whisper, tugging him closer like as if he can get any closer to you than he already is. You're craving more, and so is he. Jungkook indulges in the kiss too deeply to even remember who he's kissing anymore.

His mouth grows rough, leaving your lips swollen and bruised, marking you with each greedy pull. A moan escapes you, loud and shameless, as your palms clutch at the back of his neck, pulling him closer. he then pulls away fast after the hearing the sound you make. "we... shouldn't be doing this." you say, breathless, struggling to steady your breathing. his eyes search yours, looking for any signs that he may have hurt you, if he was being too rough. "y-yeah we- shouldn't."

he whispers and you both nod quickly, neither of you move. your hands are still wrapped around his neck while his hands are on your jaw and waist. you swallow a lump down your throat, the little voice inside your head keeps nagging you

'just go for it.' 'its just a one time thing...right?'

you take a deep breath, the both of you keep staring at each other. Jungkook looks concerned, almost frightened, as if unsure how to ask if he's gone too far. your hands cup his cheeks.

"hey...that- that was amazing, kook." you mumble. "that was crazy," you chuckle. Jungkook sees how swollen your lips are, they're plump by themselves but now it's....way bigger than they were, alluring him for more but he stops. "i'm okay!" you whisper, your hands bring his face down, a few centimeters away from his lips. "i loved it." you press a chaste kiss on his lips, his grip on your waist tightens at it.

"i fucking loved it." you whisper again, pulling him to yet another deep kiss. this time your hands roam on his chest, before reaching under his tank top. Jungkook moves his mouth slowly yet passionately. he knows your lips are tender from the bruising so he goes softer this time so you don't feel uncomfortable. his hands reach to pull away your leather jacket, leaving you in the red lace corset top. you push his jacket away too, trying to remove his tank top, which he pulls away from you to do it.

you drool at the sight of his chest. it allows a chuckle to erupt. "nothing you haven't seen before." he speaks. "i know but...this feels different." you can't believe you're...gonna do this with your stupid-yet very attractive best friend. Jungkook is insanely handsome, you've always known that. But never, not once in your life, did you think you'd end up like this. seated on his lap, his bare chest against you, making out with him, and... maybe about to do things you never imagined you'd do.

With your best friend.

"oh fuck you're everything i need right now." you mutter, pressing your lips again on his as he laughs at what you just said. he knows this is gonna go further, he feels it in his bones. it's the way you're grinding on him, the way your hands are all over his and how deep your kissing him. it's not that he isn't either but he wanted to go slow and clearly.. that's not what you want. he lifts you off the couch with ease, taking you to your bedroom. he doesn't turn on the lights, your window is bright enough since you didn't pull the curtains close.

he carefully places you on the bed, hovering over you as your body reacts with a quiet giggle when his hands find you. "you know why...we're here." he asks. "of course jeonfuck!" he chuckles then he looks at you seriously. "And you're okay with this?" he asks again, carefully, as if double-checking. Even though the light doesn't quite reach your face, he still reaches over to switch on the bedside lamp.

when he sees your face, glowing like the moon, he can't help but smile. "it's been about a year i last had sex, i'm so fucking horny." you groan but he doesn't laugh with you. sure, he smiles softly but he's really serious and you notice it. your hands cup his face, looking deeply into his eyes. "i don't know what were doing, this...is stupid." you chuckle, he scoffs with a nod.

'if this isn't stupid then what is it.' you both think.

"but i know i want this. i...trust you okay. you're my best friend-" at that he breaks into laughter, his head falls on your neck. "you did not just friend zone me while i'm over you, half naked with a boner." "i'm serious though, you are my best friend, aren't you?" you ask, pushing him so you can look at his face clearly while you speak. "i am." he whispers, placing a kiss on your palm that holds his cheeks.

"Do you trust me?" you ask, and he lets out a dramatic groan. "With my life...and my... dick apparently? Wait, no- you're gonna be sane, right? You're not gonna, like, chew it off or-" "Jeon, get fucking serious and just fuck me already." he giggles, pressing his nose on yours, rubbing it side to side before he pushes his lips. his fingers brush your shoulders, allowing the thin straps of the top to slip down.

he kisses down your jaw down till your neck. your hands stay tangled in his hair, moaning at the feeling of his sucking down your throat. he pulls away any of the remaining pieces of cloth on your body and himself, you're both desperate with the way he's trying to remove his pants, so do you. but the button isn't opening and it frustrates you both, how you're unable to do a simple action.

when they're all gone, Jungkook hovers over you, his fingers flick the lamp off without a word, leaving the room dark and quiet. It's easier like this, easier to forget you're best friends and just... be.

he stays between your thighs, preparing you for himself. you whimper at his fingers as he draws circles, moving inside of you to prep for the later. his lips stay on your chest, easing you as he makes you cum for the first time.

"ko-kook-" "yeah." "need you." you whisper breathlessly and he crawls up, placing a quick kiss on your lips. "yeah- i need you too, just give me some time.." he pants as he tries to stop himself from letting out. he's close but he doesn't want to tell you, he can't focus on stopping himself when the sounds of you fill his ears.

he never imagined you would ever leave such sexy sounds. nothing could have prepared him for this. he stables himself after a while, even though you make his blood level and heart beat spike when you lean in to kiss him. you take in the sight before you. his chest, the sweat beads decorating it. his tattooed arms make him look like a painting. he's so fine, you knew he was always.

he heaves a sigh and adjusts himself to you, right in between you. he braces himself over you, placing himself at the right spot. he kisses you gently before he thrusts. you cry when you feel his length, he groans loud, biting his lower lip in reflex as he lowers his head to your shoulder. "fuck-oh my god- you feel so go- wait-" he freezes, he removes his head from you and look at you with wide eyes of realisation.

"i-i didn't use a condom- shit shit-" he starts to pull away, concern written all over his face, but you catch his arms and tug him back. "it's fine.." "no y/n we must be careful-" "hey hey..are you clean?" you ask. he nods immediately. "i've not slept with anyone in months." "it's fine then..me too. i'll take a pill right after, okay."

"oh..." he sighs, putting his head on your cheek. "oh y/n you better..." as the night passes, you cling to him, breathlessly as he drowns himself into you, he murmurs your name so beautifully. you've never heard anyone call your name out with so much passion before. not even your exes who would just be done with it. this sex is a one-time thing but oh man...this might've been the best you've ever had.

"Y/N... you're so beautiful," he murmurs. "Fuck... baby... you feel incredible," he groans as he loses control, his lust taking over him as he speeds up. he finishes inside of you, panting as he sleeps on your chest. the both of you take your time to breathe, the night had been a crazy ride. a one-time insane roller coaster. you just hope you don't regret it.

he falls beside you, looking at your side frame. you turn to see him. he caresses your cheek, his eyes gaze over your features lovingly, like he always does. he gets closer, his lips a few centimeters away, testing you. you pull him, chastely kissing along with playful giggles. "i'll run the shower."

he gets up and walks into the washroom. you watch him walk naked. damn, he's fine. he really is. Both of you shower separately. you're now doing your skincare, patting the toner into your skin as Jungkook leans against the door frame. he wears his clothes, the extra ones you keep in your closet whenever he decides to sleep over...on the couch. "what?" you ask, side-eyeing him.

he chuckles, making his way to you. "was wondering how i managed to sleep with...you." He says it like it's supposed to offend you. "Wow, thanks. Confidence ruined..." he grabs the face mask from your hand and puts it on his face. you punch his chest, tearing another face mask.

Jungkook and you tease and joke around, it's just a part of your friendship. a major part. so it doesn't have to offend you, it usually means nothing, just his way to annoy you- yet this upsets you. he glances at you from the corner of his eyes, he notes a shift in the mood. He didn't mean that, so he's just about to speak but then you do.

"so what... you regretting it already?" you whisper under your breath, rubbing the rest of the serum on your arms. Jungkook frowns, he knows he should've been a bit more considerate, jokes aside, it was rude, he knows it too. "hey..." he gets closer to you, feeling guilty at what he said. You take a step back, looking at him with wide eyes.

you chuckle. "come on, I was teasing you." you fake a laugh but he knows what's on your mind already. you're expressive with your emotions, your face shows it all. And Jungkook? he figures it out in seconds. "bubs.." he pulls you into a hug.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean it-" "hey it's okay-" you attempt to free yourself from his grasp but he holds you tight. he knows you're hurt but you're trying to play it off. "i dont regret anything, not even a second of it." he murmurs, you stop moving and sigh. "i promise." he whispers, pulling away so he can look at you closely.

he cups your face and scans your features. his eyes fall to your lips accidentally but he pushes his thoughts away. placing a kiss on your forehead. "it doesn't change anything between us, right?" you ask softly, carefully. worried that this stupid night could be a fatal mistake to this beautiful friendship the two of you share. he shakes his head, a grin decorates his face.

