#anyways yeah..im keeping busy lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

underskz · 3 months ago

Text

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility.

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both.

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that you can’t quite sate yourself, barely sated by these comments.

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession.

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight.

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon.

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get.

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university.

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well.

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession.

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch.

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain.

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place.

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day.

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find.

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now.

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars.

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing.

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it.

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down.

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera.

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy.

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy.

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more.

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!”

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might.

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone.

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain?

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route.

You always do.

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request.

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall.

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others.

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation.

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home.

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > <

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing.

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball.

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box.

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.”

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table.

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay.

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.

“Need to charge my phone!”

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back.

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months.

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins.

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word.

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore.

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh.

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head.

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him.

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it.

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher.

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start.

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out.

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now.

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down.

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together.

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him.

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!”

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop.

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.”

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site.

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue.

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air.

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly.

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind.

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start.

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out.

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes.

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous.

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again.

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked?

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this.

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth.

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up.

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more.

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare.

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.”

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.”

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible.

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped.

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust.

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm.

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly.

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage.

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips.

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you.

“I’m still gonna stream.” The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums.

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his.

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape.

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.”

You blink.

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss.

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee.

“Okay.” You grin at him.

#mark x reader #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #nct smut #nct 127 smut #– miki writes #– mark

2K notes · View notes

delugyu · 18 days ago

Note

Ohmygoshwhereisthe7thchapter IM GOING FERAL WANTING TO KNOW WHAT GYU TEXTED TAEHYUN

right hereee! this part got so long LOL

part six / part seven

(wc: 9.8k / warnings: more crying and arguments, making outttt, manipulation kinda, gyu reeks of desperation, fingering, loss of virginity!!!!!, cheating, unprotected sex… sorry, pull out method… sorry, gyu is emotionally constipated)

“imagine my shock when i saw your name finally appear on my phone screen again,” taehyun laughs. he was quick to pick up beomgyu’s call, and maybe that speaks to how much taehyun’s missed him, but beomgyu doesn’t care as much as he probably should.

“my bad. i’ve been busy,” beomgyu says. he mindlessly plays with the strings of his hoodie, fidgeting out of boredom.

“what’s up?” taehyun asks.

“right now? not much.”

taehyun hums. “so what finally inspired you to call?” his tone is light, but beomgyu knows taehyun better than that. there’s a little bit of hurt behind his words. beomgyu probably would’ve felt bad for that a couple months ago, but he can’t bring himself to pity taehyun now. he has everything beomgyu wants—there’s no reason to feel sorry for someone who already has it all.

“your girlfriend asked me,” he answers.

“oh,” taehyun says. his surprise is mild, but definitely apparent. “how come?”

“she thought we should talk more.”

taehyun laughs a little. “it’s cute that she cares about our friendship.”

“yeah.” beomgyu wraps his hoodie string around his finger. their friendship, which was once so valuable. the years of laughter they’ve shared, the random calls at midnight asking for a ride, the times they’ve saved each other from stupid little things, the deep conversations that changed beomgyu’s life. it should mean more to him, but it doesn’t, and he almost wishes that it frustrated him more. his heart refuses to care about anything but you.

“what’s kept you so busy recently?” taehyun asks.

touching your girlfriend. trying to convince her to leave you. other explanations beomgyu shouldn’t say.

“i’ve been hanging out with y/n,” beomgyu answers. taehyun probably thinks beomgyu’s joking, but his laugh is tense and forced nonetheless.

“that makes two of us,” taehyun says. beomgyu bites his tongue. an ugly feeling rises all the way up to his throat, and it’s all he can feel.

“yep.”

it’s quiet for a few seconds.

taehyun clears his throat and starts up again, “yeah, she’s fun. i’m going out with her later.”

“nice.” beomgyu doesn’t sound rude, but he doesn’t sound quite interested, either.

there’s another tense pause. beomgyu wonders if taehyun’s catching onto anything at all yet.

“what do you guys even do when you hang out?” taehyun asks. seems like he’s getting a little shaken up. beomgyu would be a little smug about it, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s still the loser in this game. sure, he gets little pieces of you physically, but taehyun has you entirely—heart, mind, soul, body soon enough. a bitterness spreads through beomgyu’s chest.

“ask her yourself,” beomgyu says. “you’re hanging out later anyway.”

a really selfish, mean part of beomgyu feels so gratified finally getting to plant these seeds into taehyun’s head. he can imagine taehyun’s thoughts right now, the images that are conjuring up. he bites down on a smile, excited that he’s finally letting his feelings breathe a little. bottling it up only makes things worse anyway, so this is a good thing, really.

“is everything, like, alright, dude?” taehyun asks.

not really. things probably won’t ever be alright unless beomgyu can get you to leave taehyun. “don’t worry about me,” he says.

“okay, you’re just being kind of weird. no offense.”

alright—well that makes beomgyu a little upset. weird feels like an insult here. before he can speak, taehyun continues, “i don’t really get what you’re insinuating between you and my girlfriend.”

beomgyu has a choice here: he can be peaceful and just drop the topic, or he can add fuel to the fire and risk everything. he knows how bad you’d want him to keep the peace—he can practically see your pleading eyes asking him to shut the hell up—but danger is addictive and beomgyu loves toeing the line and testing every limit.

“ask her,” beomgyu says again. he keeps his tone flat enough to avoid any arguments. as awful as it is, it feels so good to get the tiniest piece of this off his chest. honestly, he’s within his right; he had you first, and he’s still having you now, so your boyfriend might as well know that he’s got competition.

it’s quiet for a minute. maybe taehyun’s biting his tongue. beomgyu knows very well that taehyun isn’t an idiot, and they’ve known each other long enough to recognize when a silence is tense.

“i’m gonna go now,” taehyun says, not sounding mad—not sounding like much at all, really. he’s always been good at holding back his feelings when he needs to. “i’ll talk to you later.”

“yeah, see you,” beomgyu says. the phone hangs up.

maybe saying that stuff to taehyun was as stupid as it was petty, but it was only a matter of time until something happened anyway. a childish, rotten part of beomgyu feels satisfied knowing that you’ll talk to him again if taehyun says something to you. you’ll come to beomgyu’s apartment or have him go to yours, and you’ll be so upset, just crying on and on about how he’s ruined everything, but you’ll still need someone to comfort you, and beomgyu will be happy to do so.

he’ll be happy to kiss away your tears, to cling onto your hands and beg you to let him make things better. he hates seeing you so sad, but this one time he can indulge in it. he especially hates being the one to get you all upset, but if it means he gets to be the one to make you feel alright again, then he has to do it. it’s the only way he feels alright these days.

so he waits, and a couple of boring hours pass before he hears from you. it’s like he knew right when you were about to text him, cause he sees your message immediately when you send it.

[y/n] we need to talk

your words should strike fear in his heart, but all he feels in his chest is a flutter. his brain is quickly becoming a useless thing; his heart eats away any reason or logic it may have.

he’s rushing to text you back, frantic fingers flying across his keyboard.

[beomgyu] okay

[beomgyu] ur place?

you only take a few seconds to respond.

[y/n] yeah, just come now

beomgyu wastes no time in running out the door. he could be flying too close to the sun, but he doesn’t care. he won’t feel the heat until he’s burning alive.

you’re quick to open your door when he knocks. “hi,” beomgyu greets, a little out of breath. your face is stone, and you don’t say hi back. you stare at him for a long while. it gives him the chance to stare at you, too.

“are you just gonna stand there?” you ask. beomgyu blinks out of his stupor.

“no,” he says dumbly, shaking his head a little and finally stepping inside. “sorry.”

you shut your door and sigh, and it takes you a few seconds to look at beomgyu. he almost worries that it’s because you can’t stand looking at him anymore.

he waits for you to say something. maybe you’ll tell him you hate him. maybe you’ll demand he steps out of your life forever and force him to watch you choose taehyun for good. he thinks, though, that he might be able to convince you to let him stay. he knows you’re soft and spineless, and he knows you want to be a good person so bad, but no matter how hard you try, you’re better off not being with taehyun—you’re better off being only beomgyu’s. it’s a truth that he believes in as strongly as some might believe in god.

“do you have something you want to tell me?” you finally ask.

he looks between your eyes, and he’s sure you already know. there’s no point in saying it himself besides to just let you hear it from his own mouth. he almost says it anyway.

“do you?” he asks instead. he can’t tell if it’s disappointment that flashes on your face or if his mind is just making things up.

“yeah,” you answer.

“then say it,” beomgyu urges, and it sounds more like a beg than it does a command. you look away for a second, as if you can’t compose your thoughts when your eyes are on beomgyu. your gaze is fiery when it returns to him.

“you piss me off so much.”

if you thought those words would hurt beomgyu, you’re wrong. he doesn’t bother asking why you’re mad; that would just be an extreme display of stupidity, and it would only serve to piss you off more.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes hollowly.

“no you’re not,” you say. “you told taehyun about us.”

he doesn’t want to be annoying, but his response definitely comes off like it: “not really.”

“yes, really!” you argue. you scrunch your brows like he’s being impossible. “why would you do that to me?”

“why do you do this to me?” he counters.

“what? let you do whatever you want with me cause you know i can’t say no to you? yeah, how dare i,” you spit.

“you’re treating me like i’m your side piece! i am your side piece!”

“like you’d want anything more!”

“i do!”

“like what?” you ask incredulously. “to fuck me? that’s all you want. it’s the only reason you stick around.”

“no it’s not,” he insists.

“then why else?”

“you know why.” he saw it in the way you tried to let him down easy when he found out you were dating taehyun. you have nothing to say to him; must be because you don’t want to admit the truth or to play dumb and force him to say it.

beomgyu starts again, “what did taehyun say?”

you sigh, and he can see the fight leaving you. “he asked if there was anything going on between me and you.”

some sort of pride swells in beomgyu’s chest. “and you said..?”

“that there was.” he’s surprised at your honesty. he doesn’t know if he expected you to lie. you correct yourself before he can gloat, “that there kind of was.”

a bitter feeling stirs inside him. “hooking up is more than kind of something,” beomgyu says.

“yeah, well…” you start, but struggle to find a defense. “that’s what i said.”

“okay, then what?” he asks.

“he told me everything will be fine. we didn’t linger on it.” you get quiet, but beomgyu can tell there’s more to it than that.

“that’s it?” he’ll be incredibly disappointed and frustrated if that’s all that happened.

“well, he told me not to see you again,” you finally say. beomgyu immediately takes a step towards you, as if the thought of putting space between him and you was impossible.

“so then why am i here?” he’s a fighter. he’s not backing down. you look like you’re about to burst into tears.

“cause we needed to talk,” you answer.

“no,” he says. “why am i here?”

“cause i wanted to yell at you.”

“that’s not true though.”

you frown. “no. i wish it was.”

he tries again, “why am i here?”

he’s standing so close to you now. he doesn’t even know how he got this close, all he knows is that you look even prettier like this. you look into his eyes so deeply that it feels like you’ve reached his soul. the tears that brim your eyes make them shine even more than usual.

“cause i have to say goodbye.” your voice breaks when you say it. that’s how he knows this one’s the truth.

“no you don’t. you can stay,” he says. clearly you don’t want to leave beomgyu if the thought has you crying like this. he’s brought back to the last time he saw you, how you cried that time too. he didn’t understand in the moment, but he does now. you like him. maybe even more than you like taehyun.

“no, but…” you trail off, taking a moment to hold beomgyu’s soft gaze. “taehyun doesn’t look at me the way you do.”

beomgyu knows what that means. he sees your resolve cracking, and he takes his chances while he can. he grabs your hands, clutching them desperately.

“so leave him,” he urges. “be with me.”

“beomgyu…”

“you know this isn’t the last time. you know i’m not leaving.”

your big doe eyes make his heart clench. “i know,” you answer in a whisper. you drop your head in defeat.

beomgyu picks your head back up, hand cradling your face gently. “why don’t you just leave him? won’t that save you so much drama? do i have to beg you?”

“don’t beg me,” you insist pitifully.

he doesn’t listen. “please leave him. please.”

it’s like hearing him say that hurts you. he can see it on your face.

“i can’t,” you say.

“you can. i’d do it for you.”

“no. i can’t leave him.”

“what does he have over you? and what does he have that i don’t?”

“i like him,” you answer. beomgyu’s world stops for a moment.

“don’t say that,” he begs quietly, shaking his head.

“i like him, beomgyu. i’m sorry.”

“no. you don’t mean it. you like me.” he refuses to believe anything else.

“we shouldn’t be doing this,” you say, trying to step away, but beomgyu doesn’t let you.

“i don’t care,” he says. he holds onto you tighter, scared to let go. “please, baby.”

“don’t say that…”

“baby.”

“beomgyu, please.”

“please what?”

he waits for an answer. you just blink up at him, pathetic and doll-like and frustrating and gorgeous, and it all just riles him up so much.

“please leave,” you whisper.

he keeps holding you and doesn’t budge. he kisses your cheek.

“beomgyu, please, leave.”

he kisses your other cheek.

“why do you never leave?” you groan. he doesn’t answer.

he presses the tiniest kiss against your lips, then waits for you to reprimand him. you don’t. he kisses you again, staying just a second longer. you let him once again. he stares at your pretty face for a long moment until he decides that he’s held himself back long enough. he comes in again, more desperate to taste you, opening his mouth a little more, happy to see you accepting it so easily.

he walks the two of you backwards until you’re against the door, hitting the surface with a tiny mewl. he doesn’t pull away from your lips for a second. part of it is because he’s scared you might tell him to leave again, part of it is because he wants to make your brain turn to mush so you can’t think of taehyun anymore, but most of it is just because he really likes kissing you.

he holds your hands in his, then drags his hands up your arms and over your shoulders until they land on your face. he holds you in place while he tilts his head, kissing you deeper like it’s all he was made to do. he’s desperate to keep you here with him, to keep you in this moment forever, to never stop kissing you because it’s going to hurt when it’s all over.

he breathes into your mouth, not daring to part from you. he’d sooner run out of air than risk hearing you tell him to leave again. you emit all these little sounds that only encourage beomgyu further, making his head spin and his stomach tie up in knots.

he licks at your lips, a silent plea for you to open up for him, and it’s not long before you do. you must be drunk in him too, lost in the feeling. he feels like he’s good for you in moments like these, like he’s good enough to make you forget your stupid boyfriend and all the stupid commitments you have to him.

beomgyu could make you happy too. he’s not only good for this stuff—he’s pretty good at planning dates, he could show you. there’s that lake nearby that looks beautiful at sunset, and it’s got all these flower bushes around it, you’d like it so much. they’re prettier than the flowers taehyun brought you to see. beomgyu knows the best places. he’ll find more if he runs out, he’ll show you the world.

he whines when his tongue collides with yours, hot and desperate and aching to be further inside you than he can get. he wants you to choke on him, to feel and think nothing but him, and even that won’t be a tenth of how he feels for you. he wants you to see it. he wants you to realize how bad you’ve got him.

beomgyu wonders if you even know what it feels like to be this crazy over someone. does taehyun haunt you like this? no, that’s impossible—you wouldn’t have enough room in your mind to think about beomgyu if that were the case.

he presses harder against you, like he wants your body to merge into his own. nothing is ever close enough. his fingers press into your skin, dying to dig himself inside of you. he wants more than you could even offer. he’s greedier than ever, and all he has is your mouth. he feels nothing but blinding need; he’s never been so consumed by a feeling before.

this is him proving himself, this is him showing you how he wants you like no one else could. you’re crying into his mouth now, pulling at his hair, and maybe you need air but he can’t give that to you. he just needs a little more. he’ll always need a little more.

his lungs ache, body shaking from the need to breathe, limbs getting weak and head getting light. he could die like this—he could die and be happy, collapsing at your feet, but he can’t let you die too, so he pulls away and finally allows the two of you some air. at least you can’t tell him to go away when you’re gasping for breath.

his chest heaves as his lungs get their fill, but he doesn’t regain his composure. his eyes are zeroed in on you, admiring your open mouth sucking in all the oxygen you can get. there’s a hazy look in your eyes, blinking slowly as you stare at him. there’s something like admiration in the way you look at him, like he’s just shown you the light. it sends a rush through his body, and he just has to keep you looking at him like that.

his mouth moves to your jaw, lips closing around the skin and sucking. he pulls away and keeps his dark gaze on you, gauging your reaction. you still wear that dazed, needy look, and he can tell that you’re finally as desperate as him. he grins, body lighting up with an overwhelming feeling of victory. he clings to the sensation and chases it further, dragging his lips down your throat until they’re pressed against your pulse point. he lingers there for a moment, closing his eyes and indulging in the feel of your pulse against his lips.

he pecks you sweetly, then comes back to your mouth for another short kiss. he brushes the hair from your face, then holds your head still so he can admire you again. your breathing seems regular now.

“you okay?” he asks. it’s a little cruel how much of a power rush he feels by having you so docile in his arms.

“i’m okay,” you say.

he brings his hands to your thighs and urges you to jump onto him. he holds you close and walks to your bedroom, delighting in the feel of you clinging to his body.

your body looks so perfect sprawled out against the mattress, like this was the way you were made to be looked at. you’re still dressed up, still wearing a cute dress that taehyun must have loved, still wearing your make-up that’s gotten all smudged from the kisses. if beomgyu tries hard enough, he can imagine that he’d just taken you home after a date with him. no taehyun, no messy drama, no arguments, just you and beomgyu and the little sparks that go off every time you’re with him.

he’d work so hard all day, tell all these dumb jokes and make a fool of himself just to hear you lose your breath laughing so hard. then he’d take you home and kiss you the whole way back. you wouldn’t be able to pry him off of you, and he’d have you laid out just like this. you’d look up at him just like this.

he puts his hands on your thighs, his touch innocent. he looks at the skirt of your dress. he knows very well by now what lies beneath it, but a part of him feels like it’s the first time all over again. he brushes his fingertips over your stomach, lightly tracing lines down to the hem of your dress, where the fabric meets your thighs.

“you look pretty,” beomgyu murmurs absentmindedly. his eyes dart back up to your face, waiting for your response.

you gulp. “you look handsome too.”

beomgyu smiles. you don’t even know you’re feeding into this domestic little fantasy he has. his hands run down your thighs again, keeping the pressure light. it makes you shiver, which makes him swoon.

he wants to push you a little further, so he does. his fingers just barely slide under your dress, rubbing the smooth skin he finds there. he kisses your neck and stays there for a second to inhale your scent.

“baby, you’re perfect,” he says against your skin. your hand comes up to run through his hair, and it makes his heart skip a beat.

“don’t make me cry,” you say, a sad smile on your face as your fingers brush his hair back. he kisses you sweetly.

“i won’t.”

he urges your legs apart a little further. he wants to take care of you, he wants to be the only one who sees you like this. he wants to be the only one you run to when you’re wet and desperate to get off.

his hands go beneath your dress to hold your hips, brushing his thumbs over the fabric of your panties. in his mind, you wore these just for him to take off, for him to lose his mind over, and no other guy even crossed your mind. you’re so sweet to him in these daydreams. you only care about him, and he only cares about you.

“pretty,” he whispers, tracing his nose against your jaw. you turn your head to look at him. you wear that same innocent look that captured him in the first place. your eyes are wide and curious and aching to know a world unexplored.

“beomgyu,” you whisper back.

“can i touch you?” he keeps his voice quiet, not needing to talk too loud when he’s so close to you.

you hold his gaze for a long while, and he wonders what you must be thinking about. what could be keeping you from letting beomgyu make you happy? what’s so wrong with living in the moment, not letting anyone else fog your mind and change your decisions?

his chest stings the longer you go unresponsive. there’s a vulnerability cracking open inside him, and he’s trying to force you into that crevice, unable to stand your silence or rejection. he’s scared now, and fear fuels his actions when he dips his fingers beneath your panties, ready to tug them down.

“say yes,” he begs, uncaring how pathetic it is. “let me have you. you need me. let me show you.”

“but”—

“no, forget him.” he knows exactly what you were going to say. “he’s dead next time i see him anyway.”

“beomgyu!” you scold.

“come on, please,” he whines, almost ready to start crying. “i need to feel you, need to feel like you like me.”

your lips tug downward. “i do like you.”

“not the way i need you to. not enough for me to be the only one for you.”

“gyu, i like you a lot.”

“no you don’t,” he sulks, bringing his head to the crook of your neck.

you soothe him with your fingers tracing down his scalp and neck. he sighs, melting into the feeling.

“you can have me,” you relent. beomgyu picks his head up immediately.

“yeah?”

you nod. “yeah.”

“you want it?”

“i do,” you say, rolling your hips up needily. he smiles and starts peeling your panties down, kissing your cheek as he gets rid of them for you.

“how bad?”

“so bad, i like you so much. i wanna prove it,” you say.

“so perfect for me,” he hums happily, touching all up and down your legs. he pushes the skirt of your dress up, and you take it upon yourself to pull it off of you entirely. you throw your bra to the ground too, and beomgyu sits back starstruck for a moment. it feels like you really want him. it fuels his need to be the best he can be for you.

he attaches his lips to your nipple, hungry for your sensitive skin. he laps over the bud until he hears you whining, then sucks some more. you shouldn’t be able to stand how bad you want him, you should be crying and shaking for him, needing his touch like how he needs yours. that’s how you’ll prove you like him, he decides. you’ll give him everything he wants.

he brings his mouth to your other tit, giving it the same attention as you writhe beneath him. he grins when you arch your back, seeking out the pleasure he’s giving you. you moan a little as he grazes his teeth against the flesh of your mound.

he inches his fingers towards your cunt, and he feels the heat radiating from between your legs. he loves being the one to do this to you, he loves that he has an effect on you. his fingers ghost around your pussy, dancing against your skin teasingly.

“gonna let me fuck you on my fingers?” he asks, looking up at you with a pleased grin because he knows your answer.

“yes, i need it,” you say, bucking your hips forward to try to get him to touch you.

“tell me how much you need it, and everything you want me to do,” he says, tracing circles over your lower stomach. he doesn’t usually tease you, but he feels like he has to right now. he wants you to chase him a little, it’s unfair for him to be the only one to do it all the time.

“so bad, i need to feel you inside me,” you whine, pouty lips shining in a way that makes kissing you irresistible. he steals you for a kiss for only a second, because he wants to hear what else you have to say. you look so far gone, and it makes him feel accomplished.

“tell me more,” he says.

“i want your fingers, i can’t stand being so wet and empty.” your words make beomgyu moan. when did you get so fucking dirty? did he make you like this?

“need me to stretch out that tight hole? get you ready for a real cock?”

you whine and shut your eyes, rolling your hips up, dying for friction. beomgyu gets a wicked sense of satisfaction from it, urging your hips back down to the bed. he watches your reaction as he brings a finger to your entrance, gathering your arousal unhurriedly. he doesn’t push in, he only lingers at your hole, prodding only enough to drive you crazy.

your sopping cunt continues to leak as he teases you more and more, and it’s the most satisfying sight in the world to see you shake with need beneath him. your hole flutters, practically begging him to get inside you, but he only drags his finger up to your clit to tease you there too.

your fists tighten in his shirt, clutching desperately as if to speak how urgently you need him, and he can feel it now. he can feel that you’re worked up beyond hunger, beyond desire, beyond lust—you’re becoming desperate and miserable, something more like him. he almost laughs in triumph, coming in to kiss you because he just can’t help it.

you chase his lips when he pulls away, and he lets you have his kiss again. he brings his finger to your entrance again, pressing down almost enough to start sliding in. you moan into his mouth and push your hips forward greedily, and he finally lets you have it. you’ve been so good in letting him be a little mean.

“fuck, beomgyu, thank you,” you sigh out, finally getting a fraction of the relief you’ve been looking for. he’ll give you something to be thankful for. he wants to be good for you so badly, wants to hear you make noises no one else has heard, wants to make you feel things that no one else has.

you’re tight around him, and he gives you time to adjust to his finger inside you. god, he’d piss you off a thousand more times if it meant another night with you like this. feeling you so intimately beneath him, feeling you give yourself up to him, it all makes beomgyu feel like he’s done everything right in life.

if only that were true—if he’d done everything right, you’d be his alone right now. the ugly thought returns that he’s not your only one; in fact, he’s probably the less important one between him and taehyun. he doesn’t occupy your entire mind the way you do to his. the thought is accompanied by a small ache in his chest.

it seems like nothing beomgyu does is ever enough for you. he refuses to give up, though, even when it gets draining and hopeless and painful for him. maybe he’s just not good enough yet. he has to be a little nicer, a little smarter, a little better.

your hands come up to his face, touching him in a way that makes him pause. you hold him like he’s delicate. you hold him like you’re cherishing this moment. he locks eyes with you, finding something soft and vulnerable there.

something’s different now. he’s not sure what happened, but that one look is all it takes for the pain in his heart to subside. that one look and the way you hold him is all it takes for him to realize that he’s wasting time thinking about taehyun—the only thing that matters right now is making you see how bad beomgyu wants to be yours.

he holds your gaze as he fucks his finger into you. he’s slow and careful, making sure not to hurt you by taking too much too soon. your brows are upturned from your pleasure, your mouth dropped open to expel your heavy breaths. his heart beats faster in a way that almost scares him.

he pushes a second finger into you, feeding the flame eagerly, cherishing the moan you give him in response and the way your hands move to rest around his shoulders. a warm feeling grows in his body, more greedy and overwhelming than just lust. the feeling makes him fuck you with a greater goal in mind, needing to bury you in his affections and force you to face his need.

your noises encourage him further, and he hooks his fingers up to hit a spot inside you that has you giving him those cute high-pitched moans that he loves so much. he craves more from you, the fire never dies out. his hand finds your waist, holding you down like he’s scared you might run off. he needs you here with him. he needs you only here, only with him, forever and ever, like nothing else matters but this, like no one else matters but him.

“gyu, so good, i love it.” your words are whiny and make his heart soar. he keeps up his pace and curls his fingers inside you again, smiling when you keen.

“you love it?” he repeats.

you nod vigorously. “yeah, love it.”

he bites his lip and thrusts his fingers into you a little harder. you cry out and arch your back, nails digging into his shoulders. it’s such a rewarding sensation.

you look too pretty like this, too gorgeous and he just can’t be normal about it. he needs to have you forever. he needs to be yours, it repeats like a mantra in his head and corrupts his mind. it makes him dumb, makes him spill out words he shouldn’t say.

“call me your boyfriend,�� he says, panting, digging his fingers deeper inside you.

“what?” you ask, voice all shaken.

“call me your boyfriend, tell me how good i am to you,” he repeats.

he feels your walls clamp around him, he feels how close you are, and he wants to give you everything and get you off and be that man for you. he wants to believe he’s yours, even if you’re only saying it because you want to cum. he doesn’t care, he’ll take what he can get.

no words leave you. it seems like you’re making him work for it. “come on, say it. don’t you want your boyfriend to make you cum?”

you gasp, and beomgyu brings his hand up from your waist to your breasts. he takes a handful of your flesh there, enamored by how sensitive you are to his touches.

“y-yeah,” you stutter out, eyes growing more hazy. you look at beomgyu like he’s the only man in the world.

“i’ll take care of you, pretty. won’t you thank me?” he rubs against a spot that has you gasping out, watching with a grin as you struggle to obey his wishes.

“thank you..! thank you!”

beomgyu hums happily, continuing to rub that spot inside you as you start to squirm under him. he sinks himself back into this fantasy where you’re back home from a date, and he’s being the best boyfriend to you by getting you off just how you like. he knows your body better than anyone else, knows how to command its pleasure, and he’ll be damned if anyone else ever steals his place here with you.

you grow senseless, arching up toward beomgyu’s body, clinging onto him desperately, whimpering like the sweetheart you are. you’re so close, and you’re so delirious, and he’s so consumed by the sight.

“please, i’m gonna…” you trail off, and beomgyu laughs a little.

“mhm? gonna cum for me? i touch you that good?”

“yeah, so good, gonna cum on your fingers, my boyfriend’s fingers,” you pant. beomgyu nearly blows his load hearing you say that. he’s frenzied now, he has to stop himself from hammering into you, has to be mindful that you’re still so new to this and he can’t just go crazy because he wants to.

he’s probably saying a lot of stupid shit right now, but he barely registers it. it’s a lot of urgent pleas for you to cum and a lot of sweet names that roll off his tongue so easily for you. he thinks he’s not even human anymore, that he’s just something made to touch you and serve you. he watches you twist up in pleasure, lips parting over a moan as your orgasm crashes over you.

he loves this, loves everything about it. he loves how you look cumming for him, he loves how you feel squeezing around his digits, he loves how useful it makes him feel. he bucks against your thigh, needing a little relief for himself, unable to contain his own pleasure from watching you.

he pulls his fingers out of you once you’ve come down, letting them drag out of your walls slowly. he rests his forehead against your chest, feeling it rise and fall as you catch your breath. his hands find your hips, holding them like he needs it for his comfort.

the air is thick. you lie limp and easy and pliable beneath him, and he gulps because he can’t believe how much he’s holding back. it’s horrifying how bad he wants to take it further.

this should be enough, he shouldn’t want more. you’re so pretty and innocent and he’d be evil to try to go further. he’d be evil to ask for more. he’d be awful. he’d be wicked and terrible and selfish, and he can’t be like that to you.

but he’d be gentle. he’d be kind. he’d watch you and listen to you sincerely, and he’d make you feel wanted and cherished. maybe even loved.

he kisses your chest, right where he may feel your heartbeat if he lingers too long. he picks his head up slowly, catching your eyes to see if you’re still lost in this fantasy with him. you look dazed as ever, and it works to get beomgyu’s heartbeat to pick up.

you’re his girlfriend. for just this moment, he can pretend you are, and you can be good and let him. his hands are almost hesitant as they find your thighs, spreading them a little wider to allow him more space.

the moment feels just as dangerous as it does sacred. it feels like dragging an angel down to earth, like heaven’s losing something. he gives your skin a gentle squeeze.

“if you’re my girlfriend, if you’re all mine”—he brushes your hair back, careful and sweet—“then you should feel all of me.”

he slots his hips between your thighs, not forceful or rough, but with enough pressure to make your breath hitch, as if to remind you that the night’s not over. he watches you, waiting, aching for your next words, as if you’ll determine the fate of the rest of his life.

your hand cups his cheek, holding him like he’s delicate. the gentleness of it makes him throb. you’re all soft parts and pretty pieces.

your response comes in a whisper, “then show me all of you.”

he leans forward, kissing you because it means more than any words he could speak. you’re too perfect, too good, and he’s going to have you forever. he’s going to be yours, and he’s going to make you happy.

your hand falls to his pants, prying them down slowly along with his boxers, letting each second drag so the moment can last. beomgyu cradles your cheek when he parts from your lips, holding your face still so he can uncover every emotion you must be feeling.

he lets his cock drag through your folds without any rush, savoring the sensation of your warmth right against him. his mouth drops open, moaning without shame, letting you hear how bad you affect him. you’re soaked, and he’s not even side you but you already feel like heaven against him. he’ll be done for the moment he pushes in.

“let me have you, pretty,” he says, voice quiet like that too may break you.

“you have me,” you answer. you gasp when the head of his dick catches your clit. he focuses his attention there a little longer, adoring your reactions.

“only me,” he says.

you nod, staring at him with big eyes filled with need. “only you.”

“and only i can take care of you. it’s just you and me.” he kisses your neck, wetting your skin with his tongue like that could portray all his affections.

“just you and me,” you repeat. he brings his tip down, collecting your arousal one last time before stopping at your entrance. he’s still holding your face, still looking into your eyes, still trying to unveil every thought that must be running through your head.

he spends some time like that, a few long seconds that feel like the ending of a chapter. everything changes after this. all is still.

“i’m your first?” he asks. he already knows the answer, but he appreciates it anyway when you give him a meek nod to confirm. he can’t stop himself from smiling. he always knew he’d get you like this, and he’s going to make sure he does everything right for you.

he used to have thoughts about ruining you for anyone else. he used to think about taking your virginity the same way he’d take you from taehyun: with ultimate sin, filled to the brim with pride and lust and greed—but this moment doesn’t call for that. weighty, selfish motives like that don’t cross beomgyu’s mind at all. instead, he feels attuned to you, like he’s not stealing something from you, but giving you something, building something.

he pushes in slowly, just an inch at a time, and watches the way your breathing picks up, the way your hands scramble to find purchase on something. he takes one of your hands in his own, smiling at you comfortingly.

he’s got his tip inside you, and he’s already gathering his breath trying not to burst. even after stretching you out on his fingers, you’re insanely tight around him.

“does it hurt?” he asks, voice strained.

“no, just… stay like that for a minute,” you say. beomgyu obliges, letting you adjust to his girth. he knows he’s big, that he’s a lot to take, but he knows you’ll be perfect for him. he’ll give you all the time in his world, he just has to hope he can last that long.

you’re warm and wet and everything he could have dreamed, and it leaves beomgyu whimpering above you. he’s wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long, and he can’t believe he’s finally getting you.

it’s the intimacy of the moment that’s really twisting his stomach now; he feels closer to you than ever, and it excites him in a way that triumphs however else he’s ever imagined having you. all the thoughts running through his mind beg him to make you feel good, to reward you for being so sweet to him.

your free hand trails down beomgyu’s back, grazing your fingers against him soothingly. it sends a chill throughout his body, igniting sparks that he’s already familiar with thanks to you. you entrance him effortlessly, always putting him under this spell that makes him crave you in ways he’s never felt for anyone else.

“give me more,” you finally say, allowing him to move again. he sighs in relief, hissing as he gets another few inches of himself into you before letting you adjust again. you’re gorgeous and so worked up beneath him, and he can’t wait to see how good you’ll feel when he gives you all of him.

he imagines how you may react when he starts really fucking you. he wonders if he’ll get to hear any new noises from you, or if he’ll feel your body tremble and quake in different ways. he can imagine your cunt sucking him in so deep, just begging for his load, and he has to stop the thought there because his cock twitches from the excitement.

“still okay?” he asks.

you nod with a whiny moan, and it makes beomgyu want to coo at you. “gyu, i—ah—i feel so full already…”

he laughs, “i know, baby.” he eases his hand over your body, finding amusement in the way you shiver when he brushes over your tits.

“you’re so big,” you whine, throwing your head back. you’re making it hard for beomgyu to keep his focus by saying things like that.

“can you take more?”

“yes, want more,” you moan. he smiles, feeling his heart warm at how good you’re being for him. he knew you’d be such a dream.

with your permission, beomgyu sinks into you further, groaning as he finally bottoms out. he’s blinded by the pleasure for a second, and in that short time he thinks he sees his entire future with you. one where you’re always here, always with him, always ready.

he calms himself down enough to check up on you, scanning your face for any discomfort. he comes in to pepper kisses onto your cheek, hoping they spell out how proud he is and how amazing you are. it’s not beyond him how lucky he is to be the first to have you—or to have you at all, for that matter.

“you need some time?” he rasps out. he hopes you say yes, because he needs a breather himself. he’s way too close to cumming already.

“yeah, please,” you breathe. he obliges easily, spending his time kissing your neck and listening to your pretty sighs. he stays sheathed inside you, and your walls wrap around him so tight that he worries if he’ll even be able to move much. you’re so warm and wet and nice, and it’s fucking crazy that he’s the first to feel you like this.

his hands are in constant need to be filled by you, grabbing at every inch of your skin like it’s all his to claim. you’re finally his, in your most bare and precious form; you’re his in the most meaningful and beautiful way. he’s as close to you as he could possibly be.

his mind is running faster than he can possibly keep up with. his brows scrunch, trying to ground himself as he leans his face into your neck, but he feels all too floaty to come back down. he holds your hips, firm and strong, groaning when you get impossibly tighter around him for a second.

“you’re still mine?” he asks, pulling himself up to look down at you. you don’t look too put-together anymore. beomgyu loves it. the messiness suits you well, it brings out something more genuine in you.

“yeah,” you agree easily.

“my girlfriend?” he doesn’t care how much of an idiot it makes him sound like. he needs to know you’re still in this with him.

he grinds his hips against you a little, earning a delicious moan from you that has his mouth dropping open in awe. he could devour you whole right now. he could blend your bodies into one, spend an eternity deep inside you.

“y-yeah, your girlfriend,” you repeat back, and he grins. you make him so proud.

he picks himself up a little more, leaning back so he has better leverage on your body. “so i should be a good boyfriend then and fuck you just right?”

your lips pull up, giving him a smile that’s just as sweet as it is enticing. he smooths his palms over your thighs, enjoying your soft skin while he’s still buried to the hilt inside you.

“take me, baby,” you moan. he almost ruins the whole night by passing out at that.

“gonna take it all, pretty,” he promises, coming down to kiss you one last time. he starts pulling out slowly as his mouth is on yours, letting his cock drag through your walls and memorize every inch. he eases himself back in, drinking up your noises eagerly.

god, this is the meaning of it all. he’s never pulling out of you, he can’t, this is where he belongs. he grunts into your mouth as he bottoms out again, holding your waist like you’ll disappear if he won’t. he slides out a little yet again, and thrusts back with the slightest more vigor this time.

“gyu, fuck!” you cry out.

“too much?” he asks, thumbs soothing your skin as he pauses his movements.

“no, it’s good, i love it,” you babble out.

“yeah? you love it? love having my dick in you?” he does the same thing again, pulling out just a bit to slide back in hungrily.

“yes!” the whine in your voice has him holding back whines of his own. it’s unreal how perfect you feel around him. you take him so well, it’s like you were made for him.

it’s so easy to lose himself into the idea that you’re only beomgyu’s when you look up at him like this. it’s like you realized he’s the piece that you’ve been missing in your life, like you’ve finally figured everything out and you’re seeing it laid in front of you now.

it works out in his mind perfectly: he’s your boyfriend, and he’s dedicating his life to you, and you’re letting him take your virginity like the good girlfriend you are. he wonders if that’s what you see too—he hopes with his whole heart that’s the case.

he pulls out a little more this time, sliding back in with a groan. you’re too good for him; it’s impossible to cherish this moment enough. you whimper so sweetly, and it just makes him want to take care of you forever.

“god, you’re so good,” beomgyu grits out.

“feel so full, gyu.” he can’t help but to press down gently where he’s buried deep inside, letting his palm sit right there while you gasp and writhe beneath him. you’re figuring out what to do with all the pleasure, and beomgyu can’t get enough of it.

“yeah, gotta make sure my girlfriend’s nice and stuffed. gotta keep her wet, keep her happy,” he pants out, hypnotized by the feel of your cunt. you bunch up his hair in your hand, arching your back. you bite your lip, but it fails to hold back your moans.

he doesn’t want this to end, but he can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. he needs to make sure you’re there too, needs to feel you cum on his cock before he has to pull out. his thumb finds your clit and you jolt, overwhelmed.

“beomgyu!! oh, god!” you yelp, nails digging into him. the pain only encourages him, has him thrusting a little more fervently.

“cum all over me, baby. show me how much you like me, just like you said you would.” you’re tightening around him again, and he can barely move so he focuses all his attention on your clit instead, keeping his pace steady until your breath hitches and you’re right there, on the edge, surrendering everything to him.

you cum with his name on your tongue and his dick buried inside you, and there will never be anything more fulfilling than that. his fingers dig into your hips as he forces himself not to cum inside you, holding out for just a few more seconds until you calm down.

he pulls out then, jerking himself with half his mind gone. he’s shaking, turned on beyond belief, and he needs to let you know how bad you have him. if you’re his girlfriend, and you’re giving every part of yourself up to him, and you’re doing everything so well, then you should know—he should say—

“i love you,” he pants. he sees the surprise in your eyes, and you open your mouth to say something, but he covers it with his palm before you can, gentle but firm. “i love you. just let me love you.”

his cum spurts out of him after that, dribbling onto your stomach as he lets out a moan from deep inside his chest. he’s breathing heavily, clinging onto the moment so reality doesn’t crash onto him yet. he wants to be here forever. he wants to hold you down and do whatever it takes to make you stay. he was doing good warding off that possessive feeling for a while, but it comes back like second nature.

“you’re still mine,” he says, staring you down so you know he means it. he slowly lifts his palm from your mouth.

you don’t say it back this time.

beomgyu grabs your dress, ready to use it to wipe his cum off you, but you grab his wrist and push it far away from your body. he blinks at you innocently, wondering what he did wrong.

“grab a towel! why are you trying to ruin my dress?” you ask. beomgyu laughs at how your voice has gone a little raspy.

he heads to your bathroom and comes back with a towel, wiping your skin and tossing it aside carelessly. he sits in front of you as you lay before him, legs still spread to accommodate for the space he takes up.

beomgyu doesn’t want to say anything and risk ruining the peace. he doesn’t ask what now? even though it’s all he wants to find out.

he got what he wanted, he supposes. he’s probably supposed to feel satisfied now. he tries his best to.

still, the weight of something more hangs in the air. he can feel it in the silence that takes over the room, and he can see it in the way you can barely look at him. you pretend to find interest in your bedroom walls.

can he still kiss you? does he still get that? did everything just end right before his eyes?

“i guess you got what you wanted,” you say, half-hearted and light like it’s supposed to be a joke. beomgyu doesn’t find it funny. he doesn’t even think you do.

“don’t say it like that,” beomgyu says.

“then tell me what else you want,” you prompt. your tone holds no challenge, only curiosity.

“i want to talk to you,” he answers. he lays beside you on the bed, getting in the way of that staring contest you were having with the wall. you blink and breathe and do everything a human would, but beomgyu still thinks you’re a doll. you endear him endlessly.

“okay,” you agree. “what do you want to talk about?”

beomgyu smiles. “isn’t it kind of obvious?”

you laugh, “kind of.”

beomgyu wraps an arm around you and urges you closer, holding you against him. you accept his embrace, and there’s a happy thrum in his chest when you lean on him.

“maybe we should talk about something unexpected then,” beomgyu jokes.

“like that wasn’t unexpected enough?” you both laugh.

“yeah.”

“so stop dancing around it and just say it,” you order, swatting his chest playfully and making him laugh again.

“you’re not a virgin anymore.”

he practically feels you deflate.

“oh.”

“what?” he asks. you act like you didn’t know that.

“nothing.”

panic rises within him, even more so when you start pulling away. you sit up, and he follows.

“baby, what’s wrong?”

“why are you still calling me that?” you counter.

he’s utterly confused. you were so bubbly and fun a minute ago. did he really ruin your mood that much by pointing out the truth?

“what did i do?” he asks.

you shake your head and sigh. “nothing. it’s me.”

beomgyu groans, “oh my god, this better not be about taehyun.”

“it’s not,” you bite. “he didn’t even cross my mind. not for a second. so if it counts for anything, you win.”

beomgyu scrunches his brows. “i don’t get it then.”

“don’t worry about it. i don’t even think it matters to you,” you say. this is so unfair. you’re not even giving beomgyu a chance.

“just tell me,” he pleads, softening his voice.

“i thought it was obvious,” you mutter. beomgyu’s lost. is this still about your virginity?

“i don’t want you to be sad. not after what we did. please.”

you look at him and sigh. there wasn’t fight in you to begin with, but your resolve dissipates nonetheless. he can see you giving in now.

“when you said…” you pause to find your words, then shake your head after a few seconds. “no, nevermind.”

“no, tell me,” beomgyu urges. you sigh, unable to meet his eyes, so he grabs onto your hand to try to soothe you. to his surprise, you pull your hand away, almost as if you can’t stand his touch anymore.

his eyes go wide, darting across your face for an explanation or a sign. “baby..?” he tries.

there’s no way you’re sending him out after this. he’s not walking out, he can’t after what just happened. he’ll bury his feet into your floor if he has to; he’s not leaving.

“when you said you love me,” you start again, bringing your gaze back to his. there’s a vulnerability in them that makes you look more fragile than a porcelain doll. “was that pretend, too?”

you blink at him expectantly. his mouth drops open, but he struggles to find an answer.

“tell me, gyu,” you insist, but your tone holds no bite.

“i… don’t know.” it feels like the wrong answer. with the way you bow your head, he guesses it was.

“okay,” you say. you look dejected, and beomgyu can’t seem to figure out why. you’re the one who already has a boyfriend. you shouldn’t even be asking these questions. god, why did you have to ask that question? beomgyu’s so in his head now.

“baby, please, this isn’t”—

“stop calling me that.”

“this isn’t fair and you know it! how could you expect me to answer that?”

you laugh like this is so beyond you. “then why the fuck would you say it? and why did you seem so ready to tell me you loved me earlier?”

beomgyu’s head hurts. you must be reading too much into it. fuck if he knows why he does anything—his only answer is always you, you, you. you drive him crazy, you make him do crazy things. you’re doing so right now, too.

he doesn’t think about things so deeply like that, because when he does life gets even messier. love tangles things up in knots. it doesn’t make sense to him, he’s not smart like you and taehyun. if he knows one thing, though, it’s that he doesn’t want to let you go. that must count for something.

of course he craves you. he yearns for you. he wants you to feel loved, but he—fuck, his mind is whirring too fast and he doesn’t know anything, but you deserve an explanation and you deserve better than him, but you shouldn’t ever have anyone but him and, and, and—

“beomgyu, stop, calm down,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder.

he looks up at you. he didn’t realize when he started breathing so heavily.

“sorry,” he murmurs.

“just… lay down,” you say. he does. you pull the sheets over him. you sit there for a minute, watching him until he feels better.

you get up then, and beomgyu feels his heart pick up again. “you’re leaving?” he asks.

“go to sleep, beomgyu.”

“don’t leave me.” he feels like crying.

you turn to him and level him with a stare. “i’m just showering.”

he blinks, and a tear falls from his eye. “okay.”

he shuts his eyes, but he doesn’t dare fall asleep until he knows you’re not lying. he feels the bed dip beside him some time later, the familiar weight of you coming into bed. he’s asleep within seconds.

taglist: @lilysiaaa @razsberrie @hyukarma @moaadiry @okkotsuevie @simp4gyu @hyunj00 @ode2soob @wonnietopia @seolis-world @kveclair @haohaoshoe @be0mgyulovrrr @iaaespa @gyuhaze 🤍

#txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt smut #beomgyu smut #delugyu drabbles

407 notes · View notes

kroosluvr · 1 year ago

Text

featherman seeker

as usual da cele notes under cut

had to get some food so thsi si late... i lterally gluedm yself to my chair to finish this LMAOAO

all of the not-dialogue is just straight up lines frm featherman seeker LMAOOO just rearranged

this takes place during 3rd semester (see: infiltration log on wall on 4th page, also their winter clothes strewn around akira's room) after drawing it i was rereading like oh u cld prob see this as like post-third semester but nah i intended it to be such BECAUSE

i rock w the canon that sumire has no clue abt akechi's past and black mask and the mental shutdowns and shido and the engine room she doesnt know hes supposed to be dead, that he sacrificed himself, etc. so ofc shes going thru the game like yayyy featherman yay and her sort of naivete Gets thru to goro. i imagine this is like idk a game he played in childhood bc he was a featherman fan but now revisiting it bc sumire wanted to try it, hes like. damn. this kinda. uh. well thats crazy how things line up. so i think it kinda grates at him but sumi's excitement and like. enjoyment! of it kinda helps him also enjoy it more

SO LIKE He knows he's going to die. He knows thats how grey pigeon's story ends. but he's happy here, and now, with the people he loves, so that makes it All right for now. it's a sad story but it's the good ending.

also i forgor how/where/when goro exactly Actualizes back into existence but can u imagine if he spawned right into the winter wonderland of shibuya square like (head in hands) smth so like. isolating abt it. in a crowd of ppl being excited over christmas and hes like what the hell im supposed to be Dead right now.

also "you are not alone" in the first panels very important..... right under hte panel w goro and sumi side by side :') yea

ryuji and ann holding akira back. YEA.

i really like the 3rd slide. the colors mmmm BUT YEAH so its goro/akira fighting/saving sumire, hanging out at jazz jin, last stand against adam kadmon, then goro holding sumi and akira's hands in the snow, then them smiling :') kinda like a procession of memories, or to-be memories or whatever

ANYWAY this is also like part of my whatever canon divergence where the royal trio section of 3rd sem is just longer for no reason . (aka: the thieves take longer to win over to their side, idk maruki gives u a longer time on the deal, etc etcetc.) just more royal trio time :3

sumibun akimeow and gorodog in 4th img... hidden.... also tennis rackets. ALSO THE LITTLE POLAROIDS Important. and all their clothes! i imagine they stay over at leblanc A Lot. akira prob convinces sojiro to Keep morgana at his house LOL and he handles the business and stuff just so they can have their safe haven while they struggle to try and win the thieves back and infiltrate the palace etc . (I kinda have a comic or something in the works for this)

more abt dialogue choices

"it's tough for a tutorial stage" - this means smth. i didnt think this thru 100% ASKJDHASDKJA but its to do w akechi's life and how everything was so fucking difficult for him as a kid when it shouldnt have been.

"is the second phase giving you trouble" - also smth to do w akechi. (As u can see these are all half baked metaphors) smth to do w his 'second life" aka: third semester being Difficult. because now he has sumire and akira and he doesn't want to leave them, so dying the 2nd time is gonna suck real bad.

i like shuakesumi btw

#hey guys hows it going #sumire yoshizawa #goro akechi #akira kurusu #royal trio #shuakesumi #persona 5 royal #cele draws #cele comic

1K notes · View notes

greenxgloss · 4 months ago

Note

Hello hello!! Im enjoying the way you write so much😭💓

Can I request something where Yoongi is in the mafia and decides to marry his childhood best friend (their families act civil but are enemies) to save her from an arranged marriage.🥹

Against the Oath

Of course my love i got you! When i originally started the rough draft for this it ended up being like 8k words and I felt like a lot of it was filler so I've condensed it down to this BUTTT if you would like to read the 'authors cut' *wink wonk* I could post that as well. ANYWAY I hope this was up to your standards I'm finding a lot of these requests to be really intimidating lol but ig that's how you improve your writing right? thank you for your request :)) Summary: As the heir to your parents' position in the gang you were raised in, you were forced into an arranged marriage. However, when your forbidden best friend uncovered the dark secrets of your intended suitor, he stepped in to take his place. Word Count: 4.2k Themes: MafiaLeader!Yoongi x GangHeiress!Reader, Near arranged marriage, Angst, Fluff, Controlling parents, Best friends to lovers

“Yeah, she’s inviting him over tomorrow.”

You were leaned back on your pillow, propped up against your head board, sighing and pinching your nose bridge as you caught your best friend up on how your mom has found a ‘suitor’ for you. An arranged marriage.

“I- will help you figure this out, don’t worry. I'm sure it'll be fine. And if not, we can't run away to a deserted island.” Yoongi smiled, hoping he could ease your anxiety even just a little, and you did giggle momentarily, but the pressure and sense of impending doom was much stronger than your best mate's words of affirmation right now.

You sighed dramatically. “I can't believe this is happening. Like- now?” you whined, kicking your legs about like a child and slumping down on your pillows.

“Listen I gotta go, but you'll be okay. Just get through the dinner and call me with updates afterward.” Yoongi rushed his words. “Yeah, I'll call you tomorrow night, so stay up,” you teased, knowing Yoongi was usually tuckered out by 9:30 if he wasn't busy.

When the dinner came round, you found yourself super zoned out at the dinner table, the buzzing sound of muffled kitchen appliances echoing in your mind subconsciously while the sound of your parents talking to Lee Ho drowned out, almost mimicking closely to how the adults sound in Peanuts the movie. You might be Snoopy now.

Your father was on the topic of golf at this point while your mother had stepped out just a moment ago to go check on the food and then go to the restroom.

“I know you'll love to see my collection of putters,” your dad gushed, face red with nerves as he rushed out of the dining room, leaving you and Lee Ho alone.

Lee Ho was tall, charming, smelled good and apparently would be studying to become a surgeon after his military service in the coming year. You picked up on these bullet pointed details in moments that your mind came to focus.

To you, he sounded boring. Having been raised around gang life, no matter how much your parents tried to keep you away from it in your developmental ages, you still grew comfortable with the instability. You don’t feel you could click or relate to stability, and Lee Ho seemed to be the picture of it.

“You’re not interested at all, are you?” Lee Ho broke the silence, his hands awkwardly folded over his lap like he wasn't sure where to put them. He must really be nervous. Thats when the guilt washed over you.

“Uh, no sorry,” spoken like a true heiress. “No I'm sorry. Women are supposed to agree on this- procedure along with the men being arranged.” he sighed, looking down at his lap and smoothing his slacks. You nodded. He seemed unsure of his vocabulary, like this conversation was a topic he’d never touched out loud before.

“I- we could still get married,” he suggested bashfully, and your eyebrows rose against your will. “What?” you asked in nearly a gasp. He chuckled. “Well, your mom seems relentless about finding you a partner as soon as humanly possible. How do you know the next guy won't be someone who argues with their knuckles?” he pursed his lips, lettingout a sharp noise similar to a balloon. The tension in how you breathed released itself once you welcomed thoughts that could cause you to panic.

“I dont mind if us being married is purely on paper.” Lee Ho chewed on the inside of his cheek as he searched your face for the slightest hint of what you were thinking.

Although getting married this young and fast without an ounce of love was crazy to you, and you could never really understand it, your mother would never understand because she needed to put the gang first right now. It was one of those things that if you thought about it too muc,h it would make you react and act out of hurt.

You exhaled sharply and looked up at him. “Okay. it- doesnt sound so bad,” you spoke in a clearly reluctant tone, hopping and praying quietly in your mind that this wasn't an impulsive decision you’d made in a panic that was shutting your logic out.

Lee Ho smiled softly and nodded slightly. Your parents walked back in just as your conversation ended. “Here are my beauties.” Your dad smiled, with his golf bag falling off his shoulder.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, and just before Lee Ho left you managed to get his number.

“So? What do you think?” your mother asked, joining you in the common room after sending Lee Ho off. You just nodded, and that was enough for your mother to understand. “Really?!” she exclaimed, grabbing your hands and clasping them to her lips to kiss. “Yeah.” your tone flat.

Your mother ran off to her study, squealing causing you to have your own giggle fit before getting up to grab snacks from the kitchen.

Your kitchen staff had gone home for the night so you were free to have your pick of the pantry. As you scanned the wall of snacks, you brought out your phone and gave Yoongi a call, the time only being 9 pm.

“Salt and vinegar or caramel popcorn?” you asked when the ringing stopped, looking the two options over. “Caramel.” Yoongi's smile was audible and it was equally as contagious as the visual.

You picked the bag and walked up to your room while Yoongi asked his own question. “So how’d it go?” he asked, shifting in his bed being heard on his end. Worry bubbled up in your stomach when you realized the outcome of tonight was definitely not what Yoongi thought he’d hear.

Your stomach twisted. “Im- getting married,” you spoke, a new anxiety bubbling in your stomach. “They got to you, huh?” he chuckled. You sighed softly. “Yoongi,” you whined, sitting in your bed and opening the bag of popcorn.

“I guess the only way I can explain it is I was able to talk about what I wanted in the marriage, and not only did he listen, her suggested other freedoms. He suggest the marriage be strictly paper.” you rambled before stuffing your mouth with popcorn, anxiously anticipating his words.

“That sounds safe and healthy to you?” he asked. Yoongi didn't really have to say anything else, you were saying it out loud for yourself for the first time, and you heard exactly why he’d say such a thing. You sighed in defeat as if this was your only option and sure in your family it is the only way but in real life as an adult you have so many choices but you had no idea what would happen if you defied your mother.

“It's all I got.” You bit your lip then licked your fingers clean and placing the bag of popcorn on your nightstand. “I dont like that. You deserve way more than to settle.” he spoke softly almost whining, his emotions audible. “Its quite literally my only option.”

“Wanna sneak over?”

You giggled and stood off your bed.

Sneaking around with your forbidden bestfriend at your grown age was not ideal but you couldnt really complain considering your families were barely on amicable terms and, you know, forbidden.

Yoongi helped you into his window. Avoiding the goons keeping guard around the mansion was always very fun, it helped you exercise your stealth and agility.

"Have your parents looked into this guy?" Yoongi asked, his voice laced with something unreadable—concern, maybe, or skepticism. He'd been quiet for most of the conversation, listening intently as you spoke about your so-called fiancé. But now, his sharp gaze was fixed on you, his fingers idly tapping against his thigh.

You blinked, considering his question. "Not that I know of," you admitted with a small shrug. "But I doubt that’s something they’d skip over."

Still, as the words left your mouth, a sliver of doubt crept into your mind. Your parents were powerful, calculating. They had connections that could dig up anyone’s past in an instant. But did that mean they actually had? Or were they so blinded by what this marriage could offer them that they hadn’t bothered?

Yoongi hummed, nodding slightly, but his expression remained unreadable.

The two of you were sprawled across his bed, your back against the headboard while he lay stretched out at your feet, leaning back on his elbows. It was comfortable—familiar. You'd spent countless nights like this, talking about anything and everything, but tonight, there was a weight to the conversation that neither of you could ignore.

He shifted slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. "Doesn't that bother you?"

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

He let out a soft sigh, sitting up a little. "That they didn’t tell you anything. That they just expect you to go along with it."

You swallowed, looking away. "It’s not like I have a choice."

Yoongi scoffed at that, running a hand through his dark hair. "There’s always a choice, Love." The nickname rolled off his tongue with something close to bitterness, but there was an edge of playfulness too, like he was trying to keep things light despite the heaviness of the situation.

You sighed, rubbing your hands over your face. "What am I supposed to do, Yoongi? Say no? I’ve already tried that."

He hesitated, as if weighing his words, then spoke again. “It’s strange to me—how easy it was.” His voice was steady, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath at the end.

“I know,” you murmured, pausing as you struggled to find the right words. “I… I can’t explain it. Lee Ho just—he—” You shrugged, frustration lacing your sigh. “I don’t know how to put it into words.”

Yoongi nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, he asked, “Did you ever stop to think about what this means for us? What if we won’t be able to see each other anymore?”

His voice was cold—calculated, even—but you knew him too well. Beneath the carefully measured tone, there was something else. Hurt. Fear.

Your stomach twisted. In truth, you hadn’t thought about that at all. You had been so caught up in your own whirlwind of decisions, obligations, and consequences that the idea of losing Yoongi—your closest, and perhaps only, real friend—hadn’t even crossed your mind. And now, the realization hit you like ice in your veins.

“No,” you admitted, your voice hollow.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The weight of your oversight sat heavy between you, an unspoken betrayal. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes now, not when you knew exactly what you’d find there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes fixed on the floor, on the fabric of his socks—anywhere but his face. "you know what, I'm- we arent teenagers anymore. you don't have to consider me everytime you make a life changing decision." he nodded and the hurt became more and more evident, breaking your heart more and more.

"oh yoongi im sorry, i should have considered you. it was so tense I wasn't thinking at all. You're like- my whole life." you brought your hands to your face and rubber your eyes before sitting up and turning your body to face your best friend. yoongi chuckled in response. "shut up its not that serious." he smiled.

"you're my life too." he rolled his eyes, speaking in a whisper.

After a few months of hectic wedding planning with your mother and spending more time with Lee Ho it was time for the wedding.

The night before the ceremony arrives, and you find yourself sinking into the luxurious soaking tub of your lavish suite, the warm water enveloping you. Just as you begin to relax, the sudden ringing of your phone pierces the quiet, startling you. Your heart leaps in your chest as you gasp, but you quickly rise from the tub, reaching for your phone on the counter.

“Yeah?” you spoke into the phone, trying your hardest not to crack the mask you had spread on your face. “Are you at the hotel right now?” Yoongi asked, the sounds of revving cars, beeping and loud streets coming through the line. “Aw ya coning?” you spoke nearly incoherently in a desperate attempt to keep your mask in one piece. Yoongi chuckled. “Yeah text me your room number and ill be there.”

You scrambled out of the tub to get dressed, your hair still damp and smelling of raspberry.

“Open up!” yoongi knocked on the door while you stumbled around getting your jeans on.

“I hired a private investigator.” he blurted once you had the door wide open. You were too stunned to speak but he pushed right through you. “Lee Ho; hes been lying. Hes part of a small gang from a small city. I found out they’ve been trying to recruit.” Yoongi rambled on as you followed him to the bed where he sprawled the photos over your bed accompanying files and screenshots of messages and emails.

Your blood ran cold, you stood frozen just behind Yoongi, scanning the photos.

Suddenly you remembered everytime Lee ho stepped away at awkward times to have secret phone calls or when he’d disappear in the middle of events and lied about where he was. You hadnt given it much thought but it all made sense now.

“What do I even do with this?” you asked, shaking your head. Your hands were steady, but you could feel the tight knot forming in your stomach. “If I bring this to my mom, she’ll just demand to know how I found out.” And then what? She’d tear through the city to figure out who had leaked this information, and if she found out it was Yoongi…

Your grip on the edge of the mattress tightened.

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, as if he had already thought this through. “We could get married,” he said casually, reaching forward to push the phone out of your line of sight.

You blinked, snapping your gaze up to his face. “What?”

His expression was unreadable—calm, unwavering, serious.

Your cheeks burned hot, yet at the same time, it felt like all the blood drained from your face. “Yoongi, are you joking?”

“No.” His eyes locked onto yours. “Marry me instead.”

"that is genuinely the worst idea youve ever had." you sighed, bringing your hands up to cup your face.

Yoongi leaned in, his voice steady but filled with something dangerously close to excitement. "But think about it," he urged, his dark eyes searching yours. "If you and I get married, your mom can't force you to take her place. She won’t be able to push you into marrying some stranger for the sake of the family business. You’d finally have your freedom. And…” he softened, a small, teasing smile forming as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a warm side-hug. "You’d get to be stuck with your best friend forever. Not the worst deal, right?"

You rolled your eyes but you did give it a once over and still you worried of the consequences. “But what about your parents?” you stood up, running your hands through your hair in an attempt to self sooth. Yoongi looked down at you. “What about my parents?” you asked in a panic just as you began pacing.

Yoongi watched you walk in circles with a dumbfounded look on his face as you rambled on and on about what could possibly happen as a result of you marrying the one person your parents didnt approve of.

He grabbed your arm and pulled you into a hug, one hand resting on your back while the other pressed your head into his chest. “Trust me, its going to be okay.” he whispered as he began rubbing his hand up and down your back and just like usual you melted, relaxing in his arms. “Okay.” you took a deep breath. “Okay, okay.” you hugged him back.

What started as an absurd, last-minute idea turned into a long, drawn-out conversation—one that stretched into the early hours of the morning. Every doubt, every concern, every possible worst-case scenario was dissected between the two of you. And by the time the first rays of sunlight bled into the sky, the decision had already been made.

So, with the kind of recklessness that could only come from desperation and blind trust, you and Yoongi found yourselves standing in front of a clerk at city hall, signing away your last names and sealing your futures together.

You glanced at Yoongi as he pressed the pen to paper, his signature flowing effortlessly. He caught your eye, lips curling into a smirk.

"Too late to back out now," he teased.

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, and quickly signed your own name. The witnesses—who very clearly recognized the both of you—exchanged hushed whispers, shooting skeptical glances your way. But none of it mattered.

Because as the final signature dried on the page, Yoongi nudged you with his elbow, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Guess you’re stuck with me now, wife."

For the first time in the sixteen years you had known Yoongi, you felt butterflies in your stomach. A feeling so foreign, so unexpected, that it nearly knocked the breath out of you. Because this wasn’t just Yoongi—your childhood best friend, your partner in mischief, the boy who always had your back.

No.

This was Min Yoongi. Your husband.

The weight of that realization settled over you like a second skin, both terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. He had chosen this—chosen you. And as if he could sense the storm of emotions brewing within you, Yoongi tightened his grip around your hand, grounding you.

You giggled, unable to help yourself. He smiled slightly, the corners of his lips twitching in quiet amusement, but he said nothing. The two of you simply took your copies of the marriage documents and headed toward the grand venue that had once been meant for your wedding to Lee Ho.

The moment you stepped out of the car, a shrill voice cut through the air.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Your mother’s panicked screech rang out as she stormed toward you, the chiffon of her designer gown billowing with each sharp step. “You’re not dressed! You don’t have your things! Do you have any idea what you’re doing right now, Y/N?”

You barely had time to react before she was gripping your wrist, her nails digging slightly into your skin as if to keep you from running.

“Mom. Mom.” You quickly took her hands in yours, squeezing them in an attempt to calm her. "Please. Just listen to me."

Your mother inhaled sharply through her nose, clearly battling the urge to continue her tirade. With great effort, she pressed her lips together, her chest rising and falling in measured breaths.

“What?” she hissed, voice laced with venom. “What is it, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard, but there was no hesitation in your words.

“Min Yoongi and I are married.”

The world seemed to fall silent for a moment.

Then, Yoongi stepped forward, emerging from behind you with the kind of effortless confidence that only he possessed. His posture was relaxed, but the quiet power in his presence was unmistakable. He met your mother’s gaze with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes steady, unwavering.

Dressed in a deep lavender button-up, black slacks, polished dress shoes, and with his hair styled neatly, he was the picture of a responsible young man. Someone respectable. Someone competent.

Someone untouchable.

Your mother’s face instantly flushed a deep, unforgiving shade of red. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, she turned sharply on her heel and disappeared into the venue without another word.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by her lack of reaction.

Finally, you turned to Yoongi, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Well… that wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” you admitted, pressing a hand to your stomach as a light giggle escaped your lips. "But honestly? It’s a hell of a lot better than the one I thought I’d get."

Yoongi smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess we got off easy.”

just as the two of you began walking back to the car the entire crowd began walking out of the venue, all the guests. "that was quick as fuck. i do not want them to see you just get into the car." you rushed yoongi and he nodded, climbing into the car.

Yoongi did feel like he had taken something special from you, the wedding you had planned and prepared for so he allowed the two of you to planned one of your own. He wanted you to have your own beautiful day.

And so your fingers idly traced the outlines of floral arrangements and color palettes as you fine-tuned the vision for your wedding venue. You felt the indentation your pencil made on the paper just beneath your fingers. It had been a long day, and the quiet hum of the apartment was soothing. That was until the door clicked open causing your attention to snap up at your husband. God it made your heart grow a size everytime you remembered the two of you were married.

“Hey, love,” Yoongi’s deep voice filled the space, smooth and familiar. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, his movements relaxed but deliberate.

You looked up, offering him a small smile. “I’m working on the visuals for the venue,” you murmured, holding up the pages for him to see.

Yoongi leaned over the back of the couch, resting a hand beside you as he peered over your shoulder. His warmth surrounded you, a presence you had grown so used to over the years but had never been this hyper-aware of until now. “Mmm, that’s beautiful,” he murmured in approval. “The colors are gonna fit perfectly. I can send you the playlist I put together later.”

“You made a playlist?” you teased, glancing at him with a raised brow.

His lips curled into a lazy smirk. “Of course. You know I have good taste.”

You chuckled, shaking your head before returning to your sketches. The comfortable silence settled between you both, but Yoongi didn’t move away. Instead, he shifted, lowering himself onto the couch beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. His gaze lingered on your face, thoughtful.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice was quieter now, softer.

You hummed in response, still focused on your work.

“Are you happy?”

That made you pause. Your fingers froze over the page, and you turned to face him fully. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were searching, almost hesitant.

“I mean, with all of this,” he continued, nodding toward the wedding plans. “With me.”

Your breath hitched. It was an unexpected question, but one you didn’t need time to answer. “Of course, I am,” you admitted, almost confused as to why he’d ask.

Yoongi’s lips parted slightly, like he was weighing his next words. Then, with a quiet exhale, he ran a hand through his dark hair, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before locking onto yours again. “I know we started this for convenience,” he said, his tone careful. “But I don’t think I’ve been pretending.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I think it was ninth grade that i figured out i have feelings for you,” he confessed, avoiding your gaze. “I just... never said anything because I thought it would mess things up. But now that we’re here, now that you’re mine—” he swallowed, fingers flexing against his thigh, “—I don’t want to pretend like it’s just for show. I want this. You. Us.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm embrace, and for a moment, you could only stare. The realization bloomed in your chest, sudden and inevitable, like a match being struck in the dark. He called you his so comfortably and it instantly made you feel like you were floating out of your body.

So you didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached for him, closing the space between you as your lips pressed against his.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, as if he hadn’t expected you to respond this way, but the moment he processed it, he melted into you. His hand cradled your jaw, fingers grazing your skin with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. The kiss was slow, unhurried, filled with all the words neither of you had dared to say before.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s not pretend.”

Yoongi smiled. “Yeah?”

You nodded, and for the first time since all of this started, you felt truly, completely sure.

“So,” you paused, straddling him. “This is what you meant when you said that I deserve way more than to settle?” You giggled, draping your arms over his shoulders but Yoongi had been so satisfied with the outcome of his sudden confession that all he did was smile while the soft blush consumed his face. His smile alone satisfying you.

so like i said i found this request intimidating because Ive never written mafia au before but I wanted to challenge myself and I ended up having a lot of fun with it lol and actually had more of a hard time deciding in which direction I wanted It to go. let me know if you guys would want the 7k word version of this. not to sound like I'm holding it hostage but i of course need more than 1 or 2 people to want it. OH ALSO new banner what do you think? i thought this fic needed something new since its a whole au lol and yes the full version includes smut (you dirty dawgs ヾ(≧ ▽ ≦)ゝ

➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Taglist Form

223 notes · View notes

justarkive · 4 months ago

Text

TABLE 3 | JJK ch16

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

overall warnings: smut, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

chapter contents: ANGST. like the whole thing is angst lol. jungkook cries for like 90% of this chapter. nari is SO fucking angry omg. oc breaks tf down. the chapter weve all been dreading is here </3 idk but its just like super angsty and sad im sorry lmfao

wc: not thattt long

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

a/n: rushed to get this out, and this is like prob the worst part of the story to rush. so im very very sorry if this didnt meet expectations cause it didnt really meet mine, but imma be busy for a bit. but ANYWAYS!! tysm for reading and ILY MWAHH. also pre warning to my smut lovers… there wont be much for a while. LMFAO.

masterlist, < prev | next >

“Jungkook, honey, when will you be enlisting?”

The question lands like a gunshot.

Jungkook tenses immediately. His brain spins.

He knew this was coming.

You see it happen—his grip on his chopsticks tightening, his whole body subtly stiffening, like he’s bracing himself. Like he’s debating whether to lie.

For a fleeting second, he considers lying. The words I haven’t decided yet are right there, waiting on his tongue—

But he can’t.

Not in front of your parents.

Not in front of you.

Before he can say anything, Nari—who has now fully given up on finishing the food your parents have shoved in front of her—speaks up, still looking a little sick.

“Oh, Auntie,” she pauses, tilting her head. “I swear idols don’t have to enlist? And Jungkook—well—he’s definitely more than just a damn idol.”

“Nari! Language!” your mom whisper-shouts.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mutters.

You snort, but then—

Your dad hums, turning to Jungkook with an easy grin. “You didn’t apply for exemption, did you? Too many idols these days are lazy, trying to avoid it.”

Jungkook’s head is ringing. His hands are clammy.

This was not how he wanted to tell you.

He tries to keep his composure, but his fingers twitch against his jeans as he stares down at his plate, trying—failing—to find the right response.

You tilt your head, and Jungkook exhales, thankful that you’re stalling unintentionally, but his heart aches at how oblivious you are for whats about to come. “Dad, I swear you didn’t enlist?”

Your dad gasps, hand over his heart. “What?! Honey, don’t expose me like that!”

You giggle.

But your dad cuts in. “Nari, honey, they can apply for exemption.” He smirks. “But Jungkook here doesn’t seem like the type, so I doubt he would.”

You let out a breathy chuckle at his tone—but Jungkook? doesn’t even react.

You glance over at him, confused.

And that’s when you notice, he’s staring down at his plate. Picking at his food. Shoulders tight.

Then, finally—

“Yeah…” His voice is quiet. “I didn’t apply.”

A weird, unsettling feeling starts creeping up your spine.

It’s fine, you think. You guess.

You try not to read into it.

Your mom beams. “Oh, how wonderful!”

Your dad nods approvingly. “Good son! It’s only right. Too many try to weasel their way out of it these days.” He claps Jungkook on the back, and Jungkook barely sways from the impact.

You don’t think too much of it at first.

But—

Why didn’t you know about this?

It’s not like you talk about the military all the time, but still. Something like this—you’d think he would have mentioned it.

So, you ask, all casual, assuming, “It’s not soon, right?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer.

The whole table listens in, but Nari—now more alert—watches him intently. Probably just as confused as you are. Your parents are still oblivious, still smiling, still talking, but Jungkook—

He’s pale.

Fidgety.

His hand curls into a tight fist on his thigh.

And then, “December 12th.”

That’s-

Three weeks.

Your mom gasps in admiration. “That’s so soon! You must be so prepared, Jungkook, honey!”

Your dad grins. “Oh this is great! We need more like you!”

They praise him. Clap him on the back. Smile and celebrate and talk about how proud they are of him.

But you—

You can’t hear any of it.

Your world has just—stopped.

December 12.

That’s in—

Your stomach drops.

Your heartbeat slams in your ears.

Because he’s known. He’s known this entire time. And he never told you.

You feel Nari stiffen beside you.

You feel Jungkook’s eyes on you.

You feel the weight of every moment you’ve spent with him, every touch, every kiss, every look—

And suddenly, they all feel different.

Your mom is oblivious, still smiling.

Your eyes flick to Nari, who is already looking at Jungkook with pure anger.

Jungkook?

Jungkook doesn’t even try to meet your gaze anymore.

He looks down, fingers tightening around his jeans, jaw clenched, face tense.

And you?

You don’t look at him, either.

You can’t. Because if you do. If you let yourself feel—

This whole moment will collapse.

The realization. The pure fucking heartbreak. The slow, suffocating understanding that he’s known all along. That he’s been lying to you this entire time.

Your stomach churns. Your chest tightens. It feels like the room is spinning.

In the background—

Your dad is still praising him.

Your mom is smiling.

They don’t know.

They don’t know that you’re sitting here, staring at the man you’ve been falling for, realizing he let you fall knowing he was going to leave. And he didn’t tell you.

You don’t say anything. Because you can’t.

Because if you open your mouth, you’ll either scream or cry, and you don’t know which one is worse.

You sit there. Expression neutral. Heart in pieces. And for the rest of dinner, you pretend everything is fine.

Because what else can you do?

“Honey this is amazing!” your mom praises. “You should be so proud of yourself sweetheart. Not enough idols do this nowadays. They’re too lazy—but you! You’re different.”

Your dad grins. “Good for you, kid. That’s real responsibility.”

Jungkook forces a smile, nodding politely. “Thank you…”

But. You don’t say anything. You can’t. Because everything in you has just—stopped.

He’s not joking. He’s not lying.

And when you glance across the table. Nari is staring back at you, frozen. Expression blank.

Because she knows. She knows what this means.

You swallow thickly, blinking a few times before finally forcing yourself to react—plastering on a small, tight-lipped smile. Your mom notices. “Oh, honey, did you not know?”

You make the mistake of glancing at Jungkook.

And the second you do, your stomach twists, because he’s looking right at you. And there’s something in his expression—guilt, maybe?

You don’t know. You don’t want to know.

So you tear your gaze away, forcing out a quiet, “No.”Your smile is strained. “I didn’t.”

But your parents don’t notice anything wrong at all. They don’t notice how he’s broken your heart into a million pieces and thrown it onto the fucking plate.

“Oh, sweetheart, you should be proud of him,” your mom says, nudging your arm. “That’s real dedication.”

Your dad nods. “Yeah, not like these new idols. Always finding loopholes to get out of it.”

Jungkook laughs a little, though it’s barely there. “Right…”

You don’t look at him. You don’t dare. The conversation shifts.

Your parents are still chatting away, completely oblivious, but the air at the table has turned suffocating.

Jungkook is tense.

Nari is pissed, sending him quiet but absolutely lethal glares between sips of water she’s clearly no longer enjoying.

And you?

Your ears are ringing.

Every sound feels distant, like you’re underwater, like you’re not really here. Your mom’s voice is coming from somewhere—she’s asking you something, something about your job, your life, your well-being. You try to answer. You swear you try.

But everything in you is screaming to just—leave. Because the longer you sit here, the more you feel like you might snap.

Jungkook keeps trying to look at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze burning into the side of your face. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

Finally. After what feels like hours, your parents get up. Your mom claps her hands. “Alright, we should get going.”

Your dad nods. “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

You almost sag in relief.

But then, it’s time for goodbyes.

And your parents never leave quickly, your mother—God bless her—takes another ten minutes to actually leave.

They offer to help clean up. “No, Auntie, it’s okay,” Nari says so fast that it’s almost aggressive. She stands abruptly, already stacking plates, ushering them toward the door like a damn bouncer.

Your mom takes her sweet time hugging you, kissing your cheek, stroking your hair like you’re a child. “Take care of yourself, honey, okay?”

Your dad is just as bad, clapping Jungkook on the back, laughing at something he says.

And then—

Right before they leave—

For the first time all night—you look at him.

He stands frozen, stiff as a board, as your dad extends a hand. Jungkook hesitates. And then, slowly, he takes it.

It’s an easy handshake at first. But then your dad’s grip tightens, his free hand coming up to clasp Jungkook’s shoulder.

A grin. A squeeze.

And then, “Treat her right, son.”

Something snaps. Jungkook swallows so hard you hear it.

You almost break. Your vision blurs. Your chest tightens. For a split second, your heart begs you to stop. To not let this ruin everything.

Silence.

Jungkook stiffens beside you, but you don’t even glance at him.

You just—nod.

Then, finally—finally—the door swings shut.

And then—

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Nari screams, running a hand through her hair. The sound shatters through the air, echoing off the walls, rattling your bones.

You flinch—because she’s loud, yes—but also because you feel it. All of it. All at once.

Your entire body crumbles.

Tears spill down your cheeks so fast, so violently, that your vision swims. Your breath catches—hitches—and then you’re gasping.

Jungkook is shocked.

Because this? this is worse than he imagined.

He expected you to yell. To curse him out. To demand answers. But this? This silent, broken kind of crying?

This hurts so much more.

And the worst part? He did this to you.

Jungkook barely breathes. You barely stand.

The weight of it all—the realization, the betrayal, the embarrassment—is crushing you.

Your chest tightens. Your throat burns.

And Nari? Nari is just getting started.

“When the fuck were you planning on telling her this?!” she shrieks, hands shaking, voice cracking. “Were you just gonna disappear one day? Huh? Just vanish without a goddamn word?”

Jungkook flinches.

But he doesn’t speak.

“How could you even come here today?” she hisses, stepping closer. “Meet her fucking parents? You embarrassed her, and I fucking hate you for it, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t fight back.

Because what could he even say? He just—stands there. Takes it.

But his eyes—his eyes never leave you. You, who hasn’t spoken a single word. You, who is just standing there—staring at the floor, trembling.

You, who looks like you’re about to collapse.

But Nari—she isn’t done.

“I actually thought you were good,” she spits, voice shaking with rage. “I actually thought—maybe, just maybe—you weren’t like the rest of them. But this? This is worse.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches. His hands shake.

“Did you plan this all along?” she demands.

“No,” he whispers.

It’s all he can say.

Because anything else would be a lie.

“That’s it?!” Nari’s voice shatters. “That’s all you have to fucking say?!”

And then—

Jungkook moves. Takes a step toward you. Reaches out.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

You flinch. Like his touch would burn you. Like he’s something you need to get away from.

Jungkook freezes.

His heart shatters more than it already has. But before he can even process it—

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER!” Nari screams. “SORRY WON’T FUCKING FIX THIS!”

And then— You break.

“Get out.” Your voice rips from your throat, raw, quiet, desperate.

Jungkook stares.

He saw this coming. He knew this was coming.

And yet. Somehow, he’s still surprised.

Because this—this is final.

This is you letting go.

And he can’t accept it.

“Wait,” he chokes, voice frantic, desperate. “Please—”

But you? You just—give up. Your knees buckle. Your body collapses. And suddenly—Nari snaps.

“You fucking heard her.”

And before Jungkook can even think, before he can even breathe, Nari shoves him back.

Pushes him toward the door.

“Go.”

Jungkook is begging.

“Please,” he gasps, trying to look at you, trying to reach for you. “Baby, please—”

But you—

You don’t look at him.

“Don’t fucking call-“ You turn away.

And then, the door slams shut.

The loudest sound in the room isn’t your sobs anymore—it’s the door clicking shut. His scent lingers, his touch still lingers, and the memory of his eyes when he begged you, his voice soft- begging as he called you “baby,” is burned into your mind.

Nari is beside you, her anger radiating, palpable in the air.

Outside

Jungkook doesn’t move. His forehead rests against the door, fingers curled into fists at his sides. His chest is heaving. His vision is blurring.

He’s begging.

Not out loud—no, because he knows that won’t work.

But in his head—inside his breaking, desperate heart— He’s begging.

“Please open the door.”

“Please say this was a joke.”

“Please tell me this isn’t real.”

He selfishly hopes you’ll open the door with that same smile on your face. Your eyes swollen from crying, your face puffy, but still, he imagines you pulling him in, kissing him like you always do, running your fingers through his hair the way you did earlier, and telling him, “I’m not mad at you, stupid. You’re such a dumbass, stop crying.”

But, he knows it’s real.

He knows he fucked up. Selfishly, he craves just one more minute, hoping somehow you’ll give in, even though he knows it’s impossible. He should’ve told you. He fucking knows it.

God, he just wants one more chance. Just one more minute to make things right. His breath is shaky, uneven as he tilts his head back against the wood, squeezing his eyes shut.

From inside—

He hears you.

And his whole world stops.

Inside

On the inside, you sit against the door, still sobbing, your mind racing through everything you two have shared. How fucking real it all felt. For him to just end it like that—it doesn’t make sense. You thought you had more time, that you could actually do this with him. But he fucked up. You can’t figure out what else to do, what to think.

Legs curled up, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater, tears streaming down your face.

You shouldn’t be here.

You should be angry, should be yelling, should be hating him with everything in you.

But instead?

You’re waiting.

Waiting for him to knock.

Waiting for him to say it was all a prank, that he somehow set this up with your parents, that this isn’t really happening—

That he isn’t leaving.

But— He doesn’t.

And Nari? Nari sees it all.

“Oh my fucking God,” she snaps. “Y/N, get the fuck UP.”

You flinch.

But you don’t move. You can’t.

“Are you serious right now?” she demands. “Are you actually serious? After everything? After all of this? You’re still sitting there waiting for him like a fucking sad puppy?!”

Your fingers tighten around your sleeves.

Your breath shudders. Because she’s right.

You hate that she’s right. But it doesn’t stop you from wanting him anyway.

Outside

Jungkook can hear everything. The muffled sounds of Nari yelling.

The tiny, broken sounds of you crying.

And suddenly, he can’t breathe. His throat tightens. His fingers dig into his hair as his body shakes, as his mind races. “What the fuck did I do.”

It’s hitting him now. All of it.

The way you flinched from his touch. The way you collapsed the second he walked out the door. The way you haven’t opened it since.

The reality of it all. That he was always going to hurt you. That this was always going to end this way. That you—the one person who ever made him feel normal, made him feel safe, made him feel like just Jungkook and not fucking BTS Jungkook—

You’re gone. And he did it. He did this.

Inside

You wipe at your face, sniffing, eyes puffy, throat raw. But you don’t move from the door.

Even though you know he’s not coming back. Even though you know this is over. Even though you should hate him—

You don’t.

You still love him.

And that’s the worst part of all. Because even after all of this— Even after everything—

You still would have chosen him.

Outside

Jungkook isn’t crying anymore.

Not because it doesn’t hurt. Not because he isn’t breaking apart, piece by piece, on this very doorstep. But because— He feels numb.

Like his body has shut down entirely.Like his mind has accepted what his heart refuses to. Like he knows there’s nothing left to say.

But still. He doesn’t leave. Instead, he sits there. Back against the door. Knees drawn up. Eyes red. Ears straining.

Because he knows he shouldn’t, but he listens. Selfishly.

Desperately.

Pathetically clinging onto the last part of you he has left:

Your voice.

Inside

The silence is loud. It’s heavy.

It hangs over the room like thick smoke—like something toxic, something suffocating, something that lingers in your lungs long after the damage is done. You’re not crying anymore.

Neither is Nari screaming. But she’s still fuming. Still pacing. Still muttering under her breath, hands clenching at her sides, voice low and dangerous.

“He’s dead to me.”

You exhale.

And then—

“Nari, please stop.” Your voice is hoarse. Tired. Defeated. And just like that—

Nari softens. She hesitates for a moment, then sighs, sinking down next to you, knees brushing. Her anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

But right now?

Right now, she’s more concerned about you.

You just laugh. A broken, breathless, manic little laugh, something that barely even sounds like you.

“I think I fell in love with him.” Unsteady. Blurted.

Like you’re just now realizing it yourself.

Like the words are only just now settling into your bones, taking root in your chest, hitting you with full force.

Nari exhales.

She looks at you, something soft behind her gaze.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “You’re just now realizing?”

You don’t answer. You just blink, staring blankly ahead, expression unreadable.

Outside

Jungkook breaks all over again. Because he hears it. Every word. Every breath. And he knows he has no right to. But still. He presses his forehead against the door. Shuts his eyes. And cries. Harder.

——

Jungkook stays longer than he should.

Longer than makes sense.

Longer than is reasonable, considering he’s not even sure if he’s breathing at this point, or if his body is just running on pure muscle memory—just existing on this doorstep like it’s the last place he’ll ever belong.

A door creaks.

A neighbor steps out, and old man who clearly isn’t happy about the commotion, barely sparing him a glance before walking back inside.

And then another.

And another.

And soon, Jungkook realizes, people are staring.

Of course they are.

Of course the guy hunched over on the doorstep, looking like he just got physically wrecked by the universe, is gonna get some attention.

Finally, he forces himself to move. To stand. To leave.

His legs feel like they’re made of lead.

His head is still spinning.

But he shoves his hands in his pockets, pulls his hoodie up over his face, and drags himself away—

From you. From everything.

And he doesn’t look back.

Not even once.

——

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there.

Time doesn’t feel real.

It feels like the air in the room is thick, like something heavy is pressing down on your chest, keeping you in place.

“Was it even…fucking real?” Your voice is sharp. Raw.

Loud enough that Nari actually flinches beside you, turning to face you with wide eyes. But you don’t stop. You can’t.

“Was this his fucking plan all along? Like, what was it? Was it all just—was it just—” You can’t even finish the sentence. You just shake your head, laughing bitterly, the sound more painful than anything else.

“Was any of it real?”

Nari stares at you.

And for the first time tonight—

She doesn’t have an immediate answer. Her lips part, like she wants to say something.

She exhales.

“I fucking hate him for this.”

Her voice is quieter now. Softer. Like the anger has dulled—like it’s settled into something else.

“But I know it was real.”

You freeze. You blink at her.

“What?”

“You’re blind, Y/N,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Stop trying to make conclusions that aren’t there.”

Your chest tightens.

“Then—then why?” Your voice cracks.

And Nari exhales again, looking down.

“He was scared.” And the second the words leave her mouth, the second they sink in, you feel like the ground beneath you just— Collapses.

The room is unbearably quiet now.

Your tears have dried. Your breathing has evened out. Your body isn’t shaking anymore. But inside?

Inside, you still feel like you’ve been hollowed out and left to rot.

You stare at the ceiling, vision unfocused.

You can feel Nari beside you, sitting cross-legged on the couch which she’d dragged you to, scrolling through her phone like she isn’t still raging inside. Like she isn’t still thinking of all the ways she could actually kill Jungkook and make it look like an accident.

“Y/N.” Her voice is firm. You blink.

“Look at me.”

You do.

She sets her phone down, leveling you with a stare so serious that, for a second, you think she might actually be about to lecture you.

And, well—

You’re right.

“There is no way that shit was not fucking real.”

You exhale through your nose.

“Nari—”

“No, shut the fuck up, I’m talking.”

You blink at her.

“Jungkook did not spend all this time with you, did not look at you the way he did, did not literally put himself, his career at risk, just for it to be nothing,” she continues. “Do you hear yourself? Like, do you hear how insane you sound right now?”

You press your lips together.

“He was scared,” she says, softer now. “That’s it. That’s literally all there is to it. He was scared, and he was selfish, and he didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to deal with the fact that he had to fucking leave. That’s not an excuse, by the way, it’s just—” she exhales, shaking her head. “It’s just the truth.”

You don’t respond. You just stare at her.

“This was never just casual for him,” she mutters. “That’s not what you should be worried about.”

Your throat tightens.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

Nari doesn’t have an answer. She stares at you. And then, “I don’t know.”

The two of you just—sit there.

Exhausted. Numb. Waiting for something—

Even though neither of you know what.

The silence lingers.

It settles into the room like dust—slow, heavy, inescapable.

Neither of you move for a long time.

You don’t cry anymore. Nari doesn’t rant anymore. The rage, the heartbreak, the tension—it’s all dulled into exhaustion, weighing down every inch of your body.

Eventually, though—

“Come on,” Nari murmurs.

You don’t react.

“Y/N.”

A hand nudges your arm.

“Let’s go to bed.”

You exhale.

Then, finally—finally—you move.

You don’t even bother freshening up. You don’t even turn on the lights. But— “No, bitch, you need to take off your makeup.”

You blink, disoriented, as Nari flicks on the bathroom light and drags you toward the sink. “You don’t wanna break out, do you?” she mutters, trying to act normal. Trying to lighten the mood.

You stare at your reflection, and you look…bad.

Your eyes are puffy. Your nose is red. Your lips are swollen from crying.

You just look tired.

Nari wets a cotton pad.

You don’t stop her as she presses it to your face, wiping away the remnants of your mascara.

You don’t say anything when she takes out your skincare, applying it carefully, murmuring little instructions like “Look up” and “This one says…hydration”—

Just like he did.

Your chest aches.

You pretend it’s him.

Pretend it’s his fingers against your skin. Pretend he’s standing in front of you, talking through every step, teasing you for not taking better care of your face.

Nari knows exactly what you’re doing.

But she doesn’t say anything.

She just keeps going.

And when she’s finished, she clicks off the light and pulls you into your room, not giving you the chance to be alone.

You don’t argue.

You just follow.

You both collapse onto your bed, and Nari doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around you.

You cling to her tighter than you ever have before.

She doesn’t say anything about it.

Just lets you press your face into her shoulder, lets you shake against her, lets you hold on as if she’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

And even though Nari is always the first to knock out.

Tonight, she fights to stay awake.

She waits. She listens to your breathing slow, doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, doesn’t let go—

Not until she’s absolutely sure you’ve finally fallen asleep

153 notes · View notes