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awrkive · 1 month ago

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NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 5 — JJK (m.)

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 15.6k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, as usual, super dreamy jk 😞 some realizations and some jk and nb!oc lore. SPOILER AHEAD DONT READ IF U DONT WANNA KNOW [ explicit sexual content: mature language, very indulgent & descriptive c*nniling*s (oral sex, female receiving) 🤩 ] also if u wanna know what her tat looks like this is it in my head

NOTES haii!! were back more than ever!! ive got nothing to say but enjoy!!!!!!! and lemme know ur thoughts in my inbox mwa mwamwa happy reading!

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] // [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

The first time somebody told you they liked you was in year eight. You were only twelve, and there was this guy in year 10, Gwanshik, who apparently fancied you to be his girlfriend. You’ve had crushes way before entering middle school, but they were mostly just the guys you saw on your TV. When Gwanshik asked if you could both hang out together after school that one afternoon by the lockers, you remember saying no.

No, because… the whole thing felt weird. You couldn’t comprehend the fact that a boy liked you in a romantic sense. You couldn’t wrap your head around going out with somebody and what… spend all your time together with them? It was too much for your twelve-year-old brain, and since then, you started avoiding Gwanshik as much as possible, and thankfully, he didn’t seem like he wanted to be with you that much because the “chasing” only lasted for two days.

The two days felt contradictory, though. You sure didn’t want a relationship at the time, but it did make you feel something new. You felt… wanted. You didn’t even like Gwanshik. His hair was weird and he was two years older than you and your friend at the time told you he was going through a lot of girls – but those two days he tried to make an effort; tried to catch you at the lockers or waited outside of your classroom and even tried to buy you pudding for lunch, you felt… seen. You felt a sort of validation. Gwanshik made you feel special for all those two days until he decided you weren’t really worth his time.

As much as you felt relieved that he wasn’t going after you anymore, there was some kind of bitterness that settled in your heart when he did stop pursuing you.

That same bitterness crawls in your heart whenever you occasionally stalk an ex on Instagram from a burner account and see that they were seeing someone new again, and strangely enough, the same feeling finds its way in your chest when you watch Jungkook leading Heesu up to the podium with a hand hovering over her waist, a gentle smile painted on his lips as they go up to face the audience together.

“They look good, don’t you think?”

You almost jump at Taemu’s voice beside you, having completely forgotten he was there.

Tonight’s the company gala, a celebration for the Kang Tech and Blue Nexus collab that Jungkook and Heesu are leading. It’s only been about an hour, and you’ve pretty much been with Taemu the whole time.

��Y-yeah, they do,” you smile at him, nodding. You clear your throat before looking ahead again, sipping on the champagne you don’t like the taste of.

“I heard they’re dating.” Taemu suddenly says, dropping into a whisper.

You don’t know how the words exactly register, but you feel slightly dissociative as you respond with, “Oh, are they?”

Taemu nods, glancing back to the stage where Heesu starts to deliver a well-crafted speech. She looks absolutely magnificent, with a silver gown that fits her like a glove. Her long, silky hair stops at her waist, and the way she speaks grabs everybody’s attention in the room.

“Nah, it’s just a rumor. But the Jeons and Kangs are close, though, and you know how that is.”

You wish Taemu would stop talking.

“Yep.” you give him a nod again, pursing your lips into a tight smile.

You try to drown out the conversation, listening in to the bits of Kang Heesu’s speech – something about innovation and future – and try to convince yourself that it ruffles your interest. But truthfully, you’d rather hear it than listen to some gossip Jungkook already disputed awhile ago.

It’s weird to have people carry these stories about him and his personal life – and you get how he can be a spectacle. He’s a Jeon, after all. His family is a conglomerate. But you know him… you know Jungkook. You value your friendship enough to know that he shouldn’t be a subject of people’s entertainment just because he comes from a certain lineage.

As it’s his turn to speak, you can’t help but focus on him, and you mean in a way that everybody just suddenly blurs out, and it’s all Jungkook that only matters.

He’s wearing his usual black suit, and his long hair is slick this time unlike all the times in your apartment complex where it’s messy and he’s wearing some Nike slides and shorts.

And whoever said that the eyes can focus so much better than a camera consciously is going to hell because just as you thought about how Jungkook looks like a dream tonight – your gaze slides to the woman beside him once again, Kang Heesu.

Then, you can’t help but think that they really do look good together, as per Taemu’s words.

As per everybody’s words, and probably, thoughts.

Rumors aside, or if Jungkook hadn’t told you that they weren’t dating at all, you’d think they would make a visually striking couple. It’s there for everybody to see, and everyone in this room must think so definitely. They’re both young and work in the same industry and their families are close – it wouldn’t be a shock if they actually are a thing.

You remember what you told Sol the past week. How Jungkook is majorly out of your league. You look at him now and sure, it’s the same person you hang out with back at home – the same man who laughs with his eyes crinkling, the same man who intently listens to you talking about whatever, and smiling shyly when you ask him about his day. The same man with admirable humility despite being him.

But ultimately, his world is here. This grandiose, larger-than-life, world.

And he looks so good in it.

“...Blue Nexus and Kang Tech as a team will continue to serve you going forward. Thank you.”

Jungkook and Heesu smile in front of the crowd while they stand close together, and for a second, it almost feels like you’re watching from behind glass. The picture of the man in your apartment no longer feels like he was real, or that he could be.

You don’t say it out loud, but some part of you knows. Jungkook belongs here in a way you never will.

As Jungkook and Heesu wrap up their speech, the room fills with applause, and soon, the crowd starts to settle back into conversation and cocktails, and you’re just about to look around for Sol and Junhwi when Taemu calls your name.

You turn around to look at him. “Yes?”

“I was thinking… are you free on Friday night?” He asks with a small smile on his lips.

You grimace inside at the question.

“I’ll try to see if I am,” you tell him. Taemu’s face visibly drops, and you instantly feel bad. You don’t know why you do, but you scramble for something just as quickly. “My schedule’s a bit hard to work around this week, but I’ll text you. What’s it about, anyway?”

You don’t miss the way Taemu’s smile picks up again at your promising words.

“I have two tickets for a tech expo. We can go if you like?” He arches a brow at you, trying to gauge your face.

You nod slowly. “That sounds interesting.”

“Yeah, it is. Would be nice if you can go.” He sends you a somewhat sheepish smile.

You chuckle.

“You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“I don’t know. Which one do you like? Subtle or straightforward guys?”

It prompts you to laugh some more, making Taemu join in. Somehow, the conversation puts you in place. Suddenly, you’re not thinking about Jungkook or Heesu or some Little Mermaid shit about how you’re not a part of his world.

You’re about to say something in response when your phone beeps in your purse.

“One sec,” You hold up your hand while Taemu hums. Unexpectedly, a message from Jungkook welcomes you when you took your phone out and turned it on.

Unit 446 (Jeon Jungkook) [11:35pm]: Hey

Well maybe the Little Mermaid drama is not over just yet.

You look up at Taemu. “I’ll just…”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Taemu smiles and nods. “I’ll just go see Min for a bit. See you around, yeah?”

You give him a small smile, glancing at Min – someone from the same department as his – across the room, stepping back a little farther. When Taemu leaves, you turn your phone on again to type a reply.

You [11:35pm]: hi

Not even a few seconds later, and Jungkook comes in with a response.

Unit 446 (Jeon Jungkook) [11:35pm]: I saw you just now. Was just about to say hi but you were talking to someone?

You [11:35pm]: yeah. its taemu You [11:35pm]: remember my coworker

Unit 446 (Jeon Jungkook) [11:37pm]: Interesting

Your brows furrow, intrigued.

You [11:37pm]: whats interesting abt it

Unit 446 (Jeon Jungkook) [11:38pm]: Nothing in particular

You [11:39pm]: now thats interesting

You feel a certain curl to your stomach. It’s not unpleasant at all, just something you’d rather brush off. Jungkook can’t be jealous of Taemu of all people – and you can’t deduce that based off one text that says “interesting” in response to you saying you were just talking with Taemu.

Yeah.

So you physically shrug it off.

You [11:39pm]: but your speech is way more interesting. you look and sound great!! congrats on the launch btw!! (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

Unit 446 (Jeon Jungkook) [11:40pm]: Thank you. And your emoji looks very interesting

That earns a chuckle from you.

See, it was nothing. You think to yourself. Jungkook was not jealous and he’s just being his usual self.

You [11:40pm]: its not an emoji its an emoticon

Unit 446 (Jeon Jungkook) [11:40pm]: That makes me very curious. Wanna hear more about it Unit 446 (Jeon Jungkook) [11:41pm]: Come hang out with me

You almost thought you read that wrong.

You [11:41pm]: here?

Unit 446 (Jeon Jungkook) [11:42pm]: I’m at the rooftop actually. But I’ll come down there in a while. Where are you?

You have no idea where he’s going with this, but you find yourself typing a reply, anyway.

You [11:43pm]: ohh dont bother. I’ll come up there myself You [11:43pm]: would be nice to get some fresh air 🥴

When you head toward the elevator, you catch your reflection in the mirrored doors – hair a little messy from the night, heels already starting to hurt. You press the button anyway.

The wind blows your dress away and the cold of the night hits your bare skin as you navigate the empty space of the rooftop – which is not so empty anymore as you spot a tall figure by the glass railings, adorning a black suit. You could’ve mistaken it for anybody else as they all men at the party wear the same thing, but you couldn’t have taken Jeon Jungkook for anybody else.

Not when even the lines of his back feel way too familiar by now.

You’re caught off guard, though, when he shifts slightly – just enough to raise a hand. At first, you don’t realize what he’s doing, until he takes a slow drag, and smoke slips around his head, curling into the air like it’s got nowhere else to be.

“Smoke break?” you say, breaking the silence as you walk toward him. You catch a whiff of it in the air.

“Oh, hey.” Jungkook turns to look at you, the cigarette tucked between his middle and pointer finger. From the looks of it, he must’ve lit it a while ago. When you glance back up at him, he offers a warm smile. “Do you want one?” he asks casually, reaching for the lapel of his jacket.

You shake your head before he can take out – presumably – a pack of cigarettes. You wouldn’t have guessed he had one tucked away earlier, not when he was standing on that podium, all polished and composed.

“I don’t smoke.”

Jungkook looks slightly taken aback. You’re about to ask why, but he just nods to himself and puts his hand back at his side. Then he flicks the cigarette away, stepping on it with the heel of his shoe. The lingering smell clings to the air between you, but the breeze helps carry it off, little by little.

“You could be fined for littering, you know?” You joke.

Jungkook’s mouth slacks as he looks at you again, and you’re sure he was about to retaliate, probably pick up your joke and keep the banter, but he disarms you when he speaks his next words.

“You look beautiful.” He says it low, his voice dipping a little deeper as his eyes trail down your body. If you’re not mistaken, his gaze lingers a second longer on your chest – and you remember, quite clearly, how grateful you were that you believed that one push-up bra ad on Instagram. It really did wonders with the square neckline of the dress.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You say, arching a brow. It makes Jungkook laugh. He walks towards a bench, and naturally, you follow.

Jungkook’s the first to settle into his seat, and you try to ignore the way your heart does a weird little flip when he looks up at you, his hand instinctively lifting to hover over your back as you move to sit beside him.

And instantly, the cold of the night is whisk away by his warm presence. It’s not even that much, probably just an illusion, but Jungkook feels like a furnace on a winter night sometimes and you wonder how it’d feel like to bask in it.

Maybe if you weren’t too drunk that night when you cuddled up together on his couch, you would’ve understood. You do remember, though, the very brief moment of his strong arms around you, tight but comfortable, big and strong…

You shake your head internally.

Hah.

As much as you like to believe you can walk away from that memory like it was just another Tuesday, you can’t. Unfortunately.

“I didn’t know you smoke.”

You’re not sure why you bring it up. Maybe it’s a way to keep things from feeling too… intimate, sitting this close to him. But the moment it slips out, it feels borderline personal – maybe even invasive – and you regret it almost instantly.

You’re just about to steer the conversation elsewhere when Jungkook leans back against the seat. The moonlight hits his face just right, the shadows of his lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks.

He really doesn’t look so bad himself, you think. But who are you kidding—he deserves a better compliment than that.

“I don’t smoke that much anymore. But these things…” Jungkook trails off, gaze flicking away for a second. You bite your lip, worried you might’ve touched something too personal.

But he keeps going. “These things take a lot out of me. Nerves. I don’t know. Big crowds stress me out. And they’re gonna publish articles about tonight, and maybe I’ve said this already, but I’ve never really liked public attention all that much.”

You blink up at him.

It’s strange, because all this time, you’ve always claimed to know Jungkook – because, technically, you do. You’re friends. He knows about the cat you secretly kept from your landlord two years ago, knows that you hate your job, knows about the disposable chopsticks you hoard from different restaurants for absolutely no reason, knows that your Sunday uniform is that worn-out white Elmo shirt from high school, and knows your favorite color is baby blue.

He knows so many little things about you. So naturally, you should know him too… right?

But the thing is, as much as you think you do, you realize now – you’ve never actually known him past a certain point. He’s shared bits and pieces: how his favorite part of town is Hongdae, how he could eat bungeoppang for weeks. But aside from the surface-level stuff – the things you’ve asked about – he’s never really offered up anything deeper. Never really talked about himself in the ways that matter.

Like his job. How he got into it. The pressure that must come with it. Hell, you didn’t even know he smoked. That one really caught you off guard, because if there’s one thing you’ve always associated Jungkook with, it’s how damn good he smells.

But what really gets you isn’t the smoking. It’s the nerves. The fact that he gets nervous. Not that you thought he was above feeling something as basic as that – but he’s always carried himself with this kind of ease, this quiet confidence, like he knew exactly who he was and where he stood. It never occurred to you that someone like him could feel… less than sure. That he might need something, anything, to steady himself.

“I— yeah. That makes sense,” you nod, eyes fixed ahead, voice softer than before.

You’re still sitting beside the same Jungkook. Still in the same night air. But there’s something different now, something settling inside you that you can’t quite name. You’re learning these new pieces of him slowly, like catching glimpses of something just under the surface. And for the first time in a while, he doesn’t feel so far away.

Maybe he never really was. Maybe it’s just that you were looking at him from a place too high up.

“Does it… does it get bad?” You ask gently. Jungkook looks at you curiously. “I mean, the press. I imagine you must’ve been bearing it since you were a kid.”

Jungkook nods, and the smile he gives you next doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“My brother took most of the heat when we were young. When I was away in the US, they stopped bringing me up in the articles. And, uh…” he chuckles, settling a bit deeper into the seat. “I haven’t really told you about this yet, but I was never meant to work in the company. Until my brother decided to take up law—and there’s only two of us.”

You try not to look too surprised. “Oh…”

Jungkook crosses his arms, brow furrowing. “It was never going to be me, and I didn't take that well. Anyway, I sold my first software to Vision when I was a sophomore – the top rival of Blue Nexus until now. Pissed my dad off a lot because it became a huge success.” He snorts, but there’s no humor behind it.

You want to ask a million things. But something in his tone, the careful way he’s choosing his words, tells you not to push. So you stay quiet. You let him speak on his own terms.

You’re not oblivious to the gossip surrounding Jungkook and Mr. Jeon. You’ve overheard your fair share of whispers tonight – speculations about why “Mr. Jeon’s son is only interim CTO,” or when he’s going to finally hand over the reins to his son. Everyone talks about it like it’s inevitable. Like it’s some corporate fairytale they’re waiting to unfold.

But instead of digging into that, you glance at Jungkook, voice gentle.

“What’s he like? Your dad, I mean…”

It takes him a moment.

“He’s a tough man,” Jungkook says, breathing in sharply. You see his shoulders stiffen. “But I still really want him to be proud of me. It’s a complicated feeling. This is why I get too nervous about this stuff. I take pride in my work, I like what I do, you know— but sometimes…”

“Sometimes…” you echo softly.

“Sometimes I think I could do better.”

Your heart presses against your ribs, caught in a mix of protectiveness and ache.

You don’t think. Your words just come out.

“I think you’re doing great, Jungkook,” you say, voice quiet but sure. Your hand lifts instinctively to rest on his shoulder, but you hesitate halfway and pull it back to your lap instead. “I mean… I haven’t studied the technicalities of your work yet – pun intended – but I think you’re really good at what you do. People can see the effort you put into the things you care about. I don’t know about your dad, but I think that’s… really admirable.”

There’s a pause. And then another.

You start to spiral. Maybe you said too much. Maybe he didn’t want reassurance, just someone to listen. You should’ve asked first. Should’ve waited to see if he even wanted your opinion. God. He probably didn’t need a pep talk tonight of all nights—

“Thank you.”

“Hm?”

“Thanks, __. You’re the first one to tell me I’m doing a good job so far.”

Your jaw drops slightly. What?

It must’ve slipped out loud, because Jungkook laughs – really laughs, his chest shaking with it. It’s the first time all night that he’s sounded truly unguarded.

“Yeah. I appreciate it,” he says again, softer this time.

“Really?” you blink. “That’s… tough, bro.”

“Bro?” he says, incredulous. You nod solemnly. “You’re cute,” he murmurs.

You feel the warmth flood your cheeks instantly.

“Hey,” you say, needing to shift the moment. Jungkook hums in response. “You know that feeling when you’re in high places – like rooftops – and you get the weird urge to jump?”

Jungkook raises a brow. “That’s… concerning.”

You wave him off. “No, not like that. It’s not suicidal or anything. Just… this curious impulse.”

“There are literally a thousand movies that show what happens when you jump off tall buildings,” he says dryly.

“Well, duh.” You roll your eyes. He laughs again, and you notice something unspoken in the way his posture eases. The tension he carried earlier seems to slowly dissolve into the night air. It makes you smile, quietly pleased that maybe, somehow, you helped.

“You know what I’m thinking right now?” you ask.

He eyes you warily. “I hope you’re not gonna say you want us to jump.”

“Close,” you scoot closer, and he doesn’t move away. If anything, he seems to lean into it. “I was thinking more land activities. Maybe we should go around town.”

“Right now?”

You make a face. “I mean, you might be busy.”

“I already socialized enough to last me through next month. I’m fried.” Jungkook sighs, and it’s so genuinely weary that you almost laugh. But you bite back a grin instead. “You wanna go for a drive?” he asks.

You flash him a bright smile, and with no hesitation, tell him, “I’d love that.”

They say when you’re having too good of a day, time flies fast.

You didn’t know Jungkook liked bands. And you definitely didn’t know he could sing. You’re not keeping track, but it’s been about two hours since the two of you slipped away from the party – armed with a stolen bottle of champagne and a badly packed plate of hors d'oeuvres, thanks to Jungkook, who remembered you saying you liked their mini quiches.

You didn’t really have a destination in mind when you left. Every time Jungkook asked where you wanted to go, you just shrugged and said, wherever – until the car eventually rolled to a stop on an unfamiliar street that smelled like salt and sea.

You both realized you were by the beach the moment you cracked open the doors and stepped out of the car.

“This is perfect,” you say, unable to contain the smile spreading across your face. “It’s been so long since I’ve gone to the beach.”

“You know where we are?” Jungkook asks, falling into step beside you.

The beach isn’t anything extravagant – just sand and sea – but the breeze is crisp, the air smells clean, and something about the quiet feels right.

“I have no clue,” you admit, glancing at him with a grin. “But it’s nice here, right? Who cares?”

Jungkook eyes you like he’s about to object, but then he just chuckles under his breath.

There’s a narrow bridge up ahead that leads to a small staircase descending onto the sand. You head toward it with a bounce in your step, eager to feel ground crunch beneath your heels. As soon as your foot touches the first step, you feel a hand gently settle against your back.

“Careful,” Jungkook murmurs behind you.

It’s just a reminder. A quiet one. But the brush of his palm against your dress, the low dip in his voice – it sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the weather.

You shake it off quickly and make it down to the sand. The sea is calm, the tide gently kissing the line of black sand just a few meters from where you stand.

“It’s freezing,” you mutter, hugging your arms to your chest. “This doesn’t make any sense. It’s supposed to be summer.”

You gather up the skirt of your dress and plop down on a patch of dry sand. Jungkook follows, but before he settles beside you, he slips off his suit jacket and holds it out.

“Oh, no. I’m okay,” you say quickly, shaking your head and gesturing for him to keep it.

He pauses. “Do you know how many people die from hypothermia?”

“Like… twenty-five?”

“No. Twenty-four thousand a year.”

Your eyes shoot wide. “Wait. No fucking way. In South Korea? Or globally?”

Jungkook holds your gaze for a beat – then cracks up, grinning as he doubles over slightly from laughing. “Yeah, okay. No. I just made that up.”

You squint at him in disbelief. “Wow… you got jokes now.”

He just shakes his head, still grinning, clearly pleased with himself. You throw him a mock glare, but it doesn’t last long – not when he nudges a mini quiche toward you like a peace offering.

You reach for the bottle of champagne, only to realize you have nothing to pour it into, until Jungkook, already reading you like a book, says, “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Jungkook watches as you chug on the bottle, and thank god he got the white wine because red wine makes you drunk and you aren’t planning on getting drunk tonight – especially not with your track record.

You pass the bottle to Jungkook, looking ahead to watch the dark of the night. It’s probably around 2 am at this point, but you don’t bother confirming because why would you? It doesn’t matter what time it is, anyway. It feels like you’ve been in a tight spot all week, and today is the reward of all that.

You realized you haven’t taken time to relax at all. The past few months had just been work, work, and work – as if you’re completely succumbing to your fate of being a corporate slave.

“It’s nice, right? You’re having fun?” you ask Jungkook, turning your body to him.

You guess it’s easy to assume Jungkookls got everything under control. It’s in the way he carries himself – so quietly confident, so composed, like the weight of the world never quite touches him. He didn’t lay it all out for you back at the party, but you understood very well. You heard what he meant when he spoke about his father, about his work, about everything that makes him feel like he’s constantly trying to measure up.

He gets overwhelmed, too.

Contrary to what you believed – what you’ve told yourself all this time – Jungkook is just like anyone else. He’s human. He doubts. He tries.

It’s a shame the thought has only clicked into your head now. Because you were so sure that pedestal you put him on was where he rightfully belonged. You were so certain that the distance between you and him wasn’t something that could be crossed. That he was out of reach.

But here you are. Sitting next to him on a beach you can’t name, under a sky full of stars that don’t care who’s who. And you’re realizing – again – maybe you were wrong.

You feel bad, honestly. Because Jungkook’s been nothing but good to you. Better than good, if you’re being honest. He’s been kind, thoughtful. Present in ways that surprised you.

And he likes you.

At least… he said he does.

You haven’t processed it that much, ever since that night of his… confession passed.

It’s not the first time somebody said it to you. And it’s certainly not the first time you feel conflicted about it, because you’ve always been weird about relationships – or men, in general. You haven’t been in any therapy except for Jimin’s bimonthly honest feedback about your “avoidant coping mechanism” because ”you somewhat are afraid to love someone and have someone love you back so you cope by joking about how men are not all that and when you break up with someone you tell me it was not that serious”. You never retaliated with any of those because you know they were all true. You’ve had two serious boyfriends in your life, and none of them lasted for longer than a year.

They may have had problems of their own, but you always knew what it was with yours.

You get easily scared. You get scared about the possibility of you growing more feelings for a person – get scared at the prospect that you might want them to be in your life forever.

And god, forever is such a long time. And the future scares you a ton more than you’d like to admit.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in months. I’m glad you made us skip the party.” Jungkook responds to your question.

“I did not make us skip the party,” you laugh, prompting Jungkook to do so as well. You look at the calm waves, and suddenly you get the urge to stand up. It just looks so inviting, and so you can’t help but stand on your feet, making Jungkook look up at you. He watches you curiously as you take off your heels. You gesture to him to follow you. “Come on up here.”

He eyes you warily. “Are you…”

You shake your head immediately. “What, no. I’m not swimming. Just gonna dip my toes in the water,” you look far ahead. And true to your words, the sea really does look inviting. “It looks really good.” But when you drop your gaze back to Jungkook, he still looks unsure. You roll your eyes. “Afraid to get a little dirty, Mr. Jeon?”

He narrows his eyes at that. You challenge him with a raised brow. Then, with a scoff, Jungkook stands up from the makeshift blanket that’s really just his suit jacket and begins to tug off his leather shoes—

Hold up.

“You wear toe socks,” you deadpan, blinking at the sight like it’s physically hard to process.

“Huh? Oh— yeah.” Jungkook looks up from his feet to your face, confused for half a second before realization hits. “Okay, I know what you’re gonna say. My friends already clown me about this a lot.”

You can’t help it – you burst out laughing. It’s loud, full-bodied, and totally ungraceful. Jungkook just stands there with his lips pressed into a thin line, expression resigned, like this isn’t his first toe sock trial and probably won’t be his last.

You snicker behind your hand and turn toward the shoreline, still giggling as you walk. Jungkook follows a beat later, not looking the least bit offended by your reaction.

“I just don’t get it,” you manage through your laughter. “Why do you have gloves for your toes? Does that not give you the ick?”

“A glove for my toes?” Jungkook repeats, incredulous. A laugh escapes him. “What the hell?”

“Yeah! It’s literally the same concept. Gloves are uncomfortable as hell. Are you sure you willingly wear toe socks?”

“If I didn’t, would I be wearing them now?”

“Exactly! So you do it on purpose. That’s wild.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Hater much?”

“Through and through,” you grin, shaking your head. “How did I not know this sooner? You did—”

You nearly trip as your foot slips on the soft, uneven slope of sand. But Jungkook’s hands are already at your waist, steadying you before you can fall.

“Told you to be careful,” he murmurs, voice light with amusement.

You snort and push lightly against his abdomen. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Toe Sock.”

He shakes his head with a chuckle, and the two of you continue down the shore, moving closer to the sea. The air grows cooler as you approach the water, waves whispering along the sand like a quiet soundtrack to the moment.

“You actually remind me of my mom. She wore toe socks too.” you say suddenly, rendering Jungkook surprised beside you. But when you look at him, there’s a hint of a small smile on his face.

“Even your mom knows the drill,” Jungkook brags, prompting you to roll your eyes but you laugh anyway.

You bunch up your dress to your legs as you start dipping your feet into the water, a little surprised at the cold temperature even though you expected it already. It is still August, after all.

Jungkook follows, and you walk straight along the shoreline.

“You mind talking about her?” Jungkook asks suddenly, making you look at him.

You shake your head. “Not really. I love talking about my mom. She was a wonderful person.” you say truthfully, the words bringing a melancholic smile to your face.

“I’m sure she must have been.” Jungkook tells you with conviction.

“How are you so sure?” you can’t help but laugh.

Jungkook shrugs. “She has you as her daughter.”

“Hah!” Your laughter only becomes louder. “That’s really… that’s a good line.”

Jungkook only shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a shy smile on his face when he looks away. He can be really cute sometimes; such a walking contradiction, really.

“What about your mom?” You ask.

“She’s just as wonderful. My brother and I are close with her.”

You nod. You assumed that a while ago, but it oddly makes you feel good that Jungkook does indeed have a good relationship with his mother. It was cute, because the way he smiles when he talks about his mom tells you she’s really important to him.

“And… your dad?” You tread lightly, not sure about bringing him up again.

But Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind when he says, “He loves and adores mom, and I admire him a lot for that. He’s just… he just has a lot of expectations when it comes to his children, and it gets a little too overwhelming.”

You quietly hum at that.

Strange, really. How some people love differently.

“I once saw him before, you know?” You tell Jungkook, and he looks at you, intrigued. You nod, adding, “He looked really intimidating.” you give Jungkook a hesitant smile; he nods his head in understanding. “Anyway, I didn’t see him tonight. Did he come?”

Jungkook just gives you a smile. “I don’t think so. Not sure.”

You don’t question it further. You’ve made a lot of assumptions about Jungkook, but hearing the truth from him – it’s different. Like opening Pandora’s box, only to find something softer inside. There’s something oddly comforting about it. You’re talking about things that don’t usually come up, and it doesn’t feel awkward or forced. Just easy. And for once, it feels good to open up to someone who actually seems to care – not out of obligation, but out of genuine interest.

“What about you? What was your mom like?” Jungkook asks, walking beside you with his hands crossed behind his back.

“She was an angel. But I…” you hesitate, “I grew up hating her for half my life.”

You can feel Jungkook’s gaze shift to you, but you keep your eyes ahead. You like talking about your mom – just not this part.

“You don’t know a lot when you’re a kid. I hated her because we were poor, and I thought it was because I didn’t have a dad. Every family day at school, kids would show up with both their parents. I was always just with her. And being an only child made everything feel even lonelier. I guess I blamed her for that.”

There’s a bitter smile tugging at your lips. Jungkook stays quiet, and you’re thankful for that – for not rushing to speak. For simply listening.

“She never talked about my dad. I never asked either. She just never brought him up. Then when I turned eighteen, I finally asked if she knew where he was. She just said he wasn’t a good man. She didn’t elaborate, but I didn’t need her to. I understood. And I think that was the moment I started realizing how good I actually had it with her.” You smile faintly at the memory. “She sewed me clothes. Made my lunch every day. And she’d bring home these snacks from her job at the factory – these crunchy peanuts. I don’t know if you’ve ever had them…”

“You mean Ojingeo?”

You shake your head, amused. “No, not those. Those are the squid peanuts, right? Mine was sweet. Not spicy.”

Jungkook squints thoughtfully. “Damn, I think I know what you’re talking about… Oh! Matdongsan?”

Your eyes light up. “Yeah! Matdongsan! Do they still make that today?”

“I’m not really sure,” Jungkook says, shaking his head with a little frown.

“Oh well…” You shrug and keep walking. “Anyway, my mom. She gave me everything she could, even when I didn’t know how to appreciate it.”

You wince, looking away, that guilt still tucked away in the corners of your chest. You remember the tantrums, the slamming of doors, the silent treatment; all the ways you lashed out, thinking it was just part of growing up.

“She started getting sick during my third year of college. We found out too late that it was breast cancer. The doctors did everything they could, but…” You bite your lip to keep it from trembling. “She didn’t make it. She passed away four years ago. Right after I graduated.”

You take a sharp breath, blinking rapidly to push back the stinging in your eyes. It’s been a while since you cried over your mom. You’ve made peace with the grief, mostly. But sometimes – like now – it creeps back in, catching you off guard.

“I think what hurt the most was realizing how much time I thought we’d still have. When you’re a kid, you just assume your parents will be there forever. You think you’ll grow up, get your first job, bring someone home for dinner – and they’ll be there for all of it. But life doesn’t really work like that.”

You swallow, glancing up at the stars that have begun to peek out from the clouds above the sea.

“I was still so young. I didn’t get to spend enough time with her. Not the kind I wanted, anyway.”

You don’t say the rest. That losing her changed something in you. That maybe it’s why you hesitate with relationships. Why you carry every goodbye with a little more weight than necessary – why you try to avoid them as early as possible; and it means avoiding getting too close to somebody.

“That’s tough, __. I’m really sorry you went through that,” Jungkook says softly. He stops walking, and you feel his hand hover behind your back – so close it makes your skin tingle with the anticipation of comfort. But he doesn’t touch you.

Still, it’s enough.

You try to lighten the mood, groaning, “God, I’m totally killing the vibe, huh?”

Jungkook immediately shakes his head, firm. “No. Never.”

You turn to look at him, and he’s looking at you like he means it. Like you didn’t just ruin anything. Like your story mattered.

You smile. And somehow, you really believe him.

You take a deep breath,

“Mom was really funny, though. So, she wore toe socks, right? And I was kind of repulsed by them so she made sure to add it to my laundry when it was my turn doing it, especially when I gave her a tantrum during that day.”

Jungkook chuckles at the story, visibly amused. “She did?”

“Yeah, she was secretly vindictive as hell,” you shake your head as Jungkook’s laughter becomes louder. It was the kind of laugh where it’s bordering on wheezing, and you can’t help but join in too.

“How are you repulsed by toe socks?” Jungkook looks at you incredulously. “Wait– are you still repulsed by them? Are you repulsed by me now?”

You waved your hand at him dismissively. “No, you’re fine. I’m a grown up now. I’ve overcome my toe socks trauma.”

“That’s goddamn good to know.” He says with a tone of relief, comical in the way he puts a hand to his chest for added effect. “I don’t know what I’d do if you’re still that against toe socks. I’m not sure if I can give them up just yet.”

“Why would you give it up for me?” you snort.

“Dunno. I’m kind of a __-pleaser.”

You blink. “Jungkook.”

His grin widens, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out. “God, you’re such a flirt.”

“Am I really?” he says, tilting his head, voice all playful innocence.

You squint your eyes at him. He squints back, mirroring you with a teasing glint. Then, slowly, you bend down, fingers dipping into the sea – just enough to send a quick splash of water his way.

You expect a tiny splash. A harmless flick. But what hits Jungkook’s white shirt is a little more than you intended. Your eyes widen as the damp spot spreads across the crisp fabric.

Oh no. That’s probably designer. Tailored. Definitely expensive.

Before you can blurt out an apology, Jungkook moves faster than you can register, and suddenly, cold water smacks against your dress and hair. You gasp.

“Oh my god.” You stare at him, scandalized. “You did not.”

He raises his hands up, and he chuckles at the look on your face. When he sees you bending down again, he doesn’t make the mistake of waiting on you and immediately walks faster, effectively keeping himself a few feet away from you so he can avoid your expected attack.

Too bad he doesn’t run.

You scoop up a handful of seawater and hurl it at his back. Bullseye. Jungkook throws his head back in feigned betrayal, letting out a dramatic groan.

“Oh, that wasn’t very nice,” he warns.

You don’t wait for retaliation. You take off running, the cool night air rushing past you as laughter bubbles from your chest. You can hear his footsteps behind you, and you scream-laugh when his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you right off the ground.

“Jungkook!” you shriek between fits of laughter, squirming in his grip. But he’s strong – gentle, but determined – and you’re too breathless to fight him off.

“You’re gonna regret that, little miss devil,” he tsks, carrying you like a sack of mischief as he heads toward the water.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” you plead, kicking lightly.

“Too late,” he says, walking deeper. You can feel the cold moisture from his clothes seeping into you as he holds you close.

“Jungkook, we’re gonna soak your car when we get back.”

“My shirt’s already ruined.”

“You have your coat!”

“You started it.”

“I’ll bite you if you don’t put me down. I have my canine teeth.”

“Go ahead.”

“Jungkook!” You bury your face into the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of his shampoo, your giggles muffled against his skin. “Okay, okay! If you want to paddle in the water, let’s do it – but let’s take off our clothes first.”

That stops him. Completely.

His steps halt mid-surge, his arms frozen around you as your words settle between the two of you like a stone dropped into calm water.

“What?”

“What?” you parrot back.

Jungkook cranes his neck to look up at you. “Are you telling us to take a skinny dip?”

You bite your lip to not laugh at the incredulity written all over his face. You squint your eyes at him, noting the look on his face. It’s looking quite nervous. “You’re afraid to get naked?”

Jungkook scoffs, then… he chuckles.

“I’m most certainly not. Are you?” He says, sounding like he’s challenging you for something.

You arch your brow. “I’m most certainly not.” you mirror his words back to him, effectively making him laugh. “We don’t really have to be naked, though. I’ll just take off my dress. We’re already wet anyway, so…?”

It takes awhile for Jungkook to say something. Then, he shakes his head. “I can’t believe you.”

“What?” you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling a little too much.

“What if somebody sees us?”

You jut your bottom lip out. “Jungkook, it’s probably 2 am at this point. Nobody’s awake except for weird sea creatures. I didn’t take you for a wuss.”

Jungkook cackles.

“Fuck me.” you clearly hear him whisper to himself. Slowly, you feel his hands letting you down until your feet once again get into contact with the sand.

You look at Jungkook expectantly once you face him. “Well?” you say, gesturing with a flick of your hand. “Turn around. I’m gonna take my dress off.”

Jungkook lets out a short laugh but doesn’t move immediately. His gaze lingers on your face for a second longer than necessary, eyes shining with something unreadable. “It’s only fair if you turn around too,” he says, crossing his arms but giving in to a small smile.

You roll your eyes, but you turn your back anyway, fingers quickly locating the side zipper of your dress. The fabric loosens and slips from your shoulders with ease, falling into a soft heap around your ankles. Cool air kisses your bare skin, a stark contrast to the warmth still lingering from Jungkook’s touch.

You breathe in through your nose, silently thanking your past self for wearing a decent pair of underwear – a beige strapless push-up bra and matching panties. Not your sexiest, but it’s not humiliating either. You remind yourself this isn’t about seduction – it’s about spontaneity. The water felt amazing even though it was freezing but who cares! This was something out of someone’s bucket list, right? Skinny dipping at fuckass o’clock in the morning. Given, it’s not actually skinny-dipping… you’ve only ever done the real thing with Jimin from a trip years ago but it was in a pool so it didn’t count.

You feel pretty good about yourself until you turn around just as the same time Jungkook does.

And holy fuck.

You freeze.

You’ve seen Jungkook’s body before. Of course you have. But never like this. Never up close, never with this much bare skin and moonlight involved. His white shirt is gone, revealing an inked arm and lean muscle that tightens across his torso with every breath. But it’s his legs – his thighs – that make your breath hitch. The way they’re shaped, carved like he’s spent a lifetime training without ever trying too hard. Your eyes trail lower before your brain can stop them, and they land on the bulge beneath his black Calvin Kleins.

You snap your gaze up too fast.

“Your tattoo looks good,” Jungkook says.

The words hit you like a splash of cold water. Not because of what he says, but because it’s so obvious he caught you staring. And worse: he doesn’t seem fazed by it.

You glance down, catching the curve of ink that hugs your ribs. Your underboob piece.

“Oh. That one,” you say, clearing your throat as you angle your body slightly, fingertips brushing along your side. “Yeah. That’s what I told you about before.”

The piece goes from right under your boob to the side of your rib. It was quite a big one actually, but the tattoo is as wispy as it can get; a delicate image that curves along the ribcage – fine lines forming soft leaves and petals. It’s subtle and graceful, just like you wanted it to be.

Jungkook is still staring when you look back up. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s just now realizing he should say something.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet yours. And it’s not just the tattoo he’s looking at.

You shift, suddenly hyperaware of the way your body is lit by the moonlight. “Thanks. I planned it for weeks. The artist and I talked a lot about what I wanted. He was really talented.” You adjust your chest a little so you can take a better look of your tattoo. You swear it takes a bit of your time when you’re in the shower or you’re changing in front of the mirror because you almost always have to admire your piece whenever you see it.

“He?” Jungkook repeats.

You’re caught off guard, but you nod anyway. “Hm.”

A pause. Then: “When did you get it?”

“Two years ago. Same time Jimin got his moon phase tattoo. You’ve seen that one?”

“No. Just the others.”

“Oh, you will,” you chuckle. “He’ll show it to you whether you ask or not.”

Jungkook grins, but it’s quieter now. His hands brush off the backs of his thighs before he turns and lays his clothes down on the sand. You do the same, carefully folding your dress over the top of his shirt like it might protect it somehow. The silence between you is suddenly soft now, turning intimate.

When you meet his eyes again, you smile. And somehow, when he meets your gaze, you feel as if there’s a wire pulled taut between you – stretched thin and aching to snap.

You turn first, bare feet pressing into the cold sand as you walk toward the dark, inviting water. The night air nips at your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the rush of heat pooling low in your stomach.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook follow.

You reach the shoreline, waves licking your ankles. The water is freezing. Your breath hitches at the sensation, but you walk further in, just until it reaches your knees, then stop to turn to look back at him.

“Well?” you ask, voice soft and challenging. “Coming in, or are you just gonna stand there?”

Jungkook steps forward and walks straight into the water like it’s nothing, like he hadn’t hesitated at all, like this was his idea in the first place.

The waves lap against your skin as he closes the distance between you.

You wade further in, letting the water climb your body inch by inch until it hugs your ribs. “Ohh,” you gasp with genuine surprise. “The water’s actually warm over here.”

Jungkook raises a brow as he hears that. Trudging deeper, he takes a few steps behind you. “You serious?”

“Yeah,” you nod, flashing him a grin. “It’s nice.” The word rolls out of your mouth like you’re savoring it. You lift your hands, gathering a small pool of water, and send a playful splash in his direction.

The water hits his face. His bangs drip instantly.

You laugh at the sight. There’s a frown that twitches on his lips as he tries to blink the saltwater out of his eyes.

And then he retaliates.

He flings water back at you with enough force to wet your hair this time, and your laughter erupts again, echoing over the waves. “Didn’t expect you to be so vindictive,” you call out between splashes, paddling away from him in slow strokes. “I thought you were sweet.”

“Didn’t expect you to be so mean,” Jungkook shoots back, and the grin you see on his teasing face tugs something sweet inside your chest.

It turns into this ridiculous game – splashing, dodging, laughing. The moonlight glints on the ripples between you, and every now and then, when you’re not dunking water in each other’s faces, you catch the way his eyes linger just a bit too long. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. It’s not uncomfortable. It just simmers there, under the surface like heat waiting to rise.

As you paddle further, you feel the ground slope under your feet and lift slightly, weightless now, the water just above your chest. You let out a breath and spin in place lazily, floating.

“Jungkook!” you call out, voice light, “Come here!”

He does, wading close until you're barely a few feet apart. He stops right where the water reaches his collarbones, droplets rolling down his throat.

You swim toward him instinctively, arms slicing through the water, and when you get close enough, you reach up and loop your arms around his shoulders.

You feel Jungkook stiffen for a brief second, seemingly surprised by the sudden closeness. But you don’t miss the way his hands instinctively come to your waist, steadying you.

“I’m hitching a ride,” you say breezily.

“What?”

“I wanna piggyback,” you grin, already hopping onto him, locking your legs around his waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jungkook lets out a huff of a laugh, almost startled. But he catches you easily, arms adjusting around your thighs to hold you steady. His hands are warm even underwater, and your chest is pressed so close to his back. So close you can hear every shallow breath.

“God, you’re shameless,” he mutters, but his voice is low and there’s a smile there – something fond, and maybe something even… dangerous.

“And you’re acting like you mind,” you murmur near his ear, smiling into his shoulder.

The water sways around you, wrapping both your bodies. It’s playful. It’s soft. But it’s also charged – like every second poses a dare for either one of you to cross a line.

You tighten your grip around his neck, your cheek brushing against his. “It’s getting cold again,” you whisper, shivering against him. “Jungkook, it’s getting cold.”

“I thought you wanted to be in the water.”

“Don’t turn this around on me.” You whine, lips brushing against his neck in your exaggerated pout. He cranes his head slightly, and you’re close enough now to count the droplets sliding down his temple. “Let’s go back,” you say, voice softer now.

He nods. “Alright.”

But just as you think he’s about to carry you back, you feel him start to lower your legs.

“Jungkook, what the hell!” you yelp, gripping his shoulders tighter.

“You said let’s go back,” he says innocently, though the glint in his eye says otherwise.

“Swear to god, if you drop me, I’ll bite you. And it won’t be pretty. I have my canine teeth.”

He laughs, the sound echoing across the water. “Okay, okay— relax. I’m not dropping you, princess.”

He readjusts his hold, and you sigh in exaggerated relief, letting your arms wrap loosely around his neck again. The journey back is slow, quiet, and for a second, you almost forget you’re wearing nothing but wet underwear. That is, until your feet touch the shore again and the sea releases you both back to reality.

You let Jungkook lower you down, suddenly aware of how much skin is on display. You turn slightly, trying to avoid looking directly at him – though that doesn’t stop you from noticing how good he looks, wet boxers clinging to his thighs, moonlight catching on his skin.

God, get a grip.

“Here,” he says, offering your dress with a slight smile.

“Oh. Thanks.” You take it, fingers brushing his for a beat longer than necessary.

“I’ll give you some space,” he says, turning around just in time for you to see him start stripping his boxers off.

“Jesus christ, Jungkook. Warn a girl next time,” you squeak, spinning around like your life depends on it.

You hear him laugh, which makes you laugh as well. And it’s stupid, but it feels natural.

“I’m taking off my underwear. Don’t look,” you call over your shoulder.

“Hmm. No promises,” he replies with a chuckle.

You roll your eyes and get to work, yanking off your bra and panties with more urgency than grace, tugging your dress back on as fast as you can. You’re nearly done when you hear his voice again.

“Done?”

“Almost,” you reply, quickly shoving your wet underwear into a ball.

You finally turn around just as Jungkook, now fully clothed again, offers his suit jacket.

“Here. In case you get cold.”

You hesitate for a split second before taking it. “Thanks.”

The jacket smells like him, and you pull it tighter around you before saying anything else. There's still water clinging to your skin, and when you glance at Jungkook, his shirt is sticking to him in places, outlining muscle like it’s got something to prove.

You try not to notice. You fail.

“I’m still wet,” you mutter under your breath before realizing what you just said.

He raises a brow, and you both burst out laughing.

“For the record, I’m also still wet,” Jungkook adds with a smirk.

You don’t even have it in you to respond. Just a groan and a shake of your head as you both start walking.

The walk back to his car isn’t long, but it feels like a slow return to reality. You glance over at Jungkook once you’re near enough, wordlessly telling him to unlock the car. He gets the message, patting his jacket pocket like it’s muscle memory. Then the other one. Then his pants.

“Shit.”

You startle at the curse that slips out of Jungkook’s mouth. He does not usually do that, like at all.

“What?” you ask back, looking at him curiously.

“I think I left my keyfob in the driver’s seat.”

Your jaw slacks. “Are you serious?”

”Hold on just a sec,” Jungkook tells you, taking a few strides over to his car. He pats his trousers again, but just like a few moments ago, he doesn’t seem to find anything.

You walk towards his direction as Jungkook lowers his head to look through the window of the driver’s seat, and when you stop by his side, he lets out a low cuss again.

You’ve never heard him say so many expletives in the entire time you’ve known him.

”It’s inside the car?”

Jungkook nods, and you can feel yourself starting to worry when he glances back at you, saying, “Did you have your phone with you or something?”

“N-no.” you’re flustered as you stare at him.

Jungkook looks like he expected that already. But he nods again, anyway, stepping back a little from the car.

”Any chance you know where we are?” He looks around, and at the very least you’re thankful that he seems cool and collected.

Because if you were not panicking already, you definitely are now.

“Not right now, no,” you shake your head. “You don’t have your phone with you either or something?”

“I didn’t take it with me when we went down to the shore.”

“So all our things are in there.” You realize as you stare inside his car.

Fuck. You remember exactly how the two of you agreed to leave all your stuff inside to avoid losing any of them at the beach, just in case.

“We’ll figure it out.” Says Jungkook as he rounds the car about. He checks his trunk and you see him poking his tongue through his cheek, visibly wincing afterwards. “We can’t access the seats through the trunk.”

Which means you can’t access the car in any way.

You’re cold and you’re frazzled as you try to process the trajectory of the events tonight.

“__,” Jungkook calls gently. You look at him wide-eyed. “Is it fine if we walk around for a bit until we find a telephone or something? I could do it but I don’t want to leave you alone here.”

“That’s fine.”

Jungkook might’ve seen how worried you are that he quickly goes to reassure you, “We got it. I’m really sorry for forgetting about my keys.”

At that, you quickly shake your head, feeling bad that he even had to tell you that.

“No, it’s fine. Not your fault. I should have reminded you about the door too…” you trail off because at the end of the day, you’re both stuck here because you forgot to pay attention to the important details.

Well, there goes your fun night. All going down the drain because you’re gonna be stuck.

You hope you do pass by a telephone booth or something, though.

Do they still even make those nowadays?

“It’s kind of a quiet part around this town, no?” Jungkook observes as he looks around while you both start walking.

You hum, but you remember something, “Wait, Kook, your car. What about it?” you look back in worry at the vehicle parked across the road.

“I’ll call a car locksmith once we get a phone. That okay?”

Jungkook’s voice is so gentle and sweet you’re honestly confused how he’s so calm about the situation while you’re thinking about so many different things in your head it’s like your body is separated from your mind as you try to match his walking pace.

It’s eerily quiet, and there are barely lamp posts around the area to illuminate your path.

You stay close to Jungkook, and somehow, he radiates a sort of warm heat that makes it bearable for you to walk for another few minutes.

“What’s on your mind?” Jungkook asks after awhile.

Since when did this country start running out of provision shops that are open for 24 hours? Why is it that suddenly, you can’t even see a sign of civilization?

Where the hell are you guys?

“Right now I’m thinking of ten ways we can both get killed but that’s not a big deal,” you say as you nibble on your bottom lip. Then you sigh. “I’m really, really, geographically challenged. Even Sol can’t figure out why I still hesitate sometimes if the pantry area is on the left or right side of the office and I’ve been in the company for over three years.” You take a deep breath again, looking at Jungkook with worried eyes. “Anyway, the point is… can you still remember where we came from? Because I unfortunately can’t help you with that.”

You send him an apologetic look, and you feel bad, you really do. But it’s not your fault that geography is not your forte! And it’s not your fault either they had no budget for lamp posts or random telephone booths.

Dwelling in that thought, you don’t notice Jungkook’s stricken expression for a moment at your sudden outburst of a confession, but soon he shakes his head, giving you a reassuring rub on your shoulder as he responds with, “I can still remember it, don’t worry.”

You almost let a sigh out of relief.

“Hey, it’s alright, hm? We’ll go home.” Jungkook says again when you don’t say anything.

You nod.

Well, that indeed feels reassuring.

You’re freaking out.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks.

“No— I’m fine. I just… my feet kind of hurt in these heels,” you finally reply.

You’d imagined a brief five‐minute walk before encountering a telephone, but every shop is closed and there’s nowhere to borrow a phone. After twenty minutes in your party heels – hardly designed for even a level walk – you’re paying the price.

Still, you try to keep your frustration at bay. You remind yourself there’s no point complaining now; it would only slow both of you down.

“Let’s rest for a bit,” Jungkook suddenly suggests. He stops by a curb, drops onto the concrete, and gestures for you to join him. You hesitate for a moment before walking over and sitting beside him. “I feel really bad,” he confesses, his eyes apologetically large.

“It’s not your fault, Kook, I promise,” you assure him, knowing deep down it isn’t his fault either. A sigh escapes him, a rare note of distress beyond the initial panic when you two discovered you’d been locked out of his car.

Before you can add more, Jungkook kneels in front of you, gently taking your legs and slipping off your heels. The sudden, yet thoughtful gesture brings immediate relief to your aching feet.

“T-thanks,” you say, slightly flustered.

In the midst of what could have been a disaster, having Jungkook here makes everything feel a bit more bearable.

A comfortable silence settles between you both until a sudden yawn reminds you just how exhausted you are.

“Tired?” Jungkook teases with a smile. You merely scrunch your nose, prompting a soft chuckle from him. “Let’s get going then. We’ll find something soon, hm?”

As you prepare to put your shoes back on, Jungkook retrieves them and positions himself so you can step onto his back.

“Hop on,” he instructs.

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Jungkook, it’s fine. I’m not gonna die from another two or three-minute-walk.”

But he simply tilts his head back with an arched brow. “You didn’t have a problem hopping on my back at the beach.”

“That was different,” you protest, though his expectant gaze leaves you little choice. “Well… if you insist,” you relent. “Thanks, Kook. My feet were killing me.”

Jungkook hoists you onto his back with ease, your arms looping around his shoulders.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you murmur, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Stronger than you look.”

He snorts. “I’ll pretend that’s a compliment.”

You smile, letting your eyes close for a second. The night air is cool, the road still and quiet beneath his steady footsteps.

After a beat, you say, “If we die out here, I hope someone puts cute flowers on our grave, at least.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice… put that on my tombstone: Died in heels. Looked hot doing it.”

Your laugh is cut off when you see a flickering neon glow amongst the trees, cutting through the dark.

“Wait— look.”

Jungkook stops. “Is that…?”He starts walking faster, adjusting your weight. “That’s a motel sign.”

Sure enough, the closer you get, the clearer it is: a MOTEL sign blinking in faded colors, the word Vacancy lit underneath.

Jungkook lowers you gently to the ground, and you thought that’d be the end of it but he helps you with your heels again even though you didn’t say anything.

When you’re steady on your feet, you both stare at the building.

It’s shabby, a little creepy, but real.

“You think they’ll have a phone?” you ask.

“Let’s go inside?”

You give him a tight-lipped smile.

The dingy bell above the motel door jingles weakly as Jungkook pushes it open. You step in behind him, the heavy scent of air freshener mixed with something… older… instantly hitting your nose.

The lobby is small and tired-looking, lit by a flickering overhead light and a dusty lamp on the counter. Behind it sits a woman slouched over the desk, scrolling on her phone with a bored expression. She glances up once, before returning to whatever she’s doing.

“Hi,” Jungkook starts politely. “Uh… would it be okay if we borrowed your phone for a quick call? We’re kind of stuck out here.”

The woman barely moves her jaw as she responds. “Phones are for customers only.”

You and Jungkook exchange a look. Of course.

“Okay,” he says after a beat, managing a polite smile. “Then we’ll take a room.”

She finally straightens a little and reaches under the desk. “Only one room left,” she says as she pulls out a large, clunky registration book. “Two-oh-nine. Queen bed.”

You blink. “Just one?”

She shrugs, clearly not interested in your dilemma. “You want it or not?”

“We’ll take it,” he says quickly. “I’ll just make a quick call to wire you the money?”

The woman glares at him suspiciously. Then she glances at you again, brows furrowing. You try to look inconspicuous, sticking behind Jungkook slightly. He wraps an arm around your waist.

Then, the attendant boredly shakes her head.

“Whatever. Make your calls.”

You try not to look as awkward as you feel when she slides the key across the counter with chipped blue nail polish.

“Second floor. Stairs are on the left.”

With that, she’s back on her phone like you never existed.

You and Jungkook stand there for a second, key in hand, the silence between you suddenly a little too loud. You look at each other for awhile, and then wordlessly, you both head towards where the staircase is.

It creaks, the wooden material of the treads. But you both ignore that as you make your way up.

It’s not too hard to spot Room 209, as it’s just quite literally on the next two doors to your right as soon as you step on the landing.

The door creaks loudly when Jungkook unlocks the door and pushes it open.

When you both step inside, you pause immediately.

“Oh,” you both say at the same time.

The room is… something.

Faded floral wallpaper peels in the corners, and a single overhead light casts a yellowish glow over the queen-sized bed with mismatched sheets. There’s a clunky TV mounted to the wall, an old nightstand, and a mysterious stain on the carpet near the window that neither of you want to acknowledge.

You slowly turn your head toward Jungkook just as he turns to look at you.

”You can take the bed. I’ll take—” A quick scan in the room as you both step inside further tells a quick discovery that a couch is very much absent. “I’ll take the floor.” Jungkook finishes.

You’re too occupied with the state of the room that you don’t really say anything to that.

“You can take a shower first. I’ll just use the phone,” At that, you look to the other side of the room and find another door that presumably leads to the bathroom, and you almost let out a sigh of relief. At least they have a bathroom. “Lock the door for awhile. I’ll come back in three.”

He gives you the key which you take in your hand. When Jungkook disappears, the soles of his shoes making a sound down the stairs, you make another discovery again that the walls are very thin.

Yep. You have definitely been teleported to a movie in which you have no clue what the genre is yet. It might be a rom-com, but you’re more sure that it’s horror.

”Oh god,” you groan as you navigate the room.

Jungkook can’t possibly sleep on the floor! You bet he’s never done that before but even if that was the case, that would just be a cruel thing to do especially when the bed looks like it could fit the two of you just fine.

But the thought of sleeping with him again makes the heat crawl up your cheeks. You remember the last time you did it – not exactly how and why it even happened – but you remember that brief feeling of being pressed against his warm chest and feeling him all over you. Almost all of him, in fact.

“Shut up.” you verbally tell yourself and roll your eyes, heading to the bathroom.

You go straight to the shower, strip your clothes off and grimace as soon as the cold water hits your skin. You didn’t really expect the motel to have hot water, anyway, but you do still agonize it as you clean up your body anyway, forgoing the suspicious bar of soap on the side.

You finish quickly, not really wanting to stay that long in the bathroom.

There’s a clean looking robe that you wrap your body with before you pull open the door. And there Jungkook is, standing right in front of you, seemingly waiting. He’s also shirtless, because he’s handing you his shirt for some reason.

“I called a locksmith already and they said they’re towing my car here in an hour and a half. That’d be 4 am by then, so we’ll probably be asleep. And I’m thinking you wouldn’t be comfortable in your dress, so feel free to wear this for the meantime.”

“Oh,” you give him a grateful smile, taking his shirt. “Thank you. That’s really nice of you to think.”

“No problem.”

Jungkook walks inside the bathroom and you unintentionally admire his muscular back before he completely disappears on you.

You make quick work of patting yourself dry and putting on your panties and Jungkook’s shirt, feeling your cheeks heat up a little at the familiar scent.

As you make the bed half-heartedly, you try not to think too much about how you’re gonna invite him beside you – but it keeps messing with your head because now you’re thinking about cuddling him and it’s totally unnecessary and inappropriate.

At one point, you let yourself fall on the mattress dramatically, burying your face in the pillows and lying still.

“__?”

You lay flat on the bed completely motionless, brainstorming how to approach the situation.

You really can’t let Jungkook sleep on the floor. There’s not even that much of a bedding on the bed, let alone some sheets! And there are only three pillows for Christ’s sake!

You’ve drowned out your environment at that point that you guess you didn’t hear the shower shut close and the feet padding the floor, because when you crane your neck around, there Jungkook is.

And again, he is without a shirt.

And without pants.

And you’re mostly certain it’s his penis right there in between his thighs.

”Oh my god!”

”__, what the hell!”

“Jungkook, that’s your penis!”

“What? Turn around and don’t look!” Jungkook says wide-eyed, attempting to cover his dick with his two hands. But it’s too late now because you’ve just seen it and there’s no way to blur it out in your head.

“But I already saw it!” you cry, seeing different momentary emotions flash on Jungkook’s face.

“I was calling for you because the towel is in the cabinet but I thought you got knocked out from exhaustion and so I decided I was just gonna sneak in!” Jungkook explains frantically, and you can see his ears turning red from where you are as he tries to seemingly cover all of him, quite poorly might you add.

You stutter, “W-what do you mean knocked out, of course I’m awake!”

“I called you thrice, and you didn’t— okay. Okay. Just turn around, please, so I can get the towel.”

“Okay!” You bite your lip and almost snap your neck as you turn around swiftly, landing your eyes on the torn portion of the wallpaper in the room. “Oh my god…” You whisper to yourself as you hear shuffling from behind you, and if it was not any more obvious, you're about to burst in embarrassment. “What the fuck,” you hiss, trying not to physically shake your head to erase the image of Jungkook’s very naked body that keeps flashing in your head.

It seems like he picks up on it.

“Can you not sound so mortified?”

And for the first time in your life, there’s a tone to Jungkook’s voice that sounds genuinely annoyed.

You slap both your palms to your face. “Well, I’m sorry! I just saw your— your thing! how am I supposed to react to that? It’s embarrassing!”

“My penis is embarrassing?” Jungkook incredulously says.

You wish your mind worked faster than your mouth, but unfortunately, it doesn't. And you should’ve known that already, because it has gotten you in a lot of trouble all this time.

“No! Your penis is fine! It’s wonderful! I’m embarrassed, that’s what I meant.”

There was no way to take that back, because the silence that follows is too loud that at this point, you hope the building burns to fuck so Jungkook can forget about what you said and maybe all about you too while you’re at it.

“… okay.” you hear Jungkook’s unsure voice.

You groan. “Can I turn around now?”

“You can.”

Thankfully, Jungkook has his pants on now. You try to see past his bottom half but the upper part is no help at all because you're wearing his shirt and there’s no way you’re giving it back to him so he’s naked, again.

Jungkook cocks his head to the side. He looks at you curiously, then he shakes his head.

“If anything, I should be the one embarrassed here, not you,” he says as he walks by the edge of the bed.

“Well…” you watch him, following his figure. “I was speaking for both of us. You’re embarrassed about having your thing get seen by me and I’m embarrassed for seeing it.”

Jungkook pauses.

“That is definitely not offensive.”

You’re about to release a sigh of relief when you realize that was him being sarcastic.

You eye him apologetically. “Oh, Jungkook, how was I supposed to react? Your one-eyed monster just stared right at me. I had to scream.”

“My… what?” he incredulously says, seemingly just getting more and more confused the more the conversation gets going.

You remember your promise to yourself to stop calling penis weird names so you shake your head.

“I didn’t say that, actually,” you try to give him your sweetest smile but you’re sure you just look constipated. You sigh, shoulders deflating. “Jungkook, I think it would really benefit the two of us if you stop me from speaking sometimes.”

“Okay I get it,” Jungkook raises his hands, shrugging. “You’re mortified about seeing my dick.” He says and you swear he sounds a little defensive.

“What? No!” you quickly deny. “I’m not mortified about seeing your dick, I’m mortified about having to see it in the situation…!” When Jungkook doesn’t say anything, you let out a loud sigh again, eyeing him helplessly as you quietly accept that nothing is coming out right.

In defeat, you let your bum fall on the mattress and cross your arms as Jungkook finishes his make-shift bed on the floor.

“… well you would actually also scream if the situation was reversed, so.” You tell him as a matter of fact.

Jungkook stops on his tracks and turns to you. “You mean if I saw you naked?”

“Well, yes.”

You hear him scoff a little, prompting your brows to raise.

“Trust me, I’ll have an entirely different reaction if I saw you naked.”

He takes the spare sheet on the edge of the bed, laying it on the floor as your arms unconsciously drop to your sides once you register Jungkook’s words, jaw slacking at the realization. Before you can say anything to that, Jungkook’s already laying down on the floor and getting comfortable.

“You know what, you’re so full of lines it’s ridiculous.” you say and indignantly lay on the bed, staring angrily at the ceiling.

But you remember he doesn’t even have pillows. So you make quick work of taking the two under your head. “Here.” You pass him the pillows without looking at him.

You’re not even mad mad, you’re just… ugh! Jungkook frustrates you with his stupid lines and you don’t even know if he’s serious or not or you’re just way too self-centered that everything he says feels like flattery to you.

“What do you mean I’m full of lines?” Jungkook asks from below you.

“Come on, you always flirt with me.”

Suddenly, you hear a chuckle, making you instantly crane your neck to the side.

“Do you have a problem with it?” Jungkook says, and he has the audacity to sound playful.

You nibble your bottom lip. You could make up a lie, but you find yourself not wanting to. Besides… it doesn’t realy matter if you tell him the truth.

“No. You just make me so…” you trail off, not knowing what to say next. Maybe you didn’t really have anything in mind.

You hear Jungkook chuckling again at your prolonged silence.

“So…?” You can just see him cocking his head to the side with that charming smile of his.

“Nevermind.”

“That’s not fair,” he calls out, but there’s still a hint of smile that you can hear in his voice. “I still feel embarrassed that you felt mortified about seeing my—“

”Oh my god, don’t say it.” you quickly cut him off.

He laughs. A hearty, full laugh. “Sorry.”

“I’m not scared of your dick, okay? Stop saying that,” you say, cheeks heating. You bury your face further in the pillow as if it would teleport you to a place away from Jungkook. “I actually think—“ you cut yourself immediately when you catch what you’re actually thinking.

“What?” he sounds intrigued, and you’re really grateful that he can’t see you right now because you’re definitely banging your face in the pillow again.

While it is true that you got scared for a split second, it was only because of the shock of it all. But once you were past that, fear is definitely the last thing you feel about seeing his… thing, if you’re being honest to yourself.

“I think that it’s time to sleep now.” You settle for that, nodding your head to yourself and mentally patting your back for the successful change of subject.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.”

“Alright.”

You bite back a smile. “Night.”

“You too.”

You hear a little bit of shuffling from below you, and you try to get comfortable as well on the mattress.

When a few minutes passed, you find yourself unable to close your eyes, staring at the dark scenery behind the curtain of the one and only window in the room. You peek at the alarm clock perched on the bedside table, noting it’s already four am.

You’re used to a fucked sleeping schedule so it’s not a surprise to you that you don’t feel an ounce of sleep at this point. Thank god it’s Sunday tomorrow and you have no work.

Is Jungkook asleep already, though?

You move around the bed and gingerly roll yourself over to look at Jungkook. When you finally see him, he has one arm under his head while the other is draped across his bare stomach, eyes closed. There’s no extra sheet so you both have to deal with the cold from the breeze outside. Maybe it’s a good thing the AC’s not working, because you both will surely freeze to death.

“Can’t sleep?”

You nearly topple over when you hear Jungkook’s voice.

“You scared me,” you hiss. Jungkook laughs, but still, his eyes don’t open.

“Gotcha.” his words may be playful but you realize he actually does sound a little tired.

You’re quiet for a moment as you look at him. The floorboards must probably be hurting him, and if not right now, it surely will in the next hours.

“Kook?” He only hums. “Do you wanna share the bed?” you say, looking at him in concern.

“It’s alright.” Jungkook says gently.

“No, it’s fine really. And we can also share that sheet anyway if we both sleep here instead.”

Finally, Jungkook opens his eyes, meeting yours. “You sure?” You nod your head certainly. He gives you a smile. ”Okay.”

He gets off the floor, bringing the sheet and pillows with him as he stands up. You try to ignore the way your stomach curls at the sight of him: shirtless and only in his trousers, but it becomes more difficult when he gets closer, knees dipping into the mattress and scent overwhelming you.

He smells like the perfume you assume he wears for work, and goddamn does it stay and good god does it make you think of a lot of things.

Scooting to the side, you hug one pillow closer to you as you give him space. It’s not a tight fit, but it’s not spacious, either.

“You’re gonna fall off the bed at this point,” Jungkook says suddenly, and you realize you’re near the edge by your constant ruffling.

Giving him a sheepish smile, you adjust your position just as he lays on his back.

Your shoulders touch, and he feels closer than ever.

You swallow the lump in your throat before you turn around with your back facing him, curling to yourself as you barely whisper, “Good night, Jungkook.”

A beat. Then, “Sweet dreams, __.”

Minutes pass, and you’ve been trying to shut your eyes close so sleep can come visit you, but it doesn’t. You’re trying so hard not to press any closer in the fear of suddenly wanting to cuddle up to him and having your resolve get broken down.

“Hey,” Your heart jumps at Jungkook’s husky tone. But you hum in response, still your back on him. There’s a pregnant pause before he speaks. “What I said last time at your place, we never really talked about it again.”

Your heart picks up, knowing exactly where he’s getting at.

It’s been about four days, and none of you haven’t brought it up ever since.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Your heart gets caught up in your throat. “Kook…”

“I’m completely fine just being friends with you, if that’s what you want.” Jungkook says, and every word that he says is starting to feel like a punch to the gut. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want you to think that my friendship has an ulterior motive—”

“Jungkook?”

You feel Jungkook physically freeze when you turn around to look at him. He’s there lying on his back with an arm under his neck, and for now, you ignore the very obvious lines of ripped muscles on his stomach and arms. For now, you try not to think too much about how his chest looks so inviting like it’s begging to be cuddled into.

“Yes?” He levels you with curious doe eyes, a little tense.

“Shut up.” You tell him gently. His mouth parts, completely unexpecting that.

You adjust your position on the bed until your elbow is pressing hard onto the mattress, supporting your weight. Tucking a strand of hair that falls over your face, you look into his eyes as you add, “I don’t wanna be just friends with you.”

Surprise makes its way onto his expression, and you try to drown out the way your heart beats erratically against your ribcage.

When he doesn’t say anything, you let yourself fall on the bed ungracefully, turning your back on him, suddenly feeling embarrassed for your mini outburst.

But then a few seconds later, and you hear a bit of shuffling behind you. Then, there’s a breath that fans across your neck, and you feel a warm presence all over your back.

“This is okay, then?” Jungkook whispers against your hair, so close to the junction between your neck and shoulder. You could see from your periphery the way his inked arm hovers over your waist, and you find yourself yearning for him to just drop it and press you closer against him.

And so you decide to throw your inhibitions away and think fuck it. What’s there to think about?

You scoot closer to him until you feel all of him against your back.

Without knowing why, you feel a smile on Jungkook’s lips as he softly says, “You’re killing me here.”

When you look over your shoulder, there Jungkook is, meeting your stare instantly as if his eyes had been on you the whole time. And maybe it’s the magnetic pull you’ve felt ever since you stepped on that beach and felt and seen each other’s bare skin pressed so close against one another – teasing your feet over the lines you two have been blurring out ever since that night at his place when you got drunk and you shared a rather intimate moment that left you both hanging to a questionable push and pull situation.

But you choose to push this time; against the whirling thoughts in your head about what this would mean in the future.

You adjust yourself once again; lean a little close, and then kiss Jeon Jungkook.

And it doesn’t really surprise you that much when he kisses back.

You’ve thought about how he would taste like ever since that night it almost happened and kept yourself in denial for days. You’ve played the oblivious game as a defense mechanism for some fear you know you just conjured up in your brain – but tonight feels electric. Like the night built up just for this exact moment to come; with your lips pressed against Jungkook’s.

You hear a sigh escaping him, a deep timbre that sends shivers down your spine.

And when Jungkook nudges his tongue against your lips, you open your mouth to let him in.

You let out a soft whimper when Jungkook’s tongue starts exploring your mouth, beginning to feel lightheaded as he leans more of him towards you. His hands start wandering, and what was once hovering over you is now on your waist, fingers pulling up the hem of his polo shirt until you’re exposed down to your legs with only a pair of underwear to keep you decent. It travels down to your outer thigh, with Jungkook brushing a calloused hand against the soft flesh – and you can’t help but moan when he squeezes, especially paired with a skillful tongue that works its ways in your mouth like he’s trying to tell you something he’s desperate for you to know.

It’s how you find yourself pushing on his chest, effectively halting Jungkook’s ministrations.

“Wh—” you cut him off with another searing kiss, and you don’t let him say any more as you boldly straddle his waist, unintentionally settling down on his crotch where you feel a bulge against your thin underwear.

And oh god. Earlier when you saw it with your bare eyes, you had to convince yourself that it was just the shock that made it seem so… big. But feeling it right now tells the same story.

You both moan in unison, with Jungkook’s hands instinctively going to grab your waist, pressing you against him harder.

As you do an experimental roll of your hips, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan that makes your body tingle with want. His hands tighten their hold on your waist, and the next thing you know, he’s flipping you on your back in one swift motion. He presses his knee to your covered core, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the delicious friction of something hard against your clit.

“Ah…” you tilt your head to the side when Jungkook begins peppering kisses on the side of your mouth, down to your jaw; nipping and nibbling. “Oh, Jungkook,”

“Fuck, baby,” The nickname slips past his lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you watch as Jungkook kisses his way down your cleavage, made easily accessible by the undone top buttons of your shirt. He noses along the line of your bra, leaves butterfly kisses on his path. “Baby…”

“Jungkook– please…”

Suddenly, he looks up at you, eyes hooded with what you can only identify as lust. “Do you want this?” he husks out.

You don’t even have to think about it, a “Yes” escaping your lips just right after his question drops. “I want this. So bad.”

“Goddamn it,” He hisses, diving into your chest and taking in a huge inhale in the swell of your breasts. You feel lightheaded, brain hazy and not thinking about anything else but his hands all over you and the hard evidence of his mutual want pressing against your abdomen.

Until he breaks away.

Perplexed, you look at him with questioning eyes.

“Listen, angel,” Jungkook inhales a sharp breath, gaze dropping onto your lips. “I want nothing but to strip you off these clothes and show you how much I want you right now—” your mouth parts when he presses his hips against yours, his hand squeezing your rib, sitting dangerously close to your breast. “but I don’t want us to have sex for the first time in this… motel room. And I don’t have a condom with me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Jungkook looks defeated, like it physically pained him to even admit that to you; face settling in a deep scowl.

You look around… and honestly, you get it.

You turn to look at him and then let your hands slowly wander across his chest as you sigh deeply.

“You’re right.” You nibble on your bottom lip as you brush past his nipples, noting the way his biceps flex at the touch. “It’s a shame.”

“__…” It sounded like a gentle warning, the way Jungkook spoke your name.

But you don’t let it deter your hands from traveling down south, ignoring his sudden heavy breaths on top of you when your finger stops at his zipper.

You look at him again, meeting his stare.

“Can we just do something else, then?” You blink meekly. And you watch as his mouth parts when your hand slowly rubs the hard-on he’s sporting in his pants. He’s so big, and so heavy. You wonder how it’d look like in your hand. “You’re so hard.”

But Jungkook takes your wrist, effectively stopping you from palming him.

You immediately frown, about to say something when Jungkook drowns it out with a hot kiss.

His tongue dances against yours in a fervid motion, knocking you out of breath, completely unexpecting the passion he puts into the kiss.

But you don’t mind one bit, not when he begins kissing his way down your jaw, the column of your neck, until his hands skirt along your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” Jungkook asks, already fiddling with the buttons. You nod unabashedly, body anticipating with want.

He makes quick work of the button down until all it reveals is you in your bra and panties. Jungkook takes a sharp breath and hones in on your tattoo once again.

“Gorgeous,” he breathes, and he sounds so mesmerized you don’t even know what to say. He traces the ink along your rib with light kisses that make you squirm. “This okay?”

He looks up at you, and you swore you never saw a man this beautiful on top of you in your whole life.

“Hmm.”

Suddenly, you hear a click, and you watch as your bra loosens with Jungkook taking it off you completely. Breasts spilling out from the confines, you both moan when Jungkook squeezes them in his palms.

“Absolutely beautiful– fuck.” He flicks your nipples, pinches them in his fingers until they’re tight and peaked. He lowers his head to kiss around the swell of your breast, nipping around the skin until he furthers down, breath ghosting along your hips.

You moan and grab at his shoulders at the tentative touch of his finger over your core, pushing your head back when he presses his thumb right where your nub is.

“Can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting to do this,” Jungkook rasps, continuing to rub his thumb over your clothed core. You can feel your wetness starting to seep through, hands clutching his shoulders tighter by the second.

“Y-yeah?”

“Hm. You’ve been teasing me all night long.”

Jungkook hooks his fingers over the waistband of your panties, and in an absurdly, ridiculously slow motion, peels the flimsy fabric right off your legs.

You bite your lip. “How’d you say so?”

There’s a small tilt to Jungkook’s lips that you see before he lowers his head to press a kiss on your inner thigh. When you squirm, he tightens his grip, looks up at you and holds an intense gaze as he slowly licks a bold stripe across your slit.

You feel a gush of wetness coming out just as you feel a tingle in your groin, words getting caught in your tongue when you watch Jungkook zero in on your pussy.

“You in that goddamn dress made me almost malfunction at the rooftop,” he chuckles, kissing your clit. “Showing me your tattoo, suggesting to swim in our underwear. You know, I think you know exactly what you do to me.”

You inhale a sharp breath when you see him wetting one of his fingers in his mouth. It’s sinful the way he looks at you as he slowly dips it in your aching entrance, watching the way your mouth parts in an obscene o-shape.

“I-I don’t.” you deny, hands finding the rumpled sheets and gripping them tight at the anticipation of what he’s going to do next.

But Jungkook just chuckles; a dark, rich sound. And it’s the first time you hear something like that from him. Almost ominous, sinister. It excites you.

“Hm, I don’t think so. But it’s okay. I’ll let it slide for now,” He kisses your thigh again, teasing. “What do you want, baby? Let me take care of you and this wet pussy. So gorgeous, just like the rest of you.”

“Your mouth,” you say with no hesitation, “and your fingers.” You bite your lip, thinking about it before you throw out a small, “Please.”

Jungkook chuckles, leaning in so he could press a kiss on your mound. That evokes a shiver from you, legs jumping with equal need and want.

“Greedy and polite,” He grips your thighs, “I like that.”

“Jung—”

“Stay still now, baby.” He says before separating your glistening folds with his fingers and diving right in.

It tears out a cry from your vocal chords, the way he swirls his tongue around your clit and kisses around the crevice of your heat like he’s making out with it. His grunts and moans, along with the sloppy sounds of your slick is so lewd to the ears you’re almost certain the people on the other side of the room could hear it if they weren’t asleep – but you find you don’t really care if they could, because Jungkook is licking you clean like his life depended on it.

“Ah– fuck, feels so good– p-please…”

“Hm?” His hum vibrates in your pussy that rips a moan from you, hands grabbing at his head in panic at the pleasure.

Warm hands smooth up your thighs to pin them down again, preventing you from squirming too much. Now you’re immobile in his hold, panting at the sensation of him enveloping your clit and giving it a harsh suck that causes your hips to buck against his face. At that jerky movement from you, Jungkook splays his hand on your stomach, and you fall back down with a thump and a pleasurable cry.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He whispers in a raspy tone. He does give you an apologetic kiss on the mound, even giving a slow lick from your hole and dipping inside for a brief, solid second before he returns to your clit, putting it in a hot suction in his mouth again, causing a sharp moan to escape past your lips. “I love the pretty sounds you make for me, pretty girl. Keep that up for me, yeah?”

You whimper, nodding feverishly and grabbing at his hair tightly when he starts rubbing his thumb on your clit again, watching him lightheaded as he focuses on spreading the slick all over your pussy. Slowly, he dips in his ring finger in your aching hole, satisfying the emptiness you’ve long felt with his thick digit.

When you look down, you catch Jungkook staring at you while he digs deeper, and you hold his gaze until he’s knuckles deep; mouth parting at how unbelievably full you already feel with just a finger.

He begins sliding it out, but it’s not long until he’s putting it again and repeating the manner in a stroke that progresses its pace by the second.

“Jungkook– shit,” you moan, thrashing underneath him. “F-fuck. I can’t– baby– fuck—”

“Hm?” he quickens his pace, enjoying the way more slick oozes out from your pussy at his lewd ministrations.

“M-more. I want more– oh my god,”

And he doesn’t need to get told twice because as soon as you mention it, he adds in his middle finger, stroking your inner walls like it’s a job he doesn’t play about.

“So pretty. Wanna make you cum,” he breaks eye contact in favor of enveloping your clit in his mouth again.

This time, Jungkook emphasizes his sentiment by putting more enthusiasm in the way he licks you; messy and sloppy than before. He retracts his fingers from your pussy, and you’re about to reprimand him but your words die on your tongue when he only uses his fingers to keep your folds open to dip his tongue in your sopping hole, drawing eights in your inner walls that have you almost seeing stars.

His other hand that was once pinning you down against the rumpled sheets is now on your clit, rubbing it while he eats you feverishly like it’s his last meal.

Your eyes flutter shut at the overwhelming sensation of his tongue and mouth and fingers – hands pushing his head down unintentionally and moaning uncontrollably. Jungkook’s nose brushes against your clit as he devours your pussy, keeping his pace steady until pleasure coils in the pit of your belly.

Jungkook seems to notice that, as he once again slips his fingers in you, curling it so deep and expertly finding that sweet spot inside you it makes your toes curl at your impending orgasm.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,”

“Yeah?” He murmurs against you, swirling his tongue around your clit in frantic circles. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me, baby? Hm?”

“Yes– yes, yes!” You cry. “Don’t stop please, don’t stop,”

“I know… you can cum for me, angel. So gorgeous. Such a good girl…” Jungkook keeps his pace steady, doubling his efforts until he feels you thrashing wildly he couldn’t really keep you down.

“Jungkook—!”

The coil snaps in the pit of your stomach, vision going white at the orgasm that hits you like a ten-wheeler truck.

“Good girl,” Jungkook murmurs, riding out the waves of your pleasure by slowing down his strokes this time, your walls clenching around his fingers, still spasming.

When you whine, he unsheathes his fingers from your tight walls. You watch as he lowers his head down to dive in you once again, feeling even more boneless when you hear a shameless slurp that comes from him licking you clean.

You feel tired, sleepy, but happy all at once; your throat feeling absolutely dry from all the moaning you did earlier. Nonetheless, you smile as Jungkook looks up at you again – feeling suddenly shy when you see the slick that covers up his chin.

“Feelin’ good?” He says, grinning.

You roll your eyes that earns you a chuckle from him.

Jungkook slowly returns to you with kisses to your hips, up to your stomach; to your tattoo, the swell of your breasts, and then your sternum before you wrap your arms around his shoulders, craning your neck when his lips slowly ascend there.

“I feel tired,” you say, revelling in the kisses Jungkook plants on the base of your neck. “You might have broken me, mister.”

He chuckles against your jaw, playfully nipping then kissing the spot.

“Hm. I hope not. I’d feel really bad.”

A giggle slips past you, and you welcome Jungkook’s lips when he kisses your mouth, tongue dipping in immediately.

Suddenly, you feel his very obvious erection against your stomach, making you break away from the kiss.

Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows.

You cup his face, biting your lip as you glance down. “What about you?”

It takes Jungkook a while to get what you meant as he directs his gaze down to where your eyes are. Then he looks at you again, chuckling, “Don’t worry, I’ll manage.” You frown. Jungkook erases your pout with a kiss. “Come on, I’ll clean you up and we’ll sleep right after. Sounds good?”

“Okay.” you give him a smile. Jungkook pecks you on the cheek before he stands up from the bed with grace that you know you cannot pull off after doing the deed.

“I’ll take this.” he picks up your shirt and gestures to the other side of the room.

You feel like every bone in your body had been liquefied, feeling absolutely nothing but pleasurable ache in between your thighs as you lay on your side, admiring Jungkook’s back as he disappears into the bathroom.

It’s not long before he returns with a dampened portion of the polo shirt, and you swear you had to tell every part of you to say nothing as he tells you to open up and use the shirt to clean you up.

You’re a heated mess when Jungkook comes back to bed, but you both don’t really say anything and let the comfortable silence hang in the air as you curl to your side with Jungkook sidling up against your back.

In a bout of sudden braveness, you take his arm and wrap it around you. He wastes no time and pushes you closer to him, burying his head in your hair.

“It’s almost morning…” you whisper as you take a peak of the window, finding a much lighter shade on the background compared to the pitch black night sky you walked in earlier.

Jungkook hums. “It’s almost 5. I’ll set an alarm at 8 and we’ll check out.”

You’re too sleepy to function at that point, couldn’t fight the drowsiness of sleep that pushes against your eyelids.

All you remember is a light kiss against your hair and Jungkook tightening his arm around you before you completely drift off to sleep.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #p; writing #fic: nb #awrkive

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noctiva · 2 months ago

Text

Seeking An Immediate Response

X-Virus x F!Reader [NSFW!]

WC: 17.4k

Summary: As a college student struggling to make ends meet, an ad for a medical trial in your local newspaper promising big bucks for minimal work seems like a sign from heaven. Maybe, you should’ve read the fine print.

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, CNC I guess??, mentions of noncon, dead dove very dead dove, use of needles and medical tools, aphrodisiacs, spit and drool, medical kink? I guess? Is there a word for that?, overstimulation, wet and messy, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male receiving), sort of kind of mocking, degradation, slight dummification, unsafe sex, hair pulling, kind of rough handling, misuse of medical equipment, coercion, dacryphilia, power dynamics, dom/sub undertones, kidnapping, again - DEAD DOVE. THE DOVE IS DEAD!!!! don’t come at me I don’t wanna hear it

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

‘Wanted: A willing participant to partake in a trial run of a drug soon to hit the market.

Driving expenses will not be covered, but any adverse reactions will be compensated for - as well as a payment of $1000 USD for every day the participant is active in the trial.

If interested, or for any further questions, contact at the email below.

Seeking an immediate response.’

You skimmed over those words for what felt like a million times over. Sat hunched over your kitchen table, the waxy feel of the newspaper you held slipped against your fingers. Your coffee cup has been abandoned, steam long dissipated, a wrinkle in your brow as your eyes traced over the letters before you yet another time.

It just didn’t seem real. Didn’t seem plausible. You had heard of instances like this before - partaking in some lab trial to earn a hefty chunk of change. Hell, your old roommate had even done it herself, spending a week at a lab getting poked and prodded at, just to return a couple hundred dollars richer.

But this? Your eyes are wide as they hone in on the dollar amount. One thousand dollars a day? Was that a typo? Or was it just a scam designed to easily lure in people like you?

People who were currently eating plain, dry bread for breakfast, because most of the weight of your paycheck had gone into student loans. It was easy for you to see the payout offered and immediately go slack jawed, a half-chewed bite of bread falling out of your mouth and hitting your dining table. If you participated for just one single day it would be enough to lift a pretty heavy weight off of your shoulders. If you participated for more than that (a week’s worth of that kind of money almost made you feel dizzy) maybe you’d actually be able to go eat out at a restaurant for once. Maybe, you’d be able to buy a brand new pair of jeans, instead of sewing up reoccurring holes in your old ones.

It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Something that seemed as if it was written just for you. Too good to be true, almost.

’A trial run for a drug soon to hit the market’. You purse your lips together. ‘Any adverse reactions will be compensated for.’ There weren’t a whole lot of details. In fact, there was really barely any. No name of the drug, no expected duration of the trial, no location or name of the company that was supposedly conducting this entire program. Just a small wall of text, barely more than a paragraph, but words picked out just meticulously to entice.

It seemed horribly sketchy. Barely any ounce of trustworthiness encoded within those words. It was almost like a taunt. Who’s going to be stupid enough to agree? Who’s desperate enough to turn a blind eye towards the jarring inconsistencies?

You. You were.

You could feel it in your bones. Taste it on your tongue. That desperation that was clawing its way up out of your chest, nearly drooling at this opportunity - dangling money over your head like you were dog on a leash too tight. It made your fingers itch, twitching and jolting with the desire to race over to your laptop and send an email as quickly as you could.

You were smarter than this. You knew you were. But desperation is the ultimate demoralizer. So, despite the clear danger, you find yourself rationalizing.

Maybe, the only couldn’t give the name of the drug due to copyright purposes.

Maybe, they didn’t name themselves because they’re too big of a company. Wanting to retain anonymity in order to not sway responses.

Maybe, that’s the same reason they didn’t give the location of the study right away.

They’d probably answer all of your questions, if you just shot them a message.

Besides, what was the harm in just… Asking? All you needed to do was satiate your curiosity a little bit. Give it a morsel to pick at, so that it wasn’t left to scratch at the bars of your mind - leaving you shaking where you sat. You don’t even know how long you just sat there, your coffee cooling beside you and your lacklustre breakfast all but completely forgotten about. Long enough for you to memorize the ad complete, having read over the words so many times that your eyes started to feel dry. You don’t even know if you’ve blinked. Breathed. Absolutely shellshocked by what the universe had decided to present you with today.

Was this fate? It had to be. Maybe, god had seen you struggling, and decided to extend a hand out towards you. All you had to do, was take it.

You don’t message back right away. You fold the newspaper back up on your kitchen table, pour out your freezing cup of coffee into the sink, and do your dishes. You walk back to your room, go through your closet, and find a comfortable outfit to wear for your classes that day. Brush teeth, brush hair, make sure you have a pair of headphones in your bag before you leave. Going through the motions of the day, actions that you’ve repeated so many times that you feel as if you’re on autopilot.

On a normal day, but today its increased tenfold. You barely even feel mentally present as you tug a pair of jeans over your hips, eyes far away and foggy as you stare blankly at yourself in the bathroom mirror while brushing your teeth. You just couldn’t stop thinking about it. At the vagueness of that message. Of the opportunities you’d be presented with if you went ahead and did it.

On your walk to class you’re doing math in your head of how much wiggle room you’d be left with if you sent half of the money over to paying for your schooling. Maybe, you could just keep all of it and continue sending over your paychecks instead. Maybe, if you kept finding listings like this you could just… Quit.

In class, you’re worse. Your professors words aren’t even reaching your ears. Just a monotonous drone that barely even sounds like the English language as you sit stewing in your thoughts. Maybe you could buy that nice sweater you saw when you were out window shopping last week. It was only $100 - that was barely a dent. You could fill your cart at the grocery store too! Fill it to the brim with items you’ve had to pass up on time and time again because they just didn’t make it into the budget. Fresh meats, ice cream, the good bread that’s nice and fluffy instead of stale before you even get it out of the bag.

By the time your classes are over for the day, you’ve all but convinced yourself. It’s just hard not to. Not to think about how much better your life would be if you participated. How quickly your quality of life would raise just but barely lifting a finger.

When your old roommate did it, all she had to do was let herself get pricked with a needle once and she was rolling in cash. You could only assume it would be a similar situation for you, and the idea of that is pretty much the definition of enticing. Free money. You’re being offered free money. And a lot more than you had seen other people make from something like this in the past.

Maybe there’s a reason for that. Maybe the risk is higher.

Regardless, you’re pulling your laptop out of your bag mere minutes after stepping back through the front door of your apartment. Kicking off your shoes lazily, you scurry over to your couch with such urgency that you nearly trip over your rug. But, you make it, stanching the newspaper off of the kitchen table where you left it before you flop down onto the worn cushions. With your laptop perched in your lap, your flip the paper back open to the page where you had first seen the ad. Right at the back, squished in with a whole bunch of other advertisements that had paid to be there. So unassuming. No pictures, or logos, just text. Easily skipped over.

But not by you. You’re typing up an email in record time, eyeing the email address printed to make sure you get it correct.

’To whom it may concern,

I came across your listing for a medical trial in my newspaper, and I’m very interested in participating.

Could I ask for a few more details? Are there any specific requirements for being in the trial? What sort of drug is it? Any known side effects?

And, who are you exactly? A research company, or is this a university study?

Regardless, I’m interested. I could really use the money haha’

You’re not quite sure why you tacked on that last little line at the end, but it must’ve been your desperation seeping through. A little bit of candidness in the hopes that whoever was reading your response would realize that they were talking to a real, living and breathing human. Hopefully, that would encourage them to be just as honest with you as you were being with them.

You hit send, and let out a deep breath. Again, no harm in just simply asking.

Knowing not to expect a response right away, you set your laptop on the coffee table before you and stand up once more. Socked feet padding against carpeted flooring as you mosey over to your kitchen, searching for something to warm your stomach after a full day of stress and overthinking. You already know what you’ll be eating, and one quick look within your cupboard confirms that notion.

Instant noodles, again. God, you really did need that money. Hungry, but your appetite is barely excited to be fulfilled with the same damn meal you’ve eaten for weeks on end. You can taste it on your tongue before you even make it. Bland noodles. Broth that has far too much salt in it. A sprinkling of dehydrated vegetables that turn to mush the moment they meet the water.

And yet, you pull out a pot anyway. Fill it with water life you’ve done so many time before. Set it on the stovetop and turn the burner on to high heat because of your impatience. Monotony. Something that might just be fixed if you can get a little bit more cash in your pockets.

Money wasn’t everything, and you knew that, but it sure as hell helped.

The water barely comes to a simmer before you hear your laptop chime. Almost too soon to be from who you were hoping it would be, and yet you’re racing back over to the couch immediately - fuelled by hope and desperate desire. Knowing its pathetic, but not caring in the least. The more you thought about it, the more you knew you needed it. The more you hated the situation you found yourself in. The more you wanted something better.

And maybe, life decided to be on your side for once.

Sitting in your inbox, bold lettering that makes you eyes widen to an almost painful degree.

’Drug trial inquiry.’

You click on the message so quickly it makes your finger cramp, the meal you had been cooking completely forgotten about even as the pot on the stove reaches its peak. Steaming and sputtering drops of water over the edge, but you couldn’t care less. You were too busy obsessing.

’Hello, thank you for your interest in our study.

No specific requirements are required for the trial, besides wanting someone between the ages of 18-24, with no pre-existing medical conditions,

Do you meet those perimeters? We’d love to meet you if you do.’

That was all it said. Short and sweet, only answering one of the five questions you had inquired about. And the one they picked, required the least amount of information to be leaked. It was avoidant. Barely professional. It made goosebumps rise on your arms and trickle down to your fingertips, which had begun to tremble.

Everything just seemed… Wrong. Too much money, too little information. Too good to be true. So many warning signs. Like they were giving you ample time to see that this was a trap just lying in wait. But, they (whoever they were) had struck gold when it came to you, because you were just too curious.

Just too desperate.

‘Hi,

I do meet those requirements, but you seem to have missed the rest of my questions? Do you think you could clarify on those fronts? I’d much rather know what exactly I’m getting into before I take the plunge.’

You type out the message with a frown tugging at your lips, your heart thudding to a frantic beat in your chest. Your skin feels cold, head feels fuzzy. Worry and dread swirling together in your skull to create a whole new emotion - one that wreaked havoc. One that made you feel a little nauseous as you hit the send button.

One that had you needing to close your eyes and take a deep breath as you awaited a new response.

You get one even quicker this time.

Your laptop chimes again mere moments after you had sent your last message. If you had timed it, you wouldn’t have been surprised to see that it was less than a minute of wait time. Like they had been sat at their own computer, just as eager as you, just as frantic as they waited for a response.

The sirens in your brain just blared louder.

’Hello,

I did not miss them. If you’re still interested, the address below will have all of your answers.

Tomorrow, nine am sharp. No earlier, no later. If you miss your chance that is on you.’

You could throw up. You feel like you might do just that, as you sit on your couch with bated breath, your mouth feeling drier than a desert. If you were getting bad vibes before, now they were horrible. The words of that email were desperately clinging to the facade of professionalism, but it wasn’t working. Not at all. Admitting to their own avoidance of important questions. Odd ambiguity. A bad idea all wrapped up in a concise paragraph.

You don’t recognize the address. It’s not somewhere close by. Not somewhere in the city, if you had to guess. One quick google search revealed that it was far off of the beaten trail, not a single laboratory in sight as you scanned the images on street view. Nothing but dirt trails and jagged trees. The photos staticy and blurry, like they had been taken ages upon ages ago.

Like no one had been there in a very, very long time.

You gulp thickly, Swallowing back the bile rising in your throat as you try to regulate your breathing. The pot on your stove boils over, water hitting the burner and evaporating instantly. You don’t even look at it.

But you do send another email.

’$1000 a day right, that wasn’t a typo?’

Short and sweet. Just like they had been.

And even though you’re expecting now, an even quicker response sends a chill down your spine. Mere seconds after you’ve sent your own correspondence now. Like an echo of your own message, bouncing off of the walls of cyberspace and straight back to you in a fraction of a minute.

’$1000 a day. Nine am. I will be here.

Will you?’

A beckoning call. That’s what that was, and you knew it. It didn’t sound like a confirmation for an appointment, something they were scribbling down within a calendar. It sounded like a taunt.

I have what you want. Are you brave enough to come get it?

That’s what it sounded like. It sounded cruel. Sarcastic, even. Like they knew what you were going to respond with before your email even pinged on their end.

And well, you just play right into whatever sick twisted game this was. Scared, apprehensive, but hopeful. Hopeful that this was what you were hoping it would be. Something easy and quick, something that would leave your pockets heavier without much distress.

Something that you wouldn’t regret.

‘I’ll be there. I want to see the cash up front when I get there.’

You barely even get the words typed down properly, fingers flying across your keyboard like you were trying to respond before you could think about the situation fully. Hands trembling, the message is wracked with typos that you have to go back and correct, giving you one more chance to really mill it over before you bit the bullet.

This wasn’t smart. You knew it wasn’t. Everything about this - from the grandiose benefits to the strange communication with whoever was leading the entire thing. They didn’t sound like a researcher, or a correspondent of one.

They sounded like someone who was trying to trap you.

You send the email anyway. Eyes squeezed close as you hit the send button with more force than you needed to. Like you were ripping off a bandaid.

And the response you get back, just pours salt in the wound.

One word. One simple word. Packing within it more than the person on the other side of the screen could ever know. Or maybe, they did know. Maybe that’s why they said it.

‘Greedy.’

And you know right then, that you aren’t talking to someone who has your best interests in mind. You’re talking to someone who’s toying with you - tugging you around like a marionette on strings. Someone who was finding a sick pleasure in knowing that they had something you would quite possibly endanger yourself over.

Someone who was mocking you, and making sure that you knew it.

Sitting behind their own screen, probably grinning like a madman as the glow of their computer lights up their features in a cool virtual blue. Waiting for you to respond, because they know that you will, even if they only sent you one simple word. That one word was bait, the worm on a hook for a gullible little guppie like you, just taunting you with the promise of salvation. All you had to do was bite.

You do.

‘Who are you?’

You’re far past formalities, far past pretending that this was a professional correspondence. This conversation had devolved. Devolved from the fallacy of a patient and a doctor, to the king and his jester. And boy, did you sure know how to dance.

‘Who do you want me to be? A doctor? A researcher? Some undergrad student?

Does it matter, at the end of the day? You’re still going to be wishing you said yes, if you don’t. You’re still going to be sat in your shitty little apartment, wondering what you could’ve been doing instead if you had a couple more bucks in your pocket.

We both know what this is.

You, are someone so desperate for cash that you’re willing to keep talking to me even though I’m sure you’re having second thoughts by now.

I am a person looking for a participant to test something I’ve been working on, and I’m willing to pay to make that happen.

This is my last message to you. I have said to you everything that you need to know. If you want to know more then meet me at nine am.

Ask for Cody.’

The message reeked of annoyance and frustration. Like whoever this was (Cody? Is that who you’re speaking to right now?) was peeved for your undying curiosity. Growing more and more irritated at the fact that you weren’t just rolling over so easily. Receptive, clearly, but too damn nosy.

And so, they dropped the act. You hadn’t noticed it until right then - but the pronouns they had been using had switched after the first message they had sent you. “We” swapped for “I”. A slip of the fingers, maybe, but it spelled out the truth for you regardless, even more than the email you had just read did.

This was not some easy, cut and dry drug trial. This wasn’t a professional lab, with protocols to follow, and controlled environments. This was just… Some guy. Some guy searching for an ignorant slew of people to test his homemade concoction on. Like a child in his basement, mixing up ‘potions‘ for his parents to try out. You had known from the beginning that this was something fishy, but you felt far over your head now. Staring at this wall of text before you, slack jawed and wide eyed, your rumbling stomach is long since forgotten - replaced by a sickening wave of nausea that you were sure would’ve weakened your knees if you were still standing.

So bad, that you lift a hand to your mouth, as if to try and catch the vomit you could feel churning in your gut. You could feel your mouth start to water, feel a cold clamminess bead up on your palms. Your body somehow too hot but too cold at the same time. Ears ringing, the room spinning around you as you reread those same few paragraphs over and over again. Your free hand finds the trackpad and you scroll, going over each and every message the two of you had bounced between one another. The pool of dread in your gut just growing headier and headier every time you pass your eyes over what you had said. What they had said.

How they had just dropped the persona completely, once they knew that they had hooked you.

Maybe, it was your own fault. If anything, they had probably known they had gotten you from the very first message.

‘Regardless, I’m interested. I could really use the money.’ A try at honesty to gain trust, and yet all it had done was place a target on your back. From the start, it had been clear just who you were.

Someone so desperate for cash that you were willing to keep talking to them. They had read you like a damn book, front and back. Maybe you should’ve made it a little harder for them.

You barely sleep that night. You don’t eat the dinner you had been planning to. You let the water in the pot evaporate all the way down to the bottom - leaving white water stains on the stainless steel, and the ceramic of your stove top where it had boiled over. You simply shut off the burner, place the pot in the sink, and head towards your room - dead eyed and dreary. You shut your laptop, and leave it on your coffee table. Something about bringing it to bed with you that night felt wrong. Like maybe, they would be able to hear you. See you. Maybe they already had been.

How else would they have known you were messaging them from your little shoebox apartment? Assumptions, easily made, but there was such an unshakable itch of uncertainty under your bones that it felt difficult to listen to rational thoughts right now.

You had opened a can of worms that you were sure couldn’t be as easily closed. Even if you didn’t show up tomorrow, would that be the end of it?

Or had you doomed yourself, just because that dollar amount looked so delicious?

Hedonism, at its finest.

You toss and turn, your sheets feeling itchy and uncomfortable. Your pillow too stiff. The air around you too cold, but the air beneath your blankets too hot. Closing your eyes for mere seconds at a time before they’re fluttering back open again, blinking against the darkness to stare up at your ceiling. Your brain fills in the gaps of stimulation, formulating swirling shapes of colour that you know don’t truly exist, and yet you watch them anyway. Watch them twist and turn, ebb and flow. Fluctuate in shape, form, and colour.

You spend most of your night that way. Sprawled on your sheets - half of your body covered in your blanket and the other half bare - only blinking when your eyes began to burn and twitch. Honing in on the make believe, as a distraction of what you had forced yourself into in the real world.

You didn’t have to go, you knew you didn’t. You could delete all of those emails, throw that newspaper in the trash and forget it all existed. You could worry, but you doubted whoever this was would actually track you down for refusing their offer.

They had even said it themselves. ‘If you miss your chance that is on you.’

If you said no, they’d probably just find someone else. Someone just as hopeless as you, looking for salvation in places that you definitely shouldn’t.

Maybe someone worse than you. Someone who wouldn’t even ask questions. Someone who would just abide and obey, so long as they got the cheque at the end of it all.

That’s probably what you should’ve done. It would have saved a whole load of stress.

You’re still lying on your back when the sun rises. Still bleary eyed and breathing shaky when the sun starts to peek through your curtains, cloaking you bedroom in warm tones of gold and pink

The worst part, wasn’t the fact that you knew you were being toyed with.

The worst part, was that you knew you were just going to give in.

A recipe for disaster. Red blaring lights surrounding the entire interaction. The only thing positive, was the money. That damn price tag. So you had to ask yourself, was one thousand dollars the dollar amount you were going to place on your life? Was that all that you thought you were worth?

You’d like to say no, but your empty pockets were still beckoning you otherwise.

If things turned out being too strange, you’d just turn around. You could even bring that pepper spray your mom had forced you to pack when you first left for university. You could send your location to all of your friends, make sure to keep your cellphone on and close by at all times. You could take precautions.

See the cash for yourself, find out if it's all a farce or not.

And so, you do the same as you always do in the morning. You roll out of bed on the left side, drag your feet to your closet and pick out the same outfit you wear every single day. A different pair of jeans, a different hoodie, but you’d doubt that anyone who wasn’t you would be able to tell. You pull your hair up into a haphazard bun, splash a handful of cold water on your face to try and wake yourself up more, and rinse with a mouthful of mouthwash before you spit it out in the sink.

You walk to the living room and don’t spare a glance at your laptop - like it was guilty, not you. Shunning it as if it were the one who had done the damage, for it just couldn’t be you and your greedy fingers, could it?

Your phone is fully charged, and you stuff it in your bag. That, along with a can of pepper spray, and a box cutter you had kept around after you had first moved in. Two weapons that were definitely quite dinky in the grand scheme of things, but it was better to have something to benefit you than to show up empty handed. Besides, you were hoping that you wouldn’t even have to use them anyway.

You could always turn around, and forget it all happened.

You just needed something a little bit more to feed your curiosity. Once you got that, you could just go back to daily life.

And so you step through your front door, and lock it behind you. Your keys jingle as you stuff them back in your pocket, the soles of your sneakers squeaking against the linoleum flooring that made up the entryway of your apartment building. Through the hall, down the stairs, skipping the elevator because it always got stuck. Your feet were moving so quickly that you felt more so as if you were floating, rather than actually stepping on solid ground. You can barely even feel the warmth of the sin beating on your skin when you step outside - like you aren’t even truly inhabiting your own body. Just a jumble of disorganized, self-destructive thoughts and plans, so disconnected from everything else around you.

The drive is a blur.

You don’t remember sitting in your car, or setting the gps. You don’t remember driving. Don’t remember analyzing each and every minute detail of your surroundings.

You were at home one minute, and sat outside a decrepit looking building the next. Like somebody had reached within your skull and ripped out a handful of your memories.

With your car’s engine still running, you just sit there for a moment. Staring through your windshield with wide eyes and laboured breathing, in a state of both awe and complete bewilderment that you actually brought yourself here. That you actually did it. Some beast who lived within you - one who was fuelled by nothing more than greed and morbid curiosity - took the reins and tugged your body towards this… This death trap.

That’s what it looked like, at least. The building you stared at was far off of the beaten trail. Right at the end of a dirt road beginning to be covered up by grass regrowth. Bare, spindly trees surround it. The middle of spring, and yet they bare no leaves. Dead. Rotting. Hollow corpses that played the part of what they used to be.

The building itself, sends a shiver down your spine. It looks abandoned. If not, then whoever owned it couldn’t care less about upkeeping appearances. The brick of the outer walls was cracked and chipped. One window shattered, one boarded up, and the others cracked beyond all repair. Weed and shrubbery overtook practically the entire front lawn, with just one foot trail of stomped down grass cutting through all of the chaos.

Showcasing that somebody had been here. Recently at that.

Was probably in there right now, waiting for you.

A quick glance down at the clock on your dashboard made it more than clear that had to be the truth. 8:57.

Even with your brain clocked out for the greater half of the journey, you still managed to be punctual.

You’re not quite sure what it is - the time constraint, the desire for knowledge, maybe the fact that you were already here - but you find yourself pulling the key out of your car's ignition. Find yourself unbuckling your seatbelt, and opening the side door. Feeling much the same as you had just a few hours before.

Floaty. Not in control. Like you were living a dream.

If all of this went well, maybe you really would be.

You grab your bag before slamming your car door shut, slinging it over your shoulder and taking a deep breath in before you force your legs to move. Leaves and rocks crunch under the soles of your shoes. The sun is warm and yet the breeze that brushes past you still sends a shiver down your spine. The breaths you take are short and shaky, just like each step you take.

One foot after the other. Hands gripping the strap of your bag so tightly it makes your knuckles go white. You don’t even notice that you’re gritting your teeth until your jaw starts to ache.

When you reach the front door - which looks as if you could break it down with barely any effort - you don’t even hesitate. If you do, you know that you’ll just end up thinking too much and turning right on your heel.

Maybe, the issue was that you weren’t thinking enough.

Regardless, you knock. Three sharp raps against the wood, sounding so loud in the otherwise vacant scenery you found yourself in. You don’t check your phone to look at the time. If you were late at all because of all of the stewing you had been doing, then so be it. You would take that as a sign.

But of course, no sign from god. One from the devil instead.

You hear the sound of glass breaking. Muffled voices, and then footsteps. Growing louder and louder with each one. Approaching you.

You start to feel lightheaded.

When a lock clicks, and the doorknob turns, you feel queasy.

The door opens barely more than a sliver. Just enough for whoever is on the other side of it to be able to get a peek at you. You can’t see much of him. Just the side of his face and part of his shoulder, but just that is enough to unnerve you. You can’t see his eyes. Can’t see his mouth. A pair of bright orange goggles and a muzzle-esque mask hides those features from you. The sunlight glints off of the lenses of his goggles, making it impossible to try and discern what may lay below them. Even if you could, a shaggy mop of brown hair falls over his forehead and obscures them ever further.

Definitely not a researcher.

You’re not quite sure how long you just stood there staring at him. How long he stood there staring at you - neither one of you saying a word. Like some unspoken game of chicken, seeing who would crack and cave under the pressure first.

Surprisingly, it's him.

”What d-do you want?” His voice is low and raspy, muffled partially by the mask he wore. He still doesn’t open the door further, but you do notice the way his neck sharply cracks to the side before he’s letting out an annoyed grunt. “You got-gotta be pretty damn stupid to come knocking at a place like this. Even i-if you’re lost.”

”I’m not lost.” You mutter back to him, straightening your back and letting out a shaky breath through your nose. “I’m here for the lab trial? This is where the directions lead me.”

The man on the other side of the door stills completely. In fact, you’d swear he completely stopped breathing for a moment. Then, he opens the door a little further. Your eyes scan across him, his attire, cataloguing each tear and stain on the hoodie he was wearing. Some, definitely just dirt caked in deep, other were dark enough to spike a wave of panic within you. Your eyes drift back up towards his face and your mouth goes dry.

A crudely bandaged hand comes up to lift the goggles off from over his eyes, pushing them up into his hair. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen on anyone before, with even darker bags beneath them. His eyes are sharp. Scrutinizing. Looking more so like they belonged on a bird of prey, than a human being.

So stunned, it would be easy for him to sink his talons into you.

”L-Lab trial?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. His gaze is unblinking, making your stomach twist and turn with an uncomfortable queasiness. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so sick, so often, within such a short span of time.

You don’t answer verbally, can’t force yourself to without fear of your last meal crawling up your throat. So you just nod, hands starting to tremble where they still grip the strap of your bag. The man lets out a soft hum, seeming to think on it for a few more seconds before he opens the door completely. “Alright. Sure. L-Let me show you to the lab then.”

He lets out a snort of laughter, like he knows something you don’t, before he’s turning on his heel - clearly expecting you to follow.

You do. Through the doorway, into the darkened exterior of the building. Lighting was sparse, in the main entryway it seemed as if the only source of it was daylight coming through the windows. The floor was littered with broken glass and old pieces of scrap. Any furniture was either broken beyond further use, or stained to all hell.

You were starting to think that this man may be right. You’ve got to be damn stupid. “Who’re you he-here for?” The man asks from before you, not bothering to turn his head to meet your gaze. He walks leisurely, hands in his pockets, feet kicking up debris with each step. Through the main area, now down through a hall. Further and further from the front gate. Further and further away from your car.

You’re making a mental map within your mind of the floor plan already. Just in case you need it.

”Uh, Cody?” You try, your voice coming out much shakier and much hoarser than you had meant it to. You clear your throat and let out a little huff before continuing. “I don’t… I don’t really know. That’s the only name I was given.”

”O-Oh you’re fucked.” The man lets out a harsh laugh, a sound that rips from his lungs and splits through the air - like he just couldn’t hold it back no matter how hard he tried. “Sorry, sorry.” You can see his shoulders shake, still very clearly attempting to hold back another bout of laughter. “Yeah, C-Cody’s the guy you’re looking for alright. It’s his lab after all.”

You know you should turn around. You should turn around right now, and book it towards the entrance before you get in too deep. This guy wouldn’t chase you down, right? He wasn’t even the one who was expecting you.

And… You could probably outrun him even if he did, right? All you had to do was make it to your car.

“That right?” You mutter, lips tugged down into so deep of a scowl that it made your jaw quiver. The air around you felt stale. So much so that your lungs ached and your chest felt tight with each breath in. Everything within this building seemingly honed to make you as uneasy as physically possible. Especially the man before you, and the way his limbs spasmed and jerked in an unpredictable pattern. Joints cracking. Soft grunts slipping from his lips every now and then. “Then who are you? His assistant?” It’s a stupid question and you knew it. You were far past believing that any of this had even a semblance of professionalism to it.

But playing the game was a lot easier to stomach.

“Assistant?” The man rounds a corner and starts down a flight of stairs - skipping down the steps without an ounce of care. You can’t do the same. Your legs are trembling with each step you take, joints turning into goo as you descend lower into the maw of the beast. It gets darker. One singular lightbulb at the bottom being the light source for the entire journey down. It would be easy to trip up and lose your footing, if the man before you wasn’t so confidently leading the way - like he had done this trip a million times before. “Sure, I g-guess. I help him out here and there.” For the first time during the entire trip, he glances back at you over his shoulder. “Like right now. You w-woulda probably been standing out there for hours knocking if I wasn’t he-here. He’s deaf to the world when he’s d-down here.”

”Well, he said he was expecting me.” You breathe back out. “Nine am sharp.”

”He’s been up since four.” The man snorts before hopping off of the last step and turning towards you. “Probably d-doesn’t know what time it even is right now.” He waits for you to join him on the landing, concrete beneath your feet, before he’s reaching out to the door at the bottom of the staircase. This one looks a lot more heavy duty. Solid metal, and you can pick out at least three different sets of locks.

Stepping through that door had to be the worst idea thus far. “Crazy that the g-guy with no internal clock is trying t-to make appointments.” His hand closes around the handle of the door, and he turns it before giving it a little tug.

To your surprise, even with all of the security measures, its not locked. It gives way on the first pull. “C-Cody, there’s some girl here for ya’.”

The man steps into the room, but not before reaching out to you and taking a rough hold of your arm. He pulls a yelp from your lungs when he drags you across the threshold with him, finally answering the question you had been wondering about throughout your entire interaction.

Was he as dangerous as he looked? The strength of his grip answered that pretty quickly. Tugged into a new room, with your assailant kicking the door closed behind him, you feel as if one wrong move would have him breaking your arm on accident. (Or, on purpose? You didn’t even know anymore.) “You g-gotta start paying attention. I got my own shit to do, y’know?”

”Huh? Is it nine already, Toby?” A new voice has your head snapping in the direction of it. You had been fruitlessly struggling against the hold you had been trapped in, but that sound had your motions ceasing completely. It was soft, monotone, and smoother than silk. The exact opposite of the other man - ’Toby’, you suppose.

The differences really stop there though, because you feel as if you’re feeling double. A choppy mess of brunette hair, pushed off of his forehead by a pair of goggles with blue lenses this time. Dark circles just as prevalent, like he hadn’t slept in days.

It sure looked like he hadn’t. He was curled over a microscope, absolutely abhorrent posture in the swivel stool he sat hunched. He didn’t look up. Gloved hands switching between slides to observe, his knee bouncing absently - like his own internal metronome. “Set her on the bench and get out. Close the door behind you.”

He - Cody - spoke like you weren’t even there. Like you were an object, not a human being just like he was.

Toby seemed to find no issue with that.

”S-Sure, dick.” He snorts out an amused laugh before tugging you over to what looks to be a bed, the same kind you’d find in a doctor’s office - complete with the waxy sanitary sheet to cover the surface of it. With one rough shove, Toby’s pushing you onto it - but not before snagging the strap of your bag in your shocked stupor, ripping it from your body. “Don’tcha worry.” He laughs when you immediately shoot back up and reach for it, holding it high above your head and lifting a leg to push you backwards with his foot. “You’ll g-get it back. You just don’t need it right now. R-Right, Cody?”

”Uh huh.” Finally, the man looks up to you - bright green eyes glinting under the overhead lighting of the lab. “Stop making a fuss, would you? Toby didn't drag you all the way here against your will, did he?”

Something about his gaze paralyzes you. One look from him and you were turning to stone, your heart rate kicking up a few notches in your chest. The way he was looking at you… It wasn’t like one human to another. It was far less connected than that. As he watched you uselessly try to grab for your bag back, he looked at you with all the interest of someone watching a trail of ants scurry past.

Curious, but with no empathy behind it. Just pure, unbridled, scientific fascination.

“No.” You choke out, and lower your arms. Cody tracks each and every movement. Especially when you fold completely, and take a few steps back. Letting Toby just turn around and walk away with your bag in hand, snickering to himself as he makes off with your phone, and every single weapon you had brought to try and avoid a situation like this.

Your entire ‘plan’ was going downhill extremely quickly.

”That’s what I thought.” Cody stands, letting out a little sigh through his nose before he removes his goggles completely and sets them on the lab bench before him. Then, he’s rounding it. Approaching you. Gloved hands folded behind his back as he does so. “You decided to contact me, you decided to come here, and you decided to follow some strange man all the way down here.” He comes to stand before you, and cocks his head to the side. “You’ve got no reason to complain, do you? You could’ve avoided this all.”

He nods his head towards the bed you had sat on for a total of five seconds before leaping back up again. “Take a seat. Let’s talk.”

You barely even hear the sound of the door closing off to the side. Definitely don’t hear the sound of a lock clicking shut. It’s like he had you under some sort of spell, exuding a cool - almost clinical - form of confidence that made your entire body feel cold. You felt like a patient, just blindly believing everything their doctor says because they must know best.

You take a seat, the sheet crinkling loudly beneath you. “Good.” He doesn’t say that like a genuine praise, more so just an acknowledgment of something he had expected. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move. Just stares down at you through his bangs, his gaze unwavering. “So, why did you come?” He asks. “You sounded awful wary over email last night.”

So it was him. This was the man who had been messaging you. Taunting you. You supposed that you shouldn’t be shocked by his apathetic attitude.

”I still am.” You murmur, fingers curling into the fabric below you. “You lied in your ad.”

”Lied?” Cody raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t lie. Everything I wrote there was the truth.” He takes a step closer, and tilts his head down a little bit. “Besides, you would’ve come even if I had, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Why? Why are you here?”

His gaze is piercing. Like he’s staring through you rather than at you. Like he’s got you under a microscope, staring down at your bare essentials. Cells and all.

“I need the money.” You mutter, shifting where you sit. “Real bad.”

”Well, I bet you do.” Cody lets out a soft snort through his nose. Barely a laugh. Like a hollow imitation of one. “But that can’t be all it is, right? What’s the use in money if you won’t leave here alive?” He leans down a little bit further, and raises an eyebrow, his face still completely monotonous. Not a single change in his expression that you could pick up on. Like he was wearing a porcelain mask that would crack if his lips so much as twitched upwards. “Money’s useless to the dead, you know.” When your eyes widen in panic, his eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher, before he’s taking a few steps backwards again.

This was a game to him. It had been from the start. “Not that I’m threatening your demise, I’m just saying. You took a pretty big risk.” He casts you one last look before turning back around and slowly walking back to his lab bench. “Just for money? I doubt that. If you’re truthful with me, I’ll be truthful with you.” You watch as he slowly peels the latex gloves from his hands, before dropping them in a wastebin right at the corner of his desk. Mere seconds later, he’s reaching into a drawer to pull out a new pair. “I’m going to ask one more time, and what you say is going to determine how easy this is for you.” He pulls the new, sterile pair of gloves on with a snap that rings through the air. “Why are you here?”

With no weapon, no phone, and no easy way to escape, what other choice did you have than to just submit? For all you knew, Toby was stood at the other side of the lab door - waiting to catch you if you tried to make a break for it.

”I was curious.” You bite out, casting your gaze off to the side. “That’s it.”

Cody stills, his shoulders tensing and relaxing where his back was turned to you. And you can’t see it, but a grin stretches across his face. Wrinkling the expression you were sure was impermeable.

”Right answer.” He hums. He rounds the lab bench once more before reaching forwards and reaching for a breaker of something you couldn’t discern. It was a cool purple tone, near fluorescent. “Curiosity is a good thing, you know? It’s what keeps humans going.” Out of a drawer, he grabs a syringe. Your breath catches in your throat. “If humans weren’t curious, we’d never have evolved. We’d still all just be mindless monkeys, picking bugs out of each other’s fur.” His nose wrinkles a little, but he shakes it off quickly. “I’m curious. That’s why I do what I do.”

”Yeah?” You watch with rapt attention as he dips the tip of the syringe into the beaker, before pulling the plunger upwards and filling the chamber with the mystery substance. “And what is it exactly that you do?”

”I study.” Cody answers shortly. Once the syringe is full to the brim, he places the beaker back where it once was. “Humans. Our reactions to things. How fragile they are.” His gaze flicks up to meet yours. “What our limits are.”

He reaches forwards and places the syringe in a holder - clearly to lie and wait for further use.

”Did you go to school for any of this?” You choke out. “Like, do you have qualifications? Or are you just some nutcase with a homemade lab?”

”Lets not start name calling.” Cody sighs softly, his lips twitching into a frown. The way he looks up at you, it’s like a disappointed parent scolding a child. Not really mad, just barely irked. “I think I’ve been pretty nice to you, can’t you do the same?”

”Not until you tell me what you’re going to do to me.” Your response is immediate. Snippy. Packed with enough annoyance to make Cody’s brow wrinkle. “What’d you just put in the syringe? Is that what you’re using on me?”

Cody pauses completely, his movements still as his gaze locks in on you. Again, he takes a moment to just stare, to analyze you, before he’s letting out a soft sigh.

He makes his way back towards you, this time wheeling his lab stool back over to you before taking a seat. He leans forwards, knees on his elbows, as he stares up at you through the messy strands of his hair.

”Yeah, it is.” He answers back to you matter-of-factly. “Want me to tell you what it does?”

Immediately, you’re nodding. You’re realizing at this point that getting pricked seemed to be unavoidable, so you’d much rather know what you’re getting into than go in blind. “It’s a… Stimulant.” He hums softly. “I don’t know, I guess you could call it an aphrodisiac. I want to see if it’s as effective on humans as it was on my rats.”

”Your rats?” You choke out, eyes wide. Definitely not what you should’ve been focusing on, out of what he just told you, but you think that dwelling on what else he had just said to you might just make you pass out.

”Yeah.” Cody lets out a soft chuckle. “My rats. Darwin and Remy. They took it like champs. Curious to see if you’d do the same.”

”What…” You shift uncomfortably on the bed, your mouth feeling extremely dry all of a sudden. It almost hurts to swallow. “If I let you,” You begin, stressing that fact, “What’s going to happen to me?”

Cody merely smiles, as if this conversation was nothing more uncommon than speaking about the weather.

“I’m not 100% sure.” He breathes back out to you, tapping his fingers absently against his knee. “That’s why you’re here, after all.” He notices the way your entire body tenses at that, and lets out a little hum. “But if I had to guess, it’ll probably go a little something like this;” He scoots his stool a little closer to you, wheels squeaking against linoleum. “You’re going to feel really hot. Feverish. Probably going to wish you could crawl out of your own skin.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching the way they turn glossier with each word he speaks. “Your mouth is going to water. Drool accumulating like a faucet’s turned on. And then all that heat? It’s going to travel down low. Right where you want it the least.” You nearly flinch, and he smirks. “Think… A cat in heat. That’s what you’re going to be, if all goes well.”

”Why?” You choke out, scooting back on the bed a little bit to try and get away from him. “Why would you want to see that?”

”Same reason you’re here.” Cody hums back to you. “I’m curious.” He kicks off of the bed and pushes the stool backwards, sending him right at the edge of his lab bench again. “And I’ll let you know this - You can say no, but either way, you won't be going home.” He reaches behind him, snagging the abandoned syringe between his fingers and showing it off to you. “You sealed your fate, the moment you knocked on my door. I can’t just let you leave now that you know what I do here. Now that you’ve met me, and Toby no less.” Using his feet, he wheels himself back over to you. “I don’t think anyone’s ever met us and lived to tell the tale.” He snorts. “Not unless they stay.”

You feel dizzy. So much so that you need to grasp at the sheets below you as an attempt to ground yourself. You had known from the first message that this entire thing was a trap, but having it all laid out for you? There were black dots spotting your vision. “So, two options.” Cody holds the syringe between the two of you, his eyes glinting. “Let me experiment on you, and earn a couple bucks - as I said before, I’m not a liar.” You take in a shaky breath. “Or, say no, and I’ll throw you over to Toby. I can bet he’d find something useful for you to do.”

”That’s a lose-lose.” You mutter back to him softly. “I was going to use that money for student loans.”

”Well, then it's actually a win, no?” Cody raises an eyebrow. “Won’t have to pay for loans if we keep you here. You’d be gone. Off the grid.” He taps the syringe impatiently. “So? What’s the plan?” He points the syringe towards you, and you can’t help but flinch. “I’ll warn you though, Toby’s not known for being hospitable.”

”And you are?” You bite back, narrowing your eyes.

”I’m nothing but respectful to my specimens.” He gives you a sickening smile, one that sinks into your bones like a toxin. “I’ve had Darwin and Remy around for years.”

”Your rats.” You clarify, raising an eyebrow.

”Yes, my rats.” Cody lets out a soft chuckle, and it seems as if he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m a good caretaker, I promise. This is a fairly ethical lab.”

“Kidnapping isn’t ethical.” You point out, lips twitching down into a frown.

”Good thing you came here of your own volition.” Cody scoots closer, hovering the syringe close to your skin. Close enough to make sweat bead up on your brow. “I’ll be nice to you, I swear it.” He murmurs. “I just want to… Document you.” He cocks his head to the side. “Will you let me? I think it’ll be worth it.”

It’s the illusion of choice. Tricking you into believing that you had any semblance of power in the matter. You didn’t. You were just a pawn to be played now.

”And there’s no chance of me leaving?” You can’t help but ask just one more time. That fact doesn’t feel real to you, won’t sink in properly. To think, that just yesterday you had your life completely planned out for you. Now, you just had to float along, playing into the whims of two clearly ill-intentioned men.

One of them seemed… A little bit kinder though. If kind was even the word you should be using in this scenario.

”There’s no chance.” Cody nods back to you. “Not alive, anyway. That’s what we do, make people disappear.” He pauses. “Well Toby does, for the most part. I just like toying with them before we throw them in a ditch.” His eyes flicker with something unhinged, his fingers tapping against the glass of the syringe. “You’re my first living specimen in a while, that’s how you know I’ll be careful. Don’t wanna break you.”

He shifts his hand, letting you feel it when he just barely scrapes the tip of the needle against your neck. Your entire body tenses up immediately, your muscles locking up in fright. “You really don’t have to be so scared, you know.” His other hand reaches up, the coldness of his latex glove cupping your face in a gentle hold. Barely even squeezing, just enough to tip your head to the side a little more. “This is probably… The least scary drug I’ve created in a long time. The fatality rate is less than 2%”

”There’s a fatality rate?” You squeak out. With the huff he lets out, you don’t even have to look to know that Cody is rolling his eyes.

”Too many questions.” He mutters. “Some of the shit you buy off of the shelf have even worse percentages, so don’t go latching onto words just because they sound scary.” His fingers give your jaw a light squeeze. “So? Say it. Yes, or no. Or I’m picking for you.”

With such a rigged outcome, you feel as if you just have to go with your gut on this one. Even though he’s quite literally holding a needle to your neck right now.

”Yes.” You mutter out the word so softly you wouldn’t have been surprised if he missed out on it completely. But, he was close enough that your whisper meets his ears like a soft breeze. Just one simple word, and yet it was the most lovely thing he had heard in a very long time. Your eyes flutter closed in silent resignation, so you can’t see it - but Cody’s lips curl up into an incredibly self-satisfied smile. Little dimples appearing in his cheeks, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

He had known you’d say that.

”Good. You’re going to feel a slight pinch, that’s all.” That’s all the warning he gives you. After that, he’s pricking you. Piercing your skin with the needle and making sure it slides right into a main vein. “You’re probably going to feel… Tingly as it circulates.” He murmurs as he presses his thumb down on the plunger, slowly dispensing the full volume of the drug right into you. He watches in fascination, how your body just drinks up his creation - watching the fluorescent liquid disappear beneath your skin. “It’s nothing to worry about, it just means it's working.”

You can already feel what he’s talking about. Your veins feel warm. Starting in your neck at the injection site, down your arms and shoulders. Swirling in your chest, pooling in your heart to pump the rest of the way through your body. You try to keep your breathing even, even as Cody’s hands slowly pull away and the needle is dislodged from your skin, but it's incredibly hard to stay calm.

Even though Cody’s voice is soft and soothing. Speaking to you like any kind doctor would. Calm, collected, knowledgeable. Giving you any detail you’d like to know about your procedure.

Sure, he only told you once he had you trapped, but regardless.

You were counting your small wins. “Okay.” Cody pushes his stool back off of the bed frame again, wheeling his stool back over to his work station once more. He reaches over to drop the used syringe into a sharps bin, before once again removing the gloves he had been wearing. It was almost comical, the way he felt a need to change them between each and every little thing he did.

Another small win. At least he was sanitary. You wouldn’t be getting sepsis from this, hopefully. “Now’s the fun part.” Cody doesn’t grab a new pair of gloves this time, instead he reaches for a clipboard and a pen - collecting both items before wheeling back over to you. “I just get to watch you.” He grins. “How are we doing now? Feel anything yet?”

Short answer, yes. The sensation was strange. It was as if you could feel every ounce of blood flowing through your veins. Like when you drink something cold, and you can feel it travel all the way down to your stomach - giving you a pretty clear reminder that you were just a machine made of fleshy parts all working together to keep you breathing.

You were more aware of that than ever. You could feel your blood rushing around, feel your lungs expand with each breath you took. You could feel your eyelids move over your eyes with each blink, could feel your throat contract each time you swallow down the saliva that had begun to accumulate in your mouth.

But, you’re not quite sure how to put that all into words, So instead you just say,

”I feel…” You breathe out a shuddering breath, curling your fingers into the sheet beneath you. Looking up to meet his gaze, but your vision swims. Cloning the man before you into double right before your very eyes. “Jesus Christ this stuff works fast.” You gasp, before bringing one hand up to prod at your face. Rubbing your eyes to try and clear up your vision a little bit, pinching and pulling the skin of your cheeks to try and ground yourself with that sharp sting. It doesn’t work.

”Yeah, I probably should’ve mentioned that.” Cody snorts, observing your pathetic state with one eyebrow raised and an amused smile tugging at his lips. You’re shifting and squirming, unable to sit still for the life of you. Breathing so heavy you’re practically panting, but he’s sure that you don’t even realize that. There’s a flush beginning to creep onto your cheeks, so potent that it's spreading down your neck too. Sweat beads up on your brow, fingers fiddling with the hem of the sweater you were wearing. “Try and put it into words, though. Are you hot? Do you feel restless?”

”Hot.” You agree immediately, slumping forwards a little where you’re sitting. You're definitely panting - damn near hyperventilating - saliva pooling in the corners of your mouth that you have to swallow back down. It’s just replaced by more as soon as you do though. “Fuck- Can you…” You let out an involuntary whine, so disgruntled that your body barely knows what to do than to act like you are at your core - a scared little animal. “Is there AC in here?” You gasp out. “There’s gotta be, right? I feel like I’m dying over here.”

”No AC.” Cody snorts, shaking his head in amusement before scribbling something down on the clipboard perched on his knee. “In fact, it’s pretty cold in here already. Usually is.”

”You’re fucking with me.” You grit out, a shudder going down your spine as you reach up to dab at your forehead with the sleeve of your hoodie. It comes back to you drenched. “This isn’t fucking funny.”

Cody seems to think otherwise, because right after you speak he’s letting out a soft huff of a chuckle that he can’t bite back. He scribbles down something else, all whilst gnawing at his bottom lip to try and stop any other small bits of laughter from slipping out.

”I told you this was going to happen.” He hums, before meeting your gaze once more. “Why don’t you take your sweater off? You might make yourself overheat.”

If he had said that to you the moment you had walked in, you probably would’ve had a lot more fight left in you. Probably would’ve cut him a harsh glare and called him a ‘creep’ within a fraction of a second. In your current state, you’re stripping the heavy material off of your body before he can even finish his sentence.

It lands as a crumpled heap on the cool laboratory floor, and the relief is immediate. The sweat on your skin meets the air around you and cools, giving you a slight reprieve from the hell you had been enduring beforehand. Your chest is heaving with each breath, and Cody can see now that it was even worse for you right now than he had expected. It definitely did work faster on humans than it did on his rats. Or maybe he flubbed the dosage a little bit.

Regardless, you looked like you were melting.

That pink flush he had noted extended down your neck, over your collarbones, and swept across your chest - which was rising and falling to an uneven rhythm. It was creeping down your abdomen, hell even down your arms and up to the tips of your ears. You looked like you were burning up from the inside out. Your skin was glossy with a sheen of sweat, hair sticking to your forehead because of it. Your lips are parted as you breathe raggedly through your mouth, eyebrows scrunched together in discomfort. “You’re not in any pain, right?” Cody asks you softly, his eyes scanning across your body as you shift and squirm - as if you were trying to wriggle out of your own skin. “Just uncomfortable?”

”More than that.” You gasp out, your eyes near pleading as they flicker up to meet his. Pleading for what? You didn’t even know. Anything that would cool you down. “I feel like I’m.. I’m burning up. Melting.” You learn forwards a little, and extend a shaky hand out towards him. “Do you have water? Anything?”

”I don’t.” Cody frowns, his eyes flickering between your hand and your reddened face. Such a pitiful sight really. He scribbles down a couple more notes. “You’re really struggling, aren’t you?”

”Yeah.” Your brain feel foggy. Like the heat you’re consumed in has melted it into a pool of goop. Every logical thought you try to form fizzles out before it comes to fruition, evaporating into the air. Right now, there were only two certainties.

You might just combust, or pass out if you don’t receive anything to help your situation.

Cody can help. It’s his lab, after all.

And so you’re left grabbing at him, fingers clawing at his knee through the fabric of his jeans, the contact making him jolt and scoot his stool back a couple inches. “Cody, please.”

“Please, what?” Cody raises an eyebrow, keeping his gaze trained on you - dodging your advances when you try to get your hands on him once more. “Hands to yourself.”

You ignore him.

”I can’t stand it.” So overwhelmed, that tears spring to your eyes. Blurring your already hazy vision before they’re breaking free and rolling down your face. Just like the rest of you, they feel hot as they streak your cheeks, your entire expression crumpling in complete and utter defeat. “You said-“ You sniffle. “You said you’d be nice.”

Cody’s eyes slowly widen, his gaze tracking the trail of a teardrop before it rolls off of the tip of your nose and hits your thigh - leaving a small stain on your jeans. Your face was wrinkled in discomfort, your entirely body trembling where you sat. Your heavy breathing had turned into strained, choked off gasps - devolving more into a state of panic than anything else.

You were a mess. Melting in a pool on the bed before him. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. When he had tested it on his rats, the effects had paled in comparison - it just made them more eager to mate. You were falling apart right before his eyes.

”Jesus-“ Cody breathes out, his lips pursing together for a moment as he decides exactly which route he was going to take with you here. It’s not that he hadn’t expected something like this to happen - in fact that was the entire point. But having it right before his eyes, having you begging with tears streaming down your face… That was something else entirely. He had seen many, many people sob to him before - begging and pleading for him to spare their life.

He wasn’t quite sure what you were begging for. His eyes scan across your face, narrowing slightly in thought. “I’m not going to touch you.” He finally huffs out, before dropping his clipboard on the ground beside him and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not?” You ask, leaning forwards on your palms and peering up at him. Desperate, definitely. But had you not been from the start? Cody watches as a bead of sweat rolls down your temple, and lets out a soft, disbelieving snort.

”Because that’s not what this is about.” He chuckles softly. “You’re supposed to sit there, and just let me observe you - regardless of how uncomfortable you get.” He cocks his head to the side. “You’re not going to make me strap you down, are you?”

He watches as your eyes widen, how your irises flicker with something so far removed from the fear you had walked into the room with. Pupils blown out wide, your gaze was heady - practically heating up the air around the two of you with just one look. He knew what you were thinking, could see it in the way your gaze trailed from his face, down his neck, across the length of his arm to settle on watching his fingers fiddle with the pen in his hand. Nearly drooling. There was a glossy sheen on your lips, saliva bubbling in the corners of your mouth.

And you just can’t sit still. Shifting, trembling, rubbing your thighs together in a way that was far from discreet.

Cody lets out a short huff of breath, pinching his eyes shut before reaching up to rub them.

It wasn’t even that you were difficult to handle, his brain was. He should just make true on his threat and tie you down - watch you wriggle and squirm in discomfort for a couple hours until the effects wore off. But for some reason, that just didn’t seem as… Appealing. Not with how you were looking at him like he was a God. The answer to every single trouble you were facing.

And maybe… Maybe you weren’t too far off with that. Maybe he could be.

And so finally, he moves. Stands up slowly with you watching each and every little movement. How his hair looked so feathery soft as he reached up to run a hand through it. The sound of his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he made his way back over to the lab bench - unhurried, dragging it out. Making you feel even more pathetic than you already did, because he just seemed so indifferent. So apathetic towards your situation, while you were sitting behind him falling apart at the seams.

He doesn’t say a word when he turns on the faucet at his sink. Doesn’t make a peep as he washes his hands clean, before drying them off and retrieving yet another new pair of gloves. Pulling them on just as he had done with the last two pairs, before grabbing a couple other things out of the drawer that you couldn’t get a good look at.

Then, he’s back over to you, staring down at you with that same gaze he had before. Clinical, detached. Like you were nothing more than a pitiful animal. “Open your mouth.”

It takes a few seconds for the words to register - your mind so clouded that every sound around you sounded far away and foggy. But he was looking at you expectantly, one eyebrow raised, making it quite clear that he expected you to listen.

Which was fair. You were his experiment after all.

And so you do. You swallow back a mouthful of drool before parting your lips - your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling as you stay that way, waiting for his next move. “Good.” Again, such hollow praise. “Now stick out your tongue.” You follow that command just as easily as the last one, your heart thudding against your rib cage in anticipation - excitement - for what he had in store for you. You can feel saliva pool in your mouth again, but you don’t move a muscle. Not until he tells you to. Not even when it begins to drip off of your tongue, staining the fabric of your jeans even further.

Cody wrinkles his nose and purses his lips, but he reaches forwards regardless - pressing two fingers down against your tongue. “Such a mess.” He mutters out, right as you let out a soft whimper and jolt at the contact. The latex of his gloves felt so cool in comparison to your body. Like he had dropped two ice cubes into your mouth.

You can’t help but savour it.

Your lips close around his fingers, a soft moan rumbling from your chest when you suction to them and suck. Licking up that rubbery taste like it was a lollipop, your eyes fluttering as you take in a shaky breath through your nose.

Cody, nearly stops breathing completely. Your mouth is so warm and wet, so eagerly sucking his fingers in like it was a gift he had bestowed upon you. Barely even doing anything, and yet you were eating it all up eagerly. Greedily. Grateful for any sliver of physical contact he was allowing you. “Did I ask you to do that?” He asks you, and yet he doesn’t retreat. In fact, he pushes further. Sinking his fingers into your mouth until his knuckles are hitting your teeth - the tips of his fingers grazing your throat.

And that’s when he realized something quite… Interesting. You weren’t gagging. Even when he pressed a little further, far enough that any average person would have been choking and sputtering by now. But you? You were just taking it - jaw slack, your throat welcoming the intrusion happily.

Were you always like this? Or was it a product of what he had done to you?

He pulls his fingers from your mouth slowly, ignoring the way you whine and try to suck them back in, before he finally has you releasing them with a wet ‘pop’. “No gag reflex.” He comments quietly, looking down to eye his gloved hand - fingers now drenched and glistening with your saliva. “Is that normal for you?”

You swallow thickly, lips glistening and chin smeared with your own saliva, before you slowly shake your head. It was hard to deny how empty your mouth felt now that Cody’s fingers were keeping you satiated. You just can’t take your eyes off of them, licking your lips at the memory of how they had felt against your tongue. Imagining how they’d feel elsewhere.

”No.” You whisper back to him, as you shift closer to the edge of the bed. You reach out again, and this time he doesn’t stop you. Letting you curl your fingers around the hem of his hoodie to tug him in closer. “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Cody eyes your hand as it paws at him, tugging at his sweater almost frantically with trembling fingers. His lips twitch up at the corners, a wry little smirk stretching across his face. “Well, I guess it could be, yeah.” He hums. “I just didn’t expect it, is all.” He extends his hand out to you again, and you part your lips on instinct, but he doesn’t humour you - instead snorting out an amused laugh before his fingers curl around your throat instead, smearing your own saliva against your skin. Just barely squeezing, enough to really feel your pulse beneath his fingertips. Fluttering like a bird in a cage, so frantic he would almost be worried. Almost. “It must act as a relaxant, just as much as it does a stimulant.”

His thumb rubs against your throat, the smooth latex of his gloves collecting your own sweat against it. You really were burning up. It was even more evident now that he was actually touching you. Warmed to a feverish degree, heat radiating off of you even from a few inches away. No wonder you had started crying about it so quickly. “Didn’t plan for that, and yet I think you’re right. It’s a good thing.” He gives your neck a gentle squeeze, watching how your eyes just go hazier when he does so. Your pupils are practically swallowing your irises now, the colour of your eyes barely even distinguishable. “A little two for one deal.”

He uses his grip to tilt your head upwards. His eyes warming at the sight of you - just being pushed and pulled around so easily. So pliant. Happy, so long as he’s touching you.

He’d bet you’d let him do quite literally anything to you right now. The perfect little lab rat. “In fact, I’d say I outdid myself.” His hand slips up and back, sliding into your hair cup the back of your head whilst your fingers tangle within the strands. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Uh huh.” Your answer is mindless, voice choked off and shaky - struggling to keep your watery eyes open as you lean back into his touch. “Cody-“ You say his name like you’ve known him for ages, all sweet and soft, like you have the right to beg for his attention. He doesn’t seem to mind though, if anything you’d swear you saw his gaze soften. “I need…” You take a moment to take a breath, so overwhelmed that you’re beginning to feel lightheaded. “Please, just keep touching me.”

“Yeah? Is that what you need?” His fingers curl into your hair, the latex of his glove squeaking when he tugs your head back. Not harshly enough to hurt, but enough the pull a gasp from your lungs. “I don’t normally take orders from my rats, you know.” His smirk widens into a toothy grin. “But then again, they usually can’t talk.”

You let out a pitiful whine, tugging him in closer by the hold you still have on his sweater. Close enough now that you’ve got him right between your thighs, staring down at you with such a subjugating gaze it makes your joints feel like goo. Was it the drug that was melting you, or was it him? “So difficult.” He mutters, before reaching up with his free hand.

You don’t truly realize what happening until you feel a cold, hard object slipping past your lips. It feels as if it expands, forcing your jaw open wide - leaving nowhere for your drool to go except to drip past your lips and slide down your jaw.

You let out a surprised whimper that comes out sounding gargled, your eyes widening like a deer in the headlights as you look up to shoot a questioning gaze. “If you want me to help you, I’m going to need you to just sit back and relax.” You hear a click, and then Cody’s hand is retreating. “No more asking questions, no more whining, no more begging.” He leans his head down a little, soft tufts of brunette hair tickling your forehead. “So, here’s the deal. If you want me to touch you, you’re going to hold these forceps snug in your mouth.” He reaches up to tap them, watching how your jaw quivers. “If you drop them, I stop.”

You let out a watery sounding whine, eyebrows scrunching together as you try to swallow back all of the dool accumulating in your mouth. You fail miserably. You can feel it trailing down your skin, leaving your chin slick. “If you don’t want to play, then we won’t. But if you want me to touch you that badly, these are the rules.” His thumb smooths against the skin right below your ear. “What do you think?”

At this point, you think you’d do quite literally anything if it meant he would soothe the ache in your bones. And so you nod - slow and shaky, as you breath raggedly through your nose. This earns you a smile, and Cody’s grip loosens minutely. His fingers scratch against your scalp, a soothing sensation that sends a shiver down your spine. “Good.” His hand slips out of your hair and trails down your neck, sweeping over your collarbones before it ventures lower - cupping your breast so gently you can barely even feel it. But its enough. Enough to have you jolting. “You know,” His fingers graze over the lace of your bra, a soft rumble of appreciation slipping from his lungs. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a partner, especially one so pretty.”

His fingers squeeze, kneading the supple flesh beneath them - watching the way your eyes flutter when he does so, listening to the strangled whimper you let out. “Never have time. Too much to do.” His other hands smoothes down the expanse of your body, settling on your waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles against your skin. “I never… Search it out. Never really have a reason to. There are much more important things to focus on besides such… Primal desires.” He gently peels your bra strap down your shoulder, then the other one, before he’s tugging the material completely below your tits - baring you to him. You hear it when his breath hitches. “But I suppose I am human too. To fight what my biology desires, that’s just an insult to the work that I do, isn’t it?”

You don’t know if he’s genuinely expecting an answer, but you can’t give one regardless. Choking on your own spit, your mind swims as your feel a gloved finger roll your nipple beneath it, before he’s pinching it softly. “I wonder… What would you be like if I hadn’t dosed you? Just as reactive?” He repeats the action, toying with your nipple, palming the fat of your chest until your tits are quite literally tingling from sensitivity.

Before, his hands felt like ice compared to you, but now it seems as if the heat is coming from him. Instilling a warmth that stemmed from his fingertips, travelling down low, swirling in your gut, before it reaches your core. And so you’re shifting and squirming, your whole expression crumpling as you attempt to placate yourself even just a little. You can feel it, how your panties have just grown wetter and wetter - you’d bet they were completely soaked through by this point. Clinging to your folds, making you let out a gargle whine every time the fabric of your jeans brushes up against you. “I really did outdo myself, hm?”

Cody knows why you’re so restless. He can practically smell it, for fuck’s sake. The arousal radiating off of your body, charging the air with an electricity that sparked every time his hands met your body. And well, you’ve been well behaved. You haven’t once let the forceps so much as slip, even as you sputter over the drool flooding your mouth.

You had been so good. Such a fine specimen. It would only be fair to reward you.

And so his hand slides down lower, fingers curling below the waistband of your jeans - your hips kicking upwards immediately at the contact. “Ah-“ Cody shoots you a look, raising an eyebrow at you. “Be patient. Take what I give you.”

Slowly, he undoes the button of your jeans, popping it before the zipper comes down in quick succession. Then, he’s tugging at the fabric. “Poor thing, you’re so warm.” He keeps his right hand occupied with your tits, switching between the two to make sure each got an equal amount of love as he toyed with them. “Lift your hips.”

You don’t even hesitate, letting him peel your jeans off of your without an ounce of pushback. The fabric was damp with your sweat, clinging to your skin before he removed them completely and threw them to the ground. “And these too..” Your mind is hazy when your panties come off too, goosebumps pebble your thighs as the cool air of the lab hits your glistening cunt. “That’s better.”

Your underwear joins the rest of the clothing om the floor, and now you sit before him - practically completely bare with him fully clothed, shivering under his gaze - drool leaving your face and chest glistening whilst your inner thighs shine with your own slick. “Such a pitiful thing.”

Cody takes a step back, but not before he’s reaching up and finally removing the forceps from your mouth - making you let out a soft sigh of relief as your aching jaw is finally given a chance to relax. “Swallow. You’re making a mess.” Cody drops the forceps to the ground with a metallic clang, and you do just as he asks - gulping back all of the saliva that you were indeed making a mess with. “You have any idea what you look like right now?”

When a gloved finger meets the centr of your chest, your breathing hitches. It trails down the line of your sternum, down lower and lower, until it’s resting just below your belly button. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so pathetic.” He presses into your skin, right above your womb, like he was feeling the shape of your insides through the layer of your skin. Then, the journey continues. Inching down until his gloved hand meets your cunt, cupping it gently. “Can’t even think. I’ve turned you into a little doll.” He grins when his thumb presses down against your clit, watching how your body all but crumbles - a look of such unadulterated relief taking over your expression. You hadn’t been lying, you really did need this. “I wonder…”

He rolls your clit beneath the pad of his thumb, rubbing slow deliberate circles that make your breathing go shallow - your mouth dripping open slack as gasps and moans catch in your throat. “Do you even know how you’re acting right now?” Your slickness collects on the latex of his gloves, to which he smears it against your folds with an amused grin. “Would you be ashamed of you did?”

All he gets in response is a soft whimper. Just about the response he expected. “I’ve killed people, you know.” He murmurs, his voice low and gravelly as he slowly sinks a finger into you. He can’t help the shudder that wracks his shoulders as he feels your inner walls wrap around him so deliciously. Somehow even hotter than your mouth was, and so much tighter. So incredibly relaxed though, sucking him eagerly, just like your throat had. You entire body was begging for it. “Ended countless lives with the hands you’re letting touch you right now.”

He gently pumps the digit into you, feeling you just go even more pliant with each movement. Struggling to stay upright, you’re nearly falling into him now, using your grip on his sweater as an anchor. When he adds another finger, you really do crumble. You nearly double over, falling into his chest and smearing drool against the fabric. Gasping into him as you leave his sweater stained and damp, helplessly rutting your hips back to meet his movements. “You don’t even care though, do you?” He scissors his fingers open, stretching you open even wider, and you sob. “Even if you weren’t drugged beyond all hell, you still wouldn’t, am I right?”

His other hand slides down to grip your waist again, tugging your hips back to meet him as he plunged his fingers into your cunt over and over again. Curling them in just the right way to leave you choking out moans to be muffled against his chest. “You knew it was a bad idea, but you kept talking to me. You showed up here, pushed further even though your gut was telling you something was very, very wrong.” The pads of his fingers rub against your gspot, prodding at the bundle of nerves until he could feel your tears wetting his hoodie. “You fell right into my arms. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Verbal communication is completely lost on you now, too busy drowning in a pool of ecstasy to form a single word. Too brainless to even truly process what he was saying. So, you just nod. Bucking your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers as the heat within you reaches a fever pitch. “I know.” He hums softly. “I know what type you are. You just want someone to take care of you, don’t you? Someone to make it all easier for you.”

He can feel it when your cunt starts twitching around his fingers, hear how your breathing was getting more and more frantic. Building and building, until- “I could do that for you.” Until it all snapped.

You let out a broken sob against Cody’s chest, clawing at him near frantically as your release hits you with such a force it makes your ears ring. Makes your vision white out. Leaving you to do nothing but completely melt into Cody like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. He was. It felt like his body heat was the only thing to exist to you right. The only thing that was real.

“Cody-“ You gasp out, pressing your face further into his chest - almost as if you were trying to crawl beneath his skin, curl up snug in his ribcage to hide from the overwhelming intensity of what you felt. And yet, the heat persisted. You felt like you may just combust all over again if his hands ever left you. “Don’t- Don’t stop-“ You plead, still rutting up onto his fingers even when the overstimulation made your gut twist. “More-“

“What did I say about begging?” Cody tuts softly, ignoring your wishes as he pulls his fingers from your sopping wet cunt - before delivering a sharp slap to the inside of your thigh. “I’ll turn you back into a tool holder again if you keep whining.”

You sniffle softly and shake your head. Hair sticking to your face, moist with sweat and drool, you peer up at him as your bottom lip trembles. “I’ve given you more than enough, but you’re going to act like this?” He scoffs softly before grabbing your hips with both hands and tugging you to him. “I thought about just strapping you down and setting a camera up.” He murmurs, before releasing you - only to reach for the buckle of his belt.

Your heart leaps in your chest. “I’d let you cry your heart out, and no one would be around to hear you.” He slowly undoes his belt, eyes on you the entire time he pulls it from the loops of his jeans. “Not anyone who cares, anyway.” Your eyes are wide as you watch the button of his jeans come undone, before he’s tugging down the zipper and the waistband of his boxers rather quickly after. Freeing his cock with a soft hiss, he reaches down and curls his fingers around the base, giving it a few languid strokes. “What would you have done, hm? Beg me to let you go? Or would you do the same as right now, and beg for me to touch you instead?”

You know the answer, but to say it would drag you down even lower than you already are. So instead, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him right to you - the length of his cock sliding against your slick core. Cody lets out a near startled moan and immediately reaches down to grab your waist and still you. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He breathes out. His other hand comes up to cup the back of your head, holding you close to his chest as he ruts up against you languidly. Slipping through your folds, the head of his cock catching on your entrance every so often. It makes your breathing stutter every single time. “S’alright though. Told you already, you won’t have to worry about much here.”

Finally he gets himself lined up properly, taking a deep breath in as the hold on your hip tightens. Then, he’s pressing in, slow and steady for both of your sakes - though he’s probably the one who needs it the most. He had known that the feeling of you around his fingers was just a taste. So tight and warm it nearly makes his knees buckle, his eyes fluttering with each inch in. “Oh, that’s good-“ He groans out, hips bucking forwards even more, getting a couple more inches enveloped in your sweet velvety heat. “You.. God, you were made for this.”

With one last nudge, he sinks all the way in - his hips meeting yours in a motion that had you both moaning into each other, sparks zapping up your spine. “I might just-“ Cody’s hand slips from your waist downwards to grasp at your ass instead, latex clad fingers digging into the soft flesh as he draws his hips back. “I might just keep you this way.”

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck, clinging to him as your thighs tremble around his hips. He just filled you so good. You didn’t know if it was from the drug swirling around in your veins, or if he really was just an incredible lay, but you didn’t really care. As his hips start to rock, you’d swear you could feel your brain melt out of your ears. Static filling your skull with each nudge of his cock against your walls. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” His voice is deeper now, raspy, strained like he was having to dig in deep to pull the words from his lungs. “Let me get you all loopy, begging for my dick day in and day out?”

He’s pulling you back against you with each thrust, leaning down to press his lips against the crown of your head - soft groans muffling into your hair. “You’d never have to worry about anything again. You wouldn’t even know how to.”

The rusty metal of the bed frame creaks every time your body jolts, the once quiet lab filled with the sound of absolute depravity. Your broken moans and whimpers, his absolutely filthy threats accompanied by panted breathing. Skin on skin, growing louder as the pace of his thrusts picked up - losing himself in you just as much as you were in him.

You can feel him throb inside you, pulsing with desire as your cunt does the same. Tightening up around him, sucking his cock in so good he’d swear he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. Your body was just pulling him in like a magnet, all control lost as he fucked more and more slick out of you - dirtying the front of his jeans and dripping down your thighs. So wet, every thrust was punctuated with a squelching sound that made his stomach flip. Made his ears burn hot. “So wet.” He murmurs out. “You feel incredible.”

You claw upwards to latch your lips onto his neck, drool smearing against his skin as you clumsily attempt to suck at his skin. It doesn’t work well, not with how uncoordinated you are, and so you’re left just leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses against his skin as you muffle your moans against him. He’d swear you were downright chanting his name too, breathing it out between each sweet whimper. Like a mantra. Like he was the only thing you knew existed. Moaning out your devotion, sealing it with the spit you left his skin slick with. “But you’re so messy.”

Cody’s hand curls back into your hair, tugging your head back and away from him - a thin line of saliva connecting your lips to his neck before it breaks. Then, it slips down and around to cup your face, fingers pressing into your jaw. “So dirty. Drooling all over me, making a mess on my cock.” His fingers squeeze your cheeks into a pucker, his hold keeping your hazy eyes trained on his face as his hips snap into yours. Harder. Deeper. Rough enough to make your eyes roll back and your legs twitch. “But you don’t care.” He mutters, huffing out ragged breaths as he tries to fight off his release - dreading the moment he had to peel himself away from your addictive skin. “I bet I could throw you over to Toby and you’d let me.”

“No-“ You whine, squirming in his hold as your squeeze your eyes shut.

“No?” Cody lets out a soft laugh, releasing his grip on your face just to land a couple light slaps against your slick cheek. “Just me?” You nod weakly, moans growing higher and higher in pitch as he brings you to the brink once more. Thighs locking around his hips, whole body trembling as it moves against him. “You really are stupid.” And then he’s grinding the head of his cock against your gspot, catapulting you over the edge with barely even a second to blink before it happens.

So overwhelmed that the tears just double, wetting the latex of his glove when he smooths his thumb against your reddened cheek. You arch up into him completely, your bare chest meeting the soft fabric of his sweater as stars dance behind your eyelids - the moans that slip from your lips so loud, and yet you can barely even hear yourself. Barely even bring yourself back to reality.

All you can focus on is the pleasure that buzzes through your veins and washes over your skin. His cock still pumping into you sloppily, fucking you through your release as your cunt convulses around him. His breath against your skin, hot and heavy, his composure having far too many cracks to stay intact.

His grip on you is near bruising, his moans strained, sweat beading up on his forehead to roll off the tip of his nose.

He hadn’t been lying when he had said it had been awhile since he last got to lose himself like this, and so to break that streak with someone like you? This soft, supple body that just took everything he gave you with no complaints? You were heaven sent. Like a gift from god, dropped straight onto his doorstep.

He fucks you until your moans turn into sweet little satisfied whimpers, and then he’s pulling out - backing up and pulling you along with him. Letting your weak knees give out just so that you crumple to the floor in front of him, staring up at him bleary eyed and confused. “Your mouth.” He huffs out, reaching down and grabbing you by the chin. “Open it.”

And of course, just as last time, you oblige.

Jaw dropping slack, your eyes flutter closed in complete submission. A sight that nearly has Cody’s buckling before he even nudges his cock against your tongue.

His teeth are grit from the effort it takes him to reel it back in, his entire body trembling from the strain of it all as he cradles the back of your head and pulls your mouth down onto him. Slipping into that wet heat so easily, sliding down your throat with not even an ounce of resistance. Even when he started bucking his hips into it, his soft grunts ringing through the air each time your nose pressed into his pelvis.

You really were like a doll, just sitting there and taking it, bare skin against the concrete flooring as your lips suction around him - sucking him back in eagerly every time he pulled out. Moaning every time his length pressed into your throat.

So perfect, he’d feel incredibly cocky over the overwhelming success that his creation turned out to be, but he can’t focus on that right now.

He was too busy falling apart before you.

He doesn’t get to fuck your throat for nearly as long as he’d like to before his hips are stuttering. Nails scratching against your scalp as his fingers curled into your hair, pulling you right down onto him as he finally let go. Hot release shot straight down your throat, you could feel the heat of it settle low in your stomach. Almost too much to gulp down, sputtering as he lazily rocks his hips to ride it out.

When he pulls out, your eyes flutter back open - hazy and unfocused - ears ringing from the intensity of it all.

And Cody looked… Lovely. Red faced, hair slick with sweat, his chest heaving as his expression melted into one of pure unadulterated bliss.

You almost wished you could’ve dwelled on it, appreciated it more, but - you are only human after all, and there’s only so much a human can take.

So you get one last look at him. At those green eyes, sparkling with what almost looked like adoration towards you, before your body crumples. Stars in your vision before your vision blacks out completely, leaving you to be nothing but a pitiful heap at his feet.

When you awake once more, your body feels heavy. Weighted. Your eyes burn as you blink against the bright lights above you, your limbs feeling as if they had been replaced with lead blocks. You can feel something beneath you. Something soft, and yet when you shift - it crinkles.

The bed. In Cody’s lab.

You’re still here. Of course you would be.

You force yourself upwards with a pained groan, the movement immediately enticing a brutal headache to rip through your skull.

Your hand flies up to your head, to your temple - a hiss of pain breaking up the silence in the room.

“Ah, good morning.” You have your eyes squeezed closed, the lights in the lab too bright to bear, but you know that voice. It was the last one you had heard before everything went back. “You slept for… About twelve hours. It’s almost midnight.” You feel a hand come to rest on your back, warm and absolute, like a soothing salve for your discomfort. “I was a little worried, but it wasn’t exactly a surprise. You definitely needed the rest.”

His hand smooths across your shoulder, and it's then that you realize that you’re still bare. It's then that you notice how cold you are, compared to him. “You look like you’re in pain, is the comedown truly that bad?”

You barely manage a weak nod, and you hear Cody let out a soft hum. “Hm. That’ll be something to work on. I’ll get you painkillers.”

Then his hand retreats, leaving behind a warm handprint against you goosebump pebbled skin. “Oh-“

A pause, and then there’s a thud on the bed before you. Curiosity getting the better of you, you peel your eyes open - squinting against the harsh lighting. And you don’t know if you should’ve expected it, but the sight of a wad of cash before you nearly makes you laugh. You probably would’ve if you had the energy to. “Your pay. Told you, I didn’t lie.”

You don’t even reach for it, though it was the driving force for you even coming here in the first place. It just seemed so insignificant now.

So… Stupid. What was the point even, anymore? It was useless to you now. Just a stack of paper that meant nothing.

Money’s no use to the dead.

And for all intents and purposes, that’s practically what you were right now. Dead to the world, at least. Dead to everyone outside of this lab.

And so you simply shake your head, scooting back further on the bed to distance yourself from it further.

“Keep it.” You force out hoarsely. “I don’t need it.”

And Cody smiles.

He had known you would say that.

————————————————————————-☆

holy FUCK I did not mean to make this so long. oh my god. looked at the word count at the end and my eyes bugged out of my skull

whatEVER cody debut on my blog in the nastiest way ever LOLLLL

thank you for reading!

#creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta #crp #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta imagine #creepypasta smut #creepypasta fandom #crp fandom #crp headcanon #x virus #x virus creepypasta #x virus fanfiction #x virus x reader #x virus smut #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x virus #creepypasta x y/n

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majinbangus · 8 months ago

Note

Maybe...Reader gets real angry at guarddog!ghost and make him sleep on the blanket. Or not letting him on couches/beds.

Because if they want to play it like this, she's alright. Actually, she has a second collar for Johnny.

Maybe

i was wanting to play with this idea ( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°) -> more here

He's gawping at the sight before him.

"What's goin' on here?"

When Soap came home, he wasn't really expecting anything different. Just you, your dog, and a nice warm welcome back from the both of you. But not this. He was expecting anything else but this.

Kneeling on the ground, below the couch and right next to your feet is Ghost, not in his usual spot on the couch where you would normally be sitting in his lap. Soap raises his brow curiously at the adorable disgruntlement on your face compared to the content amusement radiating off of the lieutenant turned guard dog.

"I'm in the doghouse," Ghost informs, tone oddly facetious considering the obvious trouble he's in with you. In fact, he appears proud when he twists to look up at you from his spot on the ground. "'Parently I was 'barking too much' whatever the hell that means. Just pointed out a few flaws in 'er logic about something."

You're quick to rebuke him. "Hey, I told you if you were going to bark, at least do it properly."

Soap can't hold back his amused smile at how assertive you sound. He looks to Ghost to see his reaction, and instead of acting chastised, there's a flippant sort of glee tinged with arousal when he speaks again, slow and dark, "Woof, woof, pet."

You squint at the endearment, silently debating with yourself if you should do something about the cheek, but ultimately let it slide. Soap shakes his head in disbelief, but also chuckles much like Ghost did. He walks over, stopping by the kneeling man, exchanging a knowing smirk with him.

"Why don't you go easy on the dog?" Soap suggests, taking on a more lenient approach as he pats Ghost's head, sharing an amused look with him. "He's always been a good boy, hasn't he?"

"Woof," Ghost repeats, pointedly looking at you.

"See?" Soap points out. "Obedient!"

"Keep talking and I'll put a collar on you too, MacTavish," You threaten, turning your ire on him. "Make you both sleep on a blanket instead of the bed."

An interesting thought, but as much as he likes seeing this side of you, he and Ghost will have to keep you humble before you bite off more than you can chew.

"Careful, sweets." Soap chuckles lowly, deepening his voice in that way that makes your thighs clench. He hears you gulp and an amused huff from Ghost as he flashes his canines, leaning a shadow over you and forcing you to look up at him from the couch. He lets his smile widen into something a little feral. "I gave you Ghost to take care of because he's good for first time dog owners. He's quick to listen and willing to please, but I don't think you can handle two dogs. Got that?"

You swallow thickly, properly chastened, and weakly nod your head. "Yes, sir."

"Good girl."

sorry in this au i think ghost is gonna be the only dog, although maybe you're all a little dog-coded here. also you and ghost would be the only dogs soap likes.

#bangus answers #liminsendhelp #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #141 sweet treat <3

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bucketbueckers · 3 months ago

Text

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: language, slight cheating (deserved? 🌚), messy, toxicity, gaslighting, angst (w a happy ending bc angst without a happy ending makes me want to jump)

wc: 9.2k

synopsis: The unspoken truth between you and Azzi was that the two of you weren’t just friends. There was always something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface, something that was so glaringly obvious to your mutual friends yet something neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge. You thought that it was safer this way – keeping your relationship with Azzi strictly platonic, saving the both of you from an eventual heartbreak. Unfortunately, it seems that a toxic girlfriend you weren’t quite committed to was actually all it took for the two of you to give up on trying to stay away from each other.

notes: this was supposed to be a lighter read but 💛 anon said i should make a really angsty fic and well. who am i to deny the people. this was not originally going to have as much plot as it did but my fics never stay on track 🌚 also this is a little all over the place so im sorry!!! as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

For as long as you’ve known her, Azzi Fudd wasn’t just your friend. There was always something more between you. Gazes that lingered a little too long, a hand on a waist that burned in the most pleasant way possible, softer smiles that seemed to be reserved only for each other.

You met her during your freshman year – she was a freshman, too, a little wide-eyed and definitely out of her element at the crowded frat party. You were only there for “team bonding” and you quickly realized that “team bonding” meant your teammates were going to get plastered and you’d have to be the babysitter. You’d spotted Azzi from the corner of your eye while you were rummaging through the refrigerator for a water bottle, and, in a rare moment of smoothness where you didn’t stumble over your words because Azzi was drop dead fucking gorgeous, like stunningly beautiful, you’d asked if she wanted a water, too. She told you yes. For good measure, you stole a bowl of hummus and some pita chips from the pantry, asked if she wanted to get some air, and that was that. She told you her name under the glow of the porchlight and you told her yours through a coughing fit (which she’d been endlessly amused by) because the hummus was spicy for whatever reason – either way, you and Azzi had an instant connection, one that went a little deeper than hummus and chips at midnight and an easy conversation you’d never expected to have with a stranger, and frankly, you were a little too scared to give up what you had with her to ever think about acting on your growing feelings.

So, you never did. You never let anything slip – never gave any sort of indication that occasionally, you jolt awake late at night, your skin burning with what feels like the phantom press of Azzi’s lips against your skin. You don’t tell anyone how you’ve spent years organizing that little compartment in the corner of your brain that’s dedicated purely to Azzi – the meticulous system of filing cabinet-esque thoughts and facts about her; you know that you store her favorite color right next to her coffee order, only three rows down from vivid images of her smile, the dimples on her cheeks, the slight pout of her lips.

If anyone asked, Azzi Fudd was just your best friend, and you were hers. It seemed as though Azzi was none the wiser – or perhaps she was too polite to say anything otherwise, or maybe she’d felt the same way, too, and was just as afraid of ruining your friendship as you were – no way that was actually the truth, though. Despite your best efforts, you weren’t as subtle as you thought. Paige was convinced that you and Azzi were meant to be. Caroline always glanced at you meaningfully when you and Azzi walked into the room at the same time or when she caught you staring at her from afar. It was as though you and Azzi were just one big inside joke that everyone was in on but the two of you.

It’s a late night at Ted’s when you find yourself nursing a drink at your usual table. Paige had stolen Aubrey and Ayanna away to play some pool, KK, Jana, and Ice were dancing, and Azzi and Caroline went to the bathroom to freshen up. In times like these, you wish you were just a little better at saying no to Azzi – there’s something in the air that’s bringing your mood down and you can’t figure out what it is. It’s like a heaviness weighing down on you, a sort of dread that fills your veins. You’re sure the liquor isn’t helping either. Granted, you’re only a few sips in, not one to ever progress past tipsy, but you’re not really feeling the night out. Azzi had gazed at you with her big doe eyes, lips drawing into a pout. You figure you’d have a better chance at fighting off a bear than living with yourself after denying Azzi something.

“Hey–”

You can’t help the way you startle, lost in your thoughts. Azzi’s tinkling laughter reverberates in this small bubble of space you’ve created in the back corner of the bar; despite yourself, your lips curl into an amused smile, Azzi’s presence alone enough to lift your mood. “How’s the brooding, Batman?”

Huffing out something akin to laughter, you roll your eyes a little, sliding over in the booth to let Azzi in. She sits, eliminating the space between your bodies completely; you swallow, trying to not fixate on the way her shorts ride up on her thighs as her skin presses against yours, and Azzi? She’s the perfect picture of nonchalance, taking a sip from her drink like she’s completely unaware of how she’s turned your brain into mush. “Not brooding,” you argue. You don’t comment on how weak your voice sounds. Blessedly, Azzi doesn’t either, but she sets her drink down on the table to gaze at you.

Her brows draw together when she asks, “You okay?” Her fingers brush across your cheek and up your temple, which makes all of the blood rush to your head. “You’re feeling a little hot. You sure you’re not catching whatever bug Kayla and Jana had?”

You try for a chuckle, but even that comes out unconvincing. “Might be the alcohol,” you deflect, knowing full well that the two and a half sips you’ve had weren’t even enough to get you buzzed. The truth of the matter is that after a while, this just gets exhausting – pretending that you weren’t completely head over heels for Azzi. She’s your best friend. It’s easy to hide your feelings during the day when you’re both occupied – Azzi with basketball, you with softball – but things change at night. You’re looser, less-restrained, and all of the walls you keep up during the day to keep your feelings at bay come crashing down. Everything just feels so much more stronger and part of you starts to wonder if it’s worth it anymore – harboring your feelings. Maybe saying them out loud would be enough for you to start working through them and finally get over Azzi. Maybe you could finally be just friends again and you could spend time with her without hyperfocusing on how each and every one of your nerve-endings light up with activity at the slightest brush of her skin against yours.

Then, Azzi’s smiling at you, something soft and warm and mischievous all at the same time, like she’s got a trick up her sleeve and she knows that you’ll spend hours trying to figure out what it is. Her next words surprise you, moreso when her hand circles around your wrist, intertwining your fingers. “Come dance with me,” she requests.

Your throat bobs as you swallow, glancing at her hesitantly. “What?” you say smartly.

Azzi rolls her eyes, standing and pulling you to her feet. “I said–” She plants her hands on your shoulders and all you can really do is let yours fall to her waist, your fingers catching on her belt loops, “–come dance with me. You’ve been sitting too long. No wonder that half a shot of alcohol is kicking your ass.”

“It was like two shots,” you shoot back, but you let Azzi drag you across the room. You catch Paige’s eye as she leans over the pool table, lining up her shot, and she gives you a knowing look that just makes your cheeks heat up all over again. If you never got the chance to tell Azzi how you’d felt, you were sure that Paige Bueckers and that big ass mouth of hers would find a way to slip up and tell Azzi herself. “And you know that bartender uses that strong tequila.”

“I think you’re just a lightweight, babe,” Azzi states, pulling you into her space as she leads you to the beat of the music. You try to not focus too much on her words, but babe has begun to circulate through your mind on repeat, bumping into things haphazardly. Before you know it, one of your last remaining brain cells has caught the word in a jar like a butterfly and has stored it in that compartment in your brain next to everything you know about Azzi. The jar is tucked onto a shelf, only a few rows down from your filing cabinet system; one day you’ll worry about just how much space in your brain is dedicated to Azzi Fudd, but as her hands burn marks into your skin, guiding your body against hers, you find that you don’t really care.

Neither of you say anything as you dance along to the song. You can feel the bass in the ground, reverberating through your body as it races up your spine. You feel Azzi’s hand splayed across your waist, her grip firm, like there’s some sort of unspoken promise that she’d lose it if you weren’t in her personal space at all times – she spins you around, your back to her front, and the drag of her fingertips against your skin makes your head dizzy. Her breath tickles the back of your neck, her voice sweet as she hums in tune with the singer through the crackling speakers.

It’s in times like these that everything fades away – your hesitation, your insecurities, the worries that Azzi may never truly reciprocate what you feel for her. All you can truly focus on is the gradually lessening space between the two of you, the cloud of her perfume in the air, each and every one of her whispered lyrics and the smile she presses against your temple. You’re not sure if there’s a chance in hell that you’d be able to get over her. But for now, that’s the least of your worries, far too lost in the warmth of her palm against your bare skin where your shirt has ridden up – until you’re dragged back into the real world.

Azzi’s grip has tightened on you, but you barely register it as you open your eyes to see who has interrupted you. It’s a girl, probably around your age, hair dyed a red so dark that it’s nearly brown. She’s wearing a form-fitting black dress, and sure, she’s conventionally attractive, but Azzi has had your attention for nearly four years; you can’t think or look at anyone that’s not her. When the redhead asks Azzi to dance, a hopeful smile on her face, you feel your stomach churn immediately. It’s enough to sober you up fully – drunk not because of the alcohol, but because you’d allowed yourself to fall into Azzi as if the two of you were actually together. You’re reminded of the fact she’s just your best friend. The way she’s holding you means nothing. You feel Azzi’s gaze on you, but before she can say anything, you extract yourself from her hold, smiling unconvincingly at her, and you’re too unfocused to notice the way her face falls.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you say, nodding meaningfully to the redhead as bile pools in your throat. “You have fun, okay?”

You’re gone before Azzi can say anything else, unwilling to look back. You push your way through the crowd to the bar, swallowing back the humiliation and the fact that despite everything, a part of you still yearns for Azzi, and you motion to the bartender, requesting another drink. You dig through your wallet for your card, fingers trembling, cursing under your breath when it refuses to slide out of the little pocket it’s nestled in.

“I got it,” someone else says. You glance up to see an unfamiliar woman offering her card out for the bartender to swipe. She flashes you a charismatic smile and in return, all you can do is raise your brow.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you say, but you slide your wallet back into your pocket, anyway.

“Seemed like you needed a pick me up,” she says, shrugging a shoulder. “Saw you dancing with that girl over there – I was hoping she wasn’t your girlfriend, because I’ve been wanting to buy you a drink all night.”

You take a cautious sip, glancing back into the crowd of people, your eyes finding Azzi immediately. She’s dancing half-heartedly with the redhead, a generous amount of space between the two of them, and she seems to feel your eyes on her because she turns her head, locking eyes with you. You stare for a beat, then avert your gaze, making eye contact with the woman before you. She’s blonde, easy on the eyes, and she seems nice enough. Why not? “We aren’t together,” you state – although you wish you were – and her smile seems to grow.

She tells you her name – Alex – and the two of you dance for about fifteen minutes until Jana, with the grace of a bull in a China shop, interrupts to complain about a tummy ache and that everyone needs to go home. You weren’t sure where she got the logic on that one, but Jana had seemed desperate, and you weren’t going to tell her off in front of Alex.

You and Alex exchanged numbers. Still, she was nice enough, but she wasn’t Azzi. Maybe she was what you needed to get over Azzi, though. Conversation flowed nicely between the two of you and you had some things in common. Maybe you could grow to like her. Maybe you just needed to find someone the opposite of Azzi – blonde, boisterous, and short – to get over the crush you had on her (though you weren’t stupid enough to actually think it was a crush).

Azzi drives you home after Ted’s that night. You’re both silent for the first few minutes until she speaks up. “Did you have fun?” she asks cautiously. You don’t need to ask her to clarify – you know what she means.

You also know that you can’t lie to Azzi. You’ve never been any good at it. She glances at you from the corner of her eye and you feel yourself sink a little further into her passenger seat. “Would’ve had more fun with you,” you confess, watching as some of the tension melts from her shoulders.

“Then why didn’t you?”

You shrug a little, picking at your cuticles. You know exactly why you pushed her away. You just weren’t strong enough to admit it to her. “The redhead seemed to like you,” you say softly. “You don’t have to spend all your time with me. You can like…see other people. Do shit. Have fun. I don’t wanna be your clingy best friend.”

Azzi’s jaw ticks as she signals left, coming to a stop in the turn lane as she waits for the light to change. “What if I want to?” she murmurs. “Spend time with you, I mean. It’s not clingy. It’s just us.” That’s kind of the issue. You don’t voice that thought out loud, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of your heart, too. She speaks again before you can, her voice coming out in an almost petulant huff. “I don’t even remember her name.”

At that, you choke on a laugh, finally lifting your head to look at her. “Whose?” you ask. “The redhead?”

“Yeah,” Azzi confirms, pressing on the gas once the light turns green. “She wasn’t you.”

You swallow thickly. “Alex’s not you, either,” you whisper.

Azzi makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “Alex,” she repeats, like she’s in disbelief. “Do you like her?”

You shrug again, noncommittal. “She’s…nice,” you say. “And she bought me a seven dollar drink, so…” Azzi doesn’t find that as humorous as you did, her lips drawing into a pout, one you would have teased her for had the situation been less tense. “Az, what’s the issue? I was with her for like, twenty-five minutes. I’m not getting married to her.”

That makes Azzi fall silent again, contemplating her next words. “No issue,” she says, clearing her throat, as if sobering back up. “I’m sorry. I think the alcohol made me moody.”

You don’t comment on how she barely made it through her first drink before switching to water, but she didn’t comment on your lies and deflections, either. “It’s okay,” you say, summoning the courage to nudge her gently. She glances at you once more, a soft look on her face as you say, “Who’s brooding now, Batman?”

That makes her roll her eyes, giggling under her breath before she refocuses on the road. The tension in the car dissolves as she turns on your shared playlist, continuing to drive. For a moment, it feels like nothing is wrong. Tonight was just weird. There’s nothing going on between you and Azzi. Then, your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with a text notification from an unknown number. It’s Alex – letting you know that she enjoyed getting to meet you and that she’d like to see you again. You feel the unmistakable feeling of dread wrap its iron fist around your heart. Too caught up in your own reaction to the message, you don’t notice how Azzi’s knuckles turn white as they grip the wheel.

Against your better judgement, you do see Alex again. You stared at her message for a few hours, trying to come up with one good reason why you couldn’t give her a chance, but your mind came up blank every time. She was nice, attentive, had a good sense of humor, and she was wholly focused on you when you’d spend time together. Still, no matter what, you couldn’t shake the image of warm brown eyes from the forefront of your mind. You tell yourself that it’s not supposed to be an overnight change. You don’t love someone for four years and expect it to go away. So, you give Alex that chance (even though it feels so wrong), and she treats you to a few dates over the course of three weeks.

You get to know her. At the very least, she’s a good friend and a charismatic date. She tips well, makes you laugh, and she has an adorable little weiner dog named Bruiser (“Legally Blonde style,” she’d said jokingly, which did make you laugh, mostly because Bruiser, despite his name, was dressed in a cute pair of pink pajamas). By the third date, you start to feel a little hopeful that you’re finally making progress. Alex doesn’t push you – she seems to understand that you want to take it slow, which is something that you’re grateful for. She hasn’t asked you to be her girlfriend yet, either, which is also something you’re grateful for. Becoming her girlfriend this early feels too real, like the idea of you and Azzi is something that you’re fully leaving in the past. Keeping up the facade around Azzi does weigh on you, but it’s become something that feels like a core part of you and being without it feels wrong.

Speaking of Azzi, you don’t tell her too much about the Alex situation. She doesn’t ask much about her, either, a barely concealed look of irritation clouding her features whenever her name is mentioned. She hasn’t told you that she doesn’t like Alex, but at this point, you think her telling you is more of a formality than anything else. It’s clear as day that she hates Alex’s guts, although you don’t suppose Azzi will ever tell you why.

Maybe you’ll be better off this way – having one part of your life that doesn’t revolve around Azzi – well, doesn’t revolve completely around Azzi. Hopefully this little bit of independence will be good for you. This feels more like blind reassurance than actual confidence, but you’ll take what you can get at this point.

As you and Alex spend more time together, something changes with Azzi. At first, it’s nothing serious and you hardly even notice it. Azzi’s texts come a little more frequent, your FaceTimes a little longer. It’s miniscule especially because you and Azzi already text frequently and you spend hours on FaceTime together, but it’s more like a concerted effort to keep you with her and talking to her for longer periods of time. You’re not exactly sure why, although you’re not complaining; you’ve always enjoyed your late night phone conversations where Azzi loses her filter and rambles on and on for hours about the funny things that happen at practice or the latest picture of Stewie that her mom had sent her. You do have to admit this change in behavior makes it a little more difficult to get over Azzi – the constant proximity and speaking isn’t doing you any favors – but you can’t just abandon Azzi because you’re talking to Alex now. Your goal is to go back to a complete, platonic friendship with her, not ice her out completely.

Azzi’s behavior does progress, though. Still, it’s subtle – she’ll come over to your apartment more often or invite you over to hers more frequently. You’ll spend the night watching movies, giggling over the shitty acting or singing along to the Disney movies that Azzi ropes you into watching with her (as if you’d ever say no to her). It ends with her convincing you to stay over or her coming up with a slick excuse how she should just stay the night since her apartment is so far away (that you see right through – Azzi Fudd is a lot of things but a good liar is not one). Sometimes she’ll leave behind a shirt or a hair tie at your apartment; when you ask if she wants you to bring it over, her response is always the same: “Nah, keep it. I don’t have enough space in my closet for that shirt,” or “I noticed you were running out of hair ties anyways – you should just keep it.”

(When Alex comes over, she’ll notice each and every new addition, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Azzi left her sweatpants this time?” she asks, gingerly moving them from the foot of your bed to your desk chair. You don’t notice the bothered look on her face as you hum.

“Yeah,” you say, not thinking much of it. “She said she has too many.”

“Right,” Alex hums, not quite convinced. “You don’t want any of mine?”

Confused, you glance at Alex, busy folding your own laundry. “Your what?”

Alex huffs quietly. “...Forget about it.”)

Then, the behavior ramps up. Azzi is touchier, borderline clingy, which is different because you’re usually the clingy one between you and Azzi. It’s not that obvious when the two of you are watching movies at night – she’ll just lean against you, her head on your shoulder and a leg slung over yours, but in public? She’s almost possessive, always needing to be in contact one way or the other, a firm arm wrapped around your waist at all times. When tipsy randoms approach you to ask to dance, she doesn’t even let them finish their sentences before she’s tightening her arm around you, shaking her head with faux sympathy, and saying, “Sorry, she’s spoken for.”

In public is one thing. But in public when Alex is around is when Azzi really shines. You and Alex aren’t official yet, which is something that Azzi seems to take advantage of. Azzi buys all your drinks, glancing at Alex when she smiles that honey-sweet smile and says, “C’mon, you know I got you, right?” She always whisks you away to dance before Alex can get the chance to, and to be honest, you let her. Deep down, you know that you’d rather be doing this anyway – dancing with Azzi, letting her pull you close like she’s trying to stake a claim or prove something to someone, letting her whisper the lyrics in your ear and the both of you laughing when she starts making up her own words because the actual ones don’t make any sense.

You don’t think much of Azzi’s behavior until Alex calls you that night when Azzi’s in the shower. Alex offered to drive you home, but Azzi stepped in to let her know that you’d be staying over with Azzi to watch a new movie that had recently come out – you weren’t aware those were the plans, but you didn’t mind, either. You’re doing your skincare at Azzi’s vanity when your phone rings. Part of you is tempted to let it go to voicemail, but Alex had seemed bothered, and while the two of you weren’t official yet, you didn’t want to be an asshole.

“Hello?” you greet, pressing the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you rub in your moisturizer.

“Hey,” Alex says. You hear her exhale sharply. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I don’t really know how to, like, explain this, but I feel like you keep blowing me off for Azzi,” Alex states, which makes you pause in your movements. “I feel like Azzi is jealous – of me – and she keeps trying to, fuck, I don’t know, worm her way in between us to keep you away from me? And you just let her do that shit.” You’re silent, letting her words echo in your brain, but she keeps speaking before you get the chance to. “I know she’s your friend. But ‘friends’ don’t behave like that. She’s one day away from pissing on you like a dog to mark her territory and I just need to know – do you even like me? Is this going anywhere? Because I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I’m trying to be nice about it but at this point I can’t tell what you want from me.”

You open your mouth, then close it, looking vaguely fish-like in the mirror. You can hear Alex’s breathing from the other end of the line as you try to gather your thoughts. Finally, you settle, and gently you say, “Azzi is my best friend.” You can almost visualize Alex’s eye roll, the soft huff that she thinks the microphone doesn’t pick up on. “She’s not jealous. Just…protective, I guess. She’s not trying to get in between us – we’re just always close like that.”

“Then tell her to chill,” Alex says frustratedly. “It’s making me feel like I’m the other woman – like I’m just something you’re stringing along in case Azzi gets bored. Did she ever act like this before I started taking you out? Why is she suddenly so obsessed with being all over you now that she doesn’t have all of your attention?”

“Alex,” you say calmly, surprising yourself. “I am not your girlfriend.”

She laughs bitterly from the other line. “Oh, it’s like that? What, I take you on a few dates and it didn’t mean shit to you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you hiss. “You don’t have a claim over me. You’re acting like a dog trying to mark its territory. You are not the other woman. There isn’t even a woman. Ask me to be your girlfriend – or don’t – but leave Azzi out of this.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a few beats until she scoffs. “Okay. Whatever. Have a good fucking night – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up without a second word. You roll your eyes, huffing, dropping your phone face down on the surface of Azzi’s vanity as you continue your skincare routine.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Azzi’s voice startles you, which causes you to groan and Azzi to giggle. She murmurs an apology as she comes up behind you, resting her palms over your shoulders, her thumbs pressing into your shoulder blades pleasantly. “Everything okay?”

You shrug, sighing again as her fingers work out the knots in your back. “Alex is just being weird,” you say, grunting when her fingers dig in harder than intended at the mention of her name. Azzi whispers another apology, softening her motions.

“What’d she say?” Azzi coaxes.

You meet her eyes through the mirror, seeing nothing but concern and a willingness to help on her features. “She just…I don’t know. She said you’re ‘one day away from pissing on me like a dog trying to mark its territory.’”

Azzi’s jaw drops, pausing in disbelief for a moment until peals of giggles fall from her lips. Her amusement makes you feel a little bit better about the situation. “Gross,” she says.

“I know,” you agree. “She thinks you’re trying to get between me and her. I told her there wasn’t even a ‘me and her.’ She hasn’t asked me to be her girlfriend.”

Azzi snorts. “How’d she take that one?”

“She told me to have a good fucking night and that she’d see me tomorrow.”

“Yikes,” Azzi says.

You hum again. “Yeah. I’m not really bothered, though. Don’t really wanna deal with it right now. She thinks you’re obsessed with being all over me and that you’re possessive. I said we’re just best friends, like we’ve always been like this?” It’s then that you catch onto Azzi’s sudden silence. Concerned, you turn in your chair to look at Azzi directly. “Az? You good?”

“You know you could do better than her, right?” Azzi’s words surprise you. Your jaw falls slightly, brows drawing together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Azzi emphasizes, “what’s so good about Alex?” She spits her name like it’s poison. “She danced with you one night at a bar and thinks that makes you exclusive. She’s jealous, possessive, and she doesn’t even try to be cordial to me, Paige, Jana, or anyone. You could do so much better than her. You know you don’t have to settle.”

“I’m not settling,” you argue, even though you know you 100% are settling because you can’t have Azzi.

Azzi gives you a knowing look, one that softens when she sees the confusion in your features, the angst, the insecurity that no matter what, the decision you’re making isn’t a good one. “I just feel like I’m losing you to her,” she admits in a whisper. “That you’re gonna choose her over me.”

“Az,” you breathe out, your heart aching. “I’d never do that. You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I feel like I already have,” Azzi says. She swallows, her eyes searching yours, and she takes a deep breath like this conversation is physically destroying her. She shifts, staring at the wall instead of you, and the way her next breath comes out in a shudder makes you feel like she’s realized something damning. “I don’t… I like being us. Before there was an Alex. And I know I don’t have a claim over you – but it feels like things are changing faster than we realize. That we’re changing and I can’t even figure out why or what’s different because you’re with Alex.”

You soften, standing to face her fully, and you cup her cheeks, pulling her attention back to you. “We aren’t changing,” you promise. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Alex won’t change that.”

“Do you even like her?” You falter, not expecting Azzi to ask you that, and your silence is all the answer she needs. “Why are you with someone you don’t even like?”

“I’m not with her,” you say weakly, but Azzi is shaking her head, pressing on.

“You don’t have to settle,” she reminds you again. “She is not your only option.”

You can’t tell if Azzi is trying to convince you or herself of that. You don’t have the courage to be honest with her, to tell her the real reason you’ve spent so long trying to make yourself believe that you truly liked Alex. So you don’t. Instead, you whisper, “Do we have to talk about this tonight?”

Azzi’s face falls slightly, but you hardly notice it, too caught up in the way your heart nearly pounds out of your chest. She nods, stepping back, and she clears her throat. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

You can recognize the look in Azzi’s face from a mile away. Softening again, you reach out, wrapping her in a tight hug, one that she immediately melts into. “Thank you,” you murmur into her neck, her skin still a little warm to the touch from her shower. She doesn’t say anything in response to that, instead tightening her arms around your waist, and exhaling deeply.

Alex asks you to be her girlfriend the night after your conversation with Azzi. She’d showed up to your apartment unprompted, bouquet in hand and an apologetic expression on her face. “I was out of line,” she’d said, sincerity in her features. “It wasn’t right of me to get upset or accuse you and Azzi of what I accused you of.” Your heart was pounding out of your chest while she explained herself, apologizing and making it right all in one, but the way your heart raced wasn’t out of anticipation. It wasn’t because you’d spent so long wishing that Alex would ask. Your pulse thrummed because of pure dread and adrenaline coursing through your veins. This wasn’t what you wanted. Not at all. You wanted Azzi – you’ve wanted nobody else but her for close to four years.

But Alex wanted you. Azzi didn’t. You needed to get over her. So, feeling as though you’re making a terrible decision you may never be able to come back from, you say, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

For a while, things are okay. Azzi clearly isn’t happy with you and Alex now being official, but your friendship stays the same. You try to split your time between the two of them, not wanting to feel as though you have to make a choice between your best friend and your girlfriend, and for the first month that you and Alex are together, it works well enough.

At least it does until Alex decides that it’s not enough.

It’s a Friday night, and you’re supposed to go over to Paige’s dorm to hang out with her and the rest of the team. They’d had a nailbiter game on Thursday and between practices and exams, you all just wanted to take the time to spend together and relax. KK was supposed to be bringing her Switch and you were looking forward to beating Paige’s smug ass at Mario Kart.

“You’re seriously going out?” Alex says from her bed, where she’s been watching you touch up your make-up in the mirror.

You resist an eye roll, not really wanting to argue, so calmly, you explain, “I’m just going to Paige’s to hang out with the team.”

“Feels like you never want to make time with me anymore,” Alex complains. You don’t respond to that, focusing on your mascara, until she speaks up again. “Is Azzi gonna be there?”

Your hand falters, smudging against your cheekbone, and you sigh in frustration as you dig through your clutch for a makeup wipe. “She’s on the team, so yes, Azzi will be there.”

“You do know you’re not with her, right?” That makes you stop moving completely, sliding the wand into the applicator. You turn to meet Alex’s gaze, who seems proud at having elicited a reaction.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not with Azzi,” Alex repeats, as if you needed a reminder. That’s the reason why you’re in this fucked up mess anyways, trying to make yourself like someone who’s not actually the woman you love. “So why do you keep running back to her at the end of the day? You’ve been friends for, what, four years now? If she wanted you, don’t you think she would have done something about it by now?” Despite the anger bubbling in your chest, embarrassment also blooms on your cheeks. “I want you. She doesn’t. Stop chasing her and running away from me – it’s not going to change anything.”

For that, you have no true response, your heart racing. You just feel trapped now. This isn’t what you wanted at all, but you feel like you’re too far in to quit now. “Stay in with me,” Alex states. It’s not a plea, not a request. It’s a demand – and for a moment, you think maybe she’s right. You’re still her girlfriend. You have to spend time with her.

You text Paige, letting her know that you can’t make it tonight. Her response is swift, an over dramatic series of crying emojis followed up by a message that makes your heart constrict – “Az was lookin forward to this all week, she’s gonna crash out lol.” You don’t really know what else to say, so you just send Paige another apology before powering your phone off, knowing that as soon as Azzi finds out, you’re going to be the first person she calls.

You and Alex curl up on her couch, browsing through Hulu for a show to watch. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders feels wrong. It’s too stifling, too possessive. It’s nothing like the way Azzi would wrap her arm around you – making you feel safe and grounded all at once. Alex is nothing like Azzi and in the beginning, you thought that was just what you needed to let go of Azzi. Now, it feels like giving up Azzi feels like giving up a part of yourself.

Another month passes by in a blur of daily disappearances, shitty excuses, and daydreams of soft brown eyes and a dimpled smile. Anytime you’d try to make plans with Azzi or her teammates, Alex would remind you of all the reasons why you shouldn’t. You’re with me – not them. Why did you pursue me if you were just going to discard me? And at a certain point in time, the edges start getting blurry. You can’t even remember if you’d truly made those promises to Alex in the first place.

Azzi tried to reach out a few times, but Alex’s watchful eye had creeped into every facet of your life. She was there to pick you up from your practices. There wasn’t a single plan you’d made that she hadn’t carefully looked over and approved – most of them she invited herself along for, just to make sure you wouldn’t stray too far away. Weeks passed and you couldn’t remember the last time you had a life to yourself that wasn’t corrupted by every inch of the woman you’d danced with at the bar.

Escaping feels too difficult. Lately, it feels as though Alex knows more about you than you know about yourself. She strings you along just to yank the chain, leaving you unmoored and choking around a collar you were sure you’d fastened yourself. She’s devoted and loving one moment, cold and apathetic the next when she feels as though you hadn’t done enough to earn her affection. She’s attached at your hip for one week, then leaves you drowning the next when she suddenly ghosts, leaving you wondering if you’d truly had a girlfriend at all.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Alex had accused you of stringing her along for the ride to get over Azzi, and now here she is. You don’t think she’s trying to use you to get over someone, but perhaps she’s punishing you for the way you’d chosen Azzi at every opportunity at the beginning of your relationship. You’re doing the time now, you suppose, although every morning you wonder if and when your sentence would end; you hope that Alex would grow tired of you one day and finally dispose of you. You weren’t sure if you had the confidence to drag yourself out of this mess despite how easily you threw yourself into it.

“You know Azzi’s like, in love with you, right?” Alex asks you one day. You’re sitting at the table, poking at your chicken and spinach mindlessly. Your girlfriend sits across from you, arms crossed and plate clean. Her words make you falter, your fork stilling, and you don’t glance up, not wanting to confront the expression on her face. “I recognized it the first night at the bar. She was all over you while you were dancing, holding you like she owned you. When she went to dance with someone else, it was a complete shift – she didn’t even want that other girl. Just you.”

At that, you glance up finally, searching Alex’s eyes. They’re cold, nothing like the Azzi’s warm brown that you’d spent years memorizing the exact hue of. “What are you trying to say?” you ask, because you truly don’t understand her point. Doesn’t she understand that she’s won? That she’s broken you down, separated you from your friends, that she’s interwoven herself into the very fabric of your life? What else could you have for her to take?

Alex shrugs, a picture of nonchalance, but you see the tension in her shoulders anyways. “I just want you to know why I’m doing this,” she says, which makes a cold feeling course through your veins. “I don’t want to be the bad guy. You know that, right? I just want to protect you, from someone who wants to take you from me. Azzi couldn’t take care of you like I could. She always had this agenda from the very first night we met. Do you understand that?”

Your fingers are trembling around your fork. “Alex,” you whisper, drawing her attention to you. Her head cocks like you’re a wounded animal on the side of the road and she’s studying you to determine if she should leave you – or at the very least, move you out of harm’s way. You know her, though. She’s the type of person to keep on driving. “I’m tired. Can we not do this right now?”

Her lips curl into a smug, self-satisfied smile, because she knows. She knows she’s elicited a reaction, even if it’s not as obvious. She knows that she’s won this round. She stands, leaving her plate behind, and she looms behind you as her hand trails across your shoulders. Then, she leans in, planting the barest of kisses to your temple that makes your body tighten with barely concealed fear and dread. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she whispers, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “One day you’ll understand what I’ve done for you.”

She leaves and it’s only then that you allow your body to relax. Exhaling deeply, you bury your head in your hands, feeling tears of anguish and frustration building at your waterline. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t need to look at it to know who it is. Azzi has been trying to reach you for a while. She hasn’t given up, but you haven’t had the energy to text her back, to tell her about what’s going on. Now, you think you might have to take that chance.

That night, while Alex snores unknowingly next to you, you collect your bag and all of the clothes stored in her drawers. With quiet footsteps, you exit her apartment, already reaching for your phone with trembling fingers as you dial the one number you know will pick up at any time. It barely rings once before the line clicks through.

Azzi’s greeting is a murmur of your name, both in disbelief and ever present relief. “Azzi,” you say back, your voice barely reaching her. “Please come pick me up.”

“Do you want water? Juice?”

Azzi’s voice cuts through the haze in your brain. When she picked you up, neither of you had said anything, but you’d hugged her tight enough that she groaned a little, which made you smile for what feels like the first time in forever. She let you into her apartment wordlessly, took your bag to her room, and sat you down on the couch.

“I’m okay,” you say. All you really wanted was to feel comfortable in your own skin again, but being in Azzi’s presence is doing wonders for you. You can’t help but feel a bit of residual guilt – all of this could have been avoided had you been braver, if you’d denied Alex from the start or if you could just muster the courage to tell Azzi that you’ve been in love with her for four years. “Can we just…can we go to bed?”

Azzi nods quickly, murmuring an affirmative, and she links her hand with yours as she leads you down the familiar hallways. It shouldn’t bring you as much peace as it does, but holding Azzi’s hand makes you feel like you’re a sailor coming home after a long voyage and finally spotting the lighthouse in the distance. Azzi’s bed is a welcome comfort and you fall into place next to her, feeling the tension melt out of your shoulders.

You can feel her next to you, the warmth of her body, the smell of her perfume in the air, and you feel your heart ache all over again. This was where you were supposed to be. Not with Alex. Even if you and Azzi remained friends forever and you kept your feelings for her close to your chest, it would still be better than going through these past few weeks with Alex on repeat.

“I missed you,” Azzi admits, her voice cutting through the darkness in the room. She shifts. You can feel her eyes on you, so you shift, too, coming face to face with her.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, watching as a soft smile spreads across her face. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You swallow thickly. “For everything. For Alex. For leaving you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Azzi promises. Hearing those words is like coming up for air after being submerged for so long. You don’t know if she knows just how healing it was to hear her say that. Her hand finds yours, squeezing you gently. “I’m sorry for not doing more to help you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shoot back, a coy smile on your face, which makes Azzi giggle.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Azzi murmurs.

You think that you should – that you owe it to yourself and to Azzi to be honest about the last few months. So you do. Azzi listens to you as you start from the beginning, outlining the course of your and Alex’s relationship and where it derailed. When you finish, Azzi’s face is full of concern, sadness, and a slight determination. She’d apologized again. You told her it was okay, mostly because it was okay. You would be okay.

“Do you love her?” Azzi asks a few beats later, perhaps a bit selfishly.

“No,” you confess, feeling Azzi relax against you. “I never did.” She nods, and you both fall silent for a moment until you speak up again. “Az?” She hums, her fingers brushing against your skin. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth? Alex said something earlier and I’m…I’m just tired of feeling like I’m crazy.”

“Anything,” she promises.

“Do you love me?” The words come out less composed than you’d been trying for, your voice cracking at the end, but you don’t really care. You need answers. You’d spent so many years loving Azzi from afar, but for Alex to say she’s confident in Azzi loving you back? This could change everything.

“Of course I do,” Azzi says, her words a little jilted. “You’re my best friend.”

You feel your heart drop, but you press forward. “Not in that way, Az.”

You can hear her breath hitch. At first, you’re not sure if you’re going to get a response, but she tightens her grip on your waist, and admits, “Yeah. I love you.”

Silence encompasses the both of you. Azzi doesn’t push – she never does, and that might be one of the things you love most about her. She lets you process that revelation on your own. At first, a part of you wonders if it was truly that easy in the first place, if all you ever needed to do was ask Azzi. The fear of her saying anything but yes outweighed the hope. Now that you’ve heard it, you can’t deny how much lighter your chest feels, the hope that swells in your chest. “Say it again,” you request.

“I love you,” Azzi swears, her voice a little firmer this time, her hands holding onto you like she’s afraid you’re going to disappear completely. “I love you. I have for years. Seeing you with Alex almost destroyed me.”

Feeling a little braver, you sit up, moving your legs to straddle her waist. There’s nothing inherently sexual about it, but the sheer closeness makes you feel a little more grounded, especially when her hands steady you by the hips. “I’m sorry,” you say again, your voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.

“Don’t be,” Azzi murmurs, her thumb brushing against your hip bone.

“I was only with her because I thought I could get over you,” you confess, which makes her jaw relax, her face soften. “God, Az, I’ve been in love with you forever. I didn’t think I could have you.”

Despite the heaviness of the moment, Azzi’s lips quirk into a fond, relieved smile. Her hands leave your hips, fingers brushing your arms as she trails them up. She hooks a finger into the collar of your shirt, pulling you down to her as she whispers, “You have me. Completely.”

You’re not thinking about the consequences as you finally kiss Azzi Fudd – you’re not concerned about the fact that technically, you have a girlfriend that you’re technically cheating on, nor are you concerned about what this means for you and Azzi. The logistics are a problem for you tomorrow. Azzi sighs against you, her lips insistent, fingers tangling in your shirt – and to be honest, it’s a pleasant paradox. Alex is a taker in every definition of the word, but Azzi swallows each little sound you make against her lips, pressing firmer against you to take everything you’ll give her, but there’s a bit of mutualism in the way you and Azzi simultaneously take and give.

One of her hands releases your shirt to cup your cheek, her palm warm against your skin as it rapidly heats. You’re both passionate, a little desperate, but despite it all, the love between the two of you is palpable – you can feel it in your heart and the way it swells; it courses through your veins, leading you home, reminding you that this is a love you’ve spent years harboring and cultivating.

People always say your first kiss with someone you love is a little earth-shattering, that it’s like fireworks or coming home. To you, this kiss with Azzi feels something like freedom. It feels like you don’t have to keep any more secrets from her or yourself.

Azzi breaks away, her chest heaving and her breath warm against your lips. “I love you,” she whispers again, holding you tighter, insistent. “Leave her. Please.”

You’re nodding before Azzi has even finished her plea. “I will,” you swear, kissing her again. You grin when Azzi chases you, pressing one last kiss to your lips before a soft smile spreads across her features. “I love you.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything in response to that – she doesn’t have to. She presses a kiss to your temple and you stretch out across her body, her arms wrapping around you once more. You fall asleep next to her feeling free and at peace – you’re not quite out of the woods yet, but you’re almost there, and you have more moments like these to look forward to with Azzi.

She has an early practice that next morning, so she’s gone before you’re awake, but you know what you need to do. You walk the short distance to your apartment, make yourself a coffee to mentally prepare, and you send a quick text to Alex – ignoring the fifteen unread messages she’s sent between the hours of 2am to 7am – telling her to come to your apartment so you can talk. You don’t wait around for a response. You get a trash bag and start collecting all of the shit she’s left at your apartment during the time you were together – clothes, toiletries, a lone coffee mug (that you’re sure shatters once you drop it into the bag, but you don’t really care).

All of Alex’s belongings are secured in the trash bag when there’s a knock at your door. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, dragging the bag behind you as you step up to your door. You open it halfway, raising a hand and making an annoyed noise when Alex tries to walk in. “No,” you say firmly, “stay outside.”

A look of annoyance flashes across her face, but she does as you’ve commanded, crossing her arms. You reach for the bag, throwing it haphazardly behind her. “So, here’s what’s happening,” you begin. “We’re breaking up.” She opens her mouth to say something, but you cut her off with a raised hand again. “I don’t really care what you have to say. We’re done. This is all you’re getting from me. Lose my number and get fucked.”

Unceremoniously, you slam the door in her face, locking it immediately. You bury your head in your hands as your pulse pounds against your ribcage, but as you listen to the sound of her footsteps fading away, that familiar feeling of freedom returns tenfold. You could cry with relief, although you don’t, pulling your phone out of your pocket. You’re free now, and you know who your first call will be to.

Azzi picks up on the first ring, sounding a little out of breath as she greets you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you respond, feeling the smile creep up onto your lips – you’re sure she can hear the excitement and the relief in your voice.

And she does. She laughs a little, sounding relieved, too. “I’m on my way,” is all she says, bidding you one last goodbye before she hangs up.

You can’t get rid of your smile, and thankfully, she only keeps you waiting for about fifteen minutes. She opens your door with her key and walks in like she’s been here hundreds of times before – which she has, because there’s no part of your life that is complete without Azzi in it. She spots you immediately. You stand up from the couch, dropping your phone on the cushion, and you meet her in the middle.

Azzi is a little sweaty, disheveled from practice, but you don’t care as her arms encircle your waist, pulling you flush into her with pure relief in her laughter. You wrap yours around her neck, standing on the tips of your toes to reach her. You kiss her, something softer than the first one you’d shared the night prior. You feel her smile against your lips, which only makes you smile, too, your noses brushing against each other as you both share a breathless little laugh. She tightens her grip around you and you can’t find it in yourself to mind – you know that Azzi is always going to be there to protect you, and finally being hers after all these years is something you know that you’re not going to screw up – you did your time.

#azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader #uconn wbb #ncaa wbb #wbb x reader #azzi x reader

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ctrlhope · 1 year ago

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The Pitfalls of Silk (m)

synopsis: The winter gods are out to get you. That could be the only possible explanation for the series of bad luck tumbling before you— tropical vacation cancelled, snow locking you inside. Hell, even your shovel broken in half has got to be the gods playing some sort of trick on you. Pulling you along, making decisions for you as they guide you along the red string of fate. Guide you towards the very spider that found his way into your basement. Allowing him to fall into your heart all the same. -> apart of the rest, relax, reserve series

p.jimin x f.reader

⋆𐙚┊: wc: 20.0k

⋆𐙚┊: genre: hybrid au, soft yandere, soulmate au, romance, fluff, smut, v light angst

⋆𐙚┊: content: spider hybrid!jimin (cobalt blue tarantula), human!reader, soft yandere jimin, dom!jimin, power imbalances, blood, blood kink, injury, mates / mating, stupid misunderstandings, reader is rlly bad at feelings, heat/rut cycles, jealousy, biting/marking, jimin has fangs, brat taming, light subspace, bondage, fingering, breeding / breeding kink, unprotected sex, cumplay, overstimulation, manipulation, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of venom, honestly rlly soft- jimin is just a little off his rocker, so many mentions of the word silk, jimin is soft for reader but also a little perverted freak <\3

⋆𐙚┊: notes: AHHH it’s finally here!!! I’ve had such a bad crush on spider jimin for such a long time. Creating his character over the years in my head— how exactly this type of hybrid would function was so fun for me. This fic (& the others that follow) has been spurred on by my special interest in arthropods so I hope you end up loving this jimin as much as I do <33 mwah I kiss u guys

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The weather has grown cold, too harsh for anyone to live outside— survive. Burly temperatures tumbling through the air in icicles, the entire world painted in white.

While the city was still busy, your quaint neighbourhood had gone completely quiet. Everyone huddled inside, trying to keep warm while they sipped on cocoa. The worst blizzard in generations deciding to tumble through on the exact weekend you were meant to go out of town. Meant to be enjoying a tropical beach with the best of your friends!

But nooo, all of the planes had to stay grounded and you had to be stuck in your house with nothing but chilly embers decorating your fireplace.

You were pissed about it all, to say the least. Annoyed that your vacation had to be cancelled, annoyed at the fact you couldn’t stay warm in the slightest, annoyed that you had to be shovelling snow out of your driveway right now.

Well, attempting to shovel snow would be a better way to put it. In theory it seemed like the right thing to do– try and get your car out just in case, start to clear a path for when you’d finally be able to greet the outside world, triumph over whatever winter gods are trying to keep you locked in your home.

In reality, you could hardly move– three layers of pants, two coats keeping all of your joints locked down. God, and the snow. It was coming down way too hard, piling up faster than you could brush it away. Hurting your cheeks with the freezing temperatures, making your bones throb with want to go back inside.

It is safe to say that you did not succeed. That was an easy enough conclusion to come to with the two halves of your snow shovel in your hands. Eyes staring blankly at the object with utter… you don’t even know the word.

Cheeks flushed red with cold, head lifting to the sky as you blink. What the fuck! How shitty can your shovel be! What the fuck is wrong with the snow!

Okay, maybe you did buy it at the dollar store. But that isn’t the point! Where has quality gone in our nation! Caring about the consumer! Yeah, that was never there to begin with! But still! You like to think that there's a point in that somewhere!

The snow falling on your skin feels like the sky is laughing at you, mocking you. It probably is. Cancelling your trip, forcing you to stay at home into the lonely confines of your small neighbourhood.

Yeah, the world is out to get you, you’ve decided it.

A grumble leaves your throat in annoyance, quiet cusses leaving your lips as your legs try to waddle themselves inside. Layers of clothing restricting every movement you make, joints feeling stiff and bones feeling cold. You are no more than a penguin, are you?

“Stupid fuckin’ shovel, stupid fuckin’ snow…” You huff, slamming the thick oak door behind you. Hoping, in a way, that you could pretend none of the frost was there in the first place.

It’s not that you hate snow– of course not. You don’t like to hate much of anything. But when it’s this deep, this thick, you can’t help the sour mood you fall into. Can’t help the sickly feeling in your gut that it has somehow wronged you simply for existing.

Whatever, not that it matters much. You aren’t mother nature. You can’t change it or your now cancelled– most likely non-refundable plans.

What you can change? A nice warm pizza in your tummy.

You hum to yourself, tapping off your boots before ridding yourself of them entirely. Soon follows your jackets, puddles of water quickly forming on the floor where it falls. Snow melting much too fast now that it is in the warmth of your home.

You stare at it in spite, another way mother nature has wronged you today.

You know what? No, not your problem right now. That is a problem for you later today! The wood would be fine. And if it isn’t?

…

You groan, throwing your head back as you move to the bathroom. The battle of opposing forces inside of your head has won again– being responsible, doing the right thing.

Your hand snatches a towel, “Stupid shovel… stupid snow…” You huff, kneeling on the ground to wipe away the liquid that pooled.

You hang the towel back in the bathroom for it to dry before finally making your way to the kitchen. To finally make the frozen pizza you want– no deserve! Yeah, you’ve had a hard day today, being an adult is too hard sometimes. You deserve a little treat don't you?

Feet scuffling against the floor, fluffy socks dragging along the surface allowing you to quickly slip against the tiled floor. Your hips sway, a quiet hum leaving your lips as your hands move diligently, efficiently. Placing the pizza in the oven, setting the timer, flipping the switch on on the kettle.

Everything happens with practised ease. With movements that leave no room for error. Careful, efficient, the way your parents always taught you. The right way.

If you do everything correctly, things will never go wrong. You’ll never have to worry. When everything is in your control, everything is perfect and content.

It’s too bad the right way never accounts for things out of your control. When the world causes you to tense and get annoyed– when it doesn’t behave the way it's supposed to, like you want it to. Just like stupid shovels and a winter storm no one predicted.

But hey, at least you still have power. Your backup generator is there if you need it. Can still watch your dramas and eat warm food. Keep yourself sane while the insane persits just outside of your door.

Lonely, lonely, lonely winter storm~ whatever shall you do~

Your head begins to sing to itself while you wait. Maybe you already were going insa–

Bang.

What the fuck was that?

Your eyes instantly dart to the basement door wide with fear– the source of the sound.

A crash, a quiet cry, a scurry all sound in quick succession. Too loud to miss. Too loud to ignore. Too distinct to place on anything else.

You know winter noises. The crash of shutters against the window, the influx of snow on glass. The beating of hail against the roof or the creaking of pipes chilled from the cold. The noises you just heard? None of the above. They couldn’t possibly be. They weren’t. They were too… too…

Human.

Shit, shit. Is someone in your basement?! Oh god, oh fuck.

The room, it freezes over.

Your pulse starts to race– hairs raise, stand on end. Breath filtering through your nose as you start to panic. Fingers grip the countertop as you try to ground yourself. Try to figure out a way to escape this.

If horror movies have taught you anything– it’s how to run. Grab everything you can, high tail it out before you become victim to the unknown lurking just below the surface of your floorboards. Before you can be possessed or worse, chased down by some mass murdering clown.

That would be the smart thing to do– the wise thing. To get out of your house as quickly as possible, call the police to investigate it for you before you have to become the ‘final girl’ of a movie franchise of your own.

But the storm, the storm would never allow for the right thing.

The police would never make it in time, the roads far too hazardous to truly reach you. If they did, you would already have frostbite from the cold outside by the time they made it. You might be worse off than before–

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The reasoning formulated in your head as you grab a broom from the closet, slowly make your way to the basement door. Completely ignoring the nagging feeling in your gut, the one that tells you that you actually want to travel down the stairs. A string tugging you along a path predetermined, forcing you to forego anything you had thought before.

No, your line of reasoning had to be the object pulling you down those stairs, creaking with every slow, nagging step that you take. It could never be curiosity, a want to understand the unknown guide leading you astray from the dirt road you’ve taken time and time again.

The right road that would lead to the right solution is all but forgotten in this moment. Only adrenaline spurring you on, fingers clenching and unclenching around the broom handle in your grip. Fingers tied so tight around the metal that your knuckles may as well be white.

You're terrified– scared out of your mind. The only noise passing through the drums of your ears is your own pulse, the accelerated beat of your heart as you try to clear the fog that dances over your brain. Fear must be clouding your judgement, making you follow it blindly into the light; well, dark.

Your breath leaps from your chest in short pants, eyes haphazardly harding around your form as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Something is keeping your legs moving when all your brain wants to do is turn back and run. Call the authorities like you should be doing instead of risking everything to satiate the incessant need pulling at the back of your skull. Acting on instincts alone, allowing the string of fate to tug you around the corner. The urge to investigate is stronger than anything you had ever felt before. Anything you’ve ever wanted to feel before.

He sees you before you see him.

“P-please..” The quiet, almost non-existent voice sends a chill down your spine. One you were not expecting in the slightest.

Terrified, panicked. Shaking like a leaf, eyes welled with tears. It’s almost like he knew you were coming down all along, just… didn’t know what to do about it. Too scared to move, too scared to hide. Too scared to do anything but sit there and wait.

Just as petrified as you.

Nothing about the scene before you is making much sense at all. Not to you, at least. Why is he so scared? Why is he in your home? Why isn’t he doing anything but sitting there with pleading, helpless eyes? You try to take everything in, try to fit the pieces of the picture together.

Basement window opened slightly, just enough to allow the man— was he a man? To climb inside. Pretty blonde hair completely dishevelled on his head, grime coating what you know would be such pretty locks. Eyes with double pupils brimmed with tears threatening to spill at any second. Pink plush lips quivering with worry, fangs biting into them so hard you fear they may bleed. No, they are bleeding.

He is definitely not a man. Nor is he a beast. An intoxicating swirl of the two combined into a species of hybrid you’ve never seen before.

The first thought in your head is one it shouldn’t be. One that makes your heart stop for entirely different reasons than before. Makes you drop the broom in your hands, allowing it to fall to the ground with a clatter. Defences dropped completely in the face of the stranger before you.

He only flinches at the noise, blood covered hands reaching in panic to cover his all too sensitive ears.

Any worries have left you– something seeded deep within your soul tells you he isn’t a threat in the slightest. Not to you, at least. Never to you. Maybe it is the same string as before pulling you along. Pulling you to what destiny has provided.

He is absolutely gorgeous. Even with the grime and his pale complexion from the cold you can tell that easily. He might just be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and you find lost in yourself what to do about it.

What is anyone meant to do when a drop dead gorgeous hybrid enters their home in the middle of a blizzard? Just as scared as you were moments before? Looking like he might freeze to death if you don’t–

Holy shit he must be frozen solid.

It’s only then that you come to your senses, your eyes racking over him once more as you take in all of him for more than just the beauty he brings.

His clothes are thin– far too thin for this weather at least. Tattered on the edges, few stains spotting the fabric, though its clear effort was spent trying to get them out. Your mind wants to wonder why he would worry about that, worry about making himself appear presentable, but raking your vision down you know there is no time for it. Not with the blood on his palms or the red of his flesh.

Your body moves quicker than your brain can think, crouching down in front of him. Noticing the way he flinches once more, the fear in his eyes more palpable, hurting worse than a gunshot wound.

The constriction of your chest is dumb, or at least it should be. Feels almost benign, unfounded. You just met him, you're scaring him, but for an unexplainable reason you wish you could take all of his worry away just for that moment. Make him feel a little better, a little warm. A little safe.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” Your voice mumbles, trying to soothe him or yourself, you’re not entirely sure.

“I-I’m sorry… pl-please don’t.. It’s just so cold… Please…” He begs, though neither of you are sure what for. Not to hurt him, not to send him back outside. All you know is the tears that now flow from his eyes, cresting along his cheeks, dripping to the floor.

“Not going anywhere…” You hope your voice sounds stronger than you feel, hope he can’t hear the way the strings of your heart break, hope he hears how much you care in your tone all along, “Trust me a little okay…?”

You know your words mean nothing, that it might have been an impossible task for him to do so. But you had to try. Had to hope.

It should be hard for you to trust him too, it should be hard to rectify your fear in the face of the one who had caused it. It isn’t the right thing– none of this is the right thing, but it all just comes too easily. Compassion, caring takes over the anxiety too easily. Too brilliantly to do anything else other than care for this hybrid that has wound up at your door.

He was just a scared hybrid doing whatever he needed to to survive. Terrified out of his mind that he would freeze or starve out there– probably had no burrow or… you’re not sure, honestly, what his home might be like. But no home nevertheless. You could never just send another person out there to die.

He stiffens as you reach out for him, gently take his hands in your own. They feel like ice, frozen solid. You don't want to acknowledge what could have happened to them if he was out there any longer.

Without thinking you raise them to your lips, blowing on them as best you can. Trying to do anything to get the blood flowing again before you take him upstairs. Warm him up properly. Make him feel like more than a snowman once again.

You don’t notice the way his form completely loses all stress as you touch him for the first time, speak to him the first time. He feels transfixed on your voice– it had to be too sweet to be real. But you were too focused on your mission. Too focused on making sure the man who has broken into your home is okay to notice the way his lips part slightly at your tone.

You don’t notice the way his breath hitches, the way all of his hair stands on edge as a current runs through his body, breathing life into every pore he possesses. Nor the way his eyes widen, losing their will to cry as he stares at you.

Don’t notice the recognition on his face.

You don’t notice a lot of things he does that day. Too focused on getting him into a warm shower– one he was very confused by, you might add. Too focused on getting a warm meal in his belly. Too focused on getting him in nice, clean clothes. A set that will properly keep him warm.

You could worry about other things later. But this felt right. This felt like something you were always meant to do. Or maybe that was just the size of your heart talking– you could never be too sure. But you liked to think it was the former. Liked to hope that Jimin, who you later learned was a spider hybrid, was always meant to come tumbling through your window, into your life for good.

The days that follow are easy– falling into a rhythm with him, taking care of him is just too simple. As basic as breathing, maybe.

Though, it hasn’t exactly been hard with how much he sleeps. How deep he’s nestled in your bed, blankets piled on top of him to drown out any chills that may attempt to slip into his bones. It’s almost like hibernation– if you could describe it. Re-building his energy, making himself feel strong again before he faces the world.

You can’t blame him, honestly. Not after everything he’s been through. Only god knows how long he had been out there. How long he had to brave the snowstorm, the cold weather that previewed it as well. You would probably do the same thing. Hide yourself from everything that hurt you.

Most days you wish you could be doing the exact same thing as him. Hide under a pile of blankets and forget the rest of the world exists. But the voice of your parents would always nag you out of it, force you to be human with the rest of society because it's the right thing.

You humph, gently placing a plate of food on the bedside table. Let him occupy your room for as long as he needs, preparing meals for him even though he never touches a bit of it. It’s the least you can do with his condition.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to stop someone's pain so badly. You hope you can by just doing small things like this. You sigh, heading for the door once again. Another day on the couch.

“Human…?” His voice is quiet, almost non-existent as he calls for you. Cracking slightly, the first time he's spoken in days.

You quickly turn to face him and almost want to fall to your knees at the sight. Fluffy blonde hair peeking from just below the covers, doll eyes peering at you while the rest of him stays hidden beneath the surface. Does he know how destructive he is?

Wait, no. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. He’s letting his defences down, actually talking to you. Stop it.

“Hmm?” You gently call back, glued to your spot in the doorway. You don’t know what he would do if you moved, how startled he may be because of it. You want to talk to him– to find answers.

“What time is it…?” He slowly asks, pacing his question. You notice a slight lisp behind his words– how much of an effort he puts to cover it up.

“Mmm.. about 1? I made myself some lunch so I was just stopping by.” You explain, trying to justify your presence in the room.

“Oh.” He looks beneath the blankets, eyes darting around the room, “Okay. Thank you.”

It seems neither of you are great conversationalists, awkward air passing between the space left between your bodies. You don’t blame him. You don’t know what you would be thinking, feeling if you were in the same place as him. If you didn’t really know what your fate was going to be.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, playing with your fingers to distract from the nerves that you feel. As much as you want to jump, pin him down and ask every single thing your heart begs for, you know that isn't the right thing to do. You know you should be slow, careful with this. At least, that's what the articles online have told you.

“Better…” His voice comes out smoother this time, finally coming out of sleep as he sits up in the bed. Gently taking the plate into his lap, scrunching his nose. “It’s not cold in here like out there.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself. He seems so relaxed, so at ease. Not scared in the slightest of you or what you may do. You forget all about the fact that you should probably be scared of him too.

“Not really,” You smile gently, eyes glancing at the window as he starts to eat, “I was really worried about you, scared me bad.”

You don’t see the flush that covers his cheeks.

“I-I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to… your window was the first one I could get through and I knew I couldn’t take the storm anymore so I–”

“Hey, It’s fine.” You turn your attention back to him, “I’m just glad you’re okay, yeah? It must’ve been terrifying out there.”

“It was.” He doesn’t hesitate in answering in the slightest, eyes serious as they focus on you. They’re beautiful, really. His eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

He shakes his head, “Not your fault human, I left the reserve. My fault.” He tells you in earnest, wanting you to believe it with every piece of your soul that you could never do anything to hurt him, “Come sit?”

The question is quiet, but you oblige nonetheless. Legs moving you slowly, perching at the end of the bed to face him. Kicking your legs slightly as you stare at the pattern of your sweats.

“The reserve?” You ask, turning slightly to face him. His face is suddenly smiling, nodding at your question. He must like the place a lot, see it as home for him to become so excited.

“Yeah! Where I live,” He explains, continuing to shovel food into his mouth as he speaks, “They say humans can't hurt you there, you get to hunt like in the wild too.”

He hums, content in talking about the one place he has ever found comfort in, found friends in. You can’t help but smile as he speaks, too.

“Yeah? It sounds really nice.” He’s nodding his head once again, as quickly as he can.

“There are lots of other arthropods to play with there. Lot’s of food. Sometimes the humans that visit will give you some too, but they’re normally scared of me.” He suddenly looks serious, eyes coming to meet yours once again, “You’re not scared of me, right?”

You jerk your head back, brows furrowing together in confusion. How could someone be scared of someone like Jimin? You’ve only known him for a matter of days and you doubt that you could ever be.

“Of course not.” You tell him, gently reaching a hand over to place on his knee. He doesn’t flinch away like you expect him to. “You just needed some help, we all need help sometimes.”

He smiles, the serious demeanour retracting from his face in an instant. Back to smiling down at his food happily. The silence doesn’t feel as awkward anymore, at least you don't think it does. It makes you happy, stretching on as he continues to eat like a man starved. He probably is, days of not eating and only sleeping.

“Why did you leave it?” You tilt your head, staring out the window once more. Few snowflakes trickle against the blue sky, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I figure if we’re going to be together through the storm–”

“You’re not gonna kick me out?” His face is awestruck, fork dropping to the plate in surprise. What is he talking about? Kick him out? In this weather?

You quickly shake your head, hand slowly pulling itself back from your knee. He whines in protest, quickly trying to force himself back under your heat. The touch of your hand warmed him up more than anything else in this room– more than the blankets, more than the heater or the warm towels.

His hand tangles itself with your own, pulls you back to his covered knee. Keeps your hand in place with his own while he uses the other to eat. Good. This is better. He likes it when you touch him. The way your small hand feels wrapped in his own.

Makes the tips of his fingers tingle, warmth spread throughout his skin. This is right. This is good.

“Why would I kick you out?” You ask in disbelief, either unnoticing or uncaring to the way he holds your hand– he’s unsure. Not that it matters much! “It’s too cold for anyone out there. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

He smiles, the pit of his stomach only warming more at your words, “Good.”

“We have to wait for the snow to melt to drive you ba–” He cuts you off once again, not wanting to think about going back. At least not without you.

“My friend Taehyung leaves a lot,” He begins to explain, fingers squeezing your own as his palm lays heavy against the back of your hand, “He always talks about how fun it is. All the cool things he gets to see, you know?”

He places his plate to the side while he talks, licking one of his fangs gently. You don’t want to think about how handsome he looks while he does such an action.

“So I wanted to try it out, but we’re not really supposed to leave, you know? ‘Cause then we’re not protected.” You nod along, “And I don’t really have wings to fly out so… I had to wait until they weren’t really paying attention.”

“And that just happened to line up right before the snowstorm was supposed to hit.” You finish for him and he nods, looking down at his lap, “That has gotta be such shitty luck, Jimin. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not, you just wanted to go out and experience new things and you almost ended up dead.” You frown at him, trying to get the man to understand the gravity of what may have happened. He simply shakes his head, plush lips tilted into a small smile just for you.

“I said it’s okay.” He tries to make you believe it, leaning closer. Feeling nothing like the stranger he was only days before. “I got to meet you, so it was all worth it.”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Jimin has a mate that he’s going to be with someday. Someone he’s going to fall in love with. Someone he’s meant to be with, be happy with for the rest of his life. Someone that isn’t you. You really need to accept that and move on from this stupid fucking crush you’ve developed. One that will amount to nothing but heartbreak.

All hybrids have them– Jimin is not excluded from that. You know it’s true. Know it’s so true that you can hardly breathe but he just makes it so easy, too fucking easy to fall for him.

He takes care of the house, cleans it for you whenever there is a mess. Does the dishes after dinner. Takes out the trash. Tells the spiders in the yard not to mess with you– okay, you’re not entirely sure he does that last one. But he is adamant he can speak to them, and who are you to rain on his little spidey parade.

As the seasons change and the months pass, he only makes it easier and easier. Fitting into your life like he was the only piece missing. Filling in all of the bits and pieces you never knew you needed, wrapping silk around your heart and pulling it tight before you could ever think about letting him go.

Even as the months heat and his deep blue roots grow out from his bleached hair, he has no desire to the place he once called home. The reserve quickly pushed aside every time you try to bring it up. Saying he likes it better here, that this is now his home.

To be honest, nothing makes you more happy. Nothing in the world could possibly make you feel better than Jimin. His little webs he places in the corners, the soft way he clings to you when he becomes needy, the way he likes to show you any bugs he catches before he eats them. You’re not sure you could continue in your life without it.

Yet still, still. You’re not sure if this is right. The right thing, the right way to go about it all.

You often fear that you’re keeping him from what he really wants, if he actually wants to go back but feels indebted to you in some way. If that’s the only reason he actually sticks around.

You worry you’re being selfish in that regard. And then once again you find yourself spiralling into the void of questions you could never have answered. Feelings that will always be unaccounted for because Jimin has a mate.

Or at least, will have one. Someday. And you’re not sure if you could handle that day coming. Not in the warm heat of spring, flowers blooming alongside feelings for an arachnid that has entered your life.

One that has no intention of leaving your side anytime soon, if he has anything to say about it.

But nothing, nothing in the world could prepare you for this. What could prepare the thrum of your heart or the butterflies in your tummy? You never expected him to hold you this close, keep your body pressed against his own in the small space of the coat closet. Keep his face tucked away in your neck, whining in pain at something you could never think to discern.

So quickly you were pulled away, without a second to waste you were dragged onto his lap. One second kicking off your shoes, covered in mud from gardening, the next a hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you into the dark confines. Only Jimin there to cover up your scream, lips delicately pressed to your ear uttering a quiet please. Voiced laced with a whine so pained you couldn’t help but join him without a second to spare.

A thought to think– a debate on whether this is right to do or not, for yourself and your own heart.

“Min? Min, what’s wrong?” It’s the only thing you can think to ask, pulling him away from your neck, making his head face your own. Hands gently cupping either cheek as your eyes attempt to make out the features of his face.

It’s too dark, you can’t see anything. The only answer he gives is in the form of a pained groan, not even his eyes reaching you through the darkness. You start to panic, feel the nerves along your spine light up in trepidation.

He’s hurt. He has to be. What happened? Is he okay? He’s never acted like this before. Not with you. Never before has he seemed so hurt, so dishevelled save for the night you first met him.

Just before this the two of you were gardening, mid-morning sun shining bright overhead. A light breeze passing through the trees keeping the two of you cool. That was it! He only went inside a few minutes before you, a few minutes alone and he was already hurt this bad.

Oh god, you never want him to hurt. To be in pain. It hurts your heart just as bad as it hurts him, if not worse.

You’ve fallen a lot farther than you thought.

“Min, let me just turn on the lights okay? Let me see what’s wrong.” You try to coax him, try to kneel from his lap to reach the string above you. Panic flooding through you as he keeps you snug, keeps you from helping him.

You stop your struggle, veins running cold as he lets out a sharp, violent hiss. A sound he’s never made before, never dare uttered towards you– around you in general. It leaves you nervous, scared for entirely different reasons than before.

But one thing is clear from the way his fingers dig into the skin of your wrist almost painfully. The same wrist that was reaching for the string. He doesn’t want you to turn on the light.

“Okay…okay I won’t…” You tell the arachnid, slowly lowering yourself back onto his lap. Letting go of the struggle, letting go of the resistance. It isn’t what he needs right now, isn’t what he wants.

His grip loosens, arms returning to their place around your waist. Holding you close. Keeping you in his arms. His face nuzzles back into your neck, inhaling deeply with every breath he takes. Smelling you. Imprinting the memory of it in his brain.

“What if I use my flashlight…? Would that be okay?” Once again, the response is a much short, quieter hiss. A lot less defensive, angry than the first. Just a sign of dismissal.

“Okay…” You say quietly, bringing one arm behind him to gently run through his hair. Scratching his scalp in a way that always has him preening, “Can you please tell me what's wrong? So I can help…? Please…”

Your voice is quiet, almost a beg as you ask him. He squeezes your body tighter in response. Would’ve basked in the tone you gave him if not for the pounding behind his eyelids. Still, he knows if he’s going to get you to stay, he has to talk. No matter how much it hurts.

A whine leaves his lips, nose running along the column of your neck as he tries to scent you, “Hurts.”

He answered, his voice shaky and quiet, but it gives you nothing.

“I know Min, I know…” You hush quietly, trying to consol something that you do not have the answer to. Your other hand slowly starts to soothe up and down his back, trying to relax the poor boy enough to speak.

“The light. Hurt eyes. Head Hurts.” He gruffs out, burying his face into your skin to block out any other source that he could.

Your lips part in a soft ‘o’ as the picture becomes clear to you. Staying outside too long, helping you in the garden had come at a cost to the poor spider in the form of a splitting headache.

How could you have been so dumb to let him help you? The articles you’ve read, the pieces you’ve tried to put together to understand the man in your life– they told you as much. How delicate some species' eyes could be but… Jimin never seemed to have that issue before. Never mentioned it, anyway. He doesn’t mention a lot about himself.

You frown.

“Min, I’m so sorry…”

He only grumbles in reply, blunt nails digging into the back of your shirt to keep himself grounded. To keep his head from pounding any louder.

“Let me– Let me go get you some Ibuprofen, yeah?” You hope the sound of your voice isn’t making everything worse. If it does, he doesn’t say anything, only shaking his head, burrowing it further under your hair.

“Just… stay.” He sighs in defeat, shoulders relaxing as he holds you close. He doesn’t need medicine. He doesn’t need anything else. He just needs you. Why can’t you understand that?

“I’ll–” You breathe, trying to force the flush of your cheeks to disappear. He can see in the dark, you know that much. You wouldn’t want him seeing this. The effect he has over you. Doesn’t he know how dangerous he is?

“I’ll stay.”You sigh in defeat, unaware to the pride that blooms in his chest at the battle won. The quiet chirp from his throat that he has you here, with him. Where you’re meant to be.

Hours pass just like that, just the two of you wrapped in each other's arms. No words spoken but quiet requests to know the other is okay. That the other is safe. Even as your muscles begin to cramp, bones start to become sore you don’t dare to move. Don’t dare to do a thing when you are the only one that matters to him right now.

Jimin makes it so easy to pretend.

Especially as his migraine begins to lift, as the conversation between two souls becomes more frequent. As he moves your body to the side so your head can rest against his chest. As his fingers smoothe over the skin of your thigh, rubbing gentle, comforting circles into your flesh.

“And then Namjoon, you know how bad a flyer he is, ran straight into the director of the park. Made her spill her whole coffee all over.” He smiles to himself as he tells the story of the bee hybrid, eyes heavy as he looks down at your form. So cute and small, “and you know what he said?”

You shake your head, “what?”

“‘You need some honey?’” He recites, dipping his voice in a deeper octave to mimic what you can only assume to be Namjoon’s. His voice falling into quiet giggles, you quickly follow suit. Laughing at stories of friends, feeling at home in the dark closet.

You don’t care how long the two of you have been in there. Only that he isn’t in pain anymore.

“I’m glad you’re okay now.” You tell him, eyes feeling heavy, the soothing tremor of his voice vibrating in his chest making your head start to fog. Inklings of sleep slipping into your frame. Head lulling back against him, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

He nods, his throat constricting at just how perfect you look there, fingers teetering on the brink of digging into your skin once more. “Feeling a lot better… my vision is still a little spotty but it's okay.”

You pout. He has to hold back a coo. Too cute. Do you even know how cute you are when you get like this? Probably not.

“No, it’s not okay. I should have known. Told you to go back inside so you don’t get hurt. I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

His heart pounds once, twice before he releases a shaky exhale. Do you know what you do to him when you talk like that? When you show him just how much you care?

The level of restraint he has, it has to be impressive. If he was Taehyung, he would have taken you right there. Wrapped your arms in webs so you couldn’t move. Mate you without a second thought.

Seriously, what did you think you were doing? Talking to him like that? Making him feel like he’s going insane, a few short strings from breaking free and just taking you to his nest. Keeping you there.

You can’t say things like that to him. Not with how innocent you look, with how terribly he already wants you.

A harsh breath comes out of his nose as he forces the thoughts away. He’s not Taehyung. He’s not going to take you for his own selfish desires alone. No, he’s going to keep lulling you into his web like he knows you want. Knows you need. Keep being a good little spider for you.

“I should have told you.” He says quietly, lips coming down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Couldn’t have known my species is sensitive like that.”

You hum in quiet annoyance, “Still… read online about some glasses that can help some insects manage light… should have bought them.”

A courting gift? No no, you don’t know what that is. No matter what his spider screams he knows that isn’t true.

He sighs, he needs a distraction. Something to calm the voice in his head screaming at him to kiss you.

Your leg kicks out gently as he starts, feeling like nothing but a feather tickling across your skin. Gentle silks laying across the surface from his wrists, spinnerets hard at work to produce the webbing he places on your thigh.

He huffs quietly, a smirk of a laugh coming out as he moves your leg back, “Tickles?” He asks, an amused lilt present in his voice. Oh god, he’s going to start teasing you again. He loves teasing you.

“What are you doing?” You ask quietly, eyes glancing down to where his fingers move expertly. Thread after thread moving through his fingers, decorating your skin as he draws pictures. Paints flowers, sunsets, anything he can think of really across the canvas of your thigh.

“Just drawing… calms me down.” Marking you, claiming you. Showing every other arthropod that this one is his, this one is Jimins’. Well, at least for the next 3 days when the stick wears off. “Do you want me to stop?”

A tingle runs through your spine as he works, eyes not able to leave his hands for even a second. Your stomach swarms with what has to be a hive of bees, your core bubbling with something you don’t want to describe or think about.

You just hope he can’t smell you. Can’t hear the race of your heart, the increase in breath. The flush on your cheeks that travels all the way to your ears.

He can.

“N-no… It’s okay. I want you to feel better so… do what you need to do.” You mumble, trying to get your feelings to calm down before you fully lose it.

You have to buy those glasses.

Being a spider is just too difficult!

At least that’s what Jimin has told you time and time again over the past 8 months you’ve spent with him. Cold, icy months blossoming into the summer heat with him by your side. With him making residence in your home, cementing his place in your life without any regards for going back to his original home.

It’s too hard for him out there anyway! People at the park think you’re scary so they won’t give you any snacks, security removes your webs when they become too prominent around the landscape. Something about having to “give other spiders a chance” and them “taking up too much space.”

Can you believe them?! All the time and effort he put into his pretty webs, gone in a flash! The strain the sun caused his eyes, the pounding headaches he endured stringing up pieces of silk along the trees, creating a beautiful orchestra of white to claim his territory.

Thank god he doesn’t have to deal with that anymore, at least. Ever since you bought him those sunglasses, making webs outside has never been easier. Catching prey so much easier than ever before.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him eating the bugs he catches, but who are you to yuck his yum? You know all of the things he’s had to endure as a spider. Everything he’s convinced the world hates him for simply based on his breed alone. The least you can do is show kindness around his diet.

That’s how you end up rubbing his back in soothing circles time and time again, fangs piercing a stuffed animal or piece of fruit– anything he can get his hands on really, as he whines, flinches as he spits out all of his venom.

His venom is one of the worst things he’s had to deal with, you’ve learned. It builds up behind his teeth, waiting to be used on a waiting victim when there is no such thing. No exit point for the liquid to flow.

His fangs begin to ache, begging to pierce something just to release all of the pent up tension in his gums. It hurts too bad, too much to just keep it inside. So once a month, you find yourself in the same position, trying to help him relieve the aggression with soothing, gentle words as he spits the venom out in a way you can only imagine is unsatisfying. Leaving his fangs sensitive and achy for days to come.

In general, his fangs seem to be a point of special contention within the hybrid. They’re too pointy, cause too many issues. The extended canines digging into his plush lower lip just a little too hard making every movement just a little too uncomfortable. God, and he has to worry about brushing them to perfection– keep them pretty for his mate.

At least, that’s what he tells you.

The rest of the world hurts him. You don’t.

Today especially. At least that's what you can assume by the stretch of his arms, the whine bubbling from the back of his throat. His arms reaching for your form, beckoning you, calling you to join him on the couch. All worked up, acting like a wounded puppy that needs nursing just to get your attention.

It always works. Always will.

Some would say he’s become more pushy— more desperate for your attention, forcing it from your grasp without realizing it yourself. That’s what your friends have told you. How easily you fit into the palm of his hand with no more than a simple gesture coaxing you forward into his sweet embrace, never noticing the glares he sends others who enter your home.

No, you would deny all of it. Listen when he tells you that you don’t need your friends anyway. It just feels so good to be needed by him, wanted by him in a way you can never have him. In whatever way he’s willing to give.

r weakness than ever before. No matter how much you’ve tried to avoid it, how much you’ve tried to do the right thing and shove the stupid, pesky feelings down, he’s managed to twist himself into the confines of your heart. Filling a deep hole inside with his pretty silks and crooked little teeth. Takes up a lot more space then you��d ever be willing to admit. Not to him, anyway. Not when he could find his mate any day now.

You’ve been thinking about it more and more lately– the prospect of his mate. It’s difficult not to when he treats you so kindly. When he creeps in your bed at night to cold you, when he reaches out for your comfort alone. When he graces your neck with his fangs his lips–

You drop the dishes back in the sink, shoving your thoughts back into the deep dark recesses of your mind. Maybe if you can be his comfort for now, that will be enough. Even if it isn’t right.

Maybe that’s just how far you’ve fallen, how much he’s tangled you in his embrace. Not that it matters much, you smile all the same. Abandoning your task on only his third whine and fourth dramatic roll of the night. Giving in is so easy when it’s him.

But! It’s a new record for how long you’ve held out! Even got two stomps out of him. You should be proud of yourself.

Maybe you are, though it's for different reasons entirely as Jimin grabs at your wrists, pulling you down beside him. Nudging his face into the crook of your neck with a quiet, pained whine.

You like to ignore those other reasons. They’ll only hurt more if you face them head on. But it's hard to, so hard when he’s this close. When he’s holding you like you may just be the very thing from shattering his world apart.

Or maybe you’re over thinking things.

Yeah. It’s probably that.

“Y/n…” You feel his lips ghost your neck as he whines, wiggling slightly in discomfort.

His duality is always impressive, has been making your brain go a little haywire since he first moved in, since he became more comfortable in your presence. Letting you see him for what he really is. Always playing so cute, so pliant when he needs something– attention, food, for you to just give in and give him what he wants.

Other times he acts as if he could be the reincarnation of Arachne herself. Beautiful, deceptive. Terrifyingly aware of how attractive he is to the human eye. You think he does it on purpose. Likes to see your head spin as you try to keep up with which apparition of Jimin you will experience that day.

He doesn’t know how dangerous it can be, especially for you. How easy it can be to believe that it's real and not just the flirt of his personality. At least you have cute Jimin for now. It’s a little easier to manage.

“You okay Minnie? Something happen?” Your arm reaches up for where he clings to it, fingers gently petting through his fluffy blonde hair. The action seems to soothe him, make him almost pur from the feeling of your fingers alone. Make him feel the slightest bit better from whatever might be irritating him.

He forces his wrists onto your lap, nuzzles his face further into your neck. Inhale all the scents you have to offer. Let you see the issue of spiders.

The tiny holes of his spinnerets come into view, red and inflamed. Shit. They have to be hurting. The skin jutting out slightly more than it should be. Pretty strings of silk hanging in a messy manner. Clogged glands always hurt. Always make for issues.

You frown at the sight, delicately taking his wrist into your hand, looking at it closer. No, not too bad you have to take him to the doctor… you can handle it fine. But it won’t feel good, it never does. Dummy must’ve gotten too excited while webbing up the basement again, got his poor spinnerets working too hard. Overproducing silk to the point it has nowhere to go.

“Min!” You whine, already grabbing a pair of tweezers from the side-table– you’ve learned it’s always good to have a pair on-hand. “I told you that you gotta be more careful!”

“I know!” He hisses almost pathetically, “Just got ahead of myself!”

His voice is no more than a grumble, turning his head away from you yet not pulling away in the slightest. Pretending he hates when you scold him, when you show just how much you care about him.

You pretend it isn’t cute in much the same way.

“Always end up getting ahead of yourself,” You sigh dramatically, acting as if having to take care of the arachnid bothers you more than it actually does. Truth be told, you don’t care in the slightest. Who knows, maybe it even makes you preen in delight.

Feeling wanted as your fingers try to be as gentle as possible while removing the silk. Pulling out the little pieces strand by strand, work out the knot it's made under the skin to try and bring him some relief.

Though, no matter how careful you may be, he still flinches in pain all the same. Trying to cover it up like it was nothing, like every poke and prod doesn’t hurt. Like he can be tough under your gentle hands and pained gaze. He knows it has to be done and no matter how much you hate to see him in pain, you do too.

The dull ache will grow worse and worse, could even turn into an infection if you don't handle it as fast as possible. Worst case? He may have to have his spinnerets removed completely. A fate that feels worse than death to a spider hybrid– or so you’ve read at least.

Soon after he came into your life you did everything in your power to learn as much about his species as possible. Scoured webpage upon webpage, blog post on blog post, youtube video after youtube video. Even went down the sticky threads of a reddit rabbithole to try and learn everything about him.

The only thing you found: how horrible arthropod hybrids are treated in your society. Either sold at auction for absurd prices or cast aside completely depending on how “inhuman” they look. How they are used as tools to show wealth or are discarded from the rest of the world completely. The notion alone had pissed you off to no end.

Jimin was a member of the latter group– or at least that’s what you assumed. From behind no one would be able to tell he was any less than human. His lack of multiple limbs or fluttering wings left him to the devices of the reserve. Probably cast aside, dropped off by the people that raised him for not providing anything that went along with their definition of ‘value’.

Your eyes pinch into a quiet glare. They’re just fucking stupid. Anyone could see that Jimin is perfect. Anyone could see that he did not deserve the treatment he's received, nor deserved to be in the state he was in when you first found him.

And while you’re glad he didn’t end up with anyone else, still didn’t end up in an auction house like many others had, you hate them for thinking they could define his value. That they could define him for more than what he lacked. He still has beautiful fangs. Still has beautiful eyes and his natural cobalt-blue hair. He is still perfect to you.

A sharp hiss leaves his lips, arm attempting to jerk back from your hold as your grip tightens just a hair too hard. As you accidentally tug on a far too sensitive part of the knot. Getting a little too lost in your head while your fingers pick away diligently. Trying to ease the pain as fast as you can.

“Human!” He whines, quickly shushed by a flurry of apologies leaving your mouth. Face flushed, panic in your eyes as he admonishes you.

Once again you’re reminded all too well of how far you’ve fallen for him. Heart racing, brain yelling at itself for hurting him.

It’s dumb, you know that. Everything about the schoolgirl crush you’ve formed on him is. But it doesn’t stop the frown on your lips, the gentle rub of your fingers into his skin as you try to make it up to him.

A quiet grumble leaves his lips, heart hurting at the little dejected expression you wear. He forgives better than he forgets, moving his arms back to the pillow propped on your lap, allowing you to continue your work.

A pout stays on his lips as he watches your hands move. Watches the way the tweezers move under the thin layer of skin. Watches the way you move softer now, taking your time with him. Trying your utmost to not hurt him again.

To you it feels far too intimate. To him, it leaves him almost feral.

“Been working really hard on them lately, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds, trying to distract him or yourself from wandering thoughts– you’re not sure. He’s almost clean– almost all better so you can stop playing nurse. Get a warm washcloth to soothe the skin, take away any ache that lasts from the overused glands.

He nods, “Autumn is coming up…” He mumbles, the words leaving his lips in almost a shy fashion. Like it’s a secret that isn’t a secret at all in the coy fashion he knows you adore.

He knows all too well all of the things that make your stomach flutter. Listens to your heart beat like it’s his favourite song, the flush of your cheeks his favourite painting. Every little twitch of your lip or tap of your feet he catches with ease. You are his favourite everything.

You’ve become far more interesting than any book, far more gorgeous than any actress. Learned to read you better than yourself.But he supposes that would happen to any hybrid who had to wait as long as him, endure as much as he has.

Humans are tricky things, you know? You have to wait and wait and wait just for them to finally give into what they really want. Play the long game to win a prize at the end like he wants, deserves.

He’ll win it soon. August.

“Mmm? Having a contest with the house spiders or something?” You giggle, an effort to try and keep the atmosphere as light as possible. Try to distract from any pain he may be feeling at the moment.

Jimin is convinced he can speak to them– the house spiders that you allow to stay in the corners of your house. Another one of Jimin’s pitfalls that you couldn’t help but wonder into. He claims that they’re his friends, that he talks to them all the time. You, on the other hand, are unconvinced. They probably just use him for food!

“How did you know?! Who told you!” He gasps in mock surprise, head dipping low to rest on your shoulder before he continues, “No, not this time…they all know I would win anyway.”

“I know you would,” He doesn’t allow you in the basement to look at them, at least he hasn’t in the last month, but you’ve seen plenty strung around the house. Dotted in the corners of each room, his way of claiming territory. “You’ve always got such pretty silk.”

His face flushes– he knows you can’t see it. It’s good if you don’t, better if you have no clue how much your words affect him. Exactly how much those words mean to him.

Hopefully you will soon enough. Hopefully, if things go according to plan, you’ll know a lot of things. But right now you just need to stay a little clueless. Just for a little longer.

That’s what he promises to himself.

“What’s happening in autumn then?” You ask, finally pulling the last bit of silk from his left wrist. Both finally clean, finally working like they should be.

Taking each wrist into one of your hands, your thumbs find the openings to the spinnerets. Fingers rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the flesh. Your version of a little makeshift massage. One that always causes him to fall apart under. Spine slumping, mouth parting slightly as he watches your fingers work. His brain going a little empty along with the soothing motion of your fingertips.

Another thing that you don’t understand the intimacy of. The extent of what your touch means to him. How terribly it makes him want to bite you.

His voice is a pitch lower than before. You can’t help but notice the way his breath stutters in his throat at the gentle movement of your thumbs. The way his pupils expand ever so slightly. The way he leans into your touch, avoids eye contact at all costs.

You can’t help the blush that dusts your cheeks, the flutter of your ribcage. The way you keep going just because you know it’s making him feel good.

Stop it! You’re thinking in a bad way again! It isn't right! It’s just from the massage, the relief after his spinnerets are cleared! God, you can’t think about him like this. Can’t do this to yourself! Calm down, seriously. None of this is a big deal.

You know he can hear fast your heart is beating regardless of the argument going on inside of your brain.

“Autumn is mating season.” Your thumbs stutter.

Oh. That is something all of the articles definitely neglected to tell you. They didn’t tell you anything about… that aspect of spiders. Not that they explained much to begin with but certainly nothing about breeding.

You can’t help the way your grip tightens, trying to find purchase– stability at the revelation. Heart thrumming in your chest faster, more aggravated than before. The chill that travels down your spine with the hum of his voice so close to your ear.

Can’t help the sinch of jealousy that finds you either.

Fuck, you hate that he’s smirking– without even looking at his face you can tell! You know he can hear the exact pitter-patter of your heart, any little sound or smell you let out he can easily pick up. Knows your exact emotions before you know them yourself.

“Ah… I see.” This topic really shouldn’t make you so embarrassed! Pull yourself together!

You know that all hybrids have a cycle they go through. Heats, ruts, anything in between. You knew that when Jimin came into your life he would be the same! Knew there would be a time when he’d have to lock himself in the basement, body flooded with hormones. The pretty sounds you’d have to block out filling the house.

But still, because it’s him, you can’t help the nerves that arise from your core. The realisation that it would be coming sometime soon.

If you’re going to make it through you’d have to invest in some soundproof headphones. For your own sanity.

“Mmm?” He smiles, voice sweet and saccharine. Away with the pain of existing also left cute Jimin, leaving a deadly predator in its wake. One that likes to taunt and tease you while acting as innocent as an angel.

Leaves your brain confused, floundering trying to keep up with his deceptively sweet tongue. Doing it all just to get a cute little reaction out of you.

Guess he picked up on the exact little whirlwind of your mind, “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed…”

“Shut up!” You whine, trying to stand from the couch so you can retrieve a washcloth. Try to avoid the way your heart is going to pound out of your chest, the way you know you’ll fall farther into his clutches.

His arms lock on firm, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck to rub his cheeks against your skin. Scent you just like he does a million times a day claiming that it's necessary. Spiders smell so much less than other hybrids– he has to do it or else.

Or at least that’s what he says– you think that it’s another lie.

“What!” He laughs, “Not like I’m saying anything dirty, it’s only natural.” He chides, sliding back against the couch, pulling you into his side with ease. Slotting you in like you’re meant to fit there, not whatever mate he meets in the future.

Your brain yells at itself. You know how dangerous that line of thinking is.

“Unless you want me to be dirty? I could if I wanted, you know.” He smiles as innocently as a wolf, fangs oozing with confidence behind them.

“Oh my god!” You sigh dramatically, putting on the front you always do when your heart feels like it may just explode. When you feel like digging an early grave because Jimin knows exactly what he’s doing.

You simply roll your eyes, “And I could punch you in the dick if I wanted to, you know?”

His laugh is always so pretty, boisterous yet still as light as air. Head tilting back, his neck on display as he chastises you for the empty threat. One you both know won’t come true, at least not right now.

He smiles, a gentle kiss being placed on your forehead as he urges you to stay. Promising he’ll be a ‘good little spider’ so you don’t have to worry about him. The implication of snacks and movies making you stay. The way he pouts when you tell him you’re not buying anymore BugBitez™ until the end of the week confirming that this is where you need to be right now. That it’s right.

It’s almost too easy for him too. Everything is too easy for you when it comes to Jimin. He claims the exact same.

Or at least, that’s what he mumbles in your ear now. Arms wrapped around you as tight as he can manage. Movie nearing its end with Jimin on the cusp of consciousness, you having lost the plot of it a long time ago.

Something about Aliens? Cowboys? Mothman? You couldn’t even hope to guess. Not when his breath is in your ear.

It’s hard to focus when he’s so close like this. When he’s saying pretty words that could get you lost in your fantasy over and over again. Making him harder and harder to give him up every moment that passes you by.

“Got lucky with my human.” He mumbles, half asleep, face buried in your hair, “Really good human.”

His lips move so lazily when they speak. Fangs running across the surface your skin like they have a mind of their own. Never daring to pierce the surface. Never daring to bite you for real. No matter how bad he really, really wants to.

How bad he wants to mate you. Make you his pliant little prey– see if the rumours about what his venom does to humans is real.

Your breath stutters but you pay it no mind. Trying, begging your eyes to remain focused on the movie. To ignore how deceptive sleepy Jimin is. Tomorrow, he will act as normal. His words will carry no weight.

He isn’t your boyfriend. You aren’t his mate. You two are just friends sharing a house.

Feelings you have no right to have are forced down over and over again. It seems like it's become a daily occurrence– a pattern of habit you have no hope in breaking. The love piling behind your eyelids means nothing when the person he is meant to be with could be around any corner.

But it’s getting harder. Too hard to hold them back and restrain yourself. Especially on nights like this when it feels like fate that the two of you met.

Thinking back on that fateful day now, all of those months ago, you’re sure it had to have been. Maybe the winter gods (if such a thing existed) decided to shine their light on you; to make the blizzard a little less lonely. Make your life filled with long days and even longer nights just a little bit brighter.

Or maybe they hated you and wanted you to suffer.

Wanted you to live a life knowing your affections will never be reciprocated, knowing that Jimin has a fated one out there somewhere just waiting for him. Knowing that it isn’t you. Cursing you to a life of watching Jimin fall for another.

Thinking becomes so hard when it’s about Jimin. When it’s about the man who made you so far into the pits of hell that you don’t think you’ll ever crawl out.

So instead your fingers simply squeeze his hand. Rub gentle, soothing circles into the skin. Care for him like you’re meant to instead of thinking about what the future may hold. What will happen when he does find his mate. What they might be like, what they might dress like, if they’ll have to move in here, if you’ll have to watch him fall in love over and over again every single day.

You think you might hate them.

You sigh.

No, that wouldn’t be fair. Could never be fair to Min. He deserves happiness. He deserves the world whether or not you’re a part of it.

You hope he isn’t able to pick up on the changes in your scent.

“Mmm mm, got lucky with you Min.”

August 11th.

A beautiful dream shattered by the incoherent nightmare that is your spider pacing around your room. A pillow pulled to either side of your head, doing everything in their power to drown out the noise as an audible groan leaves your lips. His nervous prattling too early in the morning for your liking.

Any other day it would be fine, you would think that it’s cute. The way he worries his lip between his teeth. The way he gently bites down on the pad of his thumb, one arm crossed while the other soothes the skin of his chin.

Any other day you’d sit in bed, listen to him. Mock him slightly with how much worry runs through his body.

But he isn’t talking about his mate any other day, is he? No, it seems that the occasion has been saved for this morning. His head running a mile a minute, losing all composure he once had before. Losing his very sense of self as anxiety courses through his veins.

“What if it isn’t good enough? I need to present it to her soon. Need to make sure everything is perfect for her.” Apparently he had met her. When? You have not a single clue. Jimin hasn’t left the house in weeks other than to go hunt bugs and to go to the grocery store with you.

“What if the web isn’t big enough? She might not like the style either…” He grumbles, eyes locked on the carpet as he moves back and forth across your room, “God and what if she hates the food… No, no you know what she likes.”

“Jimin, she’ll like everything. It will be fine.” You groan, sitting up in bed to face him, voice gruff with morning air.. You don’t want him to be in here, talking about this. Talking to you about this. Shattering your heart every second that passes by.

You knew it would happen someday, you really did. You tried to do everything right. Tried to pretend reality wasn’t creeping through your windows with every second that passes by. Try to ignore the impending sense of doom that covered your skin.

Did everything right only to end up failing once again due to the rations of Park Jimin.

You try to look at him through the fuzz in your eyes, sleep still trying to force you back into its clutches with everything that it has. Try to see what he is doing– understand what he is saying. His voice continuing to speak yet not fluent enough for you to actually understand. His body twitches ever so slightly, head jerking as his teeth dig deeper and deeper into his thumb. It was almost like you weren’t even in the room– not to him at least. Lost within the tangles of his brain.

Pulling himself deeper and deeper into the recesses of his mind, spiralling out of control of everything that seems rational, everything that he is meant to do or meant to say. It’s almost like he isn’t in the room at all. Isn’t pacing along your floor, surrounded by your scent. Comforting his inner spider before it loses control entirely with the hormones that rush through his veins.

August 11th. The date was circled 5 times on his calendar– red exclamation points, doodles scattered across the stupid day. Yet now, for the life of him he can’t seem to remember why. He can’t seem to remember much of anything though, so that isn’t a surprise. Only his web. The gifts he’s prepared for this day. Yeah. Those are the only things he can seem to think about.

A hand lands on his shoulder– one that isn’t his own. Who’s touching him? He isn’t sure. Isn’t sure of much other than the smell combing through the room that becomes sweeter and sweeter by the second. Honey he is unable to resist.

Especially with how soft the hand is that touches him. How gentle it is on his shoulder, his pace back and forth falling just so he can revel in it. Understand it.

“Hey Min.” Oh. It’s you. Your voice coming through the fog. Your voice startling him from the dream.

Gorgeous, gorgeous you.

Mate.

“It’s gonna be okay, yeah?” Why do you sound sad? No, maybe it’s distressed. His face falls.

No, no, no. You shouldn’t be sad. You should never be sad. You should always be happy with him. You should love him. His love should make you whole. Your love makes him whole.

Wait, does he have your love yet?

Now he isn’t sure.

All he knows is that he should. You should. He should wrap you up in his nest, hold you close until you feel nothing but him. Don’t think about anybody else. Look at anybody else. You should always be happy and safe. Happy and safe with him just like he feels with you. Has always felt with you.

More than that stupid reserve. More than his webs back there. It was fate that brought the two of you together, right? Right? So he should be allowed to indulge just a little. He should be allowed to let go of this stupid, fucked up play he’s been putting on for so long. He should be allowed to do whatever he wants.

The reserve always taught him he was a wild spider, you know?

Wait, spider.

Spider.

His rut. That’s what’s coming today. That’s why the day was circled. That’s why Jimin isn’t acting like himself. That’s why his spider is itching, clawing to come out to play. Why he so desperately wants all of you to himself.

He hasn’t even presented his web yet.

He tilts his head at you, blank eyes staring down into bright ones. Ones that hold his entire world at your fingertips.

“There he is.” Your smile is almost blinding. Makes his head pound just like the sun's rays.

That’s right. That’s why he needs to keep his composure. To keep that smile on your lips. To keep you happy. To keep you falling in love with him slowly the human way. The way he knows you’d prefer. Knows you adore every second of.

He isn’t Taehyung. He isn’t Taehyung.

The human way is better. Better at keeping you pliant. Better at keeping you happy. Better at keeping you unafraid.

He hates when people are scared of him. Hates when people flinch with every movement he makes. Hates when people can’t just love him like he so craves. He’s still a hybrid. He still wants love. He was bred for it just like the rest of them.

So when you came into his life, so gentle and caring despite the palpable fear that scented the air– weighed it heavily, it sparked light behind his eyes. When he felt you touch him, felt the sparks dance across his flesh and allowed himself to inhale once more. When there were no traces of fear within you, only the scent of his mate. His eternity.

He knew he had to do the right thing. Had to make you love him the human way. Had to make you fall for him, endure the wait. Endure the daily struggles of his instincts just so you would never be afraid of him. The end would be worth it.

He would never let you fear him even at the cost of his own sanity.

Because he isn’t Taehyung. He’s Jimin. He’s a good spider.

“You need to be careful Min…” You tell him quietly. Your voice is the only anchor to his shaky world. The light brought him back from the edge over and over again today.

He needs to leave your room before all of his planning goes to waste. Calm himself down. Present to you his web and all of his gifts so you can accept him properly.

“Your thumb… it’s bleeding honey…” He tilts his head again, inspects your hands as they move closer. Tries to force lucid thought from behind his heavy eyelids as you touch his skin directly.

Tries to ignore the throb deep inside as you gently remove the finger from his lips. Pull it away from the fang that was piercing him. The sting of the bite.

He hadn’t even noticed it.

He watches as a single drop spills from the abrasion. Slipping down his finger. Feels the way your hands come up to cup his cheeks.

Leave. Leave. Leave.

The way your thumb comes to his lips, worry etched across your features as you swipe away any remaining blood from his lower lip.

Leave. He needs to leave.

He isn’t sure how your finger ends up in his mouth. His plush lips wrapping around the digit, tongue curling around your flesh as he licks away the red spilled. Sucking on it gently as heat curls in his stomach. His eyes half-lidded, staring into the recesses of your very soul.

A groan passes through him at the taste of your skin. How sweet you are against his tongue. Do you even know what a vixen you are? What a tease you’ve come to be over the past 9 months?

No. Of course you don’t. Not with the blush that rushes to your cheeks. The stutter of his name that passes through his lips. The questions that you ask– what are you doing? Wh-why?

He wants you to be quiet. To enjoy you for all it’s worth. Enjoy everything you have to offer.

The command is silent– no more than the press of his bleeding thumb to your lips. The demand that you part them for him. To clean that wound that you unknowingly caused.

A hand on your cheek directing your head back. He’s been a good little spider, you can be a good little girl too, can’t you?

You are.

“J-Jimi–” He slips it inside, resting the pad against your tongue. Holding it in place. Asking, begging for this one little thing from you. You don’t mind, do you? You’ve always made him feel better before. This is no different, is it?

And so you do.

He watches the way your eyelids fall, your lips close as you begin to gently suck against it like he so craves. Like he desires down to the very cells that make up his body.

To imagine it’s his cock instead. Gently fucking into you over and over again, teaching you how to take his it how he likes. How he knows you’ll like. You’ll love everything about him. You’re meant to. It’s in the fabric of your DNA and soon it will all be his. Right after he shows you his–

Shit.

He needs to leave.

Got carried away in his fantasy. In pretending again.

His rut is coming too fast, too strong now that he finally has his mate in his grasp. He needs to leave. He needs to calm down so he can go this properly.

He leaves you on the bed, more confused and distressed than when he first entered. Annoyance hovering over your entire wake in a blanket of unrest. One that you know will not ease your soul for the rest of the day.

The spider has locked himself away. Hiding from you. Keeping himself in the basement, door locked, shutters drawn to drown out any sense of you that may be persisting.

You, on the other hand, have had nothing to do but stew in your own emotions. Think about every little decrepit detail that occurred hours prior. Edicting yourself to only address him by spider even in your thoughts.

It’s spiteful, sure. But it’s the least he deserves, you know? After everything he’s put you though– pulling you along like a little puppet on a string. Making you sit idly by for him to give you any lick of affection he’s willing to part with. Making you feel special, like you're worth something every second that he gets only for him to remind you with too much familiarity that he isn’t yours to have.

He woke you up, told you about his mate, looked at you like he was going to fuck you, and made you suck on his finger only for him to leave? The sheer fucking audacity of this man.

You’re sick of it.

Sick of having to force everything down because you know it isn’t what he wants. Sick of falling in love with him every day. Sick of having to play house. Sick of not having him. Sick of being playing the lovesick fool.

So, into the novels you fall. Into alternate worlds that are far better than your own. Displacing yourself into new habitats, new environments to escape the confines of the four stuffy walls that surround your body, head, and heart.

Into a world where it’s okay to fall in love with whoever you want. Where it’s okay to feel wanted. Where reality can be shut away by your headphones and a good snack. Where you can ignore the body approaching behind you. The tap on your shoulder.

You try to, honestly. And a good attempt it was.

Keeping your grip firm on the pages, nails digging into the paper below. Breath in your lungs held as if doing so would keep him away. Eyes tracing the pages over and over again though reading nothing. Attempting to appear as if you didn’t notice him at all.

Maybe he would leave, that was your biggest hope. Take the headphones placed firmly over your ears as a loud, obnoxious hint. That he would see you’re not interested and retreat to his basement layer to plot on the next way to torture your heart.

He doesn’t. He never would.

His frame comes to kneel in front of you. To stare up at you with those big brown doe eyes that you know you could never escape. Placing a gentle hand on your knee, trying to get you to see that he is there. That he wants to see you.

You see his lips move, though ignore entirely what they say. Letting out a huff, turning your body away from his own. Continuing to mindlessly stare at the pages even though their contents holds no meaning in this moment. No real value.

His forehead drops to your leg, a sigh leaving his throat. Words mumbled from his lips you’re unable to make out– not that you would want to hear them anyway.

Maybe it’s a temper tantrum of sorts. Giving him a taste of his own medicine. To feel even a pinch of what you do. He probably never does.

Your fight is a good one. It truly is– at least you think so. But it all comes tumbling down the second his lips press against your knee. His hands reaching past your iron grip on the book to hold your own.

You will always fall to the likes of Jimin.

Especially when you see his lips mouth the word please. His brows crested with worry, his lower lip quivering in worry. Fangs biting the surface to try and soothe the nerves he feels.

Any sense of foreboding he held earlier, gone. The tick of his shoulders, the cold, blank stare of his eyes vanished. Your Jimin, the one you’re used to, in love with, rising to the surface again.

You’re unable to fight against the plea, no matter how much you want to. Unable to fight against him.

“What is it.” Your voice is harsh as you remove your headphones, setting the book to the side. Much more than it appears he’d like it to be if the flinch of his neck is anything to go by.

“I…” Words feel lost in his throat, but he forces himself to continue forward, “I have something I need to show you, human…”

Why is he acting so weird? Acting like earlier never happened? He seems nervous, almost petrified at your reaction. As if anything you say could break him entirely.

You don’t understand it at all. Anything about this situation, really.

“Okay…?” You watch his face carefully, trying to reason. To figure out why exactly the air seems so heavy. Why this situation feels so tense. “Show me then?”

“I…You have to come with me?” It sounds like a question, his face flinching at his own words. He’s meant to do this perfectly. Why can’t he seem to get it right? Why can’t his instincts help him with this? “Like, I can’t bring it up here… I need you to follow me?”

“Huh?” The quiet breath leaves your throat as your features pinch.

He quickly tries to explain further, trying to help you see through the worry on your face, “Not far I promise. Just to the basement, yeah?”

Your head jerks back in surprise, “You never let me go down there.”

“Yeah but…it’s special this time.” Oh.

It’s almost as if the pieces click together on their own. Your brain drawing conclusions, making decisions for you despite the obvious staring right in your face. His mate is probably down there. Wants you to meet her.

You can only sigh, accept your fate for what it is. Follow the boy with the string to the basement once again, just like the first night he came tumbling into your life.

“Okay.”

He holds your hand as you walk.

Holds it as if his life depends on it. As if it’s the red string of fate that has tied your two bodies together for the rest of eternity. As if he might die the second you two part. As if you might run away the second he lets go.

You never do, never try to run away from him. You’ve tried to run away from your feelings for so long. The least you can do is see through to the end of them, right? That would be the right thing to do. The dignified thing instead of trying to throw a tantrum on the floor.

The walk to the basement feels like the longest in your life. A marathon you have no training for, no experience with tugging you along. Silence extended for miles along each creak of the floorboards, each set of the dim stairs.

Jimin left the lights off, dusk settling along the horizon not long ago. Only distant flickers from the basement coming through as you make your way down. Candle light in the distance lighting the way.

He doesn’t say a thing as your feet reach the bottom of the stairs, toes cushioned by soft silk lining the floors. He doesn’t have to.

It’s beautiful. That’s the only way you can describe what he’s turned the basement into.

Beautiful silks cover every waking surface– the floors, the walls, the ceiling all lined in brilliant patterns of white dancing across the surface. Creating stories as if they were living themselves.

You wish you could stare at them. Admire them for the rest of your life. Decipher each piece laying, coating the surface. Envisioning the world through the eyes of Jimin. Through the world around him.

Webs cross from floor to ceiling, taking space over the room. Intricately laid in patterns you are more accustomed to with spiders. Webbed hatching sectioning off parts of the space, acting as furniture for the bug to rest on.

As your eyes scan the room, you finally find what you think has to be the most gorgeous web in the world. Sitting in the far right corner of the room stands a nest that takes up the entire corner. The effort it took to make it clear in its craft. So soft, so comfortable.

You almost want to curl up in it yourself.

Illuminated by only the glow of candle light, Jimin does nothing but watch as you take everything in. Watch as your face changes into that of euphoria. Mesmerised by everything he has worked so hard on, everything he’s done just to impress you.

You turn to face him, staring at him with nothing but wonder in your eyes.

“Jimin, this is– fuck this is incredible,” Your voice is breathless, cut off by how overwhelmed you are with everything. With him. “This must’ve taken you so long, it’s so beautiful. Oh my god, how did you–”

He can’t take it anymore. Can’t take it now that he has you here, has you in his web. Now that he can keep you in it forever. Complimenting him. Completing him. He needs to finish with the rest of this fast. Before he does something he’ll regret. Before he finishes showing you how good a mate he will be to you properly.

He tugs you forward, practically puzzling as he tugs you deeper into his room of webs. Expertly guiding you through each one without a second to spare.

Jittery, excited. Feeting rocking themselves back and forth as he sits you on a blanket placed on the ground.

He isn't going to last much longer. Not before his heat takes over. Before he loses his mind at you in the sight of his nest. His mate in his nest. Waiting to be bred. Waiting for–

No, no Jimin. Stop it. Stop acting like a spiderling that doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he has his mate in his nest.

“I…” He takes a deep breath, voice shaky as he tries to calm himself down, “I made us a picnic… I hope you like it.”

His spider hisses at the words, hating having to describe it as something stupid like a picnic. No, it's a nuptial gift. Evidence that he’s a good enough mate. That he’s good enough for you. That he deserves you.

You watch him, watch as he pushes the basket filled to the brim with food over to you. Watch as his frame shakes slightly as he stares at you, fingers tapping against strings of webs closest to your leg.

You can’t help but feel lost. Overwhelmed with affection, but utterly, entirely, hopelessly lost all the same. What is he doing? Why is he presenting all of this for you? Shouldn’t he be doing this for his mate? Isn’t all of this some type of courting ritual?

Oh.

It appears the puzzle you constructed– pieces matched together haphazardly stuck together with glue isn’t the solution after all. Isn’t the reality presented before you know.

You’re… you’re Jimin’s mate?

Your eyes widen, head jerking to meet Jimin’s gaze. His pupils shaky, not daring to leave the surface of the basket. Not daring to move an inch until you accept him.

You’re an idiot.

“J-Jimin a-are we…?” You hesitate to ask, hesitate to break the gentle balance residing over the entire basement.

His head snaps to face your own, eyes plagued with the same blank, predatory look as before.

“Mate.” Deep, harsh, scratchy. His voice makes you feel like he’s going to devour you whole. Like he is the monster waiting in the deepest recesses of your nightmares when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. When in reality he is the very being your soul yearns for stronger than any other.

The revelation, the– everything leaves you overwhelmed. Emotions strung up for the stars, casting aside any comets that tried to hurdle towards the perfect glass encasing this moment. This eternity you wish to live in forever as you finally understand that he wants you just as much as you want him.

You can’t help but grab his cheeks– ignore how venomous he looks, and press your lips against his own. Can’t help the explosion behind your eyelids, the sparks that travel across your skins in euphoric waves. The way your heart swells like a balloon, racing in your chest so fast you fear you may die.

Every emotion you’ve felt that day, every nagging, creeping sensation finding its way into the back of your skull vanishes in an instant. No going back. No orchestra or chorus reprise. No thoughts of not being his mate. You are his mate.

Only him.

Only Jimin.

He doesn’t part with you, not for a second. Not when he finally has you against him. When you so easily rise into his lap. When his natural instincts finally stop screaming at him and take over completely. Kiss you with everything he’s worth. Devour you whole.

His hands find purchase on your hips, blunt nails digging into the skin. Mocking him for not doing this in the closet with you all those months ago. Allowing him to truly understand how good it would’ve felt then. How good it will feel every second that follows.

He thinks you have to be the prettiest thing in the world.

His spider thinks that you need to be bred full of his spiderlings. Fucked so hard that you wont be able to walk– wont be able to leave his nest. That he’ll be able to tie you up nice and pretty, stuff you with his cum over and over again until you’d never even think about leaving.

His spider is winning.

“Min…” Your voice is breathless, trying to keep up with the flurry of kisses he presses against your lips, your face– anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s addicted to the feeling, like he’s making up for lost time.

“Min, I love you.” And just like that, any sanity he has left vanishes.

His spider has won.

Without a second thought you’re lifted from your place on his lap, thrown carelessly into his nest. His nest where you will stay. His nest where he’ll keep you. All thoughts vanished from that pretty little head of yours. Just like it should be.

His hands find the back of his collar, shirt discarded without a second thought on the floor. He doesn’t need it anymore. Not when he has you. When he wants to feel you fully.

You can only stare– fawn at his tan skin. The gentle muscles on display for you. For your eyes only while he crawls towards you. Stalks you just like they might a pretty little butterfly caught in their web. Wrapped in webs and killed without a second thought.

His lips find yours once again. Slotting together, filling the other to make them whole. Dazed in lust and passion, neither soul hoping there would ever be a way out for the other.

Well, there won’t be for you. But that’s okay. You’ll love it. Love every second of it.

He knows it as his fingers dance against your skin. Sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, running with skilled ease up your sides. The chill that racks through your body is evidence enough. The way you so easily allow him to draw your shirt over your head solidifies it. Your shorts follow, making it set in stone.

Your breath comes out in short pants, every slight touch, every little movement sends fire burning through your skin. Igniting you, setting your core ablaze with heat that only he can extinguish.

Fingers gently sliding over your ribs, thumbs coming just blow your breasts to rub circles into the skin while his fangs nip gently into your lower lip. He can’t bite you now. No, after he mates you he can bite you all he wants.

He groans at the thought, hips rocking themselves against your clothed cunt. Allowing you to feel all of him– the press of his cock, the motion of his need allowing you to fall higher and higher into a heaven you did not think possible.

You whine at him to do something, anything. Too impatient to wait any longer. Too impatient to live a second more without something, anything buried inside of you.

His smile is sick, twisted as he reclines back on his heels. Allows himself to get a good look at you.

“Shh, Shh…” His hand cups your cheek, smoothing his thumb against your lips. Pressing it inside with more ease than before. More compliance than before. There’s a good little girl.

“Poor thing is having a hard time, huh?” He mocks gently, hips pressed firm against your own allowing you to feel every inch of him, “Pretty lips all swollen, pussy a little mess from just kissing… mm mm…”

He groans, hand slipping between your legs. What he finds is no more than a mess of a girl. Hips bucking upwards. Slick dripping from your center, panties coated in arousal. Puffy little clit begging for any attention he’s willing to give it.

Without any hesitation his thumb finds your clit, pressing against it without any thought of reprieve. Without any thought to give you any of the relief you crave. You’ve made him wait this long, you can wait a second, no?

He groans high as you buck against his hand, mewl leaving your lips as some sort of plea. Ah~ how cute. Such a little thing so desperate for something, anything that you’re willing to give up your very head in return? How cute! How adorable!

His spider preens. Is almost so belated he doesn’t notice the hands that come down to grip his wrist. Hold him in place all so you can circle your hips against his thumb. Rub adorable little rings into your clit without any help from him. Use him to make yourself feel good.

A coo leaves his lips. Who is he to deny such a pretty little human?

“Ah pretty baby wants to feel good, does she?” He almost giggles at how pathetic you look. How adorably you cling to him. How hard you try.

His arm is ripped from your grasp, pulling back from the very place you desire him most. Where your arousal soaks the cotton of cotton, so palpable he can practically taste it in the air.

“It’s okay baby…” He sees the annoyance in your face, the battiness you hold in your heart coming to light. Excited to tame it. Excited to quell the pretty little devil in his web.

Tie you up. Breed full.

Breed you.

His fingers work fast. Arms are pulled over your head, silks quickly pinning them to the surface. Strings wrapping and wrapping until he’s sure you’re secure. Sure you can’t move.

His hips gently rock against your own, clothes cock pressing against your core. Watching as your hips buck, as you try to urge him closer with a pathetic whine.

See exactly how you struggle against the strings.

Perfect, perfect girl. How did he get so lucky, huh? Can never be sure.

You’re unable to stop the cry that leaves your throat as his hands pull your panties aside, finger thrusting into your wet heat. Filling you up, making you feel a little more whole.

“Min~” The moan of his name is shaky. Every sense you have in overdrive as he works his finger against your walls. Every push inside deeper, harder. Curling against your walls in the exact way you craved.

Pleasure coils in your stomach faster than you thought possible. A second finger joining the first, pumping in and out as he prepares you for his cock. Prepared you to take all of him and nothing less.

He knows you can do it. You can, can’t you?

“Mhmm baby, I know… head a little clearer now, huh?” He chuckles, chastising, “Can only think when you’re full. It’s so cute.”

You whimper at his words, head rolling back as the coil pulls tighter and tighter within your gut. Urging you to just let it snap, feel everything you’ve been waiting for.

“F-feels good…” You mutter quietly, unable to see the haze cloud his vision. The way his amused expression drops into that of a wild animal.

Without any warning his fingers pull out of your heat, body leaving your own entirely as he stands. Grabbing your hips, dragging them closer. Flipping your body over. Setting you pretty on your knees, arms uncomfortable crossed in front of you.

He quickly rids himself of his pants, allowing his cock to spring free from their confines. Head red and messy as it hits his stomach. Angry at how neglected you’ve left him. How desperately he wants this.

You have no way of preparing yourself for the drag of his cock through your lips. The gentle nudge against your clit. Thick head dragging through your folds, spreading your arousal. Mixing it with his pre-cum.

Making you messy. Making you dirty just for him. Making you belong to him.

“Gonna fill my mate.” All humour is gone from the man behind you, as if he is someone else entirely. It’s really too bad your head has a few too many screws loose to care. Care about anything other than the way his firm head presses against your hole. The way his blunt nails dig into your flesh.

“Gonna breed her. Mate her. Make her mine.” It’s almost as if his word is a command. The very sentences he utters become law.

You can only nod your head. Give yourself to the very man that fate led you to all those months ago. “Want~”

The thrust of his hips into your walls is almost too much to bear. A cry leaving your lips as he fucks himself inside in a single thrust. Forcing you to take him to the hilt, to feel all of him stretch your walls. No break. No waiting around.

You’ve both done enough waiting.

It hurts— the burn, as he stretches you full. Presses his cock against your walls making sure your cunt remembers no one but him.

The way he gives no reprieve, fucking into you like an animal starved. Pulling back until only the tip remains inside before fucking himself fully inside once more.

“Min!” You cry, waves of pain and pleasure boiling all the same within your bones. All the same inside of your blurred head, nothing but static and thoughts of him behind the line of your eyes. Slipping off into space as you let cunt clenched pathetically around his cock.

“Good mate, taking me so well. Such a good human.” He groans, hips pulling back and thrusting into you over and over again. Making you fall apart with his pace. Pumping his cock into your pathetic little hole fast and hard. Ruining you for any other man.

Making sure he will be the only one you allow to enter heaven.

Your moans come out wanton, pleaing. Hips start to move back against him, trying to keep up with his pace despite the burn you begin to feel in your tied arms. Desperate to let him know just how good he’s filling you. Just how good he’s making you feel.

“My mate.” His pants come out harsh, breath on your neck as he hovers close. The sound of skin and against skin is the only thing you’re able to hear. The pressure of Jimin’s lips against your neck makes you feel like you’re about to go insane.

He’s desperate to make you fall apart on his cock alone. Pleasure building and building, the coil tight. Ready to snap at any moment. Ready to fall apart at his command.

“Gonna make you mine forever pretty.” His voice is featherlight once more. The switches have you reeling, your brain spinning. “Want that, don’t you? For me to bite you? Mark you up? Breed you full of my spiderlings? Ruin that pretty little head for anything else.”

He sighs, nails digging into your hips where they’re sure to leave bruises. You nod your head in agreement, moans spilling past your lips as his hips change their angle. His cock hitting the spot that leaves you seeing stars on every thrust.

“Say the word and you’re mine.” You feel his fangs against your skin. The harsh drag across your delicate skin. “Forever.”

You can’t take it anymore, pleasure burning through you. Blinding you. Unable to think about anything else other than the rough thrusts of his cock against your walls.

“Please.” It’s no more than a whimper, but he swears it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

His teeth clamp into your flesh— the final thing needed to push you over the edge into bliss. Your body stutters, walls a vice around his cock as the coil finally snaps. Heat flowing through every cell you possess. The only thing in your soul is Jimin.

Your back arches, eyes dotting with black as you allow it to overtake you. Jimin rocking you against him, groaning as he fills you with his cum, painting your walls white. Allowing you to ride out your high with him. Finally allowing the rut to rid his brain for only a moment.

He slowly pulls out of you, panting. Quickly moving to cover your center back up with your underwear. Make sure all of his cum stays tucked away in your pretty little pussy to get you nice and pregnant.

You can only whimper, body twitching at every movement he makes. Worn down your bones— energy sucked so dry you can’t even feel the throb of your neck. Don’t even notice the blood that drips from where he marked you— claimed you in the way only a hybrid can.

All you're sure of is the need to be close to him. Need to feel him.

Is this what he had been feeling all along? Marks were known to do that, to allow you to feel what your mate does. If he had to endure what you’re feeling right now, it had to have been hell for him.

“Min…” you calm his name. Pull him from where he stares between your legs. Where his fingers rub circles into the surface of your underwear, spreading any cum that leaks from your twitching hole.

Within a second he’s at attention, staring at you with all of the love in the world. You’re not sure how you missed it before. How you could have deluded yourself into believing any less.

He pouts as you wiggle at your restraints, silk holding your arms in place all this time. He gently shakes his head, slowly flipping your body back over onto its back. Crawling over you to look at your face properly. Take in your fucked out expression. Ruined his pretty little human. Made her perfect.

“Don’t want to.” His lower lip juts out at you, eyes wide just like a begging dog. “Look pretty tied up in my web. Should stay like this. Forever.”

“I don’t think my job would like that very much.” You giggle, lip pouting out to match his own. He leans down, quickly capturing your mouth in a quick kiss.

Something hard pressed against your leg once more. His hand comes down to guide it against your heat. Rub against you despite the oversensitivity and cum leaking from your hole.

“Then we move to the woods together… I’ll hunt for us…” He grumbles, pushing your underwear to the side once more. Collecting any cum that has spilled out with his cock, gently fucking it back into your cunt with the head.

A whine rips from your lips due to oversensitivity. Pussy sore, aching from what he just put you though. What you aptly begged for. Yet you can’t deny him. Don’t want to deny him with how good it feels to be filled. How addicted you’ve become. Cock drunk.

“Wh-what?” You try to breathe, walls fluttering around his length as he slowly thrusts back inside. Filling you to the brim once again. “W-we can’t do that, Minnie…”

His thrusts are slow, languid. Almost like he’s making love. Treating you with utmost care despite how wrecked your entire frame is.

He is entirely unaffected. His rut leaves him wanting for more and more until you have nothing left to give. Face twisting into confusion at your words.

“Why can’t we? Make you up a nice pretty web… keep you full all the time” He hums against your neck, gently licking at his mark, “treat you like a real good mate, yeah? Fill you up over and over. Will look so pretty with my spiderlings.”

He moans the words, hips speeding up ever so slightly at the thought. It dawns on you that this must be his rut talking. Filling his head with nonsense he knows can’t come true. In a few days when he wakes up from it, he’ll probably pretend he never said anything about taking you to the woods. Keeping you there.

No harm in agreeing, is there? Especially when he makes you feel so good. So happy and full. When it makes him feel just as good. When your head starts to feel fuzzy, the exhaustion weighs heavily on your consciousness. You’re on birth control anyway, it's fine.

“Mmhmm… sounds nice..” You moan quietly, already feeling your second orgasm approaching. Allowing yourself to become lost in the same dream as him. Allowing yourself to fall victim to pretty words and false promises. Ones that he intends to make true.

“Gonna take such good care of my mate.” He groans, face buried in your neck. He feels your walls clamp around him, pulling him in over and over again. Cunt never wanting him to leave.

His hand draws between your thighs, fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit. Neither of you are going to last long. Both too sensitive to do anything but fall into the pleasure of each other.

Pussy fluttering against his cock, head rolling back as your high runs through you once more. White clouding your vision, ears ringing as you are overcome with fire. Drowning in the feeling of his cock fucking you full of his cum once again.

He lets out a harsh groan as he fills you. Breeds you just like a good spider would. Makes you feel complete as he helps you through both of your highs.

Your eyes feel heavy— too heavy to stay open even a second longer. Too tired to stay awake as he pulls your underwear back over your center. As he pulls your body close to his own.

He doesn’t blame you, never could. It must be hard having to keep up with a hybrid during their rut. But he knows you can do it. Knows you’ll do it for him. Especially with the promises you made. The ones you made only to him.

The last words you hear before falling under the veil of consciousness is a simple declaration. One you’ve waited months to hear.

“I love you.”

“Y/n! Hurry up!”

The whine of Jimin’s voice is louder than any car, highway, hell— aeroplane you’ve ever heard, you’re sure of it. The grip of his hand around your own is like iron, tugging you along the worn trail path, trying to urge you faster than your feet will allow.

“I’m going! I’m goin!” You chide with him, giggle leaving your lips at his hurried nature. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the spider more excited. Maybe even more so than when he strokes the bite mark scarred into your shoulder– your permanent reminder that you are his and he is yours.

“Not fast enough!” He groans, head rolling back in annoyance, “The best spot is going to get taken!”

He’s told you about this spot time and time again– excitement palpable with every mention. A beautiful clearing back at the reserve, one that the trees shine perfectly through. The best spot for basking in the whole park, as well as for begging humans for snacks.

You smile at the thought. Following as close behind him as your feet will manage. Blanket and bags of food tight in your grip. After months of paperwork, he can finally return to this place without fear they’ll take you away from him. The mate licence in your wallet proof enough of it.

He finally gets to take you to the reserve– the place he called home for so long before he met you. The place where he first learned how to be a proper spider. The first place he learned to make friends. He’s most excited about the latter part, getting to show off his shiny new mate to all of his friends. The one he caught the human way.

He’s been talking about it for days, since you first brought up the idea of visiting. Of wanting to see where he lived before he met you. Prattling on and on about everything he’s going to show you, how he’s going to introduce you to Jungkook if he can. About the waterfall over the cove that you two can swim in without anyone finding out.

All of it is a dream come true for your little spider. Your mate.

You smile at the thought– how excited he is as he helps you set up the blanket on the ground. As he helps spread food all around you. Body jittery, head twitching at every little sound.

It’s clear he’s going a little crazy with joy. Entirely ecstatic to have you here with him. Sitting across from him on the ground in a way that almost mocks the picnic you had in his basement that night months ago.

Ah, sorry. Nuptial gift ceremony. He liked it a lot better when you called it that.

“Oh! And then, after we eat, I can introduce you to the head of the park! She’s Namjoon’s mate, but she doesn’t know it yet.” He talks to himself, chatting idly about nothing as he presses another strawberry to your lips. You eagerly take it, biting down on the fruit without a second thought.

You cover your mouth with your hand as you speak, “Really? It must be difficult to confess to her, then.”

He nods his head, overexcited as he looks past you into the trees. Nose twitching as he tries to pick up a scent. Yellow tinted sunglasses high on his nose to block any light from hurting his delicate pupils.

You can’t help but think about how beautiful he is. How lucky you are to have him.

His hair has grown out since that fateful day months ago, blonde replaced by a deep blue that puts the night sky to shame. How his frame has bulked out ever so slightly. Pretty tan skin looking more healthy than ever. His head off in the clouds, trying to ground himself so he doesn’t pick you up and drag you off into the woods.

The human way is never easy for him.

“Mhmm… he’s trying but he isn’t very good at it. Doesn’t understand how humans like it to be done…” He mumbles.

“Hybrid’s do it different?”

“Yeah,” He seems a little lost in space, nose twitching harsher as he tries to recognise the exact scent he knows will be coming soon. Jungkook can never hold himself back from a picnic, no matter how far. He just wishes his nose was stronger.

“Hybrids just take their mate right away. Prove they’re a good mate and then it’s done. But human’s you have to teach.” Your shoulders drop slightly, and maybe if it wasn’t for the love you felt for him or the mate mark pressing against your neck, you would have understood the severity of his words. Of teaching a human, tricking them into making them fall.

“Oh…” You pout, head coming down to rest against his shoulder. None the wiser to the meaning behind his words, “I’m sorry… it must’ve been hard for you.”

He only shakes his head, “It’s okay. I just didn’t want you to ever be scared.”

Suddenly, Jimin is standing. Eyes darting across the underbrush that surrounds the treeline. You follow his vision, squinting slightly to try and make out exactly what he is looking at when two antennae pop over the other side of a bush. Twitching, pointing in your direction. Hunting down food as they move closer.

The insect moves close, tilting his head as he finally moves within your line of vision. Mop of brown floppy hair on his head, wide bunny eyes. Twitching nose all the same. If it wasn’t for the lack of ears and black antennae jolting from his head, you would’ve thought he was a rodent.

“Kook!” Jimin’s voice is loud as he quickly run’s to meet the boy. The other looks just as excited, eyes lighting up with stars as his legs take off in the same direction. The two fall into a puddle of laughter and play fighting as they fall to the ground in greeting.

The infamous Jungkook, an ant hybrid– the biggest ant hybrid you’ve seen, mind you. Jimin’s best friend is finally revealed. And you have to say, seeing them together. Watching as your mate attempts to playfully tie him up silks has to be the prettiest sight you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Oh my god, Min!” You laugh as Jimin struggles, the giant ant hybrid easily breaking free from the others strings. Instantly the attention is on you. Jimin leaning back to his heels, head thrown back as he whines.

“Shut up! He’s gotten stronger! My webs hold you good enough!” You continue to laugh, unaware of the ant sneaking closer. His antenna tickling your shoulder as he stares at the food in front of you. Begging for just a little taste to bring home to his colony, a little bit to make the queen happy.

You happily oblige, making room for the two of them to join you once again after their little scuffle. A reunion too cute to not try and remember forever. And just like that, conversation begins to flow easily between the three of you. Almost as if Jimin never left in the first place.

The two of them spend all afternoon catching up– Jimin reciting the story of how you two met, Jungkook opening up about the cute human that’s started to come by the park every saturday. Pulling his antennae down as he speaks, clearly embarrassed. Telling you all about how they met, about the reserve.

“Ah~ don’t mind him. Kookie’s just embarrassed cause he doesn’t know how to talk to girls.” Jimin teases, leaning over to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. His arm tightly wrapped around your frame, holding you close. “Not every day that an ant hybrid has a mate outside of their colony, you know?”

“Hyung! Shut up!” He quickly whines, eyes shooting a subtle glare towards the other. Legs kicking slightly underneath his frame. “You… know what it means… especially cause she’s human…”

“I know.” His fangs shimmer as his hand reaches out to ruffle his hair, “Don’t worry. She’ll wanna be your queen in no time.”

You nod your head in agreement, picking up another piece of fruit and popping it into your mouth. Nothing much to add to the conversation– you’ll never really understand the intricacy of hybrids and how they work. Especially those like Jungkook and Jimin.

Yet, you can’t help but feel at peace with that. At peace with them and this moment. Content with your life, content with your mate and the life you’ve built together. You hope that Jungkook can do the same with his own someday. Build a nice little colony or whatever it is that ants do.

“Mhmm, anyone would want someone as cute as you.” You smile, watching as the ant’s eyes go wide. Blush covering his cheek as he tries to pull his antenna down to cover them. Jimin instantly pounces on the other, starting a new round of play fighting. Laughing about having to defend his mates honour. That she isn’t allowed to look at any other hybrid. No one but him.

You giggle along with them, leaning back from your spot. Taking a mental picture of the scene in front of you. Jimin happy, playing. The sunset over the horizon as the three of you laugh in the woods. As Jimin no longer looks anything like that spider all those months ago.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe you did fall into his trap lined with silk. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even when you wake up in the middle of the woods. When you wake up in a cabin decorated in pretty webbing. When you come to find society is far behind you. When you discover no one else other than Jimin telling you that this is exactly what you asked for.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⋆𐙚 if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a kofi!

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rockwgooglyeyes · 24 days ago

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One of the things that's so compelling to me about Eternal Sugar and Hollyberry's storyline, besides the fact that it is wlw, the juxtaposition of happiness and passion is super fascinating. It's easy to compare Eternal Sugar and Hollyberry's dynamic to Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla because like Shadow Milk, Eternal Sugar is not trying to kill her other half, as she "only wants Hollyberry to be happy." Yet, with Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla, Shadow Milk wished to corrupt Pure Vanilla in the same way he had been corrupted, and gain someone who fully understood him, as well as to get indirect revenge on Pure Vanilla for being chosen by the Witches instead of him. Shadow Milk did have harmful intentions when he met Pure Vanilla, whereas with Eternal Sugar and Hollyberry, Eternal Sugar has no ill intent.

It could be argued that Eternal Sugar does have ill intent, with her temper and her desire for control, the way she manipulates the people around her so that they remain within her grasp as well as subservient to her, but at the same time, she truly does view her actions as benevolent. She believes that, even if she is hurting people currently, that the ends justify the means, because as long as they stay in her Garden, they can remain happy and healthy forever. If by staying in her Garden, she continues her control over them, well that's just a happy accident!

One of her Arena Loading screen quotes is literally "Your passions will only lead to suffering..." which was such a game changer for me personally, because of the way it frames her motivation. By trapping people in her saccharine web, she is depriving them of their ability to make their own choices and ultimately get hurt, in the name of keeping them safe. Hollyberry's soul jam being passion as a variation on happiness makes a lot of sense, through that lens, because pursuing our passions makes us happy but at the very same time, passion can fizzle out suddenly, or our passions can lead us to ruin. Eternal Sugar tries to subdue the passions of her followers in order to keep them content and complacent, whereas Hollyberry is in direct opposition to that, saying that people should be allowed to go wherever the wind takes them, and her own actions embody that.

Nevertheless, the ways in which both of their soul jams are twisted by their own personal flaws is what makes it so intriguing to me. Hollyberry's "flights of passion" from her kingdom were her responding to her own restlessness, stress, and fear of stagnation, and it led her to abandoning her son and letting him grow up alone. Eternal Sugar, on the other hand, has many cookies that she cares about and yet she condescends to them and exerts control over them against their will in an effort to maintain their happiness. Eternal Sugar is very much an "ends justify the means" sort of person whereas Hollyberry lives in the moment and impulsively flits from place to place in order to keep running from her past. They both have complicated, kind of fucked up relationships with their sons, they both have devotees who follow them while remaining blind to the true flaws of the person they follow, and they both have their vices.

Hollyberry is constantly running and Eternal Sugar never moves. Hollyberry changes easily to fit whichever role is necessary for the situation while Eternal Sugar is unwilling and unable to change. It's almost like unstoppable force meet immovable object, and their polarity is what's so striking to me. Even as Hollyberry runs away from her problems, she does not allow herself to want things or get close to people, for fear of getting hurt. She may be passionate but she has, as Pavlova Cookie says, a cold and empty heart. That's why what Eternal Sugar says to her is groundbreaking because no one has given Hollyberry permission before, but here, she's can take time and it's not about everyone else, it's about her. Yet, the fact that Eternal Sugar is worried about everyone but herself is a great example of the similarities between them, as they both prioritize others above themselves and ignore their own emotions for the sake of other people. They are inherently so different and so similar, literally different shades of the same color, Hollyberry with her warm undertones and Eternal Sugar with her cool ones.

With Dark Cacao and Mystic Flour, they clash because of the fact that they are both unwilling to compromise on their ideals and willing to do whatever it takes to maintain their position. With Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla, they clash because of Pure Vanilla's unwillingness to entertain Shadow Milk's tricks at a certain point, instead seeing through them and cutting through the bullshit to confront the person behind the mask, something that Shadow Milk is extremely uncomfortable with. Burning Spice and Golden Cheese clash because of Burning Spice's lack of care for his own people and Golden Cheese's possessiveness over her hoard, her kingdom, and her unwillingness to sacrifice that. Burning Spice is too free of burdens, to the point that he has no attachments, and Golden Cheese has so many attachments that they both empower her and bog her down.

The diversity through which the juxtaposition between the Beasts and their Heroes is shown truly is impressive because of both the overlap between different duos and the fact that each duo has something unique to just them. Every duo has shared traits between the two members, and every one has similarities between the Beast and the Hero but the ways in which the level of similarity compared to the level of difference changes throughout the depictions is very cool to me because of the way that it shows how people who are similar can clash over the littlest things, and how people who are so different can come together and unite under one banner.

#cookie run kingdom #look i just had. eternal sugar and hollyberry thoughts that i needed to get out. i needed to put them somewhere #especially before the update comes out with holly's ascended form. . . hough shes so pretty she looks so good im so excited #this is probably going to be my only crk analysis but i needed to talk about it. anyways now i go back to my essay :/#crk #crk eternal sugar cookie #crk hollyberry cookie #hollysugar #eternal sugar cookie #hollyberry cookie #hollyberry crk #eternal sugar crk #eternalberry #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #shadowvanilla #im a shadowvanilla shipper im sorry thats my toxic yaoi your honor. . . its bad and i like it because its bad. its like a car crash <3 #anyways um yeah thats pretty much it. i talk about some of the other pairs but they're only mentioned once each so i will not tag them #cr kingdom #rocktalks

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clarkeyzzz · 6 months ago

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okay here me out on this - you’re a youtuber and tiktoker who’s friends with the boys and always had a little crush on george, and he you, but you’re both cowards. it’s valentine’s day coming up and all the other boys have dates/are away and so are your girl friends so you say to george hey let’s do a friend v day like valentine’s day or smthn because he’s sad he doesn’t have a gf, he comes to your flat, you cook, watch rom coms, drink a lot of wine and you play games but you accidentally play a couples game 😉😉😉😉 and you end up doing the deed and in the end both agree to go on an ACTUAL valentines date the next day hehehehehe

A Valentine's Between Friends

george clarke x fem!reader

summary: a friendly valentine's evening leads to anything but…

warnings: sexual content, smut (MDNI)

3.4k words (may have got a bit carried away)

note: Anon, thank you so much for the request. It's my first time writing smut so I hope you like it, sorry if it's awkward and cringy. If it sucks let me know and would love to get more requests.

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

It was the sort of cold February evening that made you want to curl up with a blanket, a glass of wine, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. The sort of evening that made you consider just not getting out of bed at all. Except for the fact that your phone was pinging with messages from the boys.

You groaned into your pillow, staring at the screen.

Chris had a date with someone he met on one of his spontaneous trips. Arthur was spending Valentine’s Day with a new girlfriend who he met through TikTok. Even your best friend was off on a family holiday. leaving you all alone.

You could already feel that aching hole in your chest. Valentine’s Day, of all days, was particularly terrible when you were single. The entire world seemed to be a constant reminder of the relationships you didn’t have. Of the fact that your phone was always empty, save for messages from your mates.

But then, there was George.

You had always had a soft spot for him. It started back when you all met, years ago, the banter, the cheeky comments, the laughs, the way he made you feel like you were always in on some secret joke. And now, well... now, it was just confusing. It had become a game of will-they-won’t-they. Neither of you ever crossed the line—too much fear of what might happen if you did. But god, how you both danced around it.

You hated the idea of spending Valentine’s Day alone, and so did he. So why not just make it a thing? A friend Valentine’s Day—no expectations, no awkwardness. You’d keep it chill.

You shot him a quick text.

“Wanna have an anti-Valentine's Day? I'll cook, we can drink wine, watch rom-coms and maybe play some games. Neither of us have plans, so why not? Let me know xx"

It didn’t take long before his reply came through.

"That sounds like exactly what I need. I’ll be over in an hour."

It was almost comically easy. But as the hour passed, you found yourself slightly nervous, unsure of what to expect. Was this just a chill night? Or was there something more lurking under the surface? You tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on getting everything ready.

You busied yourself in the kitchen, the sizzle of garlic in the pan mingling with the rich aroma of tomatoes—a simple, hearty meal to pair perfectly with the wine you’d bought. As you laid the table, each placement was a silent testament to the years of friendship that had intricately laced your lives together.

The sound of the doorbell jolted you from your thoughts. George stood there, hands buried deep in his pockets, his smile shy but genuine.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping into the warmth of your flat, the cold nipping at his heels. "This is a surprise. Smells like you've outdone yourself."

You chuckled, "Microwave meals are tragic on Valentine’s, even for friends."

He let out a laugh, sitting down at the table. "Fair enough. This looks pretty decent, actually. I’m impressed."

The evening unfolded with an ease that only true friendship could afford. Dinner was a merry affair, filled with laughter and nostalgic exchanges about past escapades with the boys. As the wine flowed, the barriers of mere friendship seemed to melt away, replaced by a tender connection that neither of you had dared to explore.

He grinned, taking off his jacket and hanging it up, glancing around your flat. "I’ve got to admit, this is a bit of a shocker. You’re actually being… domestic?"

"Well, thank you," you replied, smiling. "I even put some effort into it, just for you." You pulled the wine out of the fridge, uncorking it and pouring another glass for both of you.

The conversation flowed easily after that—easy banter, jokes about past video shoots, hilarious stories about the boys. But beneath the jokes, there was something soft lingering in the air. It was the unsaid, the little sparks you both danced around every time you spent time together.

As the evening wore on, the wine started to loosen your inhibitions. You moved to the couch, both of you nestled into the cushions, a blanket draped across your legs. The rom-com marathon began, and you both laughed at the ridiculous plot twists, snickered at the corny lines, but neither of you could ignore the growing tension between you.

"Should we play a game?" you asked, glancing at the coffee table where you had set out a box of games, most of them silly. "Something to pass the time? No pressure, I promise."

George gave you smile. "Yeah, I’m game. As long as it’s not too weird."

You grinned. "Oh, it’s not that weird. It’s just a couples game."

He raised an eyebrow. "Couples game? What, like Truth or Dare, but for couples?"

"Exactly," you replied with a laugh, though your heart was now beating in your throat. "But it’s mostly silly stuff. You know, harmless. Just a fun thing to do on Valentines."

You could see his hesitation, the subtle shift in his posture. "Alright. But I’m not kissing you, just so we’re clear." He finished his sentence with a cheeky wink.

You snorted. "Who said anything about kissing?"

With a shake of his head, George grabbed the card deck, and you both started drawing cards one after another, each more ridiculous than the last. The questions were harmless, at first: "What's your partner's worst habit?" and "What's their favourite food?" The game seemed lighthearted enough. Until it wasn't.

George drew the next card, his fingers trembling slightly as he flipped it over. The room suddenly felt too warm, the air thick with unspoken tension. He cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he read the card aloud: "Describe your most vivid fantasy involving the person sitting across from you."

Your eyes widened, and you felt a jolt of electricity course through your body. The playful atmosphere evaporated in an instant, replaced by a crackling intensity that made your skin tingle. George's gaze met yours, his pupils dilating ever so slightly.

"We don't have to-" you started to say, but George cut you off with a subtle shake of his head. His voice low and husky. "No, it's okay. I want to answer."

"It's always the same dream," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "We're alone on a deserted beach at sunset. The sky is painted in shades of orange and pink, and the waves are gently lapping at our feet."

You felt your breath catch in your throat as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

He continued, his voice growing more confident. "You're wearing that white sundress I love, the one that shows off your shoulders. Your hair is loose, blowing in the sea breeze. I reach out to brush a strand from your face, and suddenly we're so close I can feel your breath on my lips."

The room was dead silent now, and you’re hanging onto George's every word.

Your heart raced as George's words painted a vivid picture, one that mirrored your own secret fantasies. The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity.

"And then?" you whispered, barely trusting your voice.

George's eyes darkened. "Then I kiss you. Softly at first, but it quickly becomes more. My hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. You taste like salt and cherries."

You felt a flush creep up your neck, your skin tingling with each word.

"We fall back onto the sand," he continued, his voice low and intense. "The waves crash around us, but we don't care. All that matters is the feel of your skin against mine, the sound of your breath catching as I-"

George's voice trailed off, the unfinished sentence hanging in the air between you. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that seemed to pulse with each rapid beat of your heart. You realized you were holding your breath, your body leaning towards George unconsciously.

"As you what?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the thundering of your pulse in your ears.

George swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. He looked almost pained, as if continuing would shatter some invisible barrier between fantasy and reality. But his eyes, dark and intense, never left yours.

"As I trace every curve of your body," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion. "As I worship you with my hands, my lips, my entire being. In that moment, you're my entire world."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, your skin erupting in goose bumps.

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the heat radiating from your flushed skin. George's confession hung in the air between you, electric and charged with possibility.

"I..." you began, but the words caught in your throat. How could you possibly respond to such a raw, intimate revelation?

George's eyes searched yours, a mix of vulnerability and desire swirling in their depths. "Your turn," he said softly, pushing the deck of cards towards you with trembling fingers.

Your hand hovered over the stack, suddenly aware of how this next card could change everything. With a deep breath, you flipped it over.

"If you could do anything right now, without consequences, what would it be?"

The question seemed to mock you, daring you to voice the thoughts that had been building since George began speaking. You looked up, meeting his gaze once more. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken tension.

"I..." you started again, your voice barely above a whisper. "I would make your fantasy a reality."

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication. George's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly rose from your seat. Your heart pounded as you crossed the short distance between you, each step feeling like an eternity. George's gaze followed your movement, a mix of anticipation and disbelief etched across his features.

As you reached him, you gently took the card from his hands, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. Then, with a courage you didn't know you possessed, you lowered yourself onto his lap, your legs straddling his.

George's hands instinctively moved to your waist, steading you.

"We may not have a sunset, but..." Your voice trailed off as you brought your face closer to his, your lips mere inches apart. "We can make our own paradise right here."

George's breath hitched, his fingers tightening on your waist. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you hovered on the precipice of something monumental. Then, with a soft groan, George closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

It was everything you had imagined and more. His lips were soft yet insistent, moving against yours with a passion that made your head spin. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

George's hands roamed your back, tracing patterns that sent shivers down your spine. When you finally broke apart for air, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads pressed together.

"I've wanted this for so long," George murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His hands cupped your face gently, thumbs stroking your cheeks as if he couldn't quite believe you were real.

You leaned into his touch, your heart racing. "Me too," you whispered back, surprised by the intensity of your own feelings.

George's eyes searched yours, a mix of desire and vulnerability swirling in their depths. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in again, this time placing a soft, reverent kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each touch of his lips sent sparks through your body.

When he finally reclaimed your lips, the kiss was slower, deeper, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You melted into him, your bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper, as if the question was as much for him as it was for you.

You leaned in slightly, your breath mingling with his. "I’m sure," you murmured, before closing the distance between you with a kiss.

It started soft—tentative. But as the seconds stretched, it deepened, becoming more urgent. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. You could feel the warmth of his chest against yours, the rise and fall of his breath matching your own.

The world outside seemed to vanish. The only thing that mattered was the press of his lips against yours, the way his fingers traced the curve of your spine, sending sparks of electricity through your body. His touch was gentle at first, but as you shifted against him, something shifted in the air between you—a quiet hunger that neither of you could deny any longer.

"George," you whispered against his lips, a soft plea, and it was all it took. His hands moved to your face, cupping it as he kissed you again, deeper this time, as if he was losing himself to the moment.

You felt the intensity rise in him, in the way his hands wandered to the back of your neck, tugging gently, pulling you even closer. The taste of the wine mixed with the warmth of his mouth, and you could no longer tell where you ended and he began.

"Are you really sure?" he asked again, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes. I want this."

With that, the dam broke. His lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, leaving a fiery path behind. You shivered at the feeling, the electricity between you both undeniable. Each kiss, each touch, built the tension higher, and soon, it felt like the only thing you needed was him.

The wine seemed to fuel your courage as much as it fueled your desire, and soon you were both lost in the moment, not thinking about anything but the way your bodies responded to each other. His hands roamed freely, each touch sending your pulse racing, while you met him with equal eagerness, your fingers tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.

As things heated up, you both moved to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. George's eyes roamed over you appreciatively as you lay back on the bed. He joined you, his warm body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in another passionate kiss. His hands explored your curves, teasing and caressing. You arched into his touch, wanting more.

George trailed kisses down your neck and chest, taking his time to savor every inch of you. When his mouth found your breast, you gasped in pleasure. His tongue swirled around your nipple as his hand kneaded your other breast. The dual sensations sent waves of arousal through you.

You ran your fingers through his hair, urging him lower. He obliged, kissing down your stomach until he settled between your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue against your sensitive flesh had you moaning. He explored you thoroughly

George's lips trailed lower, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your inner thighs. His warm breath against your sensitive skin made you shiver with anticipation. When his tongue finally made contact with your center, you gasped at the sensation. He started with slow, teasing licks before focusing his attention on your most sensitive spots.

As George's ministrations intensified, you felt waves of pleasure building inside you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on as your hips rocked against his mouth. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them in a come hither motion that had you seeing stars. Thel stimulation quickly pushed you over the edge into a powerful climax that left you breathless.

Before you could fully recover, George was kissing his way back up your body. You pulled him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. Your hands roamed over George's muscular back as he settled between your thighs. You could feel his hardness pressing against you, igniting a fresh wave of desire. George gazed into your eyes, seeking silent permission. You nodded, pulling him closer.

He entered you slowly, both of you gasping at the exquisite sensation of finally being joined. George stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. Then he began to move, setting a slow pace that had you arching beneath him.

Your bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity, finding a rhythm that built the pleasure higher and higher. George's lips found yours in a searing kiss as he quickened his thrusts. You wrapped your legs around his waist, changing the angle and causing you both to cry out.

The room filled with the sounds of your shared passion - soft moans, gasps of pleasure, skin sliding against skin. The walls seemed to disappear, as if they were the only two people in the world. George's hips moved faster, his thrusts deep and primal, as if he couldn't get enough of her. His lips trailed down her neck, nipping at her collarbone, urging her on.

You met his gaze, your breath ragged and your chest heaving. "George... I... I'm..."

He kissed you again, hard and desperate, silencing your words as he drove himself deeper inside you. "I've got you," he murmured against your lips. "Let go."

That was all the encouragement you needed. With a sharp cry, your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. The intensity of your climax sent shockwaves through your body, your inner muscles clenching around George rhythmically. He groaned at the sensation, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. With a few final deep thrusts, George let out a guttural moan as he found his peak, trembling above you.

You both lay there panting, bodies intertwined and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. George's weight on top of you felt comforting rather than stifling. Sliding out, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft with emotion. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead tenderly before capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

"That was..." he trailed off, seeming at a loss for words.

"Yeah," you agreed breathlessly. "It really was."

George rolled to the side, pulling you close against him. You nestled into the crook of his arm, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. A comfortable silence fell between you as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

George's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, sending pleasant tingles through your body. You tilted your head up to look at him, taking in his tousled hair and flushed cheeks. His eyes met yours, filled with warmth and contentment.

You both lay there for a moment, just breathing, both aware of the shift that had happened—of the line you had just crossed, and the new, thrilling tension that hung in the air. Neither of you spoke for a long time, simply enjoying the quiet intimacy.

"Well," he said, voice thick, "that… wasn’t how I expected the night to go."

You chuckled softly, catching your breath. "Yeah, me neither. But…"

"But?" he prompted, his eyes locking with yours, intense and filled with something new.

"But, maybe we should just go with it?"

He smiled at you, his lips curving mischievously. But when George finally broke the brief silence, it was with a soft chuckle.

"So… tomorrow," he said, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. "I guess we're going on that Valentine's date after all."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound muffled against his chest. "I guess we are," you replied with a smile, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes were soft and full of a warmth that made your heart flutter. As his eyes met yours, you knew that everything had changed.

Outside, the night continued on, unaware of the transformation happening within the walls of your flat. But inside, on this unexpected Valentine's Day, you found yourself celebrating not just the day itself, but the beginning of something new and exciting. As you snuggled closer to him, your head finding its now familiar spot on his shoulder, you both agreed to take a leap into the unknown together. This was more than just a date on the calendar - it was a promise for the future.

Valentine's Day was no longer a dreaded reminder of what you lacked, but a joyous celebration of what could be.

#george clarke #george clarke fics #george clarkey #george clarkey fic #george clarkey imagine #george clarkeey #george clarke smut #george clarkey smut #british youtubers #uk youtubers #uk youtube #british youtube #youtuber smut #george clarke x reader #smut

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meowrimo · 7 months ago

Text

˖˙ ꔫ — HAPPY BIRTHDAY TETSU ˚

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : getting ready for kuroo’s birthday dinner has brought on a few unexpected surprises.

꒰ contents ꒱ : kuroo tetsuro x reader ; fluff. full of silliness and made with lots of love. reader is pregnant but kuroo doesn’t know, brief alcohol mention, dividers by adornedwithlight — WC : 1.8k

An unnaturally high-pitched, almost bone-chilling scream sounds off in the bathroom. The tube of lipstick you were holding drops onto the vanity with a small clunk before you dart to the source of the distress.

Every light in the bathroom was flicked on, the brightness overwhelming you as you attempt to focus on the scene before you. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight.

Your devastatingly handsome husband, dressed to the nines in one of his best suits, was rustling with his inky, unruly hair in a state of panic. His eyes were wide and filled with a crazed determination as he looked for something. He's never been one to fuss that much over his hair, so it worried you a little.

“Tetsu..?” You ask in a soft voice, taking a cautious step forward with the gentleness of a curious cat. “What’s-"

“I HAVE GRAY HAIR!” He dramatically exclaimed, turning towards you and pointing towards his head. You blink once, twice. In a few easy steps, you’re right in front of this man-child and gently caress his cheek, your eyes trailing from his to the small white hair he was gesturing to.

“Okay?” You look back at him, rubbing your thumb against his cheek soothingly. “It looks good, honey.”

“I can't believe it.” Kuroo goes to break out of your hold, looking back at the mirror in horror. “I just turned thirty, this can’t be happening.”

“It's only one tiny strand of hair, Tetsuro.” You sigh exasperated, walking up to wrap your arms around his slim waist. “Besides, I think it suits you. You’re entering your silver fox era, very sexy of you.”

His body rumbles against yours as he lets out a reluctant chuckle before his hands move down to rest over yours, giving them a gentle pat. The twin golden bands that adjourn your ring fingers shine under the fluorescent lights, the glint catches your eye as it happily reflects in the mirror.

“If you say so.” He didn’t look convinced, still frowning at his reflection. If he didn’t look so adorably pitiful, you might’ve felt bad. “Just pluck it off me. Please.”

“Aw, I love it when you beg.” The pout on his face only deepens.

“Ha, ha. Way to kick a man while he’s down, babe.” The sarcasm flows past his lips, clearly unimpressed with your lack of sympathy in this life changing moment.

“You’re so dramatic.” Without hesitation, you go to grab the defenseless strand of hair and it comes off all too easily. It only takes a second for everything to click into place. “Tetsu.”

“Did you get it?” His eyes are squeezed shut, bracing for the impact that never comes.

“Kuroo.” The use of his surname has him straightening up, eyes flying open. The piece of hair falls into his palm and he looks at it, completely gobsmacked. “This is cat hair.”

The cackle of his laugh drowns out the silence in the cramped room, his head tossed back in absolute delight. Whether it’s over the fact that it was just cat hair or the simple fact of him not having gray hair yet, you’re not sure, but you can’t find it in you to be mad. Not when his amber eyes twinkle and shine as they brim with joyful tears.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous.” You shake your head, a smile resting on your lips. The two of you were always coated in cat hair of some sort and Kuroo had an affinity for nuzzling his head against the kitties. It’s no wonder one had found its place nestled in his hair.

“Would you love me even if I was already graying?” He asks, but there’s a tone of insecurity that weaves itself into the cracks of his voice. Thirty was a new milestone, one that he had been looking forward to but birthdays always seem to shove the concept of time right in your face.

With a tenderness that came as easy as breathing, you press a sweet kiss against his lips. It quickly blooms into a life of its own as you pour everything you wish to say into it.

The love that will remain eternal, the warmth of all the sunsets you will watch together, the endless laughs you have yet to share, the sweet promise of tomorrow and the rest of your lives together.

“My love, I'll be with you until you’re old and gray and screaming over the fact that you found a black hair in place of all that gray.” You giggle, carding your fingers through the soft, unruly strands in an attempt to smooth it all over. “I meant it when I said my vows. I'm with you forever.”

The words reassure him, letting your promise melt over him and ease all the tension out of his body. There was never any doubt, of course, but he always loved hearing the reminder.

“My sweet wife.” With a boyish grin, Kuroo spins you around and securely cradles you in his arms, gently swaying side to side.

“My silly husband.” Reaching up behind you, you affectionately pat the palm of your hand against his cheek.

The warmth of his smile cascades through you, a beam of affection that never fails to give you butterflies despite how long you’ve been together. Something that will forever remain unchanged.

Kuroo kisses the side of your head, pressing his cheek against yours as you lovingly gaze at each other through the bathroom mirror.

“You look so beautiful, by the way. The prettiest angel I've ever seen. That dress is almost unfair.” Kuroo kisses down your cheek and along your jaw. “And you smell delicious enough to eat.”

“We have dinner reservations mister, so reel it in.” You smirk, a trait you’ve easily adopted from spending years with the man who was currently pouting over the fact he had to go to his extravagant birthday dinner.

“I suppose you’re right, but I plan on thoroughly enjoying my dessert after.” Kuroo purrs, running his soft lips along your skin, kissing your earlobe before trailing down to your neck to murmur on. “I'll order that champagne you like too, we can pull out all the stops.”

“Too bad I can't drink it.” The words slip out of your mouth faster than you could reel them back in. Kuroo froze for a moment, looking back at you through the mirror.

“Haah?” He gives you a puzzled look, standing up straight. “Why not?”

The reasoning escapes you, replaced by the pitiful opening and closing of your mouth, tongue twisting in every direction as it tries to land on what to say or rather, how to say it.

The longer you take to respond, the more Kuroo’s eyes widen. Abruptly, he turns to you, quickly grabbing your shoulders as hope shines brightly through his hazel irises.

“Are you..?” He trails off, the words escaping him as well, nothing more than a whisper. All you can do is nod a little before Kuroo envelopes you in a crushing embrace. “You’re pregnant?!”

“I am.” You smile, letting Kuroo pick you up a little in celebration. He lets out a bark of laughter, squeezing you gently before lowering you back down.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner!” He gazes softly at you, fondness crinkling by the corner of his eyes and a smile so genuine that his dimple began to show.

“I just found out!” You grin back at him, tears brimming your eyes and overjoyed with his reaction. “I wanted to tell you but i didn’t know if tonight was right and —“

“It's more than right.” He presses his forehead against yours, eyes searing into the depths of your soul. “It's perfect. The best birthday gift ever.”

It was no secret that Kuroo had been ready to expand your little family for a while now. It was something you had wanted too but when the timing was a little better. So you had promised him to have that conversation again after he turned thirty.

At least this saves a little time.

Kuroo carefully slides down your body, falling to his knees in seemingly slow motion. his ear is pressed against your stomach, his hands tenderly gripping your waist.

“Oh my god.” He whispers so softly you have to strain to hear him. “I'm going to be a father.”

“You’re going to be such a good dad, Tetsu.” You run your fingers through his inky black hair. Kuroo looks up at you, wide-eyed and hopeful as his chin gently presses against your abdomen.

“You really think so?” He asks, vulnerability licking at his tone.

“I know so.” You smile. The reassurance flooded his system, reigniting the excitement of it all. He grins back at you once again and all feels right in the world. The ghost of his lips brush along the fabric that serves as a barrier to your lower abdomen, a place that he plans on showering with love as much as he can.

“Hang on!” Kuroo stands back up so abruptly it almost gives you whiplash. You shouldn’t wear those heels, it’s not good for the baby.”

“Tetsu, I-“ Your sentence is interrupted by a squeal as Kuroo picks you up bridal style and marches towards your room. He sits you on the edge of the bed. “Tetsu, I’m only 7 weeks pregnant.”

“Still.” Kuroo lifts your foot, fiddling with the straps of your heel before sensually sliding it off, giving your ankle a kiss for good measure. He does the same with the other foot, his eyes set on you. “You better start getting used to this, sweetheart.”

The other heel hits the ground with a distant thud as Kuroo kisses up along your leg, the fabric of the dress annoyingly getting in his way until he slides his head under it.

“Tetsu, we have reservations.” You try to squirm away but his hands grip your hips before his head pops back out to look at you with a serious expression.

“We’re not going.” He decides, hands roaming along your body. “Let's get take out, I wanna take care of you tonight.”

“It's your birthday though.” You can’t help but pout a little, guilt slowly seeping through the cracks of excitement from earlier. If only you had kept the news a secret a little longer —

“Shh.” Kuroo sits back up so his face is directly in front of yours, nuzzling his nose against yours. He always knew when you’d retreat into your mind and never let you fall too deep before lulling you back. “You gave me the perfect gift and nothing would make me happier than spoiling you a bit.”

“But—“

“No buts. It’s my birthday after all, and I get final say.” With a dastardly smirk, he kisses you with all the love in the world, his palm happily resting on your stomach. The excitement of the coming days in your lives grows alongside the little one that will bring you so much joy in the near future.

thank you very much for reading. happy birthday tetsu 💋

#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq x reader #cw pregnancy #very indulgent . wah

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enderlovez · 5 months ago

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can you write another kindergarten teacher!reader x spencer where he comes in as like a special guest to read to her students🥹 and then he stays to eat lunch with her

Story Time

Spencer Reid x Kindergarten Teacher Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: Spencer comes and reads to your students for storytime.

Content Warning: Maybe some spelling errors, but otherwise nothing. I actually love writing kindergarten teacher reader x Spencer!!! It makes me feel all warm and happy inside

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The buzz of the classroom feels electric today, like a thousand tiny bees flitting through the air. Your students can hardly stay in their seats, their excitement nearly bubbling over as you explain that you'll be having a very special guest joining you for storytime today.

Of course, they don't know who it is yet. That's the surprise.

"Miss Y/N, is it a prince?" asks Lily, her shiny brown eyes wide and hopeful.

"Or a pirate?" chimes in Jacob, swinging around an imaginary sword.

You smile and shake your head. "Not quite. But he is one of my favorite people, and I think you're all going to love him, too."

As if on cue, there's a light knock on the rainbow-painted door. Your stomach flips as you walk over to open it.

Standing there, with his ever-disheveled hair and a stack of children's books in his arms, is Spencer.

He's wearing one of his signature mismatched outfits that always sort of remind you of something an old man would wear—a brown cardigan over a cream colored shirt—and the way his eyes light up when he sees you makes your cheeks flush a little.

"Hi," he says softly, like you're the only two people in the room.

"Hi," you whisper back, before stepping aside to let him in.

The kids immediately erupt into whispers and giggles. Spencer shifts awkwardly under their gaze, but he smiles warmly as I introduce him.

"Everyone, this is Doctor Reid. He's a very smart friend of mine who knows a lot about books, so I thought he'd be the perfect person to read to us today!"

Spencer waves shyly. "Hi, everyone. You can call me Spencer if you want."

Lily raises her hand without hesitation. "Are you Miss Y/N's boyfriend? Are you married? Do you have any babies?"

Spencer's eyes widen, and you feel your face go hot—really, this is something you should have anticipated.

"Lily!" you laugh nervously, twiddling your thumbs. "That's not a question for storytime."

She shrugs, unapologetic. Spencer, bless him, just clears his throat as adjusts his grip on the books.

"I bought a few options," he says, holding them up like they're treasure. "We have The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Where the Wild Things Are, and The Day the Crayons Quit. Any favorites."

The room fills with an enthusiastic chorus of opinions, but Spencer handles it like a pro, tallying votes on the whiteboard until we have a winner: Where the Wild Things Are.

He settles into the big reading chair at the front of the room, his long legs awkwardly folded up beneath him, and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

The kids gather on the carpet, leaning forward with rapt attention as he begins.

Spencer's voice is soft, each word carrying a rhythm that draws the kids—and you, despite the fact that you've already read this book countless times—into the story, though that might just be because you enjoy listening to his voice so much.

By the time he closes the book and sets it aside, the room erupts into cheers. "That was so cool!" Jacob shouts, jumping to his feet.

"Can you read another one?" Lily pleads, clasping her hands together and mustering up the best puppy eyes she can—she doesn't have to try very hard.

Five year olds. So easy to please.

Spencer glances at you, and you nod. "One more," you say. "Then it's lunchtime."

This time, he picks The Day the Crayons Quit, and the kids laugh hysterically at the sassy letters from the crayons.

Spencer even gets a short round of applause when he finished reading and closes the picture book, his cheeks pink as he smiles and thanks them.

"Okay, everyone," you announce, clapping your hands together. "Time to wash up for lunch!"

The kids scramble to line up at the sink, still chatting quietly with one another—partly about the stories, but mostly about how awesome Spencer is.

He stands by the reading chair, watching them with a mix of amusement and awe.

"You're a hit," you tease, stepping beside him.

"I think they like me more than you," he replies, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't get cocky," you say, nudging him gently.

As the kids settle at their tables with their lunches, you lead Spencer to your desk in the corner, where you've set up a couple of chairs. "So you're staying, right?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"If you'll have me," he says, pulling out the chair across from yours.

Your desk is decorated with little figurines and gadgets, ranging from tiny animal toys blue-tacked down to the lid of a container, to a photo frame filled with pressed flowers, to a small collected of little painted rocks. It reminds Spencer a lot of Garcia's office. Colorful.

You hand him the sandwich you made for him earlier, and his eyebrows lift in surprise. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," you say, ducking your head. "But I wanted to."

You eat quietly for a moment, the sound of the kids' laughter and chatter enough to fill the space around the both of you.

Spencer watches them with a small smile, and you can't help but admire the way he fits so seamlessly into your little world. Most people would get overwhelmed, being in a room with so many little children—and it just so happens that your boyfriend isn't one of those people.

How did you get so lucky?

"They're great," he says after a while.

"They are," you agree. "A handful, but great all the same."

He looks at you then, his gaze soft and searching. "I can see why you love this so much. And I can see why they love you so much."

Your breath catches, but before you can respond with something sappy that'll more than likely make you cry, Jacob bounds over to your desk.

"Miss Y/N, can Mister Spencer come back tomorrow?"

Spencer chuckles, glancing at me like he's looking for permission.

"We'll see," you say, ruffling Jacob's hair. "If he's not too busy saving the world, maybe he can visit again."

"Promise?" Jacob asks, directing the question at Spencer.

Spencer holds up his pinky, and Jacob eagerly hooks his own tiny pinky finger around it. "Promise," Spencer says.

As Jacob runs back to his table, Spencer leans toward you, his voice low and almost a little uncertain.

"When can we have one of our own?"

#spencer reid x girlfriend reader #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid #doctor reid #kindergarten teacher #kindergarten teacher reader #spencer reid x kindergarten teacher reader #enderlovez #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader girlfriend #spencer reid x self insert

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sukunahs · 17 days ago

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its okay that you crave me

content warnings: 18+ mdni, non-con/dub-con, somnophilia, bondage, piv, ass play, cunnilingus, breeding, sukuna being generally terrible

Thinking about obsessed ex-boyfriend Sukuna who will not accept that you’ve ended things with him. You're his and you’ll always be his even if you don’t know it yourself. You won’t get a moment of peace from him - constantly blowing up your phone with texts and calls, changing his number every time you block him, managing to find your new number when you try getting a new one to get away from him.

He’ll show up wherever you are. Your usual grocery store, the gym, even happening to show up in the same restaurant as you when you dare to go out on a date. Always giving you that same grin, flexing his muscles and callously suggesting that you go back to his place - you must miss him after all.

And with every rejection you give him you grow more exasperated, more aware of the fact that Sukuna is not the sort of man who gives up. You wonder what it would take for you to finally get him off your back. Nothing you’ve done so far has worked - changing your habits, going to new places further away from your home, even changing apartments. No matter what you do he’s there, his presence unshakable.

You even try getting a new boyfriend, moving on from him completely and making things official with a nice coworker of yours. Sure, this new guy doesn’t stoke heat and passion in you the way that Sukuna used to, but he’s a hell of a lot nicer - no manipulation or cruelty and not even as much as an interaction with the police unlike your criminal ex. A pleasant and safe option who treated you nicely.

Unfortunately your gambit to push Sukuna away, to show to him that you’d moved on and that he should too just furthered his obsession with you. He knew that you couldn’t really be serious about this loser. That guy couldn’t protect you like he could, couldn’t look after you like he could and certainly couldn’t fuck you like he could.

He’d had enough of this annoying little game that you were playing with him.

So it was your own fault that he was breaking into your new apartment in the middle of the night. You’d pushed him to this, if you’d just come back to him like his good little girl things would’ve been easy, but now he has to do it the hard way.

He had no problem getting in through the back window, you were practically helpless without him, completely unaware of how to keep yourself safe and secure. Weren’t you lucky it was him climbing into your bedroom and not some creep? You didn’t even wake up as he stood over you, all curled up and cozy in your bed, completely at his mercy.

You’d always been a deep sleeper. That’s why it was so easy for him to tie your hands against the bedpost, sliding your cute silky nightgown up your body, exposing your soft breasts and pretty pussy to him. He’d missed seeing you like this up close - it just wasn’t the same watching old videos that he’d taken of you, he needed to be able to touch you.

Burying his face between your thighs, he wasted no time getting to work and eating you out. He was desperately hard and wanted to fuck you as soon as possible, but you used to always whine if he didn’t prep you first. So he was being nice, doing you a favor so that maybe you’d show him a little gratitude when you woke up.

His thick tongue explored your pussy thoroughly, taking his time lapping over your folds before pushing the tip of it into your tight opening, relishing in the way your legs were twitching at his touch. It was so cute how your body responded to him instinctively, as if you were made to be his.

He’d worked you halfway to an orgasm by the time you awakened. With your mind a haze of sleep and pleasure it took you a few moments to understand what was happening, to see those deep red eyes peering up at you from between your legs. Dread pooled in your stomach, mixing together with the aching feeling of need that Sukuna had worked into you with his tongue.

And as you’d struggled against the rope that tied your hands, and thrashed your legs against his grip, you felt humiliation burn in you as you came on his tongue. Body convulsing with a twisted pleasure as he granted you release. He knew your body even better than you did.

The next thing you knew he was changing positions, crawling up your body and pressing a rough kiss to your lips, swirling his tongue against yours and making you taste yourself on him, sitting back and grinning at the look of horror on your face. He’d taunted you, telling you to stop pretending you don’t like it.

He positioned himself over you, throwing off his own clothes and running his cock along your slit. Taking no notice of your cries and begging for him to stop, chuckling at the cute little excuses that you threw at him like how it wasn’t fair to your boyfriend. Didn’t you know yet? He was your boyfriend, you were his.

For a moment he’d played along, acting as though he cared about anything you had to say, untying your hands and watching as you shuffled away from him, giving you that little glimmer of hope that he’d leave you alone. Before he took it all away.

You were helpless as he pounced on you, pressing your face down into the bed sheets as he mounted you, sinking his cock into your sopping pussy and letting out a sigh of relief. He’d missed this. Other women just couldn’t compare to you - your pussy was just so warm and tight, wrapping around him as though you had been moulded for his cock.

He found it amusing, the way that just moments ago you were begging him not to put it in, but now you were whimpering and whining like a needy little slut. He was made for you too after all.

He fucked you hard and fast, as was always his way. Driving his cock as deep as it would go, laughing at the cute little sounds that you were making each time he pressed you into the mattress, revelling in the way your pussy was squeezing around him with every thrust. One of his hands moved to your ass, his hand circling your puckered hole, his cock jumping with elation as you begged him not to touch you there.

Slipping his thumb past that tight ring of muscle he mocked your pathetic little cries, noticing the way that your pussy was squeezing him tighter now that he had a finger in your ass, his cruel voice reminding you that actually you liked this, that you loved him and that he’d make you feel good if you just stopped fucking complaining for once.

And you hated that it was true, but you did like it. His cock felt so good pistoning into you, the cruelty of his words and the way that he completely dominated you was making your pussy drip with need. He was the only person who could make you feel like this - your nice little boyfriend certainly never did this, never had you seeing stars like Sukuna did as you came on his cock, face roughly pressed down into a pillow.

Sukuna pulled out of you for a moment, satisfied that he’d seemingly broken through your resistance. He flipped you over, your body limp from your second orgasm, and threw your legs over his shoulders, putting you in a mating press before sinking his cock back into your sloppy pussy. Your weak little whines spurred him on as he enjoyed the new position, fucking into you hard, gazing at that pretty, fucked-out expression that you had on your face.

Yeah - that was for his eyes only.

He sped up, grinning as he watched your breasts bounce, loving the way your little hands were clawing at his arms, trying to stabilise yourself beneath the weight of his thrusts. He was desperately chasing release, amused by the way you suddenly seemed to regain a bit of awareness, pleading with him to not cum inside, telling him that you hadn’t been on birth control since the two of you had broken up.

He paid you no mind, shoving his thick fingers into your mouth and silencing your pleas as he came, driving his cock as deep inside you as it could go, pushing up against your cervix and letting his cum pour into you. You were whimpering softly as he filled you up, trying not to think too much about how much of his seed was inside you right now.

Letting your legs fall from his shoulders, he removed his fingers from your mouth as he laid down on top of you, caging you beneath his massive body. You were silent now, trembling against him. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your lips before nuzzling his face against the side of your head, cooing and whispering against your ear about how you were his, how you were going to carry his children, how he was never going to let you go again - and that if you even so much as thought about leaving, he’d kill that pathetic little ‘boyfriend’ of yours.

As you lay there beneath him, his cock still buried and twitching deep inside you, listening to him ramble on about what horrible acts he would commit if you ever left again, you knew that this time you’d do exactly what he asked.

You were his after all.

a/n: I swear I'm working on chapter 3 of to distant lands but the sukuna brainworms took over and I needed to write this immediately.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna fanfic #jjk sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk #jjk au

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aphroditesmoon · 20 days ago

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smoke signals (part iv)

lighthouse keeper!sevika x selkie!reader

summary: sevika is content with her life, the loneliness that comes with her job is inevitable. but then one day, as she reaches the peak of mundanity, almost turning into insanity, you appeared. cold, quiet, clueless, sea-sent you, like a wish fulfilment for her.

warnings: selkie!reader, reader has selective mutism in beginning. makeout (no smut yet)

a/n: a long awaited chapter, idk who will read this still but if you've been an og, thank you for your patience <3

taglist: @lilredbird101 , @djstinkyfartz @vellichor-and-flowerpetals

wc: 6k

part 1 part 2 part 3

---

Your whole life has been spent disregarding the feeling of fear that crept in your heart as you travelled. Because that's just the way you were. Ghosts could lurk beyond closed doors, and you'd find yourself kicking them open and challenging them upfront despite the fact that your heart is beating outside of your chest.

Little bird, your mother use to call you. The irony of being compared to an animal of the sky as you remained below wasn't lost on you. But that was how she saw you. Free, unafraid to soar.

And so that was how you continued to live as you cherished the memories of her, untethered to anyone or any place, uncommitted. And the freedom feels oh so good for a while. But as it goes for anything you do for too long, it will start to hurt soon enough.

But now that you've had a taste for stability, you're not sure if you could live without it anymore. It was inevitable, you know. The way you had imposed yourself on Sevika was so sudden, your presence had existed without any sort of grounding. Floating around her, making yourself fit in places you shouldn't. You'd be as easy to get rid of just as you were as easy to be taken in.

You're not so sure when the eviction would be due, but what you do know is that today, the process had begun.

You can hear Sevika conversing with the old man, Vander, as you remain seated at the corner of the boat, letting them unload her stuff in. The waves are peaceful today, the sailing would be smooth and wind gentle, you predicted.

Casting a quick glance behind you, you found that the older woman had already been focusing on the back of your head. Her piercing eyes don't move after being noticed but instead intensify. Whatever words being said by the man next to her was clearly being ignored.

In this very moment, you wished you could read her mind. While she assumes that you could already.

Sevika turns back to Vander once he finished asking his question, leaving you to the sea again. "What?" She asks him.

Vander sighed and shook his head in a fatherly manner before repeating himself. "I said, what the hell have you gotten yourself into, woman?"

Sevika responded with her usual annoyed grunt and looked away from him.

"I left you alone for a month and you've already found yourself in new trouble."

"She's no trouble, and I'm in no shit. So check yourself, Vander." She didn't mean to sound so defensive, and it wasn't like she didn't understand what he had meant with 'trouble', but she's also actively trying to avoid the facts that are currently staring right at her face.

"Oh, no? So when we get to land, you'll be handing her over to the arms of those wretches with no problem, aye?" Sevika shoots him a glare.

"I...have not come to a definite conclusion."

Vander raises a brow at her.

"You can't keep her Vika, that's kidnapping." He says matter of factly.

She snorted at the possibility of you ever being her unwilling captive. "Never said anything about that."

Vander relented and dropped the subject with another defeated sigh. She knew she was acting like a child, avoiding the truth and refusing to make the call.

She doesn't know why its so hard, she had come to this decision weeks ago when you had first appeared outside her door, and the fact that you had given her little to no information about yourself since then, just makes this issue even more complicated.

But how can she give you up to the enforcers when she knows that even they won't make an effort to really return you to wherever you came from? At first, the plan was to get you out of her hands. But now, the idea of sending you straight into the lion's den is absolutely unbearable.

The only person she'll ever really care about, and now she's forced to let you down?

She wonders if you know what this trip would really mean, you seem to be lost in your own thoughts for more than expected and she isn't sure if it's because of the change of scenery or the addition of another person in your presence that will soon be multiplied overwhelmingly.

A part of her wants to go over to you and wrap a comforting arm around your shoulder, but she's not sure if she should. im fact, she's not sure on how she's supposed to act around you at all, feeling like no matter what angle she tries to come from, the killing blow of her oncoming betrayal will be seen as just as traitorous in your eyes.

But god, what else is she supposed to do? Sevika's mind has reached a blank wall.

Impulsively, Sevika approached Vander with a question. "Say old man, you don't mind if we stay over at your place for a night or two, do you?"

Vander seemed surprised but not displeased. "Uh, sure. Why not?"

Sevika thanks him in a whisper and feels relief in her lungs as she's gifted with more time to come up with something better.

"The kids will be glad to see you." Vander added with a short laugh.

"The kids." Sevika breathed out, reminiscing about the last time she saw them, which was 2 months ago. "How are they?"

Vander shrugged, "They're well, and stubborn as usual." Vi and Jinx are your typical growing young adult and teenager. They had somehow inherited both Vander's bravery and stupidity despite not really being his children.

"The bar however, suffered many losses because of those damned pirates from last month. The kids have been helping me fix things up, but it just hasn't been the same." And that was the other issue when it came to the town, the random and consistent attacks from the pirates.

Thieving is a repetitive crime in town, but the damage that these pirates have done is incomparable.

The Black Fury pirates are notorious for their crimes all over the map and some might even call them legendary. They had only recently been invading Zaun during their little pit stops. They are well armed and not afraid to use their weapons. Even the enforcers have been unable to do anything about the sudden attacks.

Sevika can only hope that they won't be back here anytime soon.

She watches as you turn to face a different direction as the boat is finally reaching land. The silence of the journey is now being replaced by loud chattering voices of fishermen, sailors and townsfolk.

Once Vander managed to tie up the roads as the bottom of the boat meets the sandy ground.

People looked, but not at any particular interest towards the three of you as you cleared up your bags and tools out of the vehicle and made your way deeper into the crowd of lively people.

You survey your surroundings with an eager but patient manner, finding comfort in the way the voices mesh together, overlapping over eachother to the point that you wouldn't be able to make clear on anything.

You enjoyed calmness and peace, especially for these last couple of weeks. But anyone who knew you (not that there are many), would know that you truly thrived in loudness and bustling spaces that most humans find themselves in.

You jolted when you felt Sevika slip her fingers around yours, clasping your hands together. When you looked up to her as you continued to move behind Vander, she only cocked her head at the crowd and said; "can't lose you now."

You continue to gawk at corner shops and messy stalls selling cheap jewelry and greased up food as she leads you on. You could still feel her turning around every few seconds to look at you, as if afraid that you'd somehow disappear despite already being in her grip.

You didn't mind it at all. In fact, you were kind of glad for it. You were glad that she deemed you worthy enough to look back for. And you also seemed to enjoy the feeling of her strong calloused palms holding onto your colder, and much smaller ones. Buzzing warmth spread all over your body from the contact.

Although she tugged on your arms, she never pulled on it and let you walk at your own pace while you regarded the people with a keen eye, frowning deeply when you came upon a spray painted symbol of the Black Fury pirates on the passing walls.

The image had seemed to spook you for a little bit as Sevika noticed that your admiration for the dirty streets has been overtaken by something else. Your focus now shifted on arriving safely to Vander's home.

"We're almost there." Sevika mutters to you, translating your sudden gloominess to being tired and overwhelmed.

Sevika herself is not that big of a fan of chaos in the town. She favors bars and restaurants, sure. But the idea of having to be around so many people for too long have always put her on edge and increased her irritability.

She's more of a homebody, she'd say. But seeing how in awe you were of the vibrant streets and market had somehow forced her to see certain things from your point of view.

She took note of certain things that you looked at for longer than usual. The way your lips part open in pleasant surprise when being offered fresh fruits by stall sellers you've passed by in a flash, the way your eyes crinkle at the sight of rock-kicking children chasing around a dusty black cat.

And of course, the way your eyes lit up as you're met with the holy fish market, all in it's glory of sea water smell and middle aged mothers doing grocery shopping for their families.

The bar was much less full than you expected, probably because it was still morning. Only very few and sober customers were inside by the back booths being sheltered by the dim yellow lights above them. The moment you set your foot inside, you were greeted by two teenagers that came from the counter seats, welcoming the old man and Sevika with expecting smiles.

"Oh, well if it isn't the scary big shark coming to grace us with her prsence." The shorter, blue haired girl spoke.

She gave a half hug to Sevika before she slowly noticed your existence, quiet and careful behind her. "And, who's this?"

"A friend." Sevika spoke, too quickly for her own liking.

"Oh that can't be true, I thought Vander's your only friend." The redhead, who you assumed is the blue hatred girl's sister, responded.

Sevika rolled her eyes and dropped her bag on the floor before walking away with you still holding her hand. "I need a drink." She called out to the bartender as she seated herself down on the stools with you. “Of course you do.” The red head snorted.

"Whiskey neat for me and uh-" She glanced over at you and back at the bartender. "Do you got...juice-?" The bartender cringed. "Apple juice, that's it." He answers.

"Sure." Sevika sighed and nodded her head.

You didn't argue, but when your drinks came, you had slyly grabbed for hers first and tipped it over your lips before she could stop you.

Sevika stared at you with horror, watching you slam the glass back on the counter and began tearing out your throat with a violent and continous cough, hunching your back.

"Great." She groaned aloud. "Get me some water." She demanded from the bartender.

She lightly patted your back as you continued coughing up, amusement painted all over her face. "Your stubbornness is admirable, but it'll also be the cause of your death."

You chugged down the glass of water with relief while ignoring her words.

After enough time have passed, Sevika forced through the obvious elephant in the room and spoke first. "We'll be staying over here for tonight."

That part was clear to you. You looked widened your eyes in question, and then what?

Sevika wasn't sure either.

So instead of answering you, she changes the subject. standing up and clearing her throat, she then says; “I'm going to go put our stuff upstairs. But then after that. I was thinking that I could show you around, give you a little tour. How about that?"

You were unresponsive at first, mouth agape and brows furrowed in confusion. But then after a minute, you purse your lips close and gave a single nod. Sevika moved around you and grabbed the bags from the floor before disappearing up the stairs and away from your sight.

---

You're not sure how to feel at this very moment. It wasn't just Sevika and the impending doom of knowing you're about to be removed from her life. It was also the stupid symbol painted red on the fading pale walls you had witnessed a few minutes ago.

Sometimes it felt like no matter wherever you went, no matter how far you're willing to travel, the symbol will always follow from behind, haunting you for the rest for your life.

The last time you had a run in with the pirates was a year ago, at an unpopular island far away from Zaun. The incident has no significance to you.

What had really shaped your life was your first run in with them, as a baby.

There is truly no running from your past. Your mother had only managed to escape your father through death.

It was the classic selkie tale. Your poor mother had been kidnapped and forced into marriage with the pirate king of the Black Fury as he held onto her coat, making sure she'd be unable to escape.

She suffered for years by his side, and even after you came along, the sorrow and yearning for the sea never ended for her. And when the opportunity to snatch back her coat and her freedom appeared, your mother did not wait to claim the waves as hers again with little you following along.

Your peace didn't last long though, for they were relentless in tracking her down to the very ends of the worlds. And found her, they did.

You still remember pushing into the pulsing wound on your mother's chest as blood swims out freely after you've managed to remove the arrow from her skin.

He never tried to come for you. You're both glad and offended for that. You're glad that there's no target on your back, but you're offended that he perceives your existence as having so little value, being able to be so unaffected by the fact that he had robbed a child of its mother.

Sometimes it even feels like mockery when you keep bumping into them in every crook and corner of the earth you run to.

A wicked reminder of what he had ripped off of your arms. And even now, your father somehow manages to find his way into your life, mocking you as you're about to lose another person you care about.

You try to play it off for the whole damn time, but as you're sat at this squeaky stool, throat sore and apple juice untouched, all you really want to do is break down into tears.

You hear Sevika's faint footsteps nearing you and felt her hand on your shoulder seconds after.

Tilting your head up towards the woman, you're met with a certain softness in her face that she only reserves for you. She is silent at first, analysing your expression and trying to figure something out but not knowing what it exactly is.

"You ready?" She asks you then. You lifted yourself off the seat and beckoned at her to lead the way as a response.

You don't miss how she made sure to keep you on her right side and away from the open street. You noticed the flex of her palms and almost reached out for her hand first but managed to hold yourself back.

You would rather die than show to anyone else but yourself on how truly desperate for connection you really are on the inside. And so you waited for her fingers to find yours, but disappointingly, they don't.

"I thought I'd take you to the market first." Sevika says, breaking the silence. "It's less hectic this hour. If you think it's full now, wait till you see how it gets in the afternoon." It wasn't often that you'd get to see a nervous Sevika, and it was even less often that you'd get to see her rambling.

"It has like a shit ton of stuff you'd like- not that I really know what you like besides fish." She added with a short laugh. "But you're a girl, and girls usually like jewelry and sweet treats and shit, so yeah.",

“Shit” You repeated after her quietly before humming to yourself while keeping up with her steady pace. It hasn't even hit 12pm yet, but the sun is already scorching, it's heat being so strong that you're sure your skin could stretch and break under the direct streak of it.

You were grateful for the worn out roof shielding you and Sevika from the sun momentarily, but as you begin sweating from your forehead down to your back, reminiscence of the cold and welcoming sea comes in flashbacks at the back of your mind.

Being able to be one with the water again seems to be your only source of comfort for today. You find yourself peeking your head out to search for the sea once you reach the market entrance that's close to the shore.

Sevika waits for you to enter first, keeping herself close from behind. It was honestly hard for you to truly be immersed in the little shops when you can't help being incredibly aware of her presence.

It had never mattered before if she was watching you. But as of right now, you just couldn't shake off the feeling of having your every little movement be judged under her observation.

You wondered if the version of you she saw in her eyes, is the real you. You wondered if she truly sees you or if she's just seeing a skewered, misinterpreted version of you.

Well, at this point, it doesn't really matter now, does it?

Slowing down your steps, you start to notice a pattern in the stalls. They all are selling around the some thing for different prices.

One thing that looks attractive in this stall, will surely be found in a couple stalls upfront in a more expensive pricing range and maybe more choices of colour.

You lingered at the small jewelry stall that focuses on beaded bracelets and charms as a small purple bracelet attracts itself to you. It has a small seashell shaped charm in the middle with lilac and white beads around it.

The old lady selling it only offers you a warm smile as you window shopped on her collection.

"Do you want it?" Sevika asks. You quickly shook your head no but saw that she had already pulled out a few coins out of her left pocket before pouring them onto the old woman's hand.

"Take it." She cocked her head to the bracelet hanging right by your eyes. You pulled it off its hook and slipped it around your wrist with ease, grinning to yourself as it fits you perfectly.

"It's your color." Sevika complimented as she guided you forward, her hand stays on the small of your back.

"Thank you." You whispered gratuitously. She doesn't react as she doesn't hear you, but it doesn't matter as she will always know the words you never speak through the way you look at her. It's almost like you're interlinked with her.

---

The two of you spent the next 2 hours just walking hand in hand, trying out fruits on a stick and testing cheap perfumes on your wrists before picking your favourites and not buying any of them at all.

The conversations are kept short between you two, but it remained intimate somehow, real and vulnerable in a world that is anything but.

Sevika tells you about her favourite foods and how this market has been standing tall for over 30 years since she was still a child.

She had even graced you with a story on how she used to participate in thieving activities, pickpocketing topsiders that roamed the street and didn't know any better.

"Sometimes they don't even realise anything's missing." She tells you with a snort.

"It was all fun and games until one of them catches you in the act, though. These topsiders, they like to get the law involved. And contrary to popular belief, those ass kissers don't perform based on fairness."

You frowned at yourself. "You got caught?" You ask her, each syllables sounding mouthy as you spoke them. You can’t imagine Sevika ever getting caught with anything.

Sevika snickered. You don't miss the way her eyes widened slightly when she heard your voice, it always takes her by surprise. "The real question here is, how many times did I get caught?" By the bitterness in her tone, you're gonna assume it was a lot.

You feel your feet ache while walking on the street, exiting the market as it starts to get more crowded at the hour.

Sevika mentioned lunch and you could hear your stomach growl at the mention of grilled fish.

Bending down to rub the soles of your feet, Sevika stops at her tracks when she notices that you're no longer beside her. She sees you and poses a questioning look. "You good?" She asks.

You hummed lightly and decided to take the oversized slippers completely off. They never fit right since they belonged to Sevika, but either way, it has always been your nature to be barefeet.

You let out a relieved sigh and smiled at the feeling of your feet being met with the hot pavement that has been sunbathed for hours.

Sevika is amused at your antics but says nothing when you shoved the slippers into her arms before resuming your journey.

The place she takes you to next is familiar to Vander's bar, but has more space and people inside. The door rings with a small bell as she pushes it open. Sevika leads you to a small booth before heading over to the counter to order for you. It’s almost instinctive at this point. The need to take care of you. The ability to know your needs before you do. She came back soon after, sliding into the seat next to you instead of sitting opposite you.

“I um, got you the seafood set.” You nodded absentmindedly, pretending to care. There is an intense silence and awkwardness that builds itself between you and her. Sevika cracks her knuckles in anxiety, avoiding looking at you for a solid 4 minutes before eventually tilting her body to face you. You turn to face her too, pursing your lips into a small line as you wait for her to speak.Sevika opens her mouth and stutters. “I-I_” her mouth closes again, this time with her eyes too as she winces at her verbal failure. Your hand reaches out to lightly trace over her left hand that sat on the edge of the table.

Her eyes reopened as she lets out a deep exhale. “Hi.” You mumbled, starting the conversation for her. Her nose flared as a choked laugh escapes her. “Hey.” She responded.

“Do you know why we’re here?” She asks gently as she tries to read you. You say nothing, your whole body freezing at the question. Sevika lets the silence lingers for a few moments before she starts again. “I need to get you back home, sweetheart. I can’t keep you with me forever.”

Why not? You wanted to cry out to her. But instead you just stare at her, reactionless.

She keeps looking at you like she’s waiting for you to break, and when you don’t, she’s even more scared because she can’t tell how you’re feeling.

“Can you tell me anything? I could just give you to the enforcers, but I'd rather not do that.” It sounded like a threat, Sevika thought and silently cursed herself for it.

You turned your gaze downwards towards your lap, thinking to yourself. Then, you looked back at her and imitated writing on paper. Sevika got the message instantly and scrambled off her seat to find a piece of paper and a pencil. She returns victorious and slides the material towards you.

You hesitated with the pencil in your hands, knowing that whatever comes next will be a direct result of your confession. But you’ve reached the end of your rope, there’s nothing to grasp on anymore at this point anyways.

Sevika frowned as she watched you drawing a circle instead of writing. Her confusion fully formed into terror as you finished your sketch and slid the paper back to her.

She felt her throat tighten as she stares down at the drawing. “Do you know what this symbol means?” She asks, meeting your darkened gaze. You raised a brow as if to ask back; “do you?”

Sevika then pulled the paper into her hand before scrunching it into a ball, squeezing it with her fingers. “You’re with them? The pirates?” You shook your head and made an expression of disgust. “No? So you ran away from them?” She attempts again. “That’s how you ended up in the waters? Because you tried swimming away from them.”

Obviously that wasn’t an accurate representation of what happened, but that would be the easiest way to explain it to her. “I escaped.” You whispered out, voice cracking. Sevika’s intense look faltered as she stuffs the ball of paper into her jacket pocket and moved closer to you. She wanted to say something comforting, reassuring, but she wasn’t even sure if she was in a place to promise you anything at all.

The moment abruptly ended when the waiter appeared out of nowhere, placing two plates of hot meals before the both of you. In a flash, Sevika recollects herself, calming herself down as she returned to her initial seat and insisted you eat first before any more discussion is continued.

You were starving, and the sight of well cooked fish distracted you as quickly as a shark does its prey. Sevika had to force herself through every chew, her appetite had disappeared at the sight of the Black Fury symbol you had drawn out. She had so many questions, so many worries. Were you a fugitive then? Would you be killed if anyone from the crew spotted you? Would she?

Sevika watches as you devour the meal in such a short amount of time. How long had you been in the sea before you reached her lighthouse?

The ship couldn’t have been sailing anywhere near it, she would’ve seen it if it had. Your entire existence is a fucking mystery. She was intrigued as well as concerned. She has this strong nagging feeling in her chest that begs for her to protect you, a part of her that has long known what she refuses to admit. And that is the fact that she cared for you, more than one should for a stranger, or even a friend.

She wanted you too. Gods, she wanted you like nothing else. And that feeling scares the shit out of her.

And yet, attraction and all things emotional and possessive aside, the survival focused part of her is whispering in her ear to let you go. To give you up as soon as she could.

You have brought colors back into her life. You made her feel things she wasn’t sure she could still feel.

Think of all you’d lose if they discovered that you’ve been harbouring a fugitive. She urges herself.

Nothing much. She argues back. And it’s true. Sevika has already lost everything important to her. Everything except…you.

To know the exact shape of your hand against hers and never be able to feel the vreases of your palm and grip of your fingers again would feel like death itself. Even now, considering the idea of giving you up, made her feel broken, like all the air in her lungs have been ripped out of her chest. The Gods have already taken everything from her.

Once the heart is sure of what the mind isn’t, the pull would be hard to stray away from. How would she live now, in the cold and unwelcoming walls of the lighthouse?

Now that she has experienced what it was like to be warm again. Now that she knew exactly what she wanted from life. Because isn’t that what life is all about? To finally have wants again, and to live for the hope of it all.

Would it be selfish for her to ask for this one damned thing?

Just to be able to have you at arms length, always. To never know what it’s like waking up everyday being sure of your absence. I’m not asking for the whole world. She thought to herself.

But losing her would be the equivalent of losing herself and all the parts she have just learned existed in all the shabby, worn out corners of her deep and dark heart. It would break her. Is she so truly and very sinful that she deserved that?

The conversation was not brought up again by either of you once you were done eating, and the walk back was quiet as her hand held onto yours for the whole time. Her tired heart could not carry the conversation again, it would have to wait for the next day to come.

Now all she wanted was to hold you, to never see a world without you in it. And it is as if you feel the same way, with the way you lean into her touch and lets her keep you close.

—

Midnight strikes on the clock as Sevika wakes up with a gasp. Her arm reaches for you instinctively but finds only emptiness by her side on the small bed.

Her paranoia is halted as she finds you by the window. As you always are, even in the lighthouse. Sevika smiled to herself as she admired her view. She gently pushes herself the covers off and walks herself to your small standing figure.

Once you two arrived back at Vander's place, you had quickly went upstairs while she discussed the new information with Vander.

His face turned grim once he saw what was drawn on the crumpled piece of paper she had pulled out of her pocket.

Sevika knew Vander. He would never tell her to give you up, and yet she could still see through his facade and knew that he was afraid.

Neither of them had a solid answer on what the right thing to do is. It's all about perspective at the end of the day, isn't it?

Right and wrong. It all depends on whose perspective you're seeing it from.

You didn't flinch when she grasped your shoulder and remained unmoving as you stared off at the small view of the sea. There’s longing in your eyes. Your brows are knitted together as you stare away. “You miss it don’t you?” She mutters softly, snaking an arm around your waist.

Sevika sighed out softly as your back fell against her chest. “I miss it too.” And she did. She especially missed the mundane days of daily cleaning and fixing while you lurked near her like a little shadow, thinking you're subtle when you're not.

Your fingers wrap around hers as they remain on your waist, an acknowledgment.

“You know, at first I only ever took the job as a way to punish myself.” You frowned at her words, still looking out.

“I wasn’t a good person before you, never claimed I was” She murmured against your shoulder, grazing her lips gently on the cotton of your shirt. “I don't even think I'm a good person now.” She's not. She's selfish with the way she refuses to let you go.

“The lightkeeper before me went mad.” Sevika spoke.

“A shipwreck happened by the rocks, and no boats or help came until only two months later. He tried to find survivors by himself but failed. The bodies, their mangled and bloody state, it haunted him.” You tilted your head slightly, your gazes connecting as her head found safe haven in the crook of your neck.

“The stench…they said it covered the whole tower. And when they finally found him, he was just a shell of a man, out of his fucking wits.”

Your chest tightened at the visual imagery of her story. “When they explained what happened, I thought to myself; oh that’s perfect, just what I need.” A bitter laugh followed after her words. Your frown deepened as you felt sadness enter your heart.

“What a masochist, I know.”

“But then, as the months passed and routine formed, I realized it wasn’t so bad after all. It's isolating, sure. But I've always managed to feel alone even in a room full of people. The only difference now is I can see it as much as I feel it.”

“And then…” She trails off. “And then my first body appeared. You.” You twisted your neck up to lock eyes with her. “And gods did you haunt me as much as that poor man was haunted.”

There was sadness in the way she carried herself tonight. The way she held onto you like she'd never see you again. Was that the plan, then?

To lay everything out in the open one last time, in case the opportunity doesn't present itself anytime in the future?

You couldn't say anything even if you wanted to. There was desperation in the way you gawked up at her, yearning that clawed on your chest. And so you did the second best thing you could next to talking and closed the distance between you two.

Sevika had no hesitation once you’ve captured her lips with yours. Her metal hand found its place on the side of your face, cradling your cheek softly as her right arm brought you closer to her, gripping your waist with need.

The kiss was hot and passionate. You fit against her like she’s been moulded specifically for your body. Her tongue darted out and wetted your bottom lip. Gasping out softly and melting into her arms, Sevika snuck her tongue inside your mouth. You held onto the back of her head like holding onto reins and pulled on her hair. making her groan into the kiss.

Sevika is tireless now, her craving for you is carnal. Turning you to the side until you back bet the glass window, Sevika only broke off the kiss to attach herself on your neck instead. Her arms travel lower until she’s able to lift you higher and position herself in between your thighs as your legs wrap against her waist easily. Her grip on you is bruising, but you wanted all of it, the pain and intensity, everything that came with her.

Sevika tries to be gentle as her teeth finds the sensitive point of your neck, but as you whine against her, all of her composure fell apart. She bit into your neck and sucked into it, eager to mark you. Your nails dig into her back, making her moan into your skin.

She needed to become one with you, needed to be the one to make you fall apart. Needed to be the only one who knew how you'd look and sounded like in such a vulnerable position.

And she knew that you needed it too. Sevika would give you what you wanted, even if it's the last thing she'd do.

The next day, Sevika was woken up by the harsh streak of sunlight and you were nowhere to be found.

#sevika #arcane #sevika x reader #wlw #sapphic #sevika arcane #sevika arcane x reader

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1800titz · 1 year ago

Text

HI FRIENDS. WOOOOOOOOOOO. Camprry. Aimed for 5K or less and managed to get wordy again. Reader insert and basically pure smut. This one was supposed to be vanilla with some praise kink (and exhibitionism if you SQUINT since it’s in a tent) but….. hahahahaha….. WEEEELLLLLLL.

CONTENT WARNINGS: oral sex, face fucking, exhibitionism-ish if you squint, choking-ish if you squint, light dom/sub, praise kink, daddy kink, intercourse

WC: 7.5K (whoops)

There is nothing remotely sexy about a camping trip.

In fact, Y/N thinks that if she were to deduce a list of words upon first thought when it came to camping, sexy would be the furthest one from qualifying.

There’s nothing sexy about reverting to caveman-ism, sleeping on the ground, sheathed by some paper-thin layer of nylon and polyester and plastic support beams. There’s nothing sexy about pit stains from the lack of air conditioning or its antithetical twin sister, the bumps that rise over chilly skin and trembling bones without the luxury of an electric heater. There’s nothing innately erotic about kindling fire like electricity doesn’t exist, and cooking hot dogs on skewers over the flame, and perpetually swatting at insects that incessantly stick to shins and calves like the flesh there is coated in sugar.

There is something sexy, though, when it comes to the way Harry’s arms work as he pitches a tent, bi’s and tri’s intermingling in an alluring duet, pumping and settling with each motion. The sleeves of his tee ride up when he raises the limbs, and sunlight catches shadow in ridge and sinew of muscle. There’s something sexy in the way his back ripples, in the way that thin fabric does nothing to cover what she imagines — no, what she’s well aware lies underneath. The same traps and lats she’s scraped her nails over and dug into. The same shoulders she’s sunk her teeth into to bridle cries of bliss.

There’s something hot about the cinch in his brow when he works, something alluring in the curl at the plush of his mouth when he turns his head and beams lopsidedly at something that their friend has said, too low for Y/N to catch. There’s something sexy in the way that his eyes skim her frame when she’s sitting in a fold-out chair with sunglasses. When his eyes glide over his shoulder. It’s in the most subtle way. There’s something sexy in the way he tears that gaze away.

There’s something sexy in the way that no one around them knows she spends nights bouncing on his cock.

This lustrous affair — this sneaky fling. This filthy, dirty secret that only the two of them share, slinking and sidling through the shadows.

Really, it’s nothing more than a raunchy circumstance of friends-with-benefits, only kept on the down-low to evade prying questions from friends and the sickly confrontation of …feelings. Because it’d be easy to admit they’re fucking, that they’ve been hooking up for months after an impromptu, late night of drinking. But then it’s sort of cementing, right? At least, in a way.

There’s a status that floats about when you confess you’re sleeping with somebody — when you admit that you’ve entangled them into your routine beyond one mishap of sex. In the eyes of your friends, admitting that you’ve upkept a sex buddy through the roll of the seasons is, like. Well, it’s basically admitting some form of something sentimental.

They’re just fucking. They’re just friends that fuck. And the way that nobody around them has any sort of suspicion that he’ll most likely be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night for that...

That’s sexy, the young woman thinks.

They’re coiled around the campfire once the sun has ducked out and simmered off behind the trees, and Y/N thinks about it. She watches the shape of his features glow beyond the crackle of the flame, and she thinks about the way his nose bumps over her clit when he licks into her. She watches his mouth move when he talks, a muted strawberry that’s dimmed in the night, and she thinks about the cushion of it pressing open-mouthed kisses to her flesh. She’s in his sweatshirt, because she had to borrow one, and it smells like him. She’s coated in it — his scent. Warm, pleasant musk and remnants of tantalizing cologne. It reminds her of the way the same sweatshirt had been discarded and draped over the foot of her bed haphazardly one night, as he kneed his way onto the mattress and clambered over her, fingertips exploring and tongue trailing. It reminds her of the way he smells when he brushes past her in the company of others, just solid weight and warmth. He does it nonchalantly, but the green of his eyes is knowing and flirtatious. That’s when the same scent teases her senses. It reminds her of the way he smells when he’s up close and personal, when he’s rocking against her and groaning softly into the nook between her shoulder and her neck.

She stares at his hands — the way they lay over the armrests of his fold-out, the way lengthy digits adorned with chunky rings cradle a can of beer. She imagines the same fingers wrapped over her throat, squeezing lightly, in that way that he does.

Y/N isn’t panting into the chill of the air. The white of her exhales just surface …quicker. His hands, and his smell, and his mouth are entirely irrelevant to the matter.

By the time they all retire to their respective tents, the young woman is pleased to get a breather from his hands and his …ludicrously plush, smiley mouth. At least in a public circumstance, so she can’t be caught fawning over his mannerisms from a distance. The smell …she can’t escape that. In all honesty, it should be shameful, basking in the scent of a sweatshirt. Instead, she coils up in it under the covers.

She’s turned on her side with gritty rock coursing through wire, chords of guitar and drums rippling out from the little speakers in her ears, entirely engrossed as she scrolls through what little apps can manage access without a durable station of wifi.

Y/N nearly squeals when an arm slinks over her chest, when a palm nudges over her mouth. And then another hand is plucking at one of the earbuds, giving her leeway into the crinkle of the sleeping bag, crickets, and the sound of bated breaths behind her.

A low baritone, hushed and teasing against the same ear where the earbud’s been removed, “Easy, baby.”

The gentle murmur that his lips shape does, frankly, little to soothe the hammer of her heart. In fact, if anything, the muscle soars in pace behind bone with the way cushiony pink grazes her jaw, the way his warm weight presses up behind her.

“Easy.”

She’d sit up and turn over her shoulder if she had the opportunity, but the same inky, muscly arm she’d admired hours earlier cradles over, preventing the motion. Harry can tell too, evidently, based on his soft snicker. He’s pleased from the way her head juts to steal a peer back. He’s pleased when she doesn’t succeed.

Instead of letting up, he takes the same earbud he’d pulled out and presses it into his own ear so that they’re sharing the set, crooning, “What are you listening to? Hm?”

He sponges another kiss to the side of her throat, a stray tendril flopping over his forehead. Y/N knows that he’s listening to it, too, then. She knows from the playful, little nudge of his head with the rhythm, from the way the cord of the earbuds grows taut, from the sound of mirth he muzzles to her skin when he drives his mouth over the side of her neck. The young woman wriggles her arm, just enough for his grip to loosen, and then uses the opportunity to raise her head to take her own earbud out. The motion jostles Harry from the nook he’s seemingly made homage in, and he nips at her earlobe in protest. Anyways, the whole thing sends a chill wracking down her shoulders.

When he lets up, Y/N twists in his grasp to her back. The earbuds splay over her chest, his own discarded, too. There’s still music seeping softly. She blinks, gaze tracing over his features, basked in shadow and soft amusement.

“Hey,” she croaks, her voice catching on a crack with the effort to keep quiet.

And Harry drags a thumb down her stomach, fingers meddling where the fabric of her (no, his) hoodie has rucked up. The ticklish sensation makes her shift a little. His mouth quirks, and he smooths over the same spot again.

“Hey, you.”

Her lips part and her tummy jolts when he slips the chilly pad of his thumb back over the line he’d run for a third time. She wants to bring her own hand up and trace the contours of his cocky mouth with her fingertips. It shapes the words, like baritone bathed in honey, “Ticklish?”

When he brushes over a fourth time, her arm twitches, and her hand shoots for his wrist, squeezing lightly. Corners of muted pink spring up, dimples scoring softly.

“Yes,” she gripes in a whisper, but the gripe doesn’t come out very gripey at all. Instead, it’s sort of small — that’s on account of his warm weight shifting onto her. Which is a new development, and it’s one that stirs something familiar and warm below the sleeping bag she’s nestled into, half-zipped and mostly just thrown over.

His sturdy thigh slips in the empty gap between her own, and Harry ducks his head, the dimples deepening and the glint of white teeth escaping through the part of his lips. And then he dips lower until his face is nearly tucked into her hair.

“I missed you,” his admission is soft-spoken. It’d be sort of tender if it didn’t come out so …hungry.

Y/N takes in a little, shuddery breath. The same hand that's settled over her hipbone comes up to brush hair away from her throat, and a mouth stipples kisses over her pulse. His voice is a raspy, desirous tease, “Did you miss me?”

Christ. She thinks that maybe if he were telepathic and had even a brief glimpse into the filthy things that’d cycled behind her skull for the duration of the day, then he’d only be more smug.

That’s dangerous.

She’s glad he isn’t.

The young woman hums — an apathetic sound that feigns contemplation, like his touch doesn’t light every nerve ending in her system on fire, like she hasn’t spent hours staring at his arms, his mouth, his hands. Like she hasn’t been picturing expanses of muscle and skin hidden under his tee, imagining her tongue tracing through the vales of his v-line and her fingertips following the trail of hair below his belly button, slipping lower and lower…

“No?” Harry murmurs, lips bumping wetly over her flesh. What follows is a gentle exhale, and then his mouth is sponging another open-mouthed kiss, and his tongue brushes warmth against her, like he’s petting with it over her pulse. He caresses all the way back to her ear. Something dirty and thrilling slinks down the knobs of her spine when he mumbles, unconvinced, “I think you’re lying to me, little miss.”

Her breath stutters.

“I think,” Harry muses, fingers dipping beneath the shroud of the sleeping bag and smoothing back over her waist testingly, “that if I had a look right now, you’d be a drippy mess.”

Her throat bobs on a swallow. Petulantly, and so obviously feigning, Y/N tips her chin back and tells him, “…Not at all.”

Instead of smoothing tips of digits back over the naked, little expanse of skin again, they venture lower, teasing at the waistband of her sleep shorts. “I think your sweet, little pussy would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t it, pet?”

Another deep breath rolls her chest under the cushioned sheet of fabric when fingertips dwell in. Just centimeters, practically. They retreat. Harry presses another kiss just below her ear.

“Hm? It’s been so empty all day long. Achy, I bet.” Chills rise awake all over when he murmurs, purely condescending pity painting every syllable, “Poor baby.”

He’s always had it — this gift of filthy, dirty gab. This ability to render her craving and wanting with his words like it’s innate, practically. She shouldn’t be surprised when he shifts over her, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, tips of his curls tickling at her cheek, “Could stuff it full. Make it all better.”

Y/N sighs. Finally. Like it’s a release of the whole act, and the seams of it come apart to bliss when he nips with his teeth. She cranes her neck to give him more room to work.

“Would you like that?”

And she would, she thinks. Very, very much, and his lingering fingers — when they pull out and he hooks a thumb in and just tugs down a smidge — remind her of how hot she suddenly is. How hot everything is, despite the chill in the air. Instead of answering, the young woman nudges with her chin — a nod. An unsatisfactory one, evidently.

“Words,” Harry mutters. It’s gentle, and quiet, and she hopes the polar opposite of the way he’s going to fuck her.

She cranes her neck more and splays her thighs what little she can under his weight. It’s kind of a plea. It’s also sort of pathetic. “Yes.”

But it makes his mouth crook. His palm draws away. No. That wasn’t the intended effect. She curbs her sound of protest, but he can tell that it’s bridled in the chamber — she knows because the curl of mirth grows wider. He sits up a bit, bracing on his arms until he hovers over her, and then he sighs, jade sliding to the sector of the bag that’s zipped. Slowly, like he’s teasing, he grips over the notch and tugs.

“What d’you do if you want me to stop?” Harry beckons, nearly a whisper but not quite, fingers skimming up under his hoodie. The same hoodie clings to her flesh, and every nerve sparks alive at the touch, striking her lungs to expand heavier. The air catches when the pads of his fingers graze up the vale of her sides and siphon a flinch.

“Teacup,” Y/N breathes the safeword in response, and the fingertips climb her ribs like a staircase, pleased.

“Good girl,” He tells her, and the pads sink back over, bumping over the ridges, and he tugs the fabric up over her chest.

Her bra is red. It’s a nice detail, all lacy cupped over her chest. He draws the tip of an index over the edge and says, “Cheeky,” like his comment isn’t, “…Did you wear this to get fucked?”

The young woman gnaws at her lip. Innately, it’s not an accurate statement. She didn’t wear it to get fucked — not when she knew he’d be slipping into her tent in the midst of the night and fucking into her regardless of the state of her underthings. But it’s a nice touch when he ducks, palm squeezing over one of her tits, and tacks on all low against her ear, like it’s praise, “Because you know I love you in red, pet.”

The satisfaction of pleasing him buds in her chest, right at the core of her ribcage, warmth pitted deep, and it slinks out like beams of gooey sunshine, winding and seeping through the cavity until her veins practically thrum yellow. She’s buzzing beneath him, pulse thumping and fibers of muscle twitching. It makes his mouth curve — the way he feels her trembling under him like she’s a taut string, and he traces a thumb over her mouth.

Then jade flits to her chest, and Harry takes the thumb away to hook fingers under the cups and tug. They settle under her tits, perking them, and the way the wire settles over her ribcage isn’t particularly comfortable, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when he shimmies down her body and draws a stripe down with his tongue, all the way from the hollow of her throat to the edge of the bra, settling in between. He kisses down her stomach, green salacious and twinkling up through shadow at her, and his tongue draws a circle around her belly button. His mouth quirks there, too, because it makes her flinch. Because he knew it would. Harry brushes with wet taste buds lower, settles on a side, low on her tummy, and sucks a pressing kiss. Her whole spine wrings and writhes, arching when he pairs the sensation with a dull graze of his hand over a nipple. It’s barely anything, but it’s a touch she longs for. And she doesn’t know why, but it always lights her on fire when the pleasure entwines with something that makes her want to squirm out of her own skin.

Because when he turns the graze into a pinch and a roll, when he hones on the drag of his tongue and the suckling of his mouth, when he skirts featherlight fingertips up her side like he’s plucking invisible strings, the yellow thrums red, and hot, and hungry. When his mouth lets up and he drags wet lips to curl over the opposite nipple and the featherlight turns more purposeful, squeezing at sensitive flesh, this knocked-out unph escapes her, like a bridled grunt he’s punched from her. Like a half-laugh, like a moan, like a mottled gasp, like discomfort and please-don’t-stop enmeshed, curbed out of desperation. It makes the red fucking neon.

Harry withdraws with a pop from the bud, and the air bites onto the wet to replace his mouth. The ambiance of rickets and cold reminds her that they’re kind of, sort of, definitely in public, only really shielded from said public (and the intrusive presence of their friend group) by thin sheets of nylon erected with plastic poles. Her eyes say it all then — this hesitation sparking, lashes bouncing and bounding from the nervous shift of her pupils, working from his eyes to his plush mouth and back as he rises to settle over her more.

“They’re asleep,” he promises, a hushed murmur he seals to her own mouth in a sloppy half-kiss. His top lip ghosts over her cupid's bow, and he smooths a hand back over the vale of her waist where he’d squeezed a second ago. Her chest rolls under him, and her mouth parts, just a little to let a mottled little sound escape, like a wheezing gasp she’s muffled.

And he muffles it more with his own lips, pressing against her. The sleeping bag rustles, and it’s quiet beyond the stilted sheets barring the wilderness. Harry’s hand skims down.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Harry murmurs into her mouth, palm trailing until it stills at the waistband of her shorts, fingertip lingering over an expanse of skin below her belly button that he’s well aware will have her squirming. Y/N jerks. “Here? Or… maybe…”

The young woman practically does a squished, weighted version of a body roll beneath him when he moves his hand to her inner thigh, dragging the pad of his index over the sensitive skin higher up. “Maybe …here? …No, I don’t think so…”

His tongue licks into her mouth when she opens wider for him, desperate for the taste of him on her tongue, and she nearly gasps over that same tongue — loudly — when his palm cups unceremoniously between her legs. “…I think you want me here. That’s about right, isn’t it?”

Y/N makes a little noise — it’s something between desperation and wordless agreement, and it quirks the corners of Harry’s mouth, carving dimples in beside his smug beam. The hand withdraws so suddenly she wants to melt into the hungry soil.

“Yeah, that’s it, sweet thing,” he declares, voice hushed, a bass-deep admission soft-spoken and colored with teasing.

Instead, he presses up until he’s hovering over her and then knees his way back, and then his fingers tuck up under the waistband of her shorts. When he discards them into the beginnings of a pile of clothing beside them, coaxing her hips to rise up enough with a soft word, blood teems into her cheekbones, like it’s all new and foreign.

It’s not.

It’s the most comforting and familiar when he traces a fingertip over the cleft at the crotch of her panties, the most familiar when he shimmies his fingertips under the sides of the fabric at her hips and tugs those off, too. It’s familiar when he holds a leg up, fingers gentle at her calf, and sponges kisses up her leg from her ankle to her inner thigh. It’s familiar when his tongue dances over hot, slick, flesh in craving, when it rolls around her clit and circles back. When he’s amused by the proof that he was right, that she is soaked, and his ego inflates like a hot air balloon. It’s familiar in the draw of his tongue, in the brush of his lips, in the way his fingers brush over her thighs, over her hole, over the sensitive areas in between. It’s familiar in the way that she watches stars speckle in the darkness behind her clenched eyelids, in the way that Harry doesn’t let up even as she pants and wrings her own fingers into his curls. In the way that he only responds with a moan against her at the rough treatment of his scalp.

It’s somewhere between heaven and hell, teetering on the wire, when he laps over her pulsing cunt. His irises flicker up when she shudders, when Y/N makes a futile attempt to clasp her thighs over his head and prevent the light drag of his tongue over her oversensitive button. Instead, he tucks a palm against one of her legs and holds it down, plush lips curling around an ‘o’ and sucking. Every muscle seizes, her fingers twitching and struggling to curl into the thinly stuffed fabric of the sleeping bag. She bridles a whole-body thrash, neck straining as her breath stutters.

“Please— plea— it’s too much—“ Y/N swallows midway her begging to avoid choking on her own spit, and that’s cute, Harry thinks.

Aw, Y/N thinks he’d coo up at her from between her thighs, if his mouth wasn’t occupied at her core, those are pretty words. They don’t sound like a safeword, though.

He doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything, humming quietly over her clit (honestly, she can’t tell if it’s in protest or agreement) and rolling a slow circle over nerves that are spent and nearly raw post his caress.

Her chest is still rolling when he clambers his way up onto her, kneeing around her sides and then coaxing her arms up into a stretch. Harry cages those with firm thighs at the roots of the limbs, kneeing his way higher until he’s hovering over her chest and admiring her, all pliant and worn out and obedient beneath him. He sniffs, head cocked and eyes glimmering, and then sighs when he tucks fingers into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers twitch, outstretched above her. And he’s weightless, and steady, and careful over her, but despite that, filth from his tongue punches her breath out like he’s sat directly over her lungs.

“Gonna suck my cock, baby.”

It’s not really a question — not in tone. It’s a coo, a declaration, insight before Harry digs his fingers further past elastic and discards two layers of fabric with one tug, and his cock bobs free, glistening with a bead of precum at the head.

Y/N swipes out over her lips with her tongue, and the sheen of spit over pink nearly matches the glimmer on the pink of his tip. The man cradles his free hand over his base and tucks the waistband lower on his hips, just until it rests under his balls and a glimpse of inked laurels and milky expanses of a bare tan line are on show. Bracing himself with a hand planted on the ground, Harry leans over her and aims his shaft, daubing over the plush of her mouth. When her tongue peeks out to swipe over the silky skin, she thinks he’s going to chastise her for her lack of patience. He doesn’t. Instead, he ogles down at the motion like she’s a goddess, cracks in otherwise apathy morphing; a light crease between his brows, a twitch in his lips. The same lips part for a shuddery breath like he’s trying to reign in his composure. And with every drag of his head over her slippery, hungry taste buds, a slow, side-to-side swipe that seems to lose precision with each motion, those cracks in his control give more. His jaw sets and he takes a long breath in through flared nostrils, and then shifts the palm that’d settled on the ground to rest over her wrists.

“M’gonna fuck your mouth,” Harry tells her, pupils scoping carefully from her lips to her own eyes in finality. “What do you do if you want me to stop?”

Y/N blinks. Her fingers twitch. She bends the digits over his grip and squeezes, flexing and unflexing over his own fingers like code in a tempo of frenzy. His gaze doesn’t even flicker from the aim of his tip, and he draws it over her mouth like he’s in awe of the sight.

“Good girl.”

The young woman takes in a breath, mouth parting over his head slightly, all doe-eyed. He smushes his cockhead to the open seam.

“Open up for me,” the soft croon is accompanied by the tilt of his head, and a stray curl dangles over his forehead when he swipes the tip over her lips, “Nice and wide. Show me that pretty tongue.”

And it slinks from her mouth as if on mindless command. Harry smears his tip over it like a filthy greeting, and then he feeds his fat cock in, guiding it up until the point to where he’s able to shift his weight onto the hand that doesn’t coat her wrists, careful not to cause the confined joints any discomfort.

“That’s it,” his praise seeps out all breathy, barely over an awed whisper as he sinks in and her tongue flexes to encompass the drag towards her gag reflex, “That’s a good girl.”

The pointed little end grazes over his balls.

“Eyes up here, pretty thing,” Harry encourages, ducking his own chin. There’s something pretty in the dance of her lash line, in the way her pupils flit up to his shadowy face, the way her lips tuck over her teeth to cushion his shaft. The way her tongue stays stuck out, flexing under the welcomed intrusion, “…Wanna watch them get all teary.”

It’s like she tries to appease him. It’s as if on instinct to his words, that her lashes flutter as she tries to peer up, the beginnings of a ready sheen glazing the pretty color there as her tongue twitches and her throat bobs in an attempted swallow.

And Christ, does it feel good when she does that.

Harry’s own neck cranes, the muscles there flexing and veins swelling there like little ropes pulled taut under his skin. He groans, and it makes her do it again. His brows are furrowed when he risks a glance down at the picture-perfect view, and his hips nudge forward a smidge, only for him to bask in the sight of her irises lolling back and her lashes batting. A hiss lips through gritted teeth like rain through a gutter, and his head cocks further as he smooths an index to rest over her palm. She doesn’t have her digits balled — not all the way — not until his forefinger rests in her reach. She squeezes over that, almost like it’s an anchor. Something grounding to tether her.

“Shit,” he manages out, barely over a whisper to bite back a throaty groan, hips rolling and brows furrowed in pleasure, “Shit — you’re good. You’re so good—“

And it makes the twitch of her lashes melt into a flitting bat, the color there rolling back and hiding behind the flutter. She can’t exactly hum in acknowledgment, but Y/N makes this garbled sound around him — this desperate kind she’d only make with his shaft stuffed down her throat, and it’s loud. Too loud. He squeezes over her wrists with his thumb, hips slowing until he’s wedged in to the hilt, stilled with the tip of her nose pressed to the light dusting of his pubic hair.

And Y/N thinks she’s going to implode. She’s going to implode if she doesn’t suffocate over his cock first.

“Shh, shh,” Harry wriggles the index she’s gripping until her touch loosens enough, and he’s able to stroke the tip over her palm, “Shh.”

Her pupils flit up to him in this deliciously delirious way for air. Harry tips his head down, the shadow of another curl flopping over his forehead. His cock twitches. Y/N makes another sound over him, this one lower. More pleading. More distressed. Her lashes flutter, cheeks puffing. Just when she’s about to clench and unclench over his fingers, he pulls out. It’s nearly all the way, but not quite, and she wheezes oxygen into her deprived lungs, muffling a fit of coughing. When she turns her head to take in more air, his tip slips out and draws a wet streak of saliva from the corner of her mouth across her cheek.

“So pretty,” Harry murmurs. His tone sounds distant, and absentminded, and awed, like her mouth is divine and his voice is sort of full of worship, “You take me so well.”

Y/N blinks up at him, lips swollen post his ministrations and parted, slick with spit. Harry adjusts his grip, balancing his weight, and curls his lengthy digits over the base of his cock, aiming it back to that pretty, pretty mouth.

Her jaw practically unhinges at the implication, tongue sticking out to daub at his cockhead when he croons, “And you’ll take a little more for me, sweetheart. Won’t you?”

The sultry plush of his mouth curls up, all smug like when the tip of her tongue prods at his head, and then he feeds himself back into the warmth of her mouth.

“Yeah,” Harry grunts, hips rolling slow and cautious as he guides himself in, “Yeah, you will.”

He settles back into a pace of shallow, jutting thrusts, slow, and calculated, and testing. But then those melt and meld into something smoother, something deeper that brushes the back of her throat. Her fingers stretch wide and open and curl helplessly, never quite squeezing over his own digits, and Harry basks in the wet, pornographic sounds that envelop his shaft. Even as she tries to dim their volume, the sound of her sputtering around his cock isn’t something she can exactly mask when he brushes her gag reflex, again, and again. With every prod forward, every second she spends with her jaw wide open for him, that flame in her core kindles higher and higher. When he pulls out, jaw clenched and tummy flexing, ridges of his abs caught in the shadows, it’s like he pours kerosene.

“Suck,” her friend tells her, soft-spoken as he nudges with his hips. His palm cradles his cock, fingers curled under the base. But her range of motion is limited, and Harry tips it up from her wanton, slick lips. Almost like it’s purposeful, because it definitely is.

A tentative tongue slips out to draw over his balls, and the way his front teeth lodge against the plush of his bottom lip, head cocked to indulge in the innocuous peer of her eyes beneath him — that’s a pretty sight she can make out even through the lack of light. She takes a million mental snapshots with her pupils, all of him in his all, curls dangling from the angle and the sharp line of his nose, his panting mouth as her tastebuds drag, sinew of muscle at his abdomen flexing, a rise and fall. The barest shape of the dark anchor etched into his wrist, his long, ring-clad fingers, the way they curl over his cock. The shape of it hovering over her face.

A low groan squeezes past the door he’s made with his teeth, and then he says, “Yeah. There. Go on.”

Her tongue morphs to her mouth, lips latching over lightly and sucking, just as he’d directed, and parting teases paste to him like doting kisses. Her lashline bounces as her eyes attempt to make his responses out through the rough angle and the dark that coats them. His head craned back there, his tummy rising and falling in pants there, his face tipped down over her to watch. The most insightful — and frankly, the most satisfying — are the sounds.

The hisses of air he sucks in through his teeth, the way huffs fall out from between his open lips. They’re slow, and they come out like he’s trying to control them for the sake of the decibel, but they shake as they escape, and that’s a telltale. And then there’s the moans.

There aren’t many of those to indulge in, but there’s a couple, one that Harry can’t seem to curb, despite his seemingly best efforts, when Y/N rolls her tongue over him all slow-like and comes off with a pop. And then another, later, that has him hanging his head when she stipples kisses to the sensitive skin there.

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”

The young woman hums, maybe in agreement or maybe goading, lashes batting innocently beneath him as she draws her lips over his sac aimlessly.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and then he stifles and clams up like he’s contemplating. When her tongue drags over him again he seems to make a decision, tearing himself away and kneeing his way back until he’s hovering over her thighs, his cock bobbing and wet with spit, “Sit up. Take this off.”

Do this, do that. A shudder climbs up the knobs of her spine, slithering its way up the bone as she basks in the dominating note plucking at his tone. The sweatshirt catches on her hair and tugs strands, but it’s frenzied, somehow fond, the way his hands rove up her sides and slip up her back, roaming over hot skin to toggle at the back of her bra.

Then it’s, “Roll over,” with the last of her clothing discarded into the darkness, somewhere beside them in the same, sloppy pile with her shorts and her underwear. “Gonna—“ she thinks he sheds his t-shirt then, imagines his muscles rippling and flexing as he pulls it off, over his head from the back, “—fuck you like I want your snug cunt wrapped around me forever.”

And then go his shorts, judging by the way his weight dips and balances, the shuffling from behind as he kicks them off and they’re flung somewhere by his ankle. He presses up onto her, grappling her by the hip, all warm weight and everything brushing together.

“You wanna bounce on my cock, baby?” Harry murmurs, pink lips grazing her temple. A curl tickles at her cheekbones when he ducks to skim his teeth over her earlobe, to ghost a breath of promise — of foreshadowing against her neck when he tells her, sultry low and smooth like honey, “Be a good girl and ask Daddy nicely. Maybe then I’ll let you.”

Shit. Fucking Shit. That little word teems down her ears and hikes all the way down her nervous system and back up, lighting everything in her alive.

Quietly, barely over a whisper, Y/N beckons, “Please.” And when Harry doesn’t immediately move, she licks out at her slips, swallows, and pleads, “Daddy. I need you. Need you inside.”

In response, her friend cups a hand over a love handle and guides his cock to press against her. But he doesn’t breach.

“Better, but not quite,” he sighs. There’s leaves rustling outside in the gentle breeze, but Y/N doesn’t hear anything besides the rush of blood in her ears when she begs more, and it doesn’t get any quieter when Harry rewards her by tucking himself inside and pumping forward, just about halfway.

It’s a crying shame when he doesn’t make any motion to keep going. And then it’s quiet besides their panting breaths intermingling. Eventually, though, he does talk.

“Fuck yourself on it,” Harry instructs, cadence ludicrously controlled given that half of his cock is tucked into her. Y/N peers over her shoulder to catch glimpses of his furrowed brows — the rip in the stitch of semblance. She can only manage to see so much. He ducks his head and nips at the shell of her ear, coaxing tingles down her neck, her shoulders, all the way from her nape. “Go on. Don’t pretend to be shy about it.”

Fucking fuck. How can she not be, she thinks, when he talks like that?

There’s a heat that seeps over her the crest of her cheekbones where he can’t see, and she squeezes over him in response to the filth. Harry settles back up. From the corner of her eye, Y/N notes lines of muscle shaping his arms as he hovers over her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she arches her hips up a tad and nudges back. It’s not enough — it’s maybe an inch, and she rocks forward by pressing her hips down and then repeats the motion. Just as there was a lack of control over her shame when he spewed dirty, brazen, filth, there’s also a lack of motion when she’s rolled forward with her tummy pressed to the ground. There’s only so much — so many inches she can ride back on when she’s rendered immobile.

He knows it, too — it’s obvious by the poorly muffled note of mirth in his tone from behind, “Good girl. But you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Helplessly, Y/N grits her teeth, fingers tangling into the fabric of her sleeping bag as she rolls her hips back in another attempt. It’s stuttery, and awkward, and not really a seamless, Shakira-esque roll at all. It’s a poor shuffle, hips raising more than traveling back.

“Come on,” Harry goads, tutting like her tries are half-assed and she’s not currently exerting her body into creating motions that are simply unrealistic, “Take it proper. You want it? Then take it. Show me.”

Camping is supposed to be wholesome. Camping is supposed to be laughter, and deep, pure breaths of air that scrub out the tainted glaze of city life from the walls of your lungs, sticky like cigarette smoke residue on the walls of a house. It’s hiking boots stuffed with the thickest socks. It’s marshmallows on twigs over curdling flames that lick up, it’s flashlights, and spooky myths and legends verbalized, and more laughter.

Instead, Y/N is camping, and she’s currently barely grinding over inches of Harry’s cock.

“I can’t,” she grits out, frustrated, but it sounds more like a whine than anything with bite.

“You can’t? Sure you can, pet,” Harry grapples over her hip, bracing on one arm in, honestly, an impressive showcase of athleticism, and manually rakes her hips back over him. It allows for more — more of him, more of his cock, more of his touch. More of him splitting her open and spreading her apart over him. “Just like this, right?”

She’s sure he must be meeting her at least a quarter, if not halfway, though. It all feels like a devious ploy. Y/N whines. He makes this amused sound then, one of those puffs expelled through his nostrils like a half-laugh, accompanied by a hum. And then he pulls out and pumps his hips forward, until he’s flush to her backside, and then reverses and repeats. Three times. He gives her three, good, long, full thrusts, smoothing out to the tip and in to the root until she’s stuffed, just like he’d promised. Then, he presses in all the way and just basks in her heat.

“Better?” Harry asks, but his tone catches on a quiet grunt and wavers in its prior composure. She squeezes over him, really squeezes, and he muffles a groan with the seal of his mouth. For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all, and then the filth spills again. It’s odd how patronizing he can sound, despite the way her cunt so obviously affects him, “Need Daddy to do all the work, is that it?”

Y/N hums. There isn’t much she can say to disagree because it’s good. At some point, his slow rolls morph into sharp juts, and the brace of his arms bends and gives until his chest is flush to her back.

“Please, please, please, please,” Y/N croaks out the mantra, muzzled by the smush of her cheek to the ground with the pressure of his hand palming at the side of her skull.

“Shh,” Harry rocks forward, fingertips twitching into her roots like a meld of petting and admonishment. He rocks into her until he’s flush against her backside, splitting her over him to the hilt, “Shh …don’t need to beg, sweetheart. You can have it. Have it all.”

He’s warm weight over her, hard muscle like hot, sticky stone as he works into her from behind. He’s a welcome stretch, a pleasant burn, inches of bliss that her spongy walls cling to in a warm hug. He’s tips of curls brushing over her cheeks, filthy words in a murmur flush to the shell of her ear, little, repressed grunts and shuddery exhales as his hips rock. He’s a headlock that squeezes over her throat deliciously and keeps her neck craned back. It’s in this perfect way that almost has her gasping for breath.

The young woman practically bites into her tongue to curb a nearly animalistic groan that climbs from the depths of her chest and squeezes out past her detained windpipe. She doesn’t need to try as hard when his opposite arm shimmies up over the poorly-cushioned sleeping bag, when his hand clamps against her mouth, palm smushing over her lips. Instead, her high whimper catches on his skin and muffles out. Her nostrils flare over his digits when Harry shushes and chastises through grunts.

“I know, baby. I know. Need you to be — shit — a good, quiet girl for me, though.”

Her irises nearly loll back into her skull, fluttery for the ceiling of fabric in their sockets at the dominating tone of his cadence.

“Gonna be good for me? Make me—“ his words taper off when he muzzles a groan with the seal of his own lips, and what comes out is hushed, and masculine, and obviously bridled. But it doesn’t make her as hungry as when he beckons, “—Make me pleased with you?”

Because she wants to please him, wants to be good, wants his digits to press harder over her tongue when he slinks them into her mouth. It’s not her fault when the motion siphons a whimper. So Harry does — press harder that is, an inclination for her lips to wrap over his fingers, his chin tucked over her shoulder. His mouth presses to her temple, gracing her with puffs of air through his nose as he rocks into her.

“There we go,” Harry coos, soft and barely over a whisper when her mouth seals over the intrusive digits, “There’s a good girl. Let’s keep those pretty sounds to ourselves.”

He rocks into her until she’s whining into his hand, until they’re really slick with sweat, and he’s grazing at his own peak, working until it unravels him from the inside out. She’s still making hushed sounds against his palm when he groans all low into her hair and his motions melt into something stuttery, when he empties ribbon after ribbon as she clenches over him and milks him through it.

He’s probably going to rifle through the dark for some discarded fragment of fabric to clean the mess. It’ll be haphazard on account of the night, and she’ll still feel the sticky remnants, dried up at the peaks of her inner thighs in the morning. But it won’t really be gross. Sort of a sordid, morning-after keepsake, sort of a dirty thrill as they pack their stuff among the others in their cohort. Sort of, probably, an excuse to fuck later in the day when they have a moment alone to themselves, reminiscing on the night before.

But before that, he’ll probably clean his mess and run a hand down the vale of her side in a praising caress, like he normally does. Probably lay next to her for a bit before sneaking off to his own tent because, even though they’re just friends that fuck, he’s never been weird about cuddling — aftercare is sort of a must. He’ll probably say goodnight with another searing kiss, the kind that burns deep inside, because every time he leaves is kerosene actively poured into the pit of a bonfire. Because every time he leaves, she wants him more.

Tomorrow they’ll still be friends.

Just friends that fuck.

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