"No, of course not. Nothing could ever change what we share. You're my best friend, and you always will be. This doesn't change how I feel... does it change things for you?" you shake your head immediately and he smiles. "That settles it all then." he pats your head then looks back at the mirror, fixing his hair. you look down, taking everything in. "your face mask is gonna fall off, careful."

he chuckles. You both step out of the bathroom. Jungkook takes the extra pillows from the closet and goes to the living room. He lays out the pillows and pulls the blanket over the couch, turning it into a bed for the night. he asks if you're hungry and you say no. he asked 'wanna get double double spicy meal? '

you were about to say yes cause that burger is.. your most fav food ever but it was too late for a whole meal. you walk back to your bedroom, after it's all cleaned up. you say your good nights and lie down to sleep. somehow you just ...can't. you look up at the ceiling, your mind spinning about everything that had happened. tonight has been crazy, neither of you would've imagined this could happen.

that's not it, there's an uneasiness inside of you, that's keeping you on the edge. an unsettling feeling inside you, that only gets worse as the clock ticks.

The clock reads 2:35 AM now. You went to bed at 12:40. you struggle to close your eyes, flipping side to side, but nothing really works. finally, you give up, quietly slipping out of bed. You tiptoe toward the living room, careful not to wake Jungkook. He usually falls asleep fast.

You hover behind the couch, peeking over just to make sure he's really asleep.

But... he's not.

Jungkook meets your eyes without a flinch. he's got his arm resting on his forehead, his blanket sprawled on the couch and a pillow on the floor. "can't sleep?" he asks, you nod with a pout. "come here" he sits up, patting the empty space beside him. you sit down and pull the blanket around you.

"thought you'd be snoring." he gets offended by it and laughs. "i don't snore." "that's what all snorers say." now you both sit in silence, in your own worlds of spinning thoughts. Jungkook glances at you time to time, he figures you're lost in your thoughts, he's curious though. he guesses it has to do with tonight.

"you really okay? wanna talk?" you look at him with a blank face before looking down. "i can't shut my mind." you speak. "you're worried about .. that yet?" "no, i just don't know....i mean, we feel normal, we are normal right-" "ofc we are bubs, what's normal even?" he says and you heave a deep sigh. "it's just...if i lose you for just some...sex? i'm gonna give up on everything, i'll lose track of my life, you're the only one that keeps me sane." you murmur, while he looks at you fondly.

"That's a lot of pressure for one person, but hey, I'm up for the challenge." he says making you giggle. "hey look at me.." he turns to face you, getting serious for a moment. "this.." he gestures between you two. "this friendship is everything to me, nothing is gonna mess this up, not one night, not any sex or kiss. Whatever it is, our friendship is my top priority and i will never let anything harm us, never. you understand?" he consoles you as he brushes his hand over yours.

you nod, feeling a sense of calmness wash over you. "i promise." he whispers, he searches your face, carefully watching your expressions as you both innocently get closer to each other. your noses brush against one another, lips hovering just a few centimeters away. you both are unsure who kissed first but it happened, gently, carefully. a slow kiss that lasted a few seconds before you both pull away.

"um...i-" it's awkward now, Jungkook brushes his hair as he looks around the room, you drape the blanket tighter around yourself in reflex. "guess that's what happens when you can't sleep." he whispers under his breath, making you laugh which he follows too. "come." he opens his arms, pulling you in as he caresses your hair. "sleep y/n, good night." he kisses your lips for the last time, making you giggle like a child.

kook : hey sleepy head, wake up

y/n : i'm awake dipshit

jimina : i just know you were asleep

tae : it's fucking 4pm, she never sleeps this time

y/n : see, tae's my only best friend *insert a cringe meme*

kook : my ass, you were speaking gibberish when i called you

y/n : fuck you

jimina : wait, are you okay? you never nap in the evening

y/n : i'm fine brother's

kook : stop w the brothers, we're gonna grab dinner, u coming?

y/n : nah, deliver them pleaseeeee, thank you kookie

tae : my tits, you're coming no excuses

kook : yeah i ain't your uber

y/n : losers *inserts fuck sign meme*

You've been feeling exhausted, especially with work lately. The wedding season is here, so you're always on the go, booking appointments and checking setups. you did in fact nap in the evening and that's definitely not you. you weren't in a mood to do your makeup either, just a layer of lip gloss was enough.

Jungkook arrives so you take the elevator to meet him at the parking lot. he's surprised to see you in a hoodie and sweatpants. he laughs when you get inside the car. "what's going on here? this isn't my y/n." "shut up, i was too lazy."

you defend yourself, rolling your eyes. "oh Tae's gonna laugh his ass off." "i'm gonna punch him." The drive was nice, you almost fell asleep again, which Jungkook noticed, so he turned the music louder, forcing you to stay awake with the rock sound. "fucker." you screamed back at him through the loud music, making him laugh. Both of you walk inside, there Jimin and Tae were already seated, punching some popcorn chicken.

"yo where's my sexy best friend? who tf is she?" Tae breaks out in laughter, seeing you in this oversized outfit that you never wear out in public. "you guys are the worst." you sit in front of Jimin, Jungkook sits beside you. "you never text or call now and you missed like two dinners? plus you didn't put makeup??? i see your dark circles and all the shit. the fuck is on?"

Tae asks and you sigh. "The events are super packed, i'm exhausted from all that." Jimin nods and pats your hand. "it's just the wedding season, don't worry." you nod with a smile. The four of you indulge in a conversation regarding each other's jobs. Jimin's busy with his project while Tae has a short break. Jungkook's never complaining, he loves what he does so he's always passionate about talking about his latest shoots.

when the meals arrive, the three of them immediately gobble down their favourite burgers while you stare at yours, poking it, playing with the fries. Jungkook notices first and knocks your shoulder with his. "you okay? you literally fought me for this burger last time."

"yeah...i just don't have much of an appetite right now." Jungkook, Jimin and Tae pause for a moment. Tae chokes on his fries, quickly sipping up his cherry cola. Jungkook chuckles nervously as he say, "Are you secretly possessed? Blink twice if you need an exorcist." you groan and slip down your seat, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"i'm fine, probably stressed out and tired." Jungkook gets worried for a second, you're never like this. the last time you behaved this way was when you had a severe fever, only to find out you had covid. he pats your head gently as he continues to eat his burger. you try not to whimper at how awful you feel, you don't feel like you, you've been tired and nauseous lately, you know something's up. "hey give me a sip of the cola-"

"Jimin, you have the same shit-" "i know but i'm done with it-" Jimin and Tae keep arguing while Jungkook laughs, you're napping a bit. Jungkook's pats give you some sort of comfort until a churning feeling rises in your stomach, your throat feels tight and uncomfortable, and suddenly, all you know, you just have to puke. you jump over Jungkook and rush to the washroom, covering your mouth. The three of them look at each other in concern.

Jungkook doesn't think for a second, he drops his burger and runs behind you. "i'll check on her." he says as he rushes to be with you. you're puking into the sink since the toilet floor was too dirty to sit on and you could not control yourself. Jungkook was glad you didn't lock the door, he's quick to enter as he stands behind you and pulls your hair into a pony. he rubs your back soothingly, hoping he could be of some help.

"hey hey, let it all out." you cry as you throw up. you hate this feeling, the tightness in your throat while your stomach clenches itself. You wash your mouth, breathing heavily as you finally feel relieved. "Oh bubs.." Jungkook pulls you into a soft hug, before walking out without. Jimin and Taehyung had stopped eating, worrying for you since this has never happened before. " Y/n!!" They get up from their seat to hug you. " I'm fine guys.."

you murmur, though you don't feel good, but you don't want to ruin their dinner by worrying them more than they already are. Jungkook passes the water bottle to you and forces you to drink more than just a mouthful. "Did you have take-away yesterday?" Jimin asks, and you nod. "I'm sure it's food poisoning them." Tae says, and you all nod. You sit beside Jungkook, he caresses your hair as you lean against him.

"Go ahead, don't worry about me," you assured them. They were hesitant at first, but after hearing your words, they continued eating. "Bubs... I can drive you home. I'm done eating." He whispers to you. Jimin and Tae were gonna drink in a bit, they refused to leave without you but you begged them to go ahead and have some fun.

You nodded at Jungkook's words and he smiled. He packed your burger and fries. He refused to let you have them later, tomorrow. He told you that he'll prepare fresh food so you can clean your system. "Just tell me you want the damn burger, kook." "Don't do me like that now y/n, I'm not so cheap. " He makes you chuckle through the pain.

During the drive, you fall asleep, so Jungkook stops by the supermarket and gets the ingredients to prepare you some soup. When you get to your place you immediately curl up on your couch. Jungkook sighs as he walks towards you, putting up a cushion under your head and draping the blanket over you. He lets you nap for some time until he prepares the seaweed soup for you.

"bubs..wake up." he softly tries to wake you up from your nap. you blink a couple of times, clutching your stomach as you try to sit up. "have some of this, you'll feel better." you shake your head, not feeling hungry but he's adamant that you have something, you can't sleep in an empty stomach. so he feeds you, carefully.

"Remember, mom would make this for us whenever we got a cold." he smiles, recalling the memories you both had of the miyeok-guk (seaweed soup). you nod and chuckle. Sitting in crossed legs, while Jungkook sits on the coffee table in front of you, feeding you like a child. you do the same to him too, whenever he falls ill.

Jungkook cares for you a lot, the most. Everyone in your friend group is aware of that, Jungkook and you know it too. he's been your best friend since you were kid, all his life he'd been protecting you and taking care of you. it's natural that he feels this pull to do anything for you, even if that means learning how to cook for you whenever you're unable to or when you're sick. like now.

"one more, come on." he feeds you the last bit of the bowl and smiles widely. "good girl." "ew, don't call me that." you soon lie down and he tsks you. "get up, don't sleep with a full stomach yet." "but i'm tired." "let's watch something, stay up for an hr or so and then you can sleep all night, yeah?" you nod, too exhausted to argue, he puts on a movie, a movie of your liking, a romance of course. You stay awake through the whole thing, even if you don't say much.

Maybe it's the comfort of having him around, the way he caresses your hair always makes you feel so calm. by the time the end credits roll it was time for Jungkook to leave, he leaves you a glass of water and some pills, just in case you feel worse in the middle of he night and he pulls of the heating pad, saying it could be your cramps that hurt more.

he gives you a big hug and a kiss on your forehead before he leaves. "you'll be fine by yourself yeah?" "yeah grandma." "i'm serious, i can sta-" "no, you've got work ill be fine." he looks at you closely, you've got a little pout which...makes him feel a little something but he soon looks away. "alright then, lock the door and call me if you need anything, i'll be here in no time." you smile and shoo him away after thanking for the soup. you close the door and drag your feet back to bed.

one week.

it's been 7 days since your awful day at the restaurant and you have not recovered from whatever the hell you've been feeling. only it's worse now. you've been napping during office hours when you're supposed to be managing the events.

This has never happened in your life.

not even when you had a terrible hangover. you didn't have much to do that week, yet you could sleep for weeks long. that should've been the major sign but you kept ignoring it. the nasuea hasn't been better, you've skipped many meals throughout the week.

including your morning coffee and coffee bun that you always have before work. somehow the aroma of the cafe put you off, it's unusual because you love the smell of that cafe, not just the coffee beans, but the sweet scents from the lemon cakes and buns are essential to you before you leave to work. the sniff of it makes you feel ready to work but now, you can't enter the cafe without the feeling of puking. you googled,

'how long does food poisoning last'

and somehow the symptoms don't add up to what you've been feeling. because it's been over a week and it hasn't improved, not one bit. you haven't had takeaway food. Jungkook always Ubered you his homemade food so there's no way your system isn't clean. You've been frequently using the bathroom more, you fear you've got a UTI or whatever, but you always keep forgetting to visit the doctor since you feel too tired to move.

Jungkook's been texting you more lately and in someway, you just can't get yourself to respond, you texted him how you took a day off and he told you, he'll come by but you refused to meet him, saying you just wanted to sleep throughout the day. your period tracker shows you're late and it's frustrating because all this could also just be the period.

you've been avoiding Jungkook and it's on you, he always checks in on you but you keep dodging his texts or...it could be you just not want to be around him. you don't know why you thought of it but...you just did. it's like a gut feeling saying something's off and it's never like you.

kook : let's hang out in your place

y/n : noo it's messy here

kook : like you ever gave a fuck

y/n : kook pls

kook : fine, come by then, no excuses. it's been long.

you groan when you see his texts. you don't wanna see him even though you really want to. it's weird, this feeling inside of you. you're trying to hide it, but you can't.

for one it's because Jungkook is gonna leave everything and run to you and second, you feel this growing...unease as you keep opening your period tracker, and the number of days it's late just keeps climbing. you wear a hoodie and sweatpants and take a ride to his place. you stop by the pharmacy to grab a...

Pregnancy kit, just in case.

of course you know that you're not gonna use it but it's just an option.

just an option.

Jungkook opens the door to greet you in a hug. "oh my god, it's been so long." "it's been just a week." he takes you in and sighs, "a week is too long for us. and.." he scans your face quickly before a frown draws in. you don't look better, you look worse. "Hey..." he begins in a soft whisper.

"are you okay? You've kinda been... avoiding me." he speaks carefully, slowly. "I just haven't really felt like doing much lately." You shrug off his hand and drop onto the couch, letting out a slow breath.

That uneasy feeling creeps in again, mostly because there's a pregnancy test sitting in your bag, and it's all you can think about. Jungkook doesn't question you any further, he lets you be. you would talk to him if something is wrong.

Sometimes you keep things to yourself but he knows if something is really bad, you'll come to him. so.. he'll wait. "i waited all week for you to watch Love Island. I promise I didn't watch any, so let's watch it together." he sits beside you, pulling a blanket over you.

he notices how quiet you are, but he doesn't say anything, he tries to be normal and keep the energy up. you're unable to focus on anything, even if your favorite show is playing. you just can't. there's Jungkook beside you, you're supposed to feel calm but you can't, your mind isn't allowing you to breathe.

you really want to take that test, just.. just once you see the negative sign, you'll be free from this wrecking mind of thoughts. "shit, i forgot about popcorn. lemme get it done real quick." he gets up the couch to grab some corn kernels. the smell of the butter makes you want to throw up, which...is fucking weird, that's NOT you.

so, you take that opportunity to test it out. you can't wait anymore, you just wanna be done with it. you grab the kit and lock yourself up inside the washroom.

you wait.

impatiently.

walking side to side with your hands on your hips, you bite on your fingernails as you wait for the results. just a few more seconds, you tell yourself. your phone timer goes off so you brace yourself. you know it's negative so you shouldn't be so nervous but that's the thing, you're nervous nevetheless. you wrap your arms around your chest, an attempt to calm yourself down by hugging yourself. the time ticks, your heart is thumping, your forehead filled with beads of sweat. you take one look at it and your breath catches. you gulp. you stare at it.

"w-what?"

you probably misread it. Panic floods your chest as you grab the test box, almost ripping it open again, as if checking the instructions one more time could change it. you take the test closer, maybe it's the blur of your eyes, through all the tears filling up or the lighting or, SOMETHING. but it can't be.... that. it has to be a false positive, of course. surely it's like..expired or something. you take another.

it comes out the same.

you feel warm, you feel cold. you don't know what you're feeling anymore. this has to be a fucking nightmare. what even is this? what now? what...what is this? you panic. "bubs? you okay in there?" Jungkook asks, as he knocks on the door, checking on you since it's been a while. "y-yeah, yea.." you reply. you feel ashamed of everything now, you feel guilty. how do you even tell this to him?

to your...poor best friend who means so much to you. should you tell him? this is his, of course it's his, you never slept with anyone. what if he... doesn't want this? will he hate you? will he...leave you forever?

your thoughts keep storming your mind. you've frozen. sitting on the edge of the bathtub, hands fisting into your pants. you're in shock, pain and guilt. you don't know what to do anymore. how...just how...can you face him as you step out? you try your best not to cry, wiping off the tears with the sleeve of your hoodie.

this is life changing and it's not anything you want right now. your life isn't stable yet, you've got no one beside you. this can't be happening, this is insane. you can't face Jungkook,

you just can't.

you muster all the courage, throwing the kits deep inside his bin , snapping the lid shut. all you have to do is step out of the washroom and rush out the door. You don't want him to look at you and you most definitely don't want him to find out about this. so you take a deep breath and open the door.

"bubs, i think i finally got the caramel right this ti-" "Jungkook i have to go, something urgent came up, i'll see you anther day, i'm so sorry-" you blurt out the words and rush out the door, leaving Jungkook dumbfounded. "what?" was the only word he could say before youd already bolted out the door. he was confused and lost.

you've never left like this before. he didn't have time to process what you've just said. he just froze with popcorn in his mouth and the bowl in his hands, blinking in confusion. he knew something was wrong and after the way you left, it's more than just an intuition now.

he puts the bowl down, taking his time to think about what had happened. you've been avoiding him, been too quiet lately. The rings around your eyes should've said enough but he just can't seem to wrap his head around this. all he knows is, you're not okay.

you buy another pregnancy kit on your way home, you just have to be 100% sure about this before panicking anymore. when the test comes out positive, it takes everything in you not to break apart all the items around you. you fall on the couch and bawl your eyes out. you're afraid of everything. of Jungkook, your future and your relationship with Jungkook.

it's not okay, it's not okay to carry your best friend's child, especially when it was just one night. the both of you never indulged in anything more than that night.

how could it have gone wrong? you feel guilty for leaving him hanging, it's worse now that you know you're carrying his child and he...isn't aware of it. you're hiding something from your only person. The only one who knows everything about you, today you're hiding something that could be everything to both of you together.

you wanna cry, you want to cry in someone's arms but you can't. you're all by yourself right now and it's so scary. how can you tell him? is there a way to break something like this to a best friend? you can't handle this stress, it's over powering your mind when you've already been feeling lost and exhausted.

you hug your knees, trying to control yourself from having the worst breakdown of your life.

Jungkook on the other hand is worried. he's dead worried for you. he walks side by side, trying to figure out what could be the issue. he'd left a couple of texts but they weren't delivered.

kook : y/n? are you okay?

kook : what was the emergency? all good?

kook : bubs?

kook : answer me please

kook : just tell me you're okay

kook : bubs?????

he'd called you a few times, you hadn't answered a single one. do you have a serious issue? is your health alright? are you FUCKING okay? Jungkook was spiraling, he can't just sit around knowing something's wrong. He needs to know that you're okay, he needs to get at least a reply from you. He decides to give you more time, although it has been about 3 hours and he can't sit still. He gives you tonight, he spams you lesser but he still does. He just wants to make sure you're okay but you don't respond until the next day.

Y/n : I'm fine kook

Jungkook isn't satisfied with your reply but he's glad you did, even though you took 15 hours to respond. You'd left your bag so he decided to drop it off and take a look at you. That way he'll know if you're actually okay or you're just texting that for his sake. He takes out his trash before leaving and notices something that.. doesn't belong to him.

The bin was usually filled with face masks, this time he'd emptied his moisturiser but he'd never used these two sticks... A kit? he suspects that, taking it out of the bin as he reads it. He's not quite sure what it is until he sees the front of the box. He immediately picked up the tissue papers that had two sticks inside it.

Two. Pink lines.

No. No way.

His heart dropped to his feet, the hair in his body stood up and he felt dizzy. Quickly holding the edge of the sink as support.

This- is why you ran?

You're.. pregnant?

You've spent the whole night on the couch. You could not get yourself up from there. You're messed up, you can't move. You're exhausted. You're drained out after all that crying. Your emotions and mind is all over the place. Everything is shifting. everything makes sense now, what you feel. You feel so... Far away from the world.

The people. Your loved ones. You feel so lonely in this situation. You wish you could tell this to someone and just weep it all out. But you can't. The only person you could share this with is the person you're hiding from. Jungkook.

You're carrying a truth that's way bigger than your body. you haven't eaten all day, the last meal you had was dinner the night before. your fatigue was hitting you hard, you're drained out from all the crying. you're stuck in this strange, weird place where you don't know what to feel or do. and it's causing you more anxiety which makes your nausea worse.

you're dreading this, you feel miserable and you look it too. You didn't even notice the dozens of missed calls and texts from Jungkook. your phone was on silent and even if you did check it, you wouldn't have the energy to respond. Every time you think about him, you want to cry all over again. His innocent face flashes in your mind, those eyes that always looked at you with so much trust. And now you feel like a betrayer. you feel awful.

you've been feeling dizzy all day long, you can't get yourself up from the couch. You're drenched in sweat, soaked in tears, and the nausea is getting worse. You stink of it all. And even though part of you is glad to be alone...

God, you wish someone were here.

You wish he were here..

The door bell rings, you ignore it, and drowsiness finally starts to pull you under. Just as you're slipping into unconsciousness, the front door swings open. Jungkook's voice cuts through the fog. You barely see him, just a blur of his face, calling your name.

Then...

Nothing.

Jungkook drops everything else, he dashes to you. he drops to his knees, pulling you closer to him. you're soaked in sweat, he looks around the room. you hadn't turned on the air conditioner, the windows are locked, there's no ventilation. what have you been doing?!! he hugs you closer to him. Praying you wake up soon.

"god y/n, wake up. wake up please." he's so glad that he had a spare key with him that you'd forgotten about, because if he hadn't come at the right moment, he'd surely regret not making it earlier. he looks around, worried.. then he sees another pregnancy test lying on the ground, a positive test.

you wake up to cold air hitting you. chills run down your spine as the ac exhales, the only warmth you get is on your forehead and hair. you look around, this was not where you were. you were at the living room, not your bedroom. you've not got your hoodie on, just in your tank top. you turn your head to the left side, there you find Jungkook looking down at you in concern, a hint of anger too. you close your eyes.

why have you been seeing him all the time? ever since the positive tests, Jungkook's face keeps flashing in your mind, he's even here in your bedroom now, beside you. you hate this feeling. this guilt.

"you don't get to scare me like this." he murmurs. your eyes open slowly, realising that he's actually here. with you. his hand caresses your head, you don't look at him. he doesn't know about this yet. you can't cry and blurt it out by accident. Jungkook figures you're trying hard not to cry, he knows you well, he knows you were planning to hide this from him. it's quiet, it feels suffocating to you but you don't speak. Jungkook wants to hear you talk, he wants you to cry, because it's okay, it's fine.

"why didn't you tell me?" he asks.

you freeze while Jungkook's hand stops caressing your hair. you don't want to assume what he's talking about so you don't answer anything relating to it. "i'm fine.." you whisper, still not facing him. the answer you gave him was not what he was looking for. "you're not," he says quietly, voice flat. "you passed out, you didn't eat, you ignored me for more than 15 hours." there's a pause. "that's not fine y/n, that'.... hiding." you shut your eyes again, as if that would make him stop. but he doesn't. "i...i found it." your body tenses. "the.. tests in my trash."

silence.

he takes his hand off you, the warmth leaves, you feel colder now. "were you ever going to tell me?" You feel like the bed is swallowing you whole. The guilt, the nausea, the ache, it all rushes back like a wave. You still can't say anything. "I'm not mad," he says, softer this time. "I just...I don't get it. Why wouldn't you come to me?" A beat passes. His voice breaks a little. he's hurt. "We're friends...best friend's before anything else. You know that, right?"

you let your tears fall, your heart heavy now. you don't want to see his face ever again, you hate yourself. you turn completely to your right side, hiding from him. Jungkook feels terrible, he wants you to come to him. he wants you tell you that he's there. Jungkook pulls you up, he pulls you for a hug, you cry on his chest while he holds you tight. "hey..hey bubs."

he whispers, kissing your head as he allows you to put your feelings out. he's never seen you cry this bad. You're having a breakdown, a complete. breakdown. he's glad he's here for you, you're glad that he's here too. "i'm here for you...i'm here baby." the word 'baby' makes you cry louder. 'why does he sound so kind? why is he.. Jungkook?' you think to yourself "i-i'm so sorry-y" you mutter, your voice cracking as you speak.

"you're allowed to fall apart, that's why i'm here." he whispers, gently rocking you, instinctively calming you down. Jungkook just...knows how to be there, how to handle you and hold you. This is why you needed him but this is also why you wished you'd be alone. he makes you feel fine, when things aren't fine. Everything's complicated and messed up and he...he makes it feel okay..

when your cries calm down, you sob time to time. Breathing through your stuffed nose, he smells like home. he smells like peace. everything that you don't deserve. it's quiet now, Jungkook rubs your back as he places his chin on your head. looking straight ahead, just...processing. you can't carry this anymore, you need to tell him even though he already knows this, you need to tell him with your words. he has every right to know, from you.

"i'm pregnant." you finally say in a whisper. Jungkook nods at it, pressing a kiss on your head. "You don't have to go through this alone. Not for a second." he murmurs. "I care about you, Y/N. That night wasn't nothing to me." This sends chills down your spine. you look up to see him and he's already gazing at you. "i'm not going....anywhere." he whispers.

"We'll figure this out, okay? Together....."

Jungkook stays the night, just in case.. and you're glad he did, because you broke down again in the washroom and he was beside you, rubbing your back while you threw up into the toilet. a mix of everything, nausea , guilt, fear and pain. he prepares some tea for you, forcing you to drink it even though you weren't in a mood to have anything. '

"come on bubs, at least you'll puke the tea. you've been throwing up gas all this time." he jokes, making you faintly laugh. he really knows how to handle you. you had no appetite, yet he fed you some homemade clear vegetable soup. "i'm booking an appointment to the Doctors. lets.. do this." he's showing you that he is here and will be there for you.

That sums up who Jungkook is.

It had been roughly a week since you both had found out about your pregnancy. you're now at the waiting room for your first pregnancy check-up. it's much quieter in this room rather than the hallway, there's soft music been played and...pregnant women seated around you. they were very much pregnant than you are, you could tell they're halfway done, whilst you...it's just begun. some cradle their bumps, some look exhausted and some seem excited...like they're waiting to meet their baby. you're alone right now, holding your phone tight, checking for any new notifications from a specific someone...

"Hey.." Jungkook slips inside, looking around, giving a small, polite smile to the few who glance his way. He drops into the seat beside you with a sigh. "i'm sorry, i'm- not late, am i?" "nope, you're just in time." he nods, taking in the atmosphere and how...scary this feels. he sees you clenching your hoodie, in nervousness. so he reaches out to hold your hand, you do. and you feel comfort almost instantly. "uh...so um- what now?"

he asks awkwardly. "we.. wait" you say the obvious, making him chuckle. he keeps glancing up everytime he hears footsteps. there's nothing to talk or ask you since he'd been with you last night. he's pretending to be calm when he's clearly not but he can't show it, you're already anxious, it's only gonna make it worse. when they call your name, Jungkook is already halfway out of his seat. he doesn't know what he's supposed to do, should he walk in with you? or stay out? "do...i come in with you? or do i wait?" he asks you softly.

"do you...wanna see?" you ask and he nods. walking with you inside the room. you're greeted by the doctor who asks you to follow her inside. you're instructed to sit on the reclining bed and pull your hoodie up so your lower stomach is exposed. Jungkook is...standing beside you, unsure where to look. he's stiff, he looks everywhere but you, he's nervous, he has no idea what he should do.

this..whole thing should come with an instructions sheet, pregnancy should come with a manual book, because neither of you two is aware of what you're supposed to do. the doc squeezes some cold gel on you, gliding it around. Jungkook frowns at what she's doing. she moves around your stomach with the equipment, finding the baby on the screen. you look at it, the black and white screen that...shows nothing that you understand.

you swallow lumps of anxiousness, your hand reaches out to hold Jungkook's, and he grips your hand tightly. leaning closer to you. the small monitor shows a flicker of something, it doesn't look like anything but the sound...the sound of something like a tiny drumroll stops your heartbeat for a second. Jungkook's grip on your hand tightens as his brows knit while he looks at the screen. "yes, that's the sound of the heartbeat."

the doctor says, making Jungkook and you sigh. you rest your head back and close your eyes. somehow...the sound of it, though it isn't very clear, its soothing to hear, you could listen to this forever. even if it makes you fear everything for a while. 'there's no going back now..is it?' you think to yourself. the doctor hands you a few prescribed pills, mostly vitamins.

Jungkook is quick to ask her, "dr, her nausea hasn't settled down yet, is there anything she could do or have?" "of course, you can have this for the nausea and start drinking the rest of the pills daily." you glance at the slip and look at her. "if the nausea keeps up, let me know. we'll do something mild or some ginger tea or crackers would do, mostly rest, I'll say." Jungkook nods and mentally keeps it in mind to grab you some ginger tea sachets.

you both settle in his car, it's quiet, something has shifted between you both after the scan and it's all around the air. he looks at you, while you've zoned out. "hey.." he calls you. Jungkook takes his time..finding his words before he speaks. "i've been thinking about this for sometime now." you look at him. "you don't...have to keep doing this, you know.." he murmurs, your brows knit and he soon speaks up again.

"i'm not saying this as if, i don't want this. whatever you choose, i'm always. i mean...always with you. i support every decision but.." he holds your hand, gazing at you with softness. "i also want the best for you and i'm not sure how this is gonna work out, i know i said we can make this work out and yes i will, if you choose to keep this. but...do you want this? doesn't this change the idea of what you want?" he asks softly, not wanting to rub things off but he wants you to make a clear, responsible decision since this is a matter of lives.

not one but three. you take a deep breath and look at Jungkook's hand, his thumb caresses your fingers. calming you. "i..i'm just worried about you-" "you don't have to, you don't have to worry about me. y/n-" he turns to fall you properly. "look at me." he murmurs. "we are in this together, we did this together and if we keep this, we do this together, i don't want you worrying about anything else other than yourself. so tell me...do you want to keep it? are you ready for...this change?" you gaze into his eyes, feeling bad for the man in front of you.

"kook...do you want this?" Jungkook stills for a moment, he...kept asking you the same question but when you asked him, he felt a sting in his heart. not knowing what to answer. "see...difficult right?" you say and he sighs. "Jungkook this is also about you. if you decide to stay- you're gonna be a huge part of this because-" you don't know how to complete it without feeling...weird. so he does it.

"because i'm the father." that sentence was foreign. it didn't feel wrong or uncomfortable though, it just felt... new. not exactly the best feeling but it wasn't bad either. just...new. you nod softly, looking down. "can we talk about this later?" he chuckles when you say that. "bubs this isn't just anything, the baby is growing inside you every second." you sigh.

he's right. but somehow this feeling is getting stronger inside you, the...feeling of wanting this despite all the challenges. "i want to keep this.." you whisper. "i- i just don't know how and what to do about it but i don't think...i want to let this go." you say and that was all for Jungkook to know. he takes his time..then he nods.

"then i want this to. wherever this goes, we will see to it. together."

kook ; do you think we should tell the group about this?

y/n : i don't know, should we?

kook : we probably should, i mean they've been asking why you missed the many dinners

fuck...it's been about a month and you've missed at least 3 dinners with your group. Jungkook was a part of it yet he could never focus of the conversation without thinking and worrying about you. they've been

giving them excuses about work. truth is, you've been going to work every day, but you leave much earlier than you usually do so you definitely can attend the dinners. you informed your boss about it and she was very understanding, didn't complain, only asked you to rest. you're not ready to tell anyone about your pregnancy yet, it's gonna be chaos with all the "whose is it?" "when did you fuck?" "oh my god, what the actual hell?" yeah no..you can't handle all that yet. you need some time.

Jungkook has been coming by whenever he's free, he's been packed up with work so sometimes he can't meet you and he feels terrible since he knows you're nauseated and hasn't settled yet which means you don't eat well. he shows up for grocery shopping and just whenever he's free to hangout, he tries to make more effort to be around. Especially after the day at the clinic, something may have altered his mind, he's always looking out for you.

now. it's...serious. you opened up the door thinking it was Jungkook but...turns out Jimin and Taehyung have had enough, they straight up came home. "well hello ma'am, tf were you doing the past 2 months?" they barge inside. glad you're in a hoodie and shorts and not a tank top. "guys you could've called-" "yeah just for you to ignore our 67 calls." Taehyung says, you sigh, rolling your eyes at them as you sit on the couch beside Jimin.

"you've been MIA. not one meme, not one fucking text at all." "yeah and no sexy slutty outfits!! i'm missing all that shit-" Tae blurts, making you roll your eyes. "you're either depressed or you're hiding something." "wait..are you dying? blink twice if you are-" "guys i'm not ...dying. i'm just tired." you sigh nervously, hugging a cushion to cover up. you're not showing exactly, you look bloated yet...you feel conscious and afraid. "Tired? Of what? You barely come to hang out, you leave work early, and Jungkook's been acting like your damn chauffeur-slash-bodyguard-slash husband!!!" you gulp at the last word. Jimin squints, coming closer to your face.

"are you...okay? is something wrong..like- health wise?" he asks carefully, scanning your face to see any change. "uh..." you hesitate. "sort of-?" "Okay now I'm scared. What is it? Just tell us. We're your friends. You're kinda worrying us." he straightens up soon, the both of them looking at you closely. "i'm...pregnant." you whisper under your breath. you're too tired to lie anymore, you'll eventually be showing more than there's not gonna be anyway to hide, what's the worst that could happen except them going..fucking insane?

"WHAT THE ACTAULLY MOTHER-FATHER FUCK???" Taehyung screams, his eyes bulging out of his head. "PREGNANT?" Jimin asks more...humanly yet dumbfounded. "WHOSE, WHEN- HOW- wait i know how BUT HOWW?!!!!" Taehyung continues to get crazier as the seconds pass. his hands thrown back, his head, he walks side to side trying to grasp what you've just said. you're...awkward yet relieved. keeping this inside of you was a fucking mess.

you feel a certain part of your burden fall off. "wait, does Jungkook know? does the dad know?" now you...can't meet their eyes. because..this is what makes it complicated and ...just uncomfortable. "yeah... he knows." Jimin is suspicious, he didn't take his eyes off you when you told them about this, he's...studying you and the more he watches you the more he knows something is fishy.

"what did Jungkook say? i'm sure he freaked out, he'd been glued to you lately, don't tell me he-" "WAIT, DONT FUCKING TELL ME IT'S...JEON??" Tae..interrupts. you groan, covering your face and just wishing you could hide under a rock. the both of them...froze. you just confirmed it through your actions. "yeah...it's...it's kook-"

silence.

Taehyung probably lets out a sound like a dying whale. Jimin stares at the wall like he's seeing his life flash before his eyes. before they both screamed.

"HOLY FUCK?" "You... slept with Jungkook?" you know you did it but when they say it like that...it's fucked up. "One time, just once... It was... an accident." Taehyung still can't digest this. "HOW IS THAT EVEN... YOU TWO DON'T EVEN... YOU'RE LIKE... LIKE CATS AND DOGS. BEST FRIENDS. NOT... SEX FRIENDS." he gapes. "yeah well...surprise i guess?" Jimin sighs, he calms down and gives you a hug. "Congratulations. You win. You've officially given me a heart attack. But I still love you."

"Me too. I'm just... gonna need a minute." Tae says, walking up to the fridge to grab some cold water. "can we all...sit in silence for a minute?" you ask and they nod. Tae comes to sit beside you, you're sandwiched between the two of them. they've finally calmed down as they hug you from both sides and...you feel consoled, you feel fine. This wasn't that bad, after all. this whole confession. not until, Jungkook walks in without a knock, just using his spare key. "i'm here bubs-" "YOU!" Jungkook frowns, seeing Jimin and Tae mad. "me-?"

"YOU GOT HER PREGNANT, YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" the both of them get on their feet to attack Jungkook and it's honestly funny. you finally...laugh after a long time. "i didn't get her pregnant!!! leave me!!! it's her fault too!!!!" "no! it's never her fault! bitch you should've known!!!" Tae screams, almost punching Jungkook's chest. "yeah! now you're the fucking baby daddy!" Jimin laughs. the three of them stop when they see you laughing hard.

Jungkook's eyes soften as he watches you. how he missed that laugh. "guys.. oh my god..leave him alone. poor Kook has been going through a lot with me already." they smile, walking up to you. you stop laughing and look at them. smiling in silence. Jimin and Taehyung sit beside you while Jungkook kneels down near you. you four have a group hug, Jungkook hugs you from the front while you're sandwiched with the other two too. Jungkook sighs, his face...close to yours. he places a kiss on your forehead and whispers, "god i missed the sound of your laugh."

his hand leaves Jimin's neck, placing it on your stomach, giving it a soft rub before he puts it back on Jimin. Jungkook thought he'd done it secretly but Jimin and Tae noticed it, they...were surprised but..maybe not so surprised either. "guess we are all having a baby now, huh?" Jimin says, making you all chuckle. "can we...celebrate- wait how many months in are you-?" "two." "YOU HID THIS FOR TWO WHOLE FUCKING MONTHS?!!" Tae screams, "guys...we weren't sure plus....we were scared okay. " "fair enough." Jimin murmurs.

"anyway, this calls for a celebration. lemme pull out the win-" "hello? my bubs is pregnant?" this makes your heart..flutter a bit. "huh, your bubs???" "yeah...my bubs!" Jungkook says, winking at you as you giggle. "alright, alright, imma get some strawberry milk then." "nope! We're getting raspberry milk." Jungkook says, confusing the others. "um...why?" "because baby is the size of a raspberry!!!"

The group has been going wild now, the news obviously reached Mina and Hoseok and...it's been fine, they're all very supportive. Mina immediately reached out to you, explained how everything works and what you should and should not do.

Jungkook's been handling this well, or at least that's wat he shows you. he wants to be the chill one because, clearly, you're the anxious one between the two. you never pass a day without feeling guilty of all this which Jungkook always clarifies that it's his mistake too so you should never take the blame for this. he's lowkey scared too, who wouldn't be but he's trying to be calm during situations where you breakdown.

if he doesn't handle it, who would? he also spends much more time with you than he did before and he's glad that he's able to be flexible with his job, because right now you're feeling fatigue at 5pm while watching the tv show and you soon lie down in exhaustion. "it's the 3rd time of the day, i'm so tired of this." you murmur. Jungkook brings your feet to his lap, rubbing them gently. "close your eyes, relax. i've got you. just breathe, okay?"

he mumbles. attempting to soothe you. you groan at the feeling, hoping your stomach settles. "i'm gonna throw up." he quickly turns off the tv and brings one of the cut lime pieces from the fridge, handing them to you so you can suck on it. "better?" you nod. sighing over how...tired all this feels. "i feel like a grandma. i'm so fuckin weak. " "hey..." he caresses your knees and look at you. "you're not weak, you're growing a whole human, that's literally magic."

you roll your eyes and lie your head on the couch. "the quieter the place is, the more i feel to throw up-" "okay, look at me. please please please don't prove i'm right!!!" he dances. "And please, pleasе, please, don′t bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice!!! Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another, I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker, ah." he sings out loud, making you laugh.

"Please, please, please, don't throw up for the one hundredth timeeee." you giggle at the silly moves he does while he sings like a broken record. "what are you doing?!!" you ask in between a giggle. "making the room, not so- quiet!!! sing with me, Well, I have a fun idea, babe, maybe just stay inside.." he continues to sing, making you forget that you wanted to throw up, after all...

4 months,

kook : today marks!

y/n : today marks?

jimina : i'm here i'm here tell us

tae : KOOK STOP CREATING SUSPENSE

kook : baby is the size of a........ *drumroll*

y/n : ....go on

tae : this duck is testing us

jimina : you mean dick

tae : yeah yeah

kook : PEACH!!!!!

kook : this calls for some peach boba! i'm on my wayyyyy

Jungkook has been doing his research on pregnancy and he keeps finding interesting facts about it, like telling you what size the baby is through fruits. it makes you laugh, especially how Jungkook texts it but still tells it to you like 10 times throughout the day. you're now heading to your 3rd month and finally the nausea is getting better, you had an appointment today for a development scan and everything was normal, Thank God.

Jungkook takes you out for a drive to grab peach tea boba, he does not stop talking about what he's found out, "so now the baby's fingers are all formed, even the toes and do you know that the facial features are also so much clearer??" "i...i did not know." "what have you been doing y/n???! lemme explain." he's so...into this. maybe he's just doing this for the sake of it and when you think about that, it makes you feel a sting in your heart but then...you look at his face and how enthusiastic he looks, the way his hands move as he speaks.

maybe he's not doing this because he has to, maybe he actually likes this and...wants this? you break down a few times but you're accepting now, you're excited too and it's all because of Jungkook and his support. but is he really into this? "hey bubs?" he whispers when he notices you've zoned out. "is the boba not good?" "oh no no, it's perfect!" he smiles and sips his own. "if you've...got anything in your mind. you'll tell me, right?" he asks.

you hesitate a bit then nod fast. "of course i will. " he looks at you closely, his palm rests on your thigh. making you skip a beat. "you must, okay?" "i will dad." you both crack up at that and he continues talking about 3 month babies and what's happening inside. "i wonder when you'll feel the kicking." he says. "mmm me too-" "you better make me feel it!!" "or?" "or ...no cravings satisfied." you think for some time. quiet. which makes him frown.

"what's on your mind?" you look at him and sigh. "should we find the gender? since like...we can?" Jungkook smiles and nods. "we can, if you'd like that. honestly i would just like to be surprised." he leans back and thinks about it. "do you....want a boy or girl-" he scoffs and shakes his head. "i don't mind any, il love him or her equally, i just want you to deliver a healthy baby." he places his hand on your bump and caresses it. "shall we find out when i deliver then?" "yeah..yeah I'd like that."

5 months,

kook : todayyyyy marks....

y/n : today marksss???

tae : oh my godddddd, fucking tell meeee

kook : baby is the size offff.....**drumroll

tae : this bitch is takin agessssss

jimina : KOOK TELL US

y/n : tell me tell me

kook : MANGO!!!!!

tae : AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

jimina : omgggggggggggggg so cuteeeeeeeeeeeeee

tae : wait what's the gender anyway?

jimina : omg yeahhhh you never told us

kook : y/n and i decided to find out when she gives birth

y/n : yeahh

tae : how will we buy outfits then

y/n : tae, it doesn't have to be pink or blue, colors are colors

now..you're looking completely pregnant with that round tummy. Jungkook's been much more involved than he was, he spends half of his time with you. he's much closer to you now, if... that's even possible considering how he's always been so close to you. the stretch marks are appearing and so is your funny appetite. now you eat like you've never seen food before.

it makes Jungkook happy, he's more than joyful to make food for you, especially after seeing you have the worst time back then, you dropped so much weight when you found out about your pregnancy. Jungkook massages your swollen feet with cream, as he speaks about work. you've been working from home, it's easier than travelling everyday. with your crazy appetite , Jungkook feels sad to leave you some days, he wishes he could just...be with you so when you have a late-night craving, you don't have to be sad about it and cry over the phone..

"but i really want it, kook...." he's helpless since its 3aam and...he's not around, plus the shops are closed too. so he consoles you with, "tomorrow, first thing in the morning, i'm gonna bring you pickles and ice cream only from Mcdonald's, like you want." and he does. but...you're not satisfied since the craving wasn't there. Jungkook mentally thinks, he should move in with you but ...that would mean being around you...all the time. which, isn't the best idea sometimes. "oh my goodness, i'm starving. "

"wait..where's the radish?" you ask quietly, as Jungkook almost puts the dumplings in his mouth. "um...what radish-" "KOOK, I TOLD YOU I WANTED PICKLED RADISH!!" you cry, making him panic. "baby i- i'm sorry i forgot-" "i want it..so so bad." you sniff, your sweat shirt sleeves cover your eyes as you leans again the couch, crying about..radish.

Jungkook feels his heart break, he didn't mean to..forget. "bubs, give me just.. 10 mins-" "but i feel bad for you- you- haven't eaten all day-" you cry, feeling terrible that he has to leave his meal for your petty craving. "hey hey, you come first okay, just give me 10 mins. i love you." he soon gets on his feet and drives..fucking fast to the nearest shop to grab pickled radish.

taekout will take a long time, plus radish is...radish. it's just a few korean won or sometimes even free. he PANICS, rushing much faster than Shazam or whoever. "i'm here, i'm here." you look up at him wih red eyes. "that- was fast." "i told you i won't take long, here bub, have all you want." he settles the bag and you rip it, gobbling the radish with Nutella-

"mmmmmmmmm" you moan and throw your head back. Jungkook gasps for air as he'd spent the last 5 mins in a rush yet he giggles. he just...loves seeing you happy and giddy. you do your happy dance, that pregnant belly out, your face is starting to look more round, fuller and he can't help but think you're the cutest woman ever. "happy?" "oh kook, i could kiss you right. this. minute." "go on, permission granted." You laugh, light and giddy, while he grins and digs into his dumplings. It's wild, he'd been starving all day, but just watching you eat made him feel full.

what sort of sorcery is this?

"oh- 0H!" you gasp, breathing heavily, making him frown in concern. "hey what's wro-" "come here." he gets closer to you, right beside you, worried. "hey bubs-" you take his hand and place it on your belly. he looks down and stares, concern written all over his face. "do.. you feel that?" you ask and- he feels a kick. his eyes bulge out and he thinks he might die.

"fuck!!" he places both his hands and wait, for one more and it happened. he giggles and laughs and feels his heart about to explode. "oh my god- baby!!!!" he murmurs and you chuckle. "i've been feeling some movement, didn't tell you so i could surprise y-" "i wish i could kiss you right fucking now!" he says, his eyes still on your bump caressing it, so lovingly. you gaze at him, taking in how close he is to you. you whisper, "you can."

he glances at you, scanning your face, how close he is to you. he doesn't hesitate, he presses his lips on you and your hands throw around his neck, pulling him down. "god i missed this." he whispers against your lips as you grin. "missed me?" he pulls away, his palm cups your cheek, he nods. "miss all about you."

6 months,

"baby is doing well, i'm glad." you hear the heart beat and sigh in relief. Jungkook stands beside you, holding your palm. a wide smile on his face as he looks at the screen and observes the movements. "look at how beautiful out little one is." he says and you nod. "we...are going baby shopping-" he whsipers to your ears while the dr wipes of the gel from your tummy. "but you're not gonna buy more of what we have-" "fine fine, i won't!"

"we need to get these- FUCKING TEENY WEENY SOCKS!" Jungkook screams. he holds a pair of bow printed socks and almost faints. it's smaller than his palm and he...feels his heat rate slow down. he can't hold on anymore, he's gonna pass the fuck ou- "we already have a billion socks Kook, you got like 30 pairs last week, Jimin too and Tae got like a bunch of shoes. baby's gonna grow up way before she or he could like wear 3 of them. " you say, practically.

"you need to shut the fuck up y/n, because i'm getting it." stubborn. "we don't have all the space in my apartment, Kook. think straight." "oh i am, we are moving so just...stop and let me buy these 100 pairs for my baby." "it's bows though- we don't know the gen- we are moving where????" he just dropped a bomb out of no where. "yeah we are, you're moving with me, we're getting a house." "kook i'm not your wife-" "then be mine."

pause.

"because you have no say, sweetheart." he presses a kiss on your cheek and smirks. "ewww no way! i'm not gonna be your wife" "says the one who's carrying my child." "it's my child." "no it's mine." "you- no kicks today!" you smirked and walked past the socks section because you don't need anymore. he gapes at you, then he frowns. "you're so fucking mean! you can't deprive me of my rights. " "bo ho, cry about it!"

Jungkook and you come back home, groaning about how tired your feet are. he places all the baby items in the spare room you had, it's a mess there, with all the baby belongings piling up. he runs you a quick bath and prep your vitamins and bed so you can slip right into the sheets and sleep. "your turn to shower. " "oh no, i'll get going-" you pout and drop your head down.

"oh..." his heart.. clenches at how fucking adorable you look, dressed up in a really huge sweatshirt that shows your little belly so nicely and shorts, your hair down and your face glowing from all the skincare. "do you...not what me to go?" you look up at him and blink a few times, slowly nodding. he hides his smile and shakes his head. "but i thought you didn't want to move in with me." you frown. "how does this concern with moving? plus..that was a joke wasn't it"

he scoffs and gets closer to you, he picks on the threads from your sweat shirt as he smiles. "this...all this is about moving. you wanting me to spend the night is pretty much how it will be when you move in and no bubs, i ...was not joking." your heart stopped for a moment. "but think about it, of course. take your time. i'll..shower and be back." he bops your nose and heads to the shower, freezing you in spot. moving with Jungkook? being with Jungkook all the time... sounds tempting, sounds..so homely. but that definitely means a lot more, deeper, right?

"baby...stop moving around, don't be too excited!" you mumble to yourself. you come out of the shower, the bed is empty, meaning that Jungkook is out sleeping on the couch..again. you slowly walk to the living room, to find him and he's seated there, zoned out. he sees you from the corner of his eyes and smiles. "hey bubs, anything you want?" you shake your head and stand in front of him. he looks up at you and smiles. those dimples... "bubs?" "why are you out here?" you ask softly, with a pout. swaying side to side as his hand wraps around your palm.

his expressions twists. "i was gonna sleep, did you want to watch so-" "sleep with me." Jungkook's eyes soften when you say that, he just wants to cuddle you till you scream for help. "i...have trouble sleeping sometimes and-" "you don't have to explain, i'll hop on the bed in a minute okay?" he mumbles and you nod. he places a chaste kiss on your palm and motions you to get going. you smile and waddle your way to your room.

Jungkook mentally wishes he could stab himself with the knife in front of him on the coffee table with the apples. you can not be so adorable. he would give you all his sleep even if that would mean he would have sleepless nights for his entire life. what are you doing to him? this is not how he's supposed to feel. Jungkook gets to your room after he'd drunk a glass of water, he sees you already in bed, looking up the ceiling. when he enters you smile and move so he can jump right in. he locks the door and gets under your cover.

you face him, he does too. giggles fill the quiet room. he whispers, "good night bubs." "good night kook." you creep into his chest, feeling instant relief in his warmth. You fight to stay awake, just to feel a little more of his touch, but his fingers in your hair say, rest, and so you do.

7 months,

"baby is the size of a pumpkin today." Jungkook whines cutely as he enters your apartment and throws his jacket and camera bag on the couch. he'd come straight over to yours like he always does now. he basically lives here, it's not every other day now, he comes over, every single day. and spends the weekend overnight.

"no way, that's such a coincidence, i just made pumpkin soup tonight!" you squeak from the kitchen. he walks over to you, giving you a quick back hug. "i've missed you so much, turn around, show me my little muffin." you turn and Jungkook places his hands on either side of your belly, looking at it with affection. "hi muffin, dada's back home!!!"

"your muffin has been quiet today." he frowns, pauses for a while and glances at you. "is that something we should be concerned abo-" "oh no no it's totally normal, Mina told me." Jungkook sighs in relief and places a kiss on your bump. "pumpkin's fine, must be having a gloomy day or maybe just sleepy." he takes a spoonful of the soup for a taste test.

"probabl- woppp!!! baby's awake!!" you laugh, Jungkook almost chokes on the hot soup. he runs to you, placing his palms on your bump. his eyes sparkle as he feels the kicks and movements, much stronger and frequent than it used to be. "seems like muffin's got their favourite already." "oh whatever." you roll your eyes. "let's have dinner," The two of you curl up on the couch, each with a bowl of soup in hand. It's getting tougher to stay in one position for too long, so the couch is the comfiest spot to get cozy.

Jungkook gets some warm bread and butter to dip in, you ask him for the pickle jar and he brings that too. you both laugh and enjoy dinner beside each other, while watching a movie. Jungkook glances at you from time to time and smiles, he helps you with the bread, feeds you the pickles and rests on your lap, his head close to your bump, placing frequent kisses..he thinks this is...so nice. This is the nicest part of his life in a long time.

8 months,

"i can't see my feet!!!!" you scream. Jimin rushes to you, thinking you're in need of help. "what- what-" "i can; t see my feet, Jiminie!!!" he....bursts out in laughter. holding his stomach, as he places to the floor. "what?!!" you place your hands on your waist and frown. "oh my god- help me-" Jungkook comes in with a concerned expression on his face.

"what's the matter-" "look at how fucking adorable your girlfriend is, Kook!" Jungkook glances at you and pouts. you're whining about..not being able to see your little feet. his heart falls to his feet, he wants to carry you in his arms and peck kisses all around your face. you can not be this cute, it's tearing him to pieces. he tries so hard not to show a reaction but ... he can't. he closes his eyes, covers his face and mumbles awwww under his breath. "you guys are so fucking annoying, i wanted help and you're laughing!!"

Jungkook walks to you, cups your face and pecks your lips. again. you smile. and again. and again until you're a giggling mess. and Jimin is faking a throw up. "i did not pay to see my best friends kiss!" "then get out of here." Jungkook mutters as he kisses you again. "hey..." you whisper. butterflies flying all around your stomach. "i'm sorry you were just..so cute-" he chuckles, caressing your cheekbones with his thumbs. you hide and smile and look down.

"you really can't see your feet-" "nooo i can't!!!" you whine and he laughs. "fuck since when were you this cute, huh?" "uh since like forever?" he bops your nose and locks his forehead with yours, staying like that for sometime. "i've been thinking...."you begin. "i...would like to move in with you, if that's still in plan?" you ask and he freezes. he parts from you and scans your face. you've got nothing but certainty and glitter. "you sure- because that would mean...you know-"

you raise your eyebrows, asking him to continue. "that would mean, were like..a couple-" "kook, you've practically been living with me the past few months. " he thinks about it and sighs. you..frown when a thought crosses your mind. "hey...if you want to be with someone or..date someone else please do. i'll never stop you from anything, we could be just roommates and..you can live your life kook, this whole thing was a mess but i can handle it. Besides, i think you should get back to the way you were before. please party and have fun, don't let this stop you from getting someo-"

he presses his lips on yours, the kiss being slow and deep. you really don't know how this kissing business began when it was all supposed to be a one time thing. because Jungkook finds every little opportunity to kiss you adn- it feels good it feels amazing and nice but..what's happening? "k-kook-" you pull away and look into his eyes. they're dark and..needy. "what's all this about?" you ask. his eyebrows knit. "what do you mean?"

"Since when have we been kissing like this?" he breathes, pulling back slightly, eyes searching yours. You blink, heart thudding. "What do you mean?" He steps away completely this time, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe this," he mutters under his breath. Confused, you take a hesitant step forward. "Believe what?" He looks at you, exasperated, soft, almost desperate. "How blind you are." you flinch. "Can you explain what's going on...please.." He exhales, like he's been holding it in for too long.

"Y/N," he says quietly, "I like you. I've liked you. Was that... not obvious?" he confesses. you freeze at his confession, shivers run through your body. "What?" you mouth, stunned, and he steps in closer. "Why would I want anyone else," he says, voice firm, "when all I want is you?" You shake your head, voice cracking. "No- no. You're only saying this because I'm pregnant with your-"

"Bullshit, Y/N," he snaps, but his tone is thick with emotion. "Nothing.. nothing in this world could force me. Not even this pregnancy." He exhales, softer now. "I won't deny it... this pregnancy is what made me confront it. But it's not the reason."

He gently cups your face, brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. "I fell for you. Not because of the baby, not because of anything else...just you. The only reason I like you, love you... is you. And it'll always be you." you cry at his words. your pregnancy emotions are making this much harder. you sob when he pulls you into a hug. you feel so complete. you like him too but...you just didn't know it was possible. you're so glad he said it.

because it's easier for you to say it. "i...i like you too- kook-" he chuckles and runs his fingers through your hair. "oh my god such a beautiful confession-" Jimin enters the room, clapping his hands and fake sniffing. "my heart- ouch- it's...so heavy after this-" "shut the hell up Jimin, get out of here!" you both scream at the same time. "guys guys...i'm so happy for you both!"

you tease each other and of course, Jungkook kisses your lips. "come on now, let me tie your shoe lace." he gets on his knees and ties it just right. "perfect." "is it? cause i don't see anything!" you say, making Jimin and Jungkook laugh. "it's all done, princess. shall we leave?"

you nod and walk beside them. "i want mint ice cream with ummm a drizzle of pickle juice and cut up pickles!!!" your eyes sparkle at your craving. "stop-i think i'm gonna throw the fuck up-" "ah i'm used to her cravings, come on baby let's satisfy muffin's craving!"

9 months,

"nooooooo!!! taeeee stop, it's not right!!!" you cry. taehyung fake hits his head on the wall whe you whine for the 189th time of the hour. "what do you want me to do y/n? I'm not fucking NASA, I can't calculate crib alignment with the moon!" he groans and falls to the ground, dramatically. "you're of no use, i hate you!!!!" you yell. "what's the chaos about?"

"oh my god, thank fuck thank fuck! Kook pleaseeee, please save me from your crazy pregnant girlfriend, she's fucking eating my last brain cell. please help me" "you ass-" you throw a baby shoe at his face which he dodges quick. "what's the matter?" he turns to you, asking you gently. "the crib isn't centered." you pout. his eyes soften as he nods. "i'll help you, yeah?"

you nod like a child. and his heart clenches. "yeah yeah why bother calling me when Prince Charming always saves the day-" "shut up Tae." Jungkook takes his time, he places the crib, moves behind, checks if it's in the center, if he thinks no, he'll move it again. all this takes nearly and hour but he does it. "bubs, come here!" he calls for you. you take one look at the crib and jump, clapping your hands. "it's so perfect!!!!" "yeah?" "oh my god, thank you Kook!!!!" you hug him and he melts in your touch. "y'all tf i placed it the exact way- y'all are so fuckin dramatic and FAKE!

you moved in with Jungkook after almost a month, you're just a few days till delivery and everything's been stressful. You're not allowed to walk around, Jungkook has strictly warned you to stay in bed or on the couch, he'd kept Jimin as your security guard. Sometimes you would beg Jimin to allow you to walk out the garden that you have now in the new house and poor him, he feels so bad, his eyes say so much but he denies softly. unlike Tae, who just straight up blackmail you, "i'm gonna tell kook and you're gonna be busted!"

The process of moving in has been much easier with the boys around, even Hoseok. the nursery was set up, you helped fold the clothes while Jimin and Tae put up the shelves, toys and books. Jungkook did all the setup of the room you both will be sharing now. he hung up all the clothing, his and yours. since the house was already furnished, there wasn't much work. it's a cozy three bedroom house, elegant, white and beautiful. sufficed just what you both wanted.

of course, Jungkook did the painting for the nursery and- didn't even tell you about it. he'd been doing it since the first day he spoke about moving in. like he planned all of this up and..it happened. it's crazy to him too. he never really thought he would actually confess or..fall in love with you but it just happened. how can it not when you're an amazing woman, he's been attracted to since forever he just never noticed it since he loved you platonically. you left your job eventually, you enjoyed passing your days with different hobbies.

you liked being at home, doing whatever you thought at the moment, without having to follow the working hours. you felt so free and...you lived in the moment. Jungkook loved the idea of working for both of you now, he wants to work more. he wants to build the life you want. he's enjoying it,so are you. every night, Jungkook would whisper to your bump, he'll place his head gently on it and say

"i'm so excited to meet you muffin! mama and dada is waiting for you! i can't wait to find out of you'll be my baby boy or girl. I love you, i love you so much and your mama too, even though your mama ...can be very annoying and - " "stop kook!!" you both still banter around, it keeps your relationship alive. These playful fights, you never miss being friends because it's always there. the fun and the fighting.

you officially moved a few days later and had not completely settled in yet, there was still stuff to do like setting up the kitchen and living room, but the main rooms were all done and dusted. Jungkook was very cautious around you, he helped you shower and get into bed, fed you the vitamins and packed the hospital bags for the baby and you. you were...a day later than delivery and it made you worry, you felt your tummy being low,

which was a sign for delivery but...a day later was stressing you out. Jungkook attempts to calm you down even if he was jittery and nervous. he had to be the patient one here. he consoled you time to time, being around you every second just in case you felt anything. he stepped out to collect the dinner by takeout and- he hears you scream his name. Jungkook drops the package and runs to you.

The bed is soaked with a large wet patch, and you're clutching your belly, crying out in pain. "Oh-oh my god," Jungkook breathes, panic in his voice as he scrambles to call the boys for help. Without wasting a second, he rushes you to the hospital, speeding through the streets. Your screams fill the car, high-pitched and desperate. it triggers him. His eyes almost well up with tears.

"Bubs, I'm almost there. You're gonna be okay," he repeats like a prayer, trying to keep it together.

Everything unfolds in under an hour.

You're wheeled in on a stretcher, your clothes quickly cut away, and before you even have time to fully process it, you're delivering the baby. The doctor looks relieved, even pleased. Your water had already broken, and the time it took to get you there allowed labor to progress. By the time you were in the delivery room, the baby's head had already crowned.

It's fast, almost too fast....and within moments, your little one enters the world. the room quietened down from your echoing screams...For a second, it's too quiet.

No one says anything. Jungkook's breath catches, your heart's in your throat...

Then suddenly, the baby cries.

Loud and real. You both exhale at once. Jungkook lets out this broken laugh, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"She's here," the doctor whispers, placing the baby girl on your chest. Jungkook gets closers, like he can't believe it. he takes one look at the little rose bud and almost passes out. "she's so perfect. she's so-" his voice cracked up. "i love you both so much. i love you both so so much!"

Jungkook had unknowingly given you the life you've always wanted, the one he promised, although it might've begun as a mistake, everything was god's plan. There couldn’t have been anyone better than him. Jungkook is welcomed home by his wife and a baby daughter, Ara.

wanna read more of my stories, click here!

min's notes,

ahhh i finally wrote a one-shot!! i never thought i could write something for 20k words but yay i finally did it! hope you enjoyed reading, there's a series of one-shots, in my head. much more to come! would love to know what you think of this fic!!! and what tropes should i do next? ( new masterlist will be uploaded soon )

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