#next time i talk about windows and design

[nyc-tophile]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐎𝐖 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

As the team regroups, the full scope of Project Revenant begins to surface—multiple sites, active programming, and a new phase already in motion. The prototype you pulled from the bunker isn’t just a clone; he’s a directive, designed to follow in Bucky’s footsteps… and eventually replace him. But Bucky isn’t who he was, and the difference between them isn’t code, it’s choice.

Warnings - ooc winter soldier, psychological trauma, PTSD references, dissociation, memory manipulation, mild threat, stalking

Author’s Note: I hope everything’s going well with all of you. I’m doing my best to put out as much content as I can right now since I have a good bit of free time. I hope you enjoy this part. Love you all lots! xxxx

Transtations - 

[Зима не уходит. Он возвращается. - Winter doesn’t leave. He returns.]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟗 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏𝟏

The next morning, you lay awake beside Bucky, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. His arms were wrapped tightly around you, as if holding on just to make sure you’d still be there when he woke.

The safehouse was quiet. Not silent like the bunker had been, this quiet wasn’t heavy. It breathed. The faint hum of electricity in the walls. The distant shuffle of Natasha in the next room. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath your hand.

You hadn’t slept much. Neither had he, though he pretended to when you stirred. The kind of half-sleep that trauma brings the body resting, the mind wide awake.

Outside the window, the sky was turning pale. Early light stretched across the horizon, trying to warm a world still chilled from what you’d burned down the day before.

Bucky shifted slightly, a soft wince escaping him as he adjusted his position. His grip on you didn’t loosen.

“You’re awake,” you said quietly.

He nodded, still not opening his eyes. “Didn’t want to be. Dreamed I was still there.”

“You’re not.”

Another pause. Then, finally, he looked at you.

“I know,” he murmured. “But it’s hard to convince the rest of me.”

You nodded, brushing your fingers over the edge of the gauze beneath his ribs. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be convinced. You just have to keep choosing now.”

His throat worked around a dry swallow. “You stayed.”

“Always.”

There was no smile, but something passed across his face, like the wind moving through tall grass. Small, but real.

He closed his eyes again and let out a breath.

“When we go back out there…” he began, then trailed off.

You waited.

“…If there are more like him, I don’t know what that’s going to do to me.”

You reached up and cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing just below his eye. “Then we go together. You don’t face them alone.”

A quiet knock on the door interrupted the stillness. Natasha’s voice filtered in, calm but clipped.

“Perimeter’s clean. When you're ready, we debrief.”

You looked down at Bucky.

“Not yet,” you called back. “Give us five.”

Her footsteps faded.

Bucky exhaled, closing his eyes again. “Five’s good.”

You stayed like that, five more minutes of stillness. Of skin against skin, of choosing the present.

You finally peeled yourself away from the bed, careful not to brush Bucky’s side too much. He sat up slowly, biting back a wince. 

By the time you stepped into the main room, the safehouse had shifted into something more tactical. Natasha stood at the small table, a projection map already lit in front of her. She didn’t look up right away, just gestured for you both to join her.

The air had a different charge now. Not the sharp tension of combat, but the weight of consequence.

Bucky moved slowly, lowering himself into the chair across from her. You stayed on your feet beside him, hand brushing the back of his chair, a silent anchor.

“We need to talk about what that place was,” Natasha said, tapping through encrypted files on her data slate. “And where it leads.”

The hologram changed, revealing schematics, facility blueprints, and blacked-out files with the Hydra insignia faintly visible beneath the surface.

“We knew Project Revenant was a replication effort. What we didn’t know,” she continued, “is that it wasn’t limited to just one site.”

You felt your stomach sink.

Bucky leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “There’s more.”

Natasha nodded. “At least two more confirmed sites. One in Eastern Siberia. Another… here.” She tapped again, and the map zoomed in on Eastern Europe. “Romania. Remote and forested. Same pattern—off-grid, scrubbed from every known intel source. But after yesterday, some of their encryption cracked open.”

“Why Romania?” you asked quietly.

Natasha glanced up. “Could be logistics. Or maybe psychological warfare.”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. “That’s where I… where he was held. When I wasn’t on missions.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t shrug it off.

“They’re retracing your steps,” Natasha said. “Not just cloning the programming. They’re using your history as a blueprint.”

Bucky’s voice was low. “Trying to rebuild me from the ground up.”

“No,” Natasha said sharply. “Trying to rebuild what they think you were. They’ll never understand what you are.”

He was quiet for a long beat, then, “When do we leave?”

You and Natasha exchanged a glance.

“Your wound isn’t healed as yet,” she said. “You’re still healing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you said softly, but not unkindly. “But we are going. Just not today.”

Bucky leaned back in the chair, exhaling through his nose. “So we sit and wait?”

“No,” Natasha said. “We regroup. Strategize. We’re not walking into another trap like yesterday. We go in smart. We go in together.”

She handed a data chip across the table to you. “All the decrypted files. There’s something in there—logs, testing reports, command-level correspondence. They mention a Phase II. Whatever that is… It’s the next step. And it’s active.”

You slid the chip into your portable reader, scrolling through the scrambled text.

Some of the files were corrupted. Others were tagged with names.

Asset-319. Asset-325. Subject R-04. Phase II Activation: Pending.

And then, “Directive: Behavioral Differentiation. Maintain adaptive loyalty. Instill fear response to target identifiers.”

Your blood ran cold.

“They’re not just building soldiers,” you murmured. “They’re trying to control who they fight. What they fear.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours. “They're designing them to react. To us.”

Natasha nodded. “And someone’s behind that strategy. This isn’t just legacy tech. This is personal.”

There was a silence then. The kind that felt like the still before a second storm.

You spoke first.

“Then we find whoever’s pulling the strings.”

Bucky stood slowly, posture stiff but steady. “And we cut the cord.”

-----

You were halfway through decrypting a corrupted log, something that looked like part of a behavioral override sequence, when the safehouse lights flickered.

Not an outage. Just a pulse.

Natasha’s eyes snapped up. “That wasn’t the grid.”

You reached for your weapon automatically.

Then a soft tone buzzed through the comm unit in the corner of the room. A secure alert from the med cell downstairs.

Vital signs detected. Subject awake.

Bucky stiffened. “He’s awake.”

The Revenant prototype had been sedated, restrained, and locked in the reinforced med cell beneath the safehouse since extraction. Monitored on a closed circuit. Contained.

But nothing Hydra made ever stayed dormant for long.

“I’ll go,” Bucky said, already moving.

“You’re benched,” Natasha cut in firmly.

He stopped. Jaw tight.

She looked at you. “You go. Take the pulse scanner. Don’t engage. Just observe.”

You nodded, already unholstering your sidearm.

-----

The hallway to the med level felt longer than it should have. The lights were dimmed. Cool, sterile. Echoes of your footsteps are the only sound. You keyed in your access code, and the door slid open with a hiss.

He was sitting upright.

The Revenant prototype. Subject R-01.

Stripped of his tactical gear, dressed in plain black issue clothing. The sedative lines had been removed. Not by him. By his body, needle sites cauterized, bruising already faded.

He didn’t speak when you entered. Just watched.

There was no anger in his gaze. No panic. Only... recognition.

Like he remembered you, like you were a variable that needed calculating.

You raised the pulse scanner. His vitals spiked, then stabilized. No sign of distress. Heart rate steady. Controlled. Inhumanly so.

“Subject R-01,” you said slowly. “You’re in a secure facility. You’re under observation. Do you understand?”

The Revenant tilted his head slightly—just a few degrees, but it was enough to unnerve.

“I understand,” he said. His voice was quiet. Even. Stripped of accent, affect, or emotion. Not mechanical, but blank. Like reading from a script that hadn’t been written yet.

You kept your posture neutral. No sudden movements. No unnecessary signals. Hydra programming responded to the threat, or the illusion of it.

“You were injured during extraction,” you said carefully. “You’ve been unconscious for—”

“Forty-one hours. Twelve minutes.”

That stopped you.

You checked the scanner again, pretending not to flinch. He was right. Exactly right.

“Do you remember what happened?”

A pause.

“I remember the mission parameters.” His eyes flicked to yours. “I remember you. And him.”

He didn’t say Bucky’s name. But you knew who he meant.

“There are no parameters now,” you said. “The mission is over.”

He blinked once. Slow.

“No. The mission has adapted.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the scanner. “What mission?”

“To observe. Assess. Integrate. Replace.”

The scanner beeped again. No spike in adrenaline. No signs of deception.

You took a slow breath. “Who gave you that order?”

He looked past you, toward the reinforced glass door. “Unknown directive source. Priority classification: Red Null. Encryption lock: Winter-6.”

You froze.

That encryption phrase—Winter-6—wasn’t a standard Hydra command. It was legacy code. Specific. Buried in pre-digital records. You’d only ever seen it in one place before: in Bucky’s early debrief logs, deep in the vaults of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s redacted archives.

It meant the directive came from someone above most Hydra operatives. Someone with access to the original Winter Soldier protocols.

Someone who might still be alive.

“You’re not just a weapon,” you said softly. “You were sent to test him.”

The Revenant didn’t reply. But the flicker in his eye gave you all the answer you needed.

You backed toward the door.

“Session’s over.”

He didn’t stop you.

But as the door hissed shut behind you, his voice followed, just loud enough to reach:

“He can’t outrun what he was.”

-----

You burst through the door faster than intended. Natasha looked up immediately. Bucky was still seated, one hand flexing over his bandaged ribs.

“He spoke?” she asked.

You nodded. “Coherent. Fully alert. But he’s not just a clone. He’s an operative. He remembers everything. And he’s waiting for something.”

Bucky stood, slower than he wanted to. “What?”

You looked between them, then dropped the pulse scanner on the table.

“He said his directive is to observe. Assess. Integrate. Replace.”

The word hung in the air like a loaded weapon.

Bucky went still.

“Replace who?” Natasha asked, even though she already knew the answer.

You didn’t say it. You didn’t have to.

Bucky’s voice was rough. “Me.”

-----

You found Bucky alone in the small weapons room, slowly reassembling one of his guns with practiced ease. The light caught the angle of his jaw, his expression carved from stone.

“He’s not me,” he said without looking up. “But he’s close enough that I don’t know where the line is anymore.”

You walked toward him, stopping just close enough that he could feel your presence.

“There is a line,” you said. “And it’s not made of metal or scars or programming. It’s made of choice.”

He looked up at that. Finally.

“You keep thinking you’re just what they built,” you said gently. “But if that were true, you’d be down there. Blank-eyed. Repeating commands.”

He didn’t reply. But his hand, still resting on the disassembled pieces, trembled slightly.

You reached out, touching your fingers to his.

“You’re not replaceable, Bucky. They can try to copy your past. But they’ll never own your future.”

Something broke in his gaze. Not shattered—just cracked enough for the light to get through.

-----

Back in the med cell, the Revenant sat still in the dim light, staring at the reinforced glass.

Then, softly, too soft for the mic to pick up:

He whispered something, not in English, in Russian.

“Зима не уходит. Он возвращается.”

And on the monitor above him, the biometric feed flickered.

Then glitched.

And a second heartbeat signal appeared.

Unknown and unregistered, and inside the safehouse perimeter.

join my тαgℓιѕт -

@avgdestitute, @chimchoom, @xoxo-moonlight, @justanotherlonelybard, @spring-soldier, @vyviiennestar, @janetsnakehole02

[public-hazard]

oh no. I’m making a real post

this is what i would call.. a rant. Its main point is about laptops and shit being functional after more than 3 years before I conclude it by telling you to backup your shit.

it’s actually part 1 of 2 because I’m a fucking NERD

essentially, TL;DR the state of laptops and anti-repair sucks and i hate it, technological parts will fail eventually, and it should be easy for the consumer to fix the shit they bought. backup your shit bc things can fail at any moment.

i love computers. i love technology! I love seeing technology grow and people make bigger better things that are cool! yes I do! hell, even ai is interesting! ai art would be objectively fucking fascinating to see a machine learn how to mimic a human action EXCEPT FOR THE MINOR CAVEAT THAT WE, AS HUMANS, HAVE NO QUALMS ABOUT STEALING! THAT’S THE ISSUE! and also some other stuff probably but that is SO NOT THE POINT

now that I’ve successfully avoided an ai tangent, let’s move on to what this post IS about

What in the actual FUCK are modern laptops. i don’t WANT a thin, ultra-flimsy piece of shit that is designed to break or be obsolete in less than 10 years

i have a laptop! From what, 2010? 2011? it needs probably more RAM and to be upgraded from windows 7 to 10. is it still usable, today, in 2024 for basic shit: ABSOLUTELY. It has problems, sure, but those are SOLVABLE PROBLEMS. I CAN REPAIR THIS FUCKING LAPTOP. YOU HEAR THAT? I CAN REPAIR IT. probably through finding replacement parts n shit but NOT THE POINT.

it probably has some other stuff that I can fix too! It probably needs basic maintenance because it’s a laptop and it’s never been opened or anything except for the time i went to replug-in the keyboard and maybe.. fucked it up worse. but hey, i tried and uh, probably should’ve done a bit more, but the keyboard was borderline unusable before anyway so if the tried and true unplug and plug back in didn’t work, it was already capital F Fucked. (hp pavilion g6)

oh, and general note: check your fucking batteries. consistently. you do not want to clean a Wii remote that’s had crusty ass AA batteries in it. if it is bigger than it used to be, or otherwise bulging, yes that is bad. the more you know.

2014 or 2015: meet the HP stream 13!

it was probably below average for its time. it sports 2 GB of RAM and I’ve made this fucker bluescreen thrice because of it. its a budget laptop. you want something that can do.. basic shit? perfect. it can do your taxes!

it cannot perfectly display a Google doc over 30 pages though with other things running! it will break shit. can’t blame it though, it’s trying its best. it’s also still running windows 8.1, though, not sure how much this affects it. no i will not be researching it for a tumblr post.

is it still usable: absolutely did you not fucking read. my mom uses it for her taxes! it’s hot pink, how snazzy.

my dad has a computer that’s newer with what’s that… 4 GB of RAM? It can with windows 10 but now has windows 11! and… oh. what’s that? I’m having the same amount of memory issues as A LAPTOP RUNNING WINDOWS 8.1 WITH HALF THE RAM. DID YOU HEAR THAT? HUH? actually i think the issues are WORSE but its not mine so i will not be knowing for certain. but it was at least on par or worse. Someone online told me that 4 GB is not enough for windows 11. i do not completely trust a stranger i met once but.. i can’t see anything in task manager that’s just hogging resources (other than antimalware from windows or whatever the fuck it’s called)

the point of that is: WHAT THE FUCK.

is it usable: yes. it can do work stuff. it can do your taxes. it’s not a snazzy hot pink though.

if you got to this point, I love you.

anyway.

for the record, I think that things should be easily repairable by the person who bought it. replacement parts should be provided and support should be offered for at least 5 years. it should not be more effective for me to buy a new laptop than to upgrade or fix the one i already have. not that I’m saying it’s the case (I’ve yet to do repairs OR upgrades)

but that is a problem. buying aftermarket and cloned versions that you have no real clue the quality of should not be something the consumer has to do to keep the thing working.

technical parts fail all the time. Files can corrupt, things can stop working. back up your shit and NEVER EVER rely on a perfectly working device to stay perfectly working forever. eventually, it will become obsolete. planned or no, eventually, it will have been made for a period of the past and technology advances all the time. games get bigger and beefier, operating systems give you software you didn’t ask for.

and i didn’t even talk about ports or CD drives or- fucking other shit.

[slyandthefamilybook]

the fact that the Google assistant can't set location-based reminders—something my Windows Phone could do more than a decade ago—is frankly embarrassing

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[monstersholygrail]

very classic but summoning a demon to fuck you and he gets a little obsessed 🙏

Imagine Himbo Demon was one day just casually going about his business, torturing a mortal with the agonizing act of small talk when suddenly a flash of white explodes across his vision. The next thing he knows he’s standing in a magical circle of your own design and he can’t get out.

You ask if he’s an incubus and that’s when he notices the book in your hand, ‘How to Summon Incubi With Your Friends: The Party Guide.’ He also looks you over and notices how painstakingly pretty you are and thinks… he could be an incubus.

That night he has what he claims as the best sex of his eternal life, no doubt about it. The way your body moved as you rode him within an inch of his life made him swear he was being taken back to heaven. The way you tasted sweeter than the finest nectar till it burned permanently into his senses. Every last bit of you was addicting.

When the summoning spell’s time was coming to a close, the demon actually felt an ache at the idea of leaving you and your sweet, sweet holes. He tried to reach for you once more but with a flash of white he was back in hell. His heart and his cock aching for you.

The minute he can he’s scouring hell’s library for the book he saw in your grasp. He reads it like a man possessed, ironically, looking for the spell you must’ve used.

As he’s reading the book, an Incubus just so happens to look over at him. Sensing eyes on him he looks up and their gazes meet. The Incubus reads the cover of the book he has and his eyes widen. He begins slowly inching away from Himbo Demon before turning and quickly rushing off.

Himbo Demon tilts his head, curious as to why the Incubus gave such a reaction. But after a moment of brief confusion, he goes back to reading the book. His eyes brightening as he finds the spell.

That night he clumsily performs the spell. His mind foggy with lust. His cock red, angry, and dripping with precum as he thinks about drowning in your holes, lapping up your essence like it’s the only food he’ll ever need and then fucking you until you’re raw and swollen, only to soothe any pain with his tongue.

Himbo demon growls, reaching down and lazily stroking his cock with one hand and performing the spell with the other. Somehow by a true miracle, it works. He appears back in the same fading circle he appeared in last time. His eyes ignite with feral need and his gaze flickers around the low-lit room before a door opens and you come waltzing in wearing nothing but a towel.

“Miss me, baby?” He snarls in excitement, knowing now he has a way to keep coming back to you.

You yelp, jerking back against the wall in surprise. Not expecting the demon to be here again but you’re not exactly upset about it either. Himbo Demon smiles wickedly, but in truth he’s just so happy to see you! He moves at the speed of lightning and he’s on you in an instant. His tall lithe body caging you in against the wall. You exhale shakily, your body tingling with need and your belly churning with arousal as you glance down at his fat cock bobbing and dribbling with his own arousal.

The scent of you floods Himbo Demon’s senses and he growls, fangs flashing in the moonlight that peaks in from the window. Feeling beyond thrilled that the spell worked. That he can go to you whenever he feels like it now. So long as you keep the summoning circle up, that is. But he’s too focused on your new easy access to even try and realize that.

“Don’t worry, sweet human. I’ve found my way back to you and your glorious body. From now on we shall never be parted and I can properly fuck your weak mortal shell ragged as much as I desire. And there is much… much desire,” Himbo Demon rasps heatedly, looking down at you with a fire in his eyes.

Before you can even think to respond, the demon is shredding your towel into two, revealing your body to him in all its glory. He barely takes the time to appreciate the view and suddenly he’s pressing into, rubbing his length along the height of your belly.

And you know this is the start of a wild adventure. One you’re sure is bound to last more than another night.

[withluvkay]

Your Life’s Not Boring—You’re Just on Your Phone Too Much

If you’ve been feeling glued to your phone—especially apps like TikTok and Instagram—you’re not alone. So many of us are stuck in this loop, and it can seriously mess with our energy, motivation, and overall health.

One thing I’ve struggled most with lately is comparison. Feeling like what I do just isn’t... enough. If you’ve felt that too, this post is for us both. A little reminder that:

✨ You are enough, just as you are. ✨ You’ve survived every hard day, and your inner child and I are so proud of you. Don't ever forget how far you've come as a person! If all you did was make your bed and hydrate today, that's a win worth celebrating. You're doing just fine, and you'll do all that you wish to on your own divine timing.

And yes, your life isn’t boring. You might just be too distracted to see how beautiful it really is. So instead of escaping it, let’s try to romanticize it!

10 Ways to Romanticize Your Life & Be More Present

Wake up a little earlier. It doesn’t have to be 5 AM (unless that’s your thing). Even an hour earlier can give you quiet time to get things done without distractions.

Take an "everything shower." These are pretty meditative for me in a way. I like to imagine the water washing off all my stress and stagnant energy I may have accumulated throughout the day. Like a reset button!

Make a breakfast you’d actually get out of bed early for. Pancakes? Fruit? Whatever makes your inner child happy.

Play jazz or soft instrumentals while doing everyday activities. Instant cozy vibes.

Read outside. Sitting on your porch or even by a window gives you that vitamin D and a fresh perspective.

Find a screen-less hobby you enjoy. Try crochet, painting, poetry, LEGO kits, pottery, etc. Block-building kits are my fave—they’re so fun and satisfying. Just remember to take breaks and stretch!

Re-watch something comforting or start something new. That show you keep skipping past might become your next obsession.

Connect. If you’ve been stuck in your room all day, talk to someone. Call a friend, hug your pet, or chat with family. A quick convo with my mom always boosts my mood!

Learn something new! When was the last time you went out of your way to explore something you didn’t already know? (and nope, school doesn’t count.) Take a moment to find a subject you’ve never looked into or dive deeper into one you already know a little about. Pick up on a new language, study an unfamiliar culture, or even try learning a random skill just for fun. Expanding your mind keeps life feeling fresh and exciting.

Travel (if you can). I can't stress this one enough!! Even just getting out of town for a single 24 hours can give you a whole new perspective. A change of scenery does wonders, especially when life feels repetitive. It doesn't have to be far, either. You can travel to the next city over and explore what it's like there!

Remember: Social media is NOT real life. That influencer who’s always partying in Miami with a closet full of designer bags? You’re seeing their highlight reel, not the full picture. Some even goes as far as faking luxury lifestyles for the views. Don’t compare your behind-the-scenes to someone else’s curated feed. At the end of the day, it's all for the aesthetics/entertainment.

Be gentle with yourself. You're doing better than you think, angel. xo, Kay 🪽

[dazedantics]

Mark wasn't the bragging type. At least, not all the time. He has pride in his comic collection, his action figures, things like that which he always talks about.

But when you finally went to his house for the first time, you realized how little you asked him about himself.

He was rich?!?!

Well, obviously not so high in the upper crust since you went to the same school, but well enough off that you were totally star-stuck just by walking through the front door.

You came from completely different worlds! Why were the rooms so big? There was so many of them too! And everything was such a sleek, modern design, inside and out! The windows were huge! And everything was cleaned to a shine! He had a second floor? Even his yard was so well kept! You bet even his garage looked amazing! That TV is huge! Look at that fridge!

You stared at him for a long while after crossing the threshold, gesturing wildly around.

"What?" He laughed out, rubbing his neck.

"You live in a mansion dude!" You declared, following him in. "Why didn't you tell me I had a rich friend?"

"What are you talking about? No, I don't. You're just being dramatic. C'mon, let's get a snack before we go upstairs."

You walked behind him as he rummaged through the kitchen. "Dude, you have a big ol' pantry. That just proves my point!"

A well lit and fully stocked one too. And is that a dishwasher?

"I thought everyone had one?"

"No!" You exasperated.

He handed you a few bags of chips. "Anything you want to drink? We have water, juice, a few sodas ...."

"Dude. Mark. How on earth are we friends?"

"Uh, cause you bullied me that one time then for some reason decided that I was interesting enough to start hanging around."

He turned off the pantry light, closing the door with a few beverages tucked under his arm. "Alright, my parents will be back in a few so let's get to my room before they start pestering you with questions."

You followed him up the stairs and down the bright hall to his door. "That's not what I mean. And I said I was sorry for that!"

He paused, giving a nervous smile before slipping into his room, "W-wait here for a sec."

"And do you know how long we've known each other? Mark, you are literally only a few streets away from me. How have I never got invited to your house? Do you know how easy coming over would've been?"

"Well, I dunno, why would you want to come over? D-do you want to start coming over?" He stuttered through the door.

You could hear the shuffling of fabrics and thudding of a closet door a few times.

Leaning against the wall, you continued, "I just mean that most people do that. Though my parents never used to let me go over to friend's places, so it wouldn't have really changed anything. But my point is that you've been holding out on me! William's been over plenty of times! And why didn't he ever say anything? Is he rich too? Is this really normal for you guys? God, you are never coming to my house. I live in a shed compared to this. If you got a connecting bathroom in there, I swear to god ...."

"You're overreacting. It's just ... new surroundings, you're excited. You'll realize it's nothing as big as you're making it out to be. Okay, you can come in now," he opened the door, beckoning you inside.

His room was spacy, but rather plain compared to the rest of the house. Minimal amount of furniture, posters, plus his collectables. Very representative of him.

You took a seat on the bed as he closed the door, bringing out the supplies he'd been holding for your project. "Yeah right. Gonna be dreaming of this place when I get home, shoot."

He jumped up next to you, the mattress bouncing under his weight. "Whatever. Let's just get started on this. You brought the research papers?"

"Of course," you dug out the folder from your bag, shifting into a more comfortable position before focusing on the project.

You worked diligently for a while, the two of you comfortable as ever before his parents came home. Their laugher ringing up the stairs as they came in. Mark didn't seem to notice though, jolting up when he heard the knock on his door, his mother's face peeking in.

"Hey, Mark? Do you- oh? You invited someone?"

"Mom!?" He flushed, reaching for the highlighters that had fallen. "Don't you know you're supposed to wait a bit before you come in?"

"Yes, yes you've told me before."

"Then?"

It took a lot to not whip your head at him for his mannerisms.

But his mother seemed to take no offense, merely smiling to you in greeting. "Hi, I'm Debbie or Mrs. Grayson, Mark's mom. He hasn't kept you in here all day has he?"

You smiled, nodding politely as you introduced yourself. "Hi, I'm Y/N. And no, I haven't been here too long. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Grayson."

Her brows raised slightly, glancing over at her son for a second. "Oh so you're, Y/N. Mark's told me a lot about you. If I had known you were coming over I'd have made a nice dinner for you. Mark why didn't you say anything?"

"Because, Mom! It's not that important!" The boy huffed, getting up to usher her out the door. "Now, excuse us, big school project to get back to?"

Watching the two interact threw you for a loop, what was wrong with him!?

"So now you care about your homework?" She maneuvered around him, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes from the familiar movement. She was a happy person it seemed. Tired too. "It's nothing homemade, but we were just about to call Mark down for dinner if you'd like to join us? Ran into your father on the way home, we got your favorite from ... that takeout place you like."

She addressed the last part to her son.

Mark's tone softened a bit, glancing at you discreetly as if he was saying something embarrassing. "The place that puts the little prints on the toast?"

"Mhmm. We'll be downstairs waiting for you. You got five minutes, Mark!" She finished, her son quickly shutting the door the moment she turned around.

He blew out a sigh. Which quickly turned into slight yelp as you threw a pillow at him.

His head whipped around to glare at you. "What?"

"You're rich as heck, dude! No, sane kid would ever talk to their mother like that. Do you know what would've happened to me if I tried kicking her out like that? Privileged rich kids ...."

Sure he wasn't doing or saying anything as bad as he could have, but even his raised voice was pushing it!

Tossing the pillow back, he took a seat by the headboard. "Oh, c'mon, stop with that," he muttered. "We'll finish up that last paragraph then head down. Then ... I can walk you home before it gets too late?"

"You can't walk me home! My front porch will look like a baby's hut to you. And my family will not shut up if they see you next to me either. Is this what happens when you grow up without siblings? I don't even have my own room, dude!"

He gave you a look, seemingly done with all your exclamations, brown eyes fighting the urge to roll. "You're being weird. I'm sure it's not that bad. Let's just get downstairs already."

"If this takeout is more fancy than something from Burger Mart, I swear I'm gonna lose it. It's gonna be like ... A5 wagyu beef or something, huh?"

Your wild imagination wasn't too far off. The food, though in take out boxes, was definitely from some high end restaurant and still warm as if the trip didn't last more than a second. You were suddenly very conscious of your table manners.

But the family went along as if this was a simple ordeal, chatting casually and laughing.

His mother was really nice and friendly, making the act of sipping some wine -that you knew in your heart you'd never be able to afford- look so dainty and fluidly practiced. Not a drop was accidentally spilled onto her neat blouse or fresh pressed slacks.

She was very put together, jewelry minimal but pretty, and hair tied neatly in a well tamed bun. In the real estate business, she explained. It really showed, in her actions and her house. She was a business woman. You only wish to have an ounce of her grace when you were older.

And his dad?

Well ... okay maybe you were a little scared of his dad. I mean you could see the muscles practically aching to break free from the crop in his sleeves! You had no idea what he did for a living and you're not sure you wanted to find out.

But he was very well kept too. Dressed simple like his son, yeah, but you could tell he took pride in himself. He sat up a little too straight, his gestures firm and steady, smile far too charming, voice deep with a practiced confidence, blue eyes holding contact with whoever was speaking ... a bit too long ... kinda felt like he was staring into your soul ....

He had to have been a model or something when he was younger. One you had seen on a magazine in a dentist's waiting room or something.

Cause there was definitely something familiar about Mark's dad.

"Nolan." He'd introduced himself. Shaking your hand with a grip you were sure could've crushed bones if he tried.

Maybe it was the mustache. I mean, rarely anyone decided it was "the look" nowadays. But he wore it proudly.

Whatever it was that rang so familiar about him, you couldn't place. And you were far too scared to ask.

Anyways, the genes in this family were crazy. Mark literally had the cookie cutter perfection that the families in movies had. Was he even aware of that?

His parents even loved each other!

I mean, sure, maybe you were getting second hand embarrassment watching the two flirt so casually in front of your five star restaurant grade dinner.

But Mark was literally living most kid's dreams right now!

The rest of the night went on smoothly though, you watching the family's interaction with a strage feeling settling in your stomach. His parents even walked you out the door with a smile, Debbie offering for you to come again soon.

It wasn't until the two of you rounded the corner, out of sight from his parents, that Mark began to talk.

His cheeks were dusted pink, brown eyes fixed on the ground. One hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his neck. "I'm sorry about them. They're super embarrassing. All the time ...."

"Mark." You stopped. Standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders, shaking for emphasis. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

A statement you would only find out later would become such a cruel irony.

"You better not do something dumb and get kicked out of there. I will literally have no chance at seeing luxury again if you do."

He laughed lightly, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands down. "Hey, if you wanna trade seeing them be gross every second of the day for whatever you got going on in your life, I would totally do it. Did you get everything of yours? Before we're too far away to turn back?"

You nodded, tugging the strap of the bag on your shoulder. "Just so you know, I am so talking to William about you when I get home."

"You're being weird again." He stated, continuing your walk down the street. "It's not that big a deal."

"If you say so, Mister Rich Kid."

"You know ... you can come over again. Even we don't have a project to work on. I-if you want."

"Are you kidding me? Heck yeah I'm coming over again! I'm gonna slowly worm my way into your life. Watch, your mom's gonna be inviting me over to all your obscure family parties. Imma be in your family pictures soon. Won't be able to get rid of me."

He laughed softly, sucking his lip between his teeth. "Uh ... not what I was going for but uhm ... it's a start, right?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Turn here?"

"Yeah." You continued on for a bit longer before pressing a hand to his chest to stop him.

"What?"

"Turn around, go home."

"Oh, uh, is this your house?" He turned, looking at the building you stood in front of. "It's not that different than mine. Just a little smaller, but nothing like you're making it out to be."

You shook your head. "No. My house is further down the street."

"Then why did we just-"

"Because! You can't be seen dropping me off! I was serious about what I said, my family is probably peeking out the curtains right this second."

"I don't mind saying 'hi' if they're that interested."

"Well I do!" You braced both hands to push him back slightly. "They will literally torment me until they know everything about you."

A laugh bubbled up in Mark's chest as he smiled, taking hold of your hands with his. "Alright fine, you have a few days more until I show up at your doorstep randomly. Then I'll be invited to all of your family events."

"Not funny, Mark."

"Yeah it is. Just a little bit." He teased. "But I'll stay here till I see you go inside, okay? Don't get all stressed about it."

"Thank you." You sighed letting go.

You paused before turning away, head angled to watch him as you walked.

"G'night." He smiled, rasing up a hand in parting.

He was such a dork.

"G'night," you waved back, turning fully around till you reached your house.

When you looked back again, hand resting on the door handle, he was still there waiting. And you smiled, shaking your head before walking in.

At least he had a bit of manners to show for tonight.

But William was in for a long night of chatter on your end once you settled into your room.

[lymtw]

Movie Night

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Friday night is unofficially movie night for you and Toji. You always go back and forth on what you should do and options are tossed out, like a nice dinner or trying food from someplace new or going to a view and sitting in the trunk of his car with blankets and some snacks. Most of the time, all of those options are thrown out the window and you just end up sitting in your bed or his bed and watching movies together. It doesn't matter what you do, it's always good, and the sleep overs make it even better.

A knock on your door signals Toji's arrival. Though you haven't had any caffeine since the coffee you treated yourself to earlier in the afternoon, you feel jittery. You grab the surprise you have for him and walk over to answer the door. As soon as you pull the door open, there he is, looking handsome as always, even when he's donning a simple t-shirt and some sweatpants. He gives you that smirk of his—the one that makes your chest feel all warm and fuzzy, and wakes up the butterflies in your stomach. He has a bag in his hand, filled with the snacks he promised to bring.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Did you even miss me?" He teases, loving the way you gently nod as he speaks, like you're ready to prove that you did in fact miss him.

"Hi, Toji," you say, a smile spreading on your lips when you become overly aware of his focus on you. "I missed you. Come in." You move aside and let him into your cozy home, a place he's all too familiar with. He steps out of his slides and leaves them behind next to a pair of your shoes, his gaze never leaving you as he waits for you to lock the door after you shut it.

"What's that, doll?" Toji asks, when you approach him with full hands. There's a soft smile on your lips and your eyes shine like the stars that speckle the sky, as you extend the neatly folded pair of pajamas towards him. You have the most precious look on your face, as if you're showing him one of your most prized possessions—something you're proud of.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to. I still have the receipt. I just thought it would be nice to wear matching pj's."

You're not asking for much. Toji knows this. This is nothing—you're not asking him for anything. All he can think as he takes in the adorable look on your face, is that it would be an absolutely disgusting, heinous crime, to deny you of something so simple, something that would make you so damn happy. He can't bring himself to destroy you like that. In doing that, he would be chipping his own heart.

"What are you talking about? Let me see them," he says, laying his hands out for you to place the clothes on. You carefully place them in his hands and watch as he unfolds the articles. You don't know what he's thinking as he inspects the shirt, but the hum he lets out is nerve wracking. The shirt's design is minimalistic. It's a black t-shirt with three little stars on the left side of the chest and a small crescent moon on the back, a few inches beneath the collar, and then the bottoms are in the same plaid style as yours, just dark green instead of red.

"Is this why you asked for my clothing sizes a couple days ago?" He asks, pulling down his pants out of nowhere. You can't even try to hold back your laugh as you look away after getting a glimpse of his boxers, the sound just slips out. "What are you laughing at? Nothing you haven't seen before," he says, grinning amusedly at your giggles.

He unfolds the comfy pair of pants and slides them on. Immediately after, his shirt comes off, and it's as if he wants you to notice—to ogle him—because he takes his sweet time getting the new shirt on. He catches your eyes trailing down his torso, and then, he hears it, the flustered giggle that tumbles off your lips, the sweet sound he was waiting on. He smirks as he puts the new shirt on, and once again waits for your reaction. The shirt is a thicker material and fits perfectly, so do the pants. You're now matching, just like you wanted.

"How do I look?" Toji asks, doing a simple hands in his pockets pose.

"Handsome and comfy," you respond, warmth reaching your face as you take in the sight.

"Yeah? You think so?" He asks as he picks up his previous outfit and drops it on the arm of your couch. He hears your affirmative hum and catches your little nod as he steps towards you.

"Hey, where's my kiss?" He asks, a sly little smirk curling his lips. His hands rest on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "I've been waiting hours and hours," he murmurs, green eyes absorbing the pretty smile that begins to form on your lips. "I want my reward."

You know that it won't be just a quick kiss with Toji, but still, you stand on your tippy toes and tilt your head upwards, waiting for Toji to meet you. He leans down, holding eye contact with you, as his lips come closer and closer. Once his nose is right next to yours and you feel his lips ghosting yours, he stops. He just loves the way you can't hide your fluster and how whenever you can't take it anymore, you resort to something you should have some sort of award for, by now—giggling.

"You're precious, ma," he says, his voice low. Dark eyes scan and re-memorize, for the nth time, every inch of your joyful expression, before finally he leans in the rest of the way, closing the distance between you and him.

His hands grip the back of your shirt as he feeds off your soft lips. Kiss after kiss, each one gentle and patient, demonstrating how much he truly longed for you. You feel butterflies in your stomach when you focus on the warmth of his body pressed against you and the way his lips chase yours for another kiss when you think he's finally going to pull away. His hands dip beneath your shirt to feel the bare, soft, and warm skin of your back. The simple touch is enough to spread goosebumps all over you.

The final kiss is long. Your lips lock, but Toji stops there, not going with the usual synchronized flow of the previous kisses, and when you don't expect it, he lets out deep hum and releases your lips with a more audible smack. He gives you a dumb grin in response to the stars that returned to your eyes.

"Do the thing, baby," he says, rubbing your back while he waits for you to snap out of your minor daze. He stays in the same slightly leaned position and waits for the softness of your lips to meet his skin. You press a kiss onto the smooth scar on the corner of his lips for an equal amount of time as the long kiss you shared before and smile softly when you pull away, your feet flat on the ground, again.

His hands come out of your shirt and he grins at how bashful you've become, despite the amount of times you've done this. You wouldn't immediately know what "do the thing" means, if you weren't so accustomed to doing it.

"Got your favorites," he says, nodding towards the bag he set down on your couch. "Did you keep up with your end of the deal?" He jokes, expecting a proud nod from you, because you've never let him down.

"Lemon-lime or Cool Blue Gatorade, right?" You ask, walking towards the kitchen.

"That's right, doll," he confirms, following behind you.

After the wine incident, he chooses to stay sober with you. It's not that he doesn't want to experience drinking with you and see you be more laid back and playful, it's the fact that he knows that that version of you is altered by alcohol. Sober you isn't that way, and while he loves every version of you, your natural way of being is his favorite.

He could spend hours flustering and teasing you, watching the way you coil in on yourself when he stares at you for too long. Feeling the way your body melts against his when he holds you is one of his favorite things. He likes being able to coax you into voicing your thoughts, wants, and needs. Maybe you're a little more honest about deeper matters when you're inebriated, but Toji is smart enough to know that it's practically involuntary. It's like your secrets are being spilled without your permission and while he's glad to know these things in the moment, he would rather hear them from you when you aren't drunk.

"I got you both. I didn't know which you liked more, so I just got both of them," you say, grabbing them off one of the shelves in your fridge. You turn and hand the cold drinks to Toji before going back to grab the one you got for yourself. You step back and shut the fridge door, smiling at him when he just stares at you.

"What?" You question.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Just silently observes you standing in your small kitchen, in comfy, baggy pajamas that match his own. You're shifting on your feet, under his gaze, waiting for a response, but the response that he has in mind is a little too much for the lightness of the night. Something about wanting to spend the rest of his life with you, something about coming home to you every day, something about putting a shiny rock on your finger. Something big, because his feelings for you are big.

"Nothing, ma," he says, tucking both juice bottles between his forearm and his side, so that he can rest his hand on the back of your neck as you walk back out to the living room. You grab the bag of snacks off the couch and head to your bedroom together.

You set the bag of snacks on the bed and sit down on your side. Toji has a designated side on your bed, which is, of course, the other side.

"Light on or off?" Toji asks, shutting the door.

"Off?" You say, with a questioning tone, leaving room for him to object. Shortly after, the room goes dark. Only your TV, which sits idly on its home screen, creates light that illuminates the walls. Toji walks around your bed and settles into his side.

"What are we watching, this time?" He asks, reaching for the pack of sour gummy bears.

"It's your turn to choose," you say, offering the remote to him. "Last time we watched a bunch of Disney movies. I don't know if you wanna do that again," you say, smiling sheepishly.

"You doubt your taste in things too much, ma. Those Toy Story movies were pretty good. Show me another one of your favorites."

"Alright," you say, in compliance. You go to the Disney+ application and search for another favorite. Nothing too sing song-y, because you feel like you're on thin ice already in playing these animated movies for him. You got away with Jessie singing "When She Loved Me" in Toy Story 2, because even he thought the poor cowgirl got a rough deal when she was abandoned.

"Ratatouille?" He reads. "What's that about?"

"We're about to watch it," you say, briefly turning over and smiling.

He hums as he looks over the caption beneath the title that explains the synopsis of the movie.

"The rat's gonna cook? This should be interesting."

Lo and behold, he's hooked. Neither of you has made a peep and you're both mindlessly snacking on candy and chips, sipping on Gatorade, while watching the crazy things in this rat's life unfold. Him and his brother survived being struck by lightning and being shot at by an old lady with a shotgun. That part seemed to amuse Toji plenty.

Towards the end of the movie, Toji turns to you with sour sugar unknowingly speckled on his lips from the candy he's been feasting on, and leans in to press kisses to your temple and cheek.

"Watch," you say, smiling at the softness that meets your skin.

"I'm watching," he murmurs, continuing on with his sticky kisses.

"Look, they're stealing food from the kitchen," you explain, shocked despite already knowing what's going to happen.

"Mm," Toji hums, seemingly interested, but continuing on with his affectionate, sugary pecks.

"Look, you're gonna miss it," you say, giggling as you gently push his face away. It completely backfires on you, because he just grabs your wrist, and pulls your hand down to continue on with his kisses.

"Come here," he says, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you so that you're sitting right beside him, your thigh touching his and your shoulder pressed into his side. With a few more pecks to your cheek and a couple to the top of your head, he faces forward and continues watching the movie.

"Damn, they got shut down?" He says, in disbelief.

"Mhm," you hum in response, unable to answer verbally due to the chips in your mouth.

"Oh shit, they're back," Toji says, taking in the remainder of the movie. "And Remy cooks without controlling Spaghetti?"

"Linguini," you correct, with a laugh. "But yeah. Linguini's a waiter, now, and Remy's a chef."

The artistic end credits begin to appear and you turn to look at Toji.

"So... what did you think?" You ask.

"That had more action than The Terminator," he jokes. "The old lady with the shotgun was trying take out Remy and his brother and then she tried to hit the entire colony of rats with gas."

You giggle as he goes in depth of what he remembers, as if to prove to you that he was watching.

"I liked that one too," he says, with a smirk. "Would definitely watch it, again."

"Good," you chirp, internally proud that you were able to show him something good. "Your turn," you say, offering him the remote.

"You go again," he says, grabbing another sour gummy to dodge the remote.

"Toji," you mumble. "You should choose something you like. I wouldn't mind watching something new, too."

In truth, Toji doesn't want to watch explosive, gore infested, action movies when he's with you. It's the only genre he's thoroughly explored apart from some comedy, so he leaves you to do the choosing of the movies and shows you watch together. It's a great way for him to give new things a chance, because even though it seems like he's always the one showing you how and loosening the tight grip you have on the shell that obscures you, he's constantly learning from you, as well.

"How 'bout this, baby... If you choose the next one, i'll choose the next three," he offers, squeezing the plush of your thigh.

"You promise?" You say, eyes darting from where his enormous hand rests on your leg, to his face.

"'Course. I don't lie to you," he says.

"Okay, then," you say, moving onto a different platform to find another movie.

"While I wait..." he mumbles, a soft smile curling on his lips. His hand moves from your thigh to your waist as he wraps his arm around you. He goes back to kissing the side of your face, soft, wet little smooches planted along your cheek and your jaw.

"Gorgeous girl," he hums, his voice a soft breath against your skin. "I'm dying to kiss those pretty lips."

Your lips curl as you continue skimming through the section of recommended movies. You can feel his eyes on you, tracing over the features of your face.

"Just a quick one and then i'll stop bugging you," he requests. "Please? You're teasing me without even trying."

"But I'm not even doing anything," you argue, with a small laugh.

"That's what i'm saying," he says, in agreement. "You're not even trying. You're just pretty like that. Makes me wanna kiss you 'til you can't breathe."

"What? You said a quick one, just a few seconds ago," you remind, your smile widening at the way he changed his mind about wanting the minimum of your affection.

"Yeah, but you know how greedy I am about you, mama. I want more and more of you, all the time." His gaze flits between your coy smile and the softness that lingers in your eyes. You haven't paused your skimming of the movies, but he knows you're staring at the screen, mindlessly, feeling his attention. "You want me to beg?"

"No," you instantly respond. It's the one thing you never allow him to do. He's too good to you, for you to make him beg. "You don't have to do that."

"So, kiss me, sweetheart," he says, shifting positions so that he's lying down on his side. He pats the pillow that cushions your lower back, signaling for you to lie down. Like the obedient thing you are for him, you click play on the random movie you landed on and set the remote aside, before lying down on your side, facing Toji.

"What movie did you decide on?" He asks, dragging his knuckles tenderly over your cheek.

"I didn't look at the name," you answer, softly.

"We can skip the intro, right?" He murmurs, smirking when he feels the warmth that reaches your face beneath his palm. His thumb strokes the skin of your cheek, back and forth as he keeps up with your gaze, even when it derails from his due to the tension in the moment.

"Mhm," you hum.

"Come here," he instructs, his voice low, almost a whisper. His leg goes between your legs, just sitting there to achieve more physical contact with you. It doesn't go further than the desire to be innocently caught up in you and feel you pressed against him.

The first kisses—if they can even be called that—are tentative and teasing. Lips merely ghosting each other, barely grasping contact. It's enough to have your heart thudding rapidly in your chest. You hear a warm, rumbled chuckle coming from Toji.

"Closer," Toji hums, his hand splaying on your back and pushing you forward into him.

Finally, your lips connect. The feeling is warm, like you're being held, securely, without any intention of being released. The sound of the movie in the background is a mere whir, unheard through the imaginary force field created around you and Toji. It's just you and him, close as can be, living like nothing else matters as long as you have this love. Through gentle caresses, one unsteady heartbeat and an even unsteadier one, things are good.

Toji swears he will never feel this content and at peace anywhere else. You have a way of making him feel like he is everything. The way your eyes twinkle when you see him, the way you bare your soul to him every time you smile—it's love. It's pure, unadulterated love. He's your friend, your lover, your confidant, and he will never settle for being anything less than those things.

With one more brush of your lips, you both put the kissing on hold and lay there, just a little bit breathless. His hand rests on your lower back, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"I love you so fucking much, doll. You know that?" He murmurs, his attention bouncing between your lips that won't stop calling for him to kiss them and the warmth in your eyes. "Fridays aren't just another day, anymore. Same for every day I get to see you or even just talk to you on the phone if we can't be together." A soft sigh escapes his nose, followed by a very brief pause. "You just know how to make things better, and I wish you would believe it because you feel that way too, not just because i'm telling you."

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"No. I don't want that, baby. Tell me something else."

"I love you, Toji," you say, ensuring that you speak clearly so that he gets the important words you need him to hear. "I like being around you. You'll never know just how safe you make me feel, but I do want you to know that it goes past the physical aspect."

He smiles, the expression soft, not telling of the giddiness that just spread throughout his body. A soft hum, followed by a somewhat frustrated sounding groan, precedes you being pulled into his tight embrace. You can't help the giggles that eventually evolve into laughter that just spills from you when he bombards your face with kisses. His lips press against your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips before he actually leaves a rapid barrage of pecks on your lips. Deep chuckles slip through his affectionate assault when you plant your hand on his chest, weakly pushing at him through the joyous sound of your laugh.

"T-Toji!" You squeal, your entire body shaking through your nonstop laughter. Despite it being nighttime, Toji feels like he's kissing and cuddling with the sun. His cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much.

With one final, elongated kiss to your forehead, he relents and lets you catch your breath. Soft giggles continue to flow past your lips as you work on composing yourself.

"You drive me crazy, doll," he says, grinning at how your chest still slightly heaves. He could do this every night with you, in a shared bed, that is in your shared bedroom, in your shared home.

"Alright, let's see what this movie's about," he mutters, flipping onto his back. "Come here." By now, the two words are a staple to Toji's conversations with you, because he always wants you attached to him. He outstretches his arm, and waits for you to scooch over and lay your head on his chest. Once you settle in, his arm wraps around you, tightly.

As you both try to catch up on what is going on in the movie, you realize none of it is making sense. You think it might be futile to try and understand what is happening when it may have been explained during the intro, but neither you nor Toji mind it, and just continue watching through the confusion, because the intro to this movie was never going to be as good as the moment you shared during it.

[armpirate]

The Vows Between Us || Jungkook

Part 2

pairing: JK x fem!reader || Arranged marriage

w.c.: 13.6k

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), female masturbation, unprotected sex, teasing, edging (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content)

Aprox. time of reading: 40 / 50 minutes

Summary: For Jungkook, marrying you was a calculated move -a necessary step to secure the company that was rightfully his. But also a move to know you'd be his after years of looking at you from afar. For you, it was an escape from the gilded cage your family had locked you in. What neither of you anticipated was the spark that would ignite in the ashes of your arrangement. But in a world where every touch felt like a promise and every whisper hid a secret, falling for him was your first mistake. Because just when you thought his heart might truly be yours, you uncovered the truth. Or so you thought.

MASTERLIST

The air inside Jungkook's office was warm and suffocating despite the minimalistic modern design and large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Berlin's skyline. You stepped inside with measured steps, your heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Jungkook was already there, leaning against the edge of his grand wooden desk with his long tattooed fingers wrapping around the pen that kept swirling on his digits every few seconds, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

"You're early," he said, his voice smooth but laced with something smug.

"I prefer to get unpleasant things over with quickly," you replied, your tone cool and detached as you slipped off your coat. "I assume your father told you why I'm here."

Jungkook chuckled, swirling the pen one last time before putting it down. "Oh, I know. The future Mrs. Jeon wants to 'discuss terms,' right? Sounds like a business merger already." his dark eyes gleamed with interest as he looked you up and down, deliberately slow. "But I'm curious, why did you finally agree? You seemed so determined to avoid me before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Not everything is about you, Jungkook. My reasons are my own."

The smirk faltered for a split second before returning, this time tinged with something bittersweet. "Fair enough," he said, straightening up and taking a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. "But you'll have to get used to things being about us. At least, that's what everyone else will expect starting next weekend."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to show it. You kept your expression neutral, tilting your head just slightly. "Let's get one thing straight, this marriage may be inevitable, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Jungkook smiled -slow, dangerous, and entirely too pleased. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

That sentence alone had you rolling your eyes, trying to control yourself from slipping your tongue on how disgusted you were by that whole thing.

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the strap of yourbag. "As long as you understand where we stand, this arrangement might work. We'll play the perfect couple for the public. But behind closed doors, we keep our distance until we sign the divorce papers. Simple."

Jungkook stepped closer, closing the space between you just enough to make your breath hitch. His cologne -warm and spicy- wrapped around you like an invisible trap. "Keep our distance?" he repeated, his voice low, almost amused. "Is that what you want? Because that's not what it looked like back at that business gala... when you couldn't stop staring."

As much as you wanted to deny it, your eyes were indeed on him the whole time. He was charming and captivating, it was impossible to move your eyes away from him. But that hypnosis lasted until his family came up with the idea of imposing that marriage on you. He lost all his charm just at that moment.

You narrowed your eyes. "I was staring at the disaster unfolding around me, not at you."

Jungkook smirked, tilting his head. "Right. That's why your eyes followed me the entire night." he leaned in, his lips just a breath away from your ear. "You're good at playing it cold, Y/n. But I wonder how long you can keep that act up once we're married."

You refused to back down, your voice calm despite the spark of irritation in your chest. "I've dealt with men far more intimidating than you, Jungkook. Trust me, keeping you at arm's length won't be a challenge."

A flicker of something darker crossed his eyes -something almost dangerous. For a moment, the air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

"Good," Jungkook finally said, his voice a whisper. "Keep trying to resist me. It'll make it that much more fun when you fail."

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step back, reclaiming the distance. "You're delusional if you think I'll ever fall for you."

Jungkook raised his eyebrows in amused awe as he took on the challenge. "We'll see, future Mrs. Jeon. We've got a lifetime to test that theory."

You turned on your heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected you. But as you walked toward the door, you couldn't shake the feeling that Jungkook was right. The real challenge wasn't staying distant -it was making sure you didn't get burned by the fire between you.

"By the way, you mentioned divorce... didn't you?" your tracks stopped the second he mentioned that detail, hearing his heavy steps behind you as he approached his body.

Slowly, you turned to him, unable to back down on your stance "That's what we agreed on."

"Some deals suffer changes as they have to meet different necessities, don't you think?" the way his eyebrows arched, while his lips pursed on a mocking grin almost had you losing your patience. "Divorce was ever on the plate? Because I don't think it was one of my conditions".

"No, it was one of mine" you spat back. "Either sign those divorce papers on good terms, or I'll drag you from one trial to another" Jungkook loved the challenge, he loved the way your eyes fixed on him to make sure he understood everything you were saying.

"What if I don't want to sign them?"

"Then you'll have to find another dumbass to agree to get married to you" you rolled your eyes, thinking that would be the end of your conversation, but his fingers hooked on your elbow to stop you from walking away.

You weren't sure exactly when he got so close, but you could feel the warm air escaping his nostrils on your cheeks.

"Don't try to throw a fist at me" he stopped you. "You're so used to getting what you want, don't you? You pout a little, you act a little bitchy and daddy gives you all you want. Let me give you a spoiler: that won't work with me. The moment you're my wife, you'll do as I say. And if I say I don't want to get divorced, then you won't get those fucking papers".

Your eyes started to water: rage, sadness, frustration... All those feelings were building up as you realized you got to a no-exit stop. Your plans were crumbling down, all your ideas were getting ruined, and all you could do was tighten your lips and open your eyes as much as possible so tears wouldn't escape with a blink.

Daddy's girl? He had absolutely no idea. If you were living in such a perfect place, you wouldn't have agreed in the first place, but the fact that your parents -or people who gave you shelter when you needed it- agreed on engaging their daughter with a complete stranger for money should've given him enough of a hint of your reality.

"Your choice" you managed to get rid of his grip. "Either sign those papers, or I'll make sure to tell everyone what all of this is about".

"You won't. And you wanna know how I know?" he took one step closer to you. "I'll make your life a living hell if you do".

"With what power?"

Your mocking tone was the last straw before he moved his hand from your elbow to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it and slamming your body against the wide door.

"I don't need any power for that." his eyes were dark, his threat becoming a promise "Even if it's the last thing I do, I'll make you regret ever messing with me. So you better come with a pretty dress and the best of attitudes next weekend". He let go of your throat slowly, calmly placing his shirt properly "I know you'll make the best decision" he finally said.

Your eyes were fixed on him, confused at how easily he let you go. And, somehow, his words were even scarier than his actions, because you could see the threat through them.

The grand hall was filled with muted whispers and expectant gazes, the air thick with anticipation. The soft hum of violins played in the background, their melody delicate but almost haunting. The guests sat in rows beneath an arch of white roses and crystal chandeliers, their eyes flitting between the tall doors at the back of the aisle and Jungkook, who stood at the altar in his perfectly tailored black suit, waiting.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he stole a glance at the watch, sliding the sleeve of his jacket just a bit far up.

Ten minutes late. Then fifteen.

You weren't there.

He told himself you'd show up. You had to. But with each passing second, doubt sank its claws deeper into him. His heart pounded, and the polished facade he wore so well began to crack. Was this your way of backing out? A silent rebellion against a marriage neither of you had chosen? Were you actually telling the truth when you said you wouldn't show up if he didn't promise you a divorce?

The doors remained closed, and Jungkook's jaw tightened. His father, seated in the front row, shot him a warning glance -one that practically screamed "Handle this".

Then, just as his patience teetered on the edge of collapse, the heavy doors finally creaked open.

A hush fell over the crowd.

And there you were.

You stood at the entrance in your wedding dress, the long veil trailing behind you, catching the soft light like a halo. For a moment, the room seemed to blur around you, everything fading except the heavy thud of your heart. You could feel every eye on you, the weight of their expectations pressing down on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your feet felt like concrete as you took your first step. Hesitation rooted itself deep inside you, your body caught in a battle between instinct and obligation.

Jungkook watched you with an intensity that bordered on desperation. His dark eyes flickered with a thousand questions. You couldn't miss the way his shoulders tensed or how his lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the fear he was trying so hard to conceal.

Step by step, you made your way down the aisle, but each step felt heavier than the last. Doubt whispered cruelly in your ear. "You don't have to do this" you told yourself.

Your fingers clutched the bouquet so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You forced yourself forward, your gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet Jungkook's eyes until you stood just a breath away from him.

"Finally," Jungkook muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

There was relief in his tone, but it was wrapped in a layer of frustration.

The officiant began to speak, his words echoing in the cavernous hall. You barely registered them, your mind a tangled mess of emotions. Jungkook's eyes never left yours. His expression was calm on the surface, but you could see the storm raging just beneath it: fear, frustration, and something dangerously close to longing.

"And now," the officiant said, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind, "if the bride and groom would like to exchange their vows."

Jungkook went first. His voice was steady, but the practiced words carried an unexpected weight, laced with sincerity that caught you off guard.

"I promise to protect you," he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "To stand beside you through whatever comes next. No matter what happens... I'm yours."

There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes -just a flash- but it was enough to send your heart lurching in your chest.

Then it was your turn. The officiant turned to you expectantly, waiting for your response.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came.

A heavy silence hung in the air. It stretched long enough to make the guests shift uncomfortably in their seats. Even the soft melody of the violins seemed to falter.

Everything you had prepared so mindfully disappeared at the feeling of being so watched, as if you were under watchful eye. You were sure it'd be obvious you weren't feeling either of the words you were pronouncing.

Jungkook's fingers curled slightly at his sides, his eyes searching yours for a sign, for anything.

The officiant cleared his throat. "Do you, Y/n, take Jeon Jungkook to be your lawfully wedded husband?" his tone was insistent, as if he wanted to get any words from you to get all of that over with.

The pause that followed was suffocating. You felt Jungkook's breath catch, his entire body coiled tight, ready to unravel.

Although he hoped you wouldn't humiliate him that way, he saw you completely able to do it.

Finally, you whispered the words.

"...I do."

Your voice was barely audible, a breath more than a declaration. But it was enough.

Jungkook exhaled, his shoulders relaxing, though the tension in his jaw remained. His eyes never left yours, dark and unreadable, as if trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

The officiant smiled, oblivious to the war waging between the two of you. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Jungkook hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before leaning in. Your head immediately threw back slightly, enough for him to know you didn't want that kiss and make it seem like a shy move for the rest of the assistants. His hand found your waist -firm but not forceful- as he tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, calculated for the audience, but the heat of it lingered far longer than it should have. Jungkook had been daydreaming way too long about it to waste that chance.

His lips were warm against yours, but there was something else beneath the surface. A question. A challenge.

When he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours once more. He didn't smile. Neither did you.

The applause from the crowd felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.

As the two of you turned to face the audience, Jungkook leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

"We're just getting started," he whispered, his voice dark with promise.

You kept your face neutral, your expression unreadable, but your pulse betrayed you, thudding wildly in your chest.

The reception was a spectacle of luxury and elegance, just as expected from a merger of two powerful families. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand hall, where hundreds of guests mingled, sipping champagne and exchanging polite congratulations.

You smiled and nodded your way through countless conversations, always keeping one eye on Jungkook. He was never far, and every time you saw him start toward you, you slipped between groups of guests or ducked behind another table.

You had managed to avoid him all night. At the cake-cutting ceremony, his hand had hovered near yours on the knife, holding tighter over your skin as you threatened to let the long sword slide from your fingers to his throat. And for a fleeting moment, you thought he might say something, yet he only smirked and moved closer to you. You were quick to turn away, disappearing into the crowd the moment the applause broke, trying to get away from him.

Jungkook, however, was nothing if not persistent.

The moment you saw him again, his dark eyes locked onto yours from across the dance floor. This time, there was no escape. The crowd parted just enough for him to make his way toward you, his strides deliberate and confident.

"Running from me again?" he said when he reached you, his voice low, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

You lifted your chin, forcing your expression to stay composed. "I wasn't running. I was... mingling with the guests."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Right. Mingling." he offered his hand, palm open and waiting. "Well, it's time for the first dance, Mrs. Jeon. You wouldn't want to disappoint our guests, would you?"

Your stomach tightened at the weight of his words. There was no getting out of this. Not without causing a scene.

With a quiet sigh, you slipped your hand into his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm, and you couldn't help but notice how easily they fit together.

The lights dimmed, and the soft melody of "You Are the Reason" by Calum Scott filled the air. A sweet, tender song -one that felt far too intimate for the situation, as if it was meant for two people who loved each other.

Jungkook led you to the center of the dance floor, his hand resting gently on your waist, pulling you just close enough to make your pulse stutter.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up today," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the music. His eyes searched yours, the teasing edge gone now, replaced by something far more serious. "You made me worried."

You swallowed, your gaze dropping for a split second before meeting his again. "I was... thinking things through."

His hand tightened slightly on your waist. "Did you change your mind at the last minute?"

For a moment, you didn't answer. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. The song swelled around you, the lyrics wrapping around your heart like a bittersweet lullaby.

You knew hell would be nothing compared to your life if you didn't show up to the wedding. Not because of Jungkook or his family though, but your adoptive parents. The moment you twisted all of their plans, there would be no escape from it.

At least with Jungkook you wouldn't owe anyone anything. Instead, you'd be the one they owe something to.

Jungkook's eyes softened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you had, I would've waited. I would've found another way."

Your breath hitched. His words caught you off guard -unexpected and disarming. For the first time that night, the wall you had so carefully built around yourself began to crack.

He seemed so genuine, so caring.

"I'm here now," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "That's all that matters."

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he nodded. "Yeah. You're here."

The music continued, the world around you fading as you moved together in perfect synchrony. His touch was light yet grounding, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a fleeting second, you forgot about the crowd, the expectations, the tangled mess of your circumstances. It was just the two of you, swaying gently beneath the chandeliers, the lyrics of the song weaving a story neither of you was ready to admit aloud.

As the final notes faded, Jungkook leaned in just slightly, his voice a soft murmur against your ear.

"You can keep running all you want," he said, his breath warm on your skin. "But sooner or later, you'll stop. And when you do... I'll be right here, waiting."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. There was no smirk, no mask, just him.

The applause from the crowd broke the spell, and you quickly stepped back, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Jungkook let you go, but his eyes stayed on you, dark and unreadable, as if daring you to run again.

And maybe you would. But for the first time, a small part of you wondered if running was really what you wanted. No, you stayed by his side, answering to his challenge with the same power he was showing off.

The party blurred into a collection of clinking glasses, polite congratulations, and watchful eyes. Despite the sea of guests surrounding you, you felt like you were holding your breath the entire time. So when Jungkook leaned close and whispered, "Let's get out of here," you didn't argue. If he hadn't said it, you probably would've escaped by yourself.

Now, the two of you sat in the back of a sleek black car, the hum of the city filling the silence between you. The driver navigated the streets with ease, the warm glow of streetlights flashing across the car's interior.

Jungkook sat beside you, his posture relaxed, but his eyes kept drifting toward your hand -the wedding ring glinting softly on your finger. He didn't bother hiding the fact that he was staring.

You caught him once, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, something unreadable flashed across his face. "No," he said quietly. "Just getting used to the sight."

You turned your hand slightly, the light catching on the diamond. The ring was beautiful, of course -a complex design that was probably picked out by your parents and Jungkook's father rather than by either of you. It felt foreign on your finger, a constant reminder of the deal you'd made.

Jungkook's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It suits you," he said, his voice soft, almost contemplative.

You said nothing, turning your head to watch the city rush by through the window. Jungkook simply smirked, knowing that your silence was better than a sassy response from you.

When the car finally pulled up to the luxury hotel, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The driver opened the door, and you stepped out, feeling the cool night air brush against your skin. Jungkook followed close behind, his hand hovering near the small of your back but never quite touching.

The suite was exactly what you expected -grand and luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Brandenburg Gate. A bottle of champagne and a tray of chocolates waited on the marble table, while a large king-sized bed sat at the center of the room, draped in crisp white linens.

You set your bag down and turned to Jungkook, folding your arms across your chest. "I'll take the bed. You can sleep on the couch."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "The couch?"

"It's comfortable enough," you said, nodding toward the plush, oversized sofa near the window. "Plenty of space."

Jungkook took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "We're married now, remember? Sharing the bed won't kill us."

You scoffed lightly, crossing the room to stand by the couch. "Not happening." You glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow. "Fine. You take the bed. I'll sleep here." you rushed to say, feeling your energy consumed by the small talk you made with all the guests.

"No." his response was immediate, his tone firm. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Then am I sleeping on the floor?" you arched an eyebrow "Because I won't sleep with you in the same bed".

You stared at him, daring him to argue further. But to your surprise, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Alright. I'll sleep on the couch."

His sudden surrender caught you off guard. "Just like that?"

He smirked faintly, tossing his jacket onto a chair. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

You watched him for a moment, suspicious of how easily he gave in, but ultimately decided not to push it. "Good. I'll get ready for bed."

As you disappeared into the bathroom, Jungkook sank onto the couch, leaning his head back against the cushions. He glanced at the wedding ring on his own hand, turning it slowly between his fingers. For all his confidence and charm, there was something strangely grounding about the weight of the band.

As much as that wasn't the way he wanted you to be by his side, it somehow made him feel good.

When you returned, dressed in something far more comfortable than your wedding gown, Jungkook was already stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes.

"Comfortable?" you asked, standing by the bed.

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his lips quivering into a faint smile. "I've had worse."

You rolled your eyes and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up around you. For a few moments, silence filled the room, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside the windows.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, you heard Jungkook's voice -quiet but clear in the darkness.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

You hesitated before responding, your voice soft. "Goodnight, Jungkook."

Neither of you said anything after that, but sleep didn't come easily. You lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, painfully aware of his presence just a few feet away.

The distance between you felt both vast and dangerously fragile. And as the minutes stretched into hours, you couldn't help but wonder how long it would stay that way.

The morning started quietly -too quietly. You woke up, blinking against the soft morning light spilling into the room, only to find Jungkook already sitting on the couch, his phone in hand. His jacket was gone, and his dress shirt, slightly wrinkled from the night before, was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked far too relaxed for someone who had spent the night on a couch after your wedding.

"Good morning," he said, his eyes flicking to yours the second you stirred. His voice was calm, but there was something smug lurking just beneath the surface, as if he was already one step ahead of you.

You rubbed your eyes, forcing yourself to sound composed. "Morning."

A few beats of silence passed, too long to be comfortable.

"You were tossing and turning last night," Jungkook said casually, stretching his arms behind his head. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I slept just fine," you lied, standing and heading for your bag. You could feel his eyes on your every move, sharp and assessing.

"You sure? You sounded restless." his voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You froze, giving him a flat look. "Were you listening to me sleep?"

He grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "It's hard not to when someone mutters 'This is a mistake' at 2 a.m."

Your face heated. "I did not..."

"You did." his smirk widened. "I thought about waking you up to ask what you meant, but I figured I'd let you dream about it instead."

You crossed your arms, your patience wearing thin. "Thanks for your consideration, Jungkook."

"Anything for you, love," he said, drawing out the word with deliberate sarcasm.

"You've really mastered being annoying, haven't you?" you shot back, heading toward the closet.

"Years of practice," he said, standing up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. "You'll get used to it."

You rolled your eyes, yanking open your suitcase with unnecessary force. "God forbid."

Jungkook chuckled under his breath, walking over to lean casually against the wall beside you. "You can deny it all you want, but deep down, you like this."

You turned to glare at him. "Like what?"

"This," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "The bickering. The back-and-forth. Admit it, it's fun."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "Jungkook, not everything is a game. And if you think this -whatever this is- counts as fun, then we're going to have a very long, very difficult marriage."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "A long marriage... Sounds like you're planning to stick around. It does sound really good to me."

"Oh my god," you muttered, turning on your heel. "I can't do this right now."

You stalked toward the bathroom, determined to get a moment's peace.

"You're already giving up?" he called after you. "We've been married for less than 24 hours, Y/n!"

"I'm not giving up. I'm taking a shower," you snapped, slamming the bathroom door shut.

The water was a relief, washing away some of the tension, but your frustration lingered like a storm cloud. And then, halfway through shampooing your hair, you realized something.

You forgot to bring clothes.

You let out a frustrated groan, rinsing the shampoo quickly before wrapping yourself in a towel. The last thing you wanted was to ask Jungkook for help, so you cracked the door open and peeked out.

He was still there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, clearly waiting for your return like some smug predator.

Of course.

You squared your shoulders and stepped out, keeping your head high as you made your way toward the bag.

Jungkook's eyes found you immediately, sweeping over your damp hair and the towel wrapped tightly around you. He didn't even try to hide it.

"Forgot something?" his voice was low and teasing.

"Not a word," you warned, grabbing your clothes.

But before you could escape back to the bathroom, his hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His fingers were warm, firm, and far too steady for someone who was enjoying this way too much.

"Why bother going back?" he said softly, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone that always made your pulse race. "You're already here."

You tightened your grip on your towel. "Let me go, Jungkook."

His eyes darkened, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a slow, deliberate motion. "Why? What's the big deal? We're married now, remember?"

Your breath caught, but you forced your voice to stay steady. "I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're thinking."

He leaned in just slightly, his lips curving into a smirk. "Then prove it. Get changed right here." His gaze dropped for a split second before meeting yours again, his voice barely a whisper. "Unless you're shy."

Your heart thundered in your chest, heat rushing to your face. "I'm not shy."

You weren't shy, but you didn't like the way your body was reacting to his voice, to his petition and his proximity. And you certainly didn't want him to see it so clearly either.

"Then go ahead," he said, his voice practically daring you.

You glared at him, yanking your wrist free. "Turn around."

"I'm not turning around" he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's the fun of it if I can't see you?"

He was trying to intimidate you, challenge you to do something he thought you wouldn't dare to do, so he could then tease you about it.

Two could play that game.

You placed the clothes on the bed, next to where he was. Taking one step back, your hands were placed on both edges of the towel, slowly undoing the knot to let it pool at your feet. Jungkook gulped thick at the sight, not expecting you to actually get naked in front of him, and even less that way, and it gave you a pinch of pride at how nervous he looked for a second.

You didn't need to do anything, just that stare and the sight of your body alone was enough to awaken the most primal needs. His body responded to you, even if it had been just a second he saw you. Your humid skin, the way some drops fell from your hair and rolled down the curve of your breast to get to your hardened nipple. His mouth was watering just with the need of tasting you.

Jungkook blinked, confused at the way your hand was stretched out for him, "The panties" you mentioned as if it were obvious.

His hand moved to his left, grabbing the fabric to hand it out to you. You put them on torturously slow, covering your lower half to snap your fingers and asking him for your bra. Placing the strips on your shoulders, you turned to him, your body fitting perfectly in between his semi-parted legs as you silently asked him to tie the clasp.

Shivers ran through your body at the contact of the reverse of his fingers on your skin, his touch holding on longer than necessary, just because he liked the way you felt as he touched you a little bit too much.

You didn't need to ask, because Jungkook moved to the next item the moment you stepped away.

He should've seen it coming for him when he saw you lifting your feet, placing it on his thigh -way too close to a place where he needed you like crazy. Your fingers moved calmly, sliding the tight over your leg, up the curve of your knee, moving it past your thigh. Yet Jungkook could only focus on how your warmth spread over his skin like wildfire, making him feel you were touching him in places you were not.

When you finally stepped back to put on the other side of the tight, and the rest of clothes, Jungkook felt like he could breathe again, his control coming back to him when he was able to think straight -which also happened when you were fully clothed again.

You thought he'd hesitate or act shy, but instead his cocky attitude came back as he stood up, the height difference becoming obvious again as he towered over you.

"See how it isn't that difficult to be a good girl?" he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You'd have thrown a shoe at him if he hadn't hidden inside the bathroom immediately after airing out that response.

He was insufferable.

The car ride to Jungkook's house was quiet, tense, and far too long for your liking. The morning sun bathed the streets in gold, but it did nothing to lighten the atmosphere inside the vehicle. Jungkook sat beside you, one arm draped lazily across the back of the seat, his eyes occasionally drifting toward you as you stared resolutely out the window.

He had been surprisingly well-behaved since the towel incident, keeping his teasing remarks to a minimum -though his occasional glances were enough to keep you on edge.

When the car finally pulled up in front of his house, your eyes widened slightly. House was an understatement. It was a sprawling modern estate with sleek glass panels, sharp architectural lines, and an air of quiet luxury.

"Home sweet home," Jungkook said, stepping out of the car and holding the door open for you with a half-smirk.

You stepped out, clutching your overnight bag tightly. "Big enough so we won't have to see each other for a whole day"

"Thanks for noticing," he quipped. "Come on. I'll give you the grand tour."

You followed him up the steps, trying not to be too impressed as you took in the pristine interior-marble floors, minimalist décor, and massive windows that flooded the space with light.

"Kitchen's over there," Jungkook said, gesturing toward an open-concept area with gleaming countertops. "Dining room, living room... you know, standard rich-guy stuff."

"Right," you said dryly. "Because this is completely normal."

He glanced back at you with a grin. "You'll get used to it." the mockery on his tone, knowing damn too well you were used to all that luxury and more, shouldn't have been as funny as it seemed for you.

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to avoid his gaze. The tension from earlier was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but it was muted now, replaced by an odd sense of anticipation.

"Upstairs," Jungkook said, leading you to the second floor. You followed him down a hallway lined with modern artwork and huge windows, your footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors.

He stopped in front of a door near the end of the hallway and turned to you. "This is your room."

You blinked, caught off guard. "My... room?"

Jungkook nodded, his expression unreadable. "I figured you'd want your own space."

Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag. For a moment, you didn't know what to say. You had fully expected him to make some smug comment about sharing a bed -or worse, insist on it. But there he was, offering you something you hadn't dared to hope for: distance.

"Thanks," you said quietly, stepping into the room. It was beautiful -spacious, with a king-sized bed, soft cream-colored walls, and a large window that overlooked the shared garden of the building. There was even an en-suite bathroom with a walk-in shower and a deep soaking tub.

You indeed wouldn't need to get out there, except to eat.

"Your things are in the closet" he started. "You didn't bring a lot of things, so I guess you'll bring the rest later?"

"No, that's it" you whispered.

Jungkook stopped for a second, shocked about the fact that you only brought a medium suitcase and the bag you were carrying to pack up all of your things. It wasn't like he was expecting a full suitcase display from you, but certainly not something so minimal.

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything," Jungkook said, lingering in the doorway. His eyes softened, his earlier bravado fading just a little. "Seriously. Anything."

For a brief second, the air between you shifted. He wasn't teasing or smug. He just looked... sincere.

You hesitated, feeling the strange urge to say something more, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you gave him a small nod. "I'll be fine."

He smiled faintly, stepping back. "Alright. Settle in. I'll see you downstairs."

As he walked away, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

But then again, with Jungkook, nothing ever stayed calm for long.

The first month of marriage was nothing short of a battlefield.

It didn't take long for every small interaction to turn into a heated argument. Jungkook always had something to say -sharp and sarcastic, ready to push your buttons at every opportunity. You were no better, meeting his smug remarks with icy glares and curt responses. It became a game, a war of words and wills, with neither of you willing to surrender.

There were good moments, but they were fleeting. It started with you finding out Jungkook filled up your closet with different clothes and accessories, adding up to the small suitcase you first brought. And it slowly evolved into a laugh shared over breakfast when Jungkook nearly burned his toast. A surprisingly comfortable evening spent watching a movie in silence, where the tension seemed to ease just a little. But those moments were always overshadowed by the endless tug-of-war that followed.

It was exhausting, that constant dance of hostility and fleeting truce.

Every day felt like a test of who could push the other further without breaking. The house, despite its size, felt stifling. His presence lingered in every room -a constant reminder that your marriage was nothing more than a cage disguised as luxury.

And today, you'd had enough.

The argument started in the kitchen that morning, over something as trivial as a set of misplaced car keys. It escalated far too quickly, voices rising, accusations flying.

"You always think you can control everything," you snapped, crossing your arms.

Jungkook leaned against the counter, his jaw tightening. "Control? I'm trying to help you, but you treat everything I say like it's some personal attack."

"Because it always is!" you threw up your hands in frustration. "You don't know how to back off, Jungkook! You just keep pushing and pushing... Fuck, you don't let me breathe!"

"Maybe because you keep running away instead of facing things!" his voice dropped, low and sharp. "You're so obsessed with shutting me out that you can't even see when someone's trying to meet you halfway."

You stared at him, chest heaving, words caught in your throat. For a second, neither of you moved. The silence felt heavier than the argument itself.

Then, without a word, you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs. You needed air, space, anything to escape that suffocating cycle.

In your room, you grabbed a coat and your purse, your hands trembling with frustration. Your eyes caught on your wedding ring, glinting in the sunlight. The sight of it only fueled the fire burning in your chest.

You slipped it off, the cool metal unfamiliar without the warmth of your skin beneath it. For a moment, you stared at the ring in your palm, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotions.

Then you set it on the dresser and walked out of the room, not bothering to look back.

Jungkook was still in the kitchen when you came back down, his back to you. You didn't say a word as you grabbed your keys from the counter and headed for the front door.

The sound of your footsteps must have caught his attention because he turned around, his eyes narrowing. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you said shortly, not slowing down.

"Without your ring?" his voice was calm, too calm. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You paused, hand on the door handle, refusing to turn around. "I need some time alone."

"And you think taking off your ring is the way to do that?" his footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate. "Is this your idea of freedom?"

You finally turned to face him, meeting his eyes head-on. "What does it matter? It's not like this marriage is real anyway."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

For the first time in weeks, Jungkook didn't have a quick response. He just looked at you, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite place -hurt, maybe, or anger, or both.

"If you walk out that door without it," he said quietly, "don't expect me to come looking for you."

The threat was clear, but it only made your resolve stronger.

"Good," you said, voice steady. "That's exactly what I want."

And with that, you opened the door and stepped outside, the cool air hitting your face like a slap.

As you walked toward your car, your heart pounded in your chest. Part of you expected him to follow, to stop you. But when you glanced back, the door was already closed.

Maybe he didn't care enough to stop you after all. Although you wouldn't think too much about it. The more he ignored you, the more freedom you'd have.

The bar was harmonized with a low hum of conversation and soft music filling the air. You had no plan when you walked in -just an overwhelming need to be anywhere but at that house. You found a spot at the bar, ordering a drink and savoring the temporary escape it promised.

The alcohol warmed your throat and dulled the frustration swirling in your chest. One drink turned into two, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

"You look like you could use some company."

You glanced up to see a man standing beside you, his smile easy and confident. His eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

"Not really," you said, turning back to your drink.

"Come on, don't be like that," he said, leaning in closer. "It's just a conversation. You shouldn't be alone in a place like this."

"I'm fine," you insisted, but he didn't seem to get the hint.

The air shifted before you could say anything else, a new presence filling the space behind you.

"She's not alone."

You froze at the familiar voice, low and commanding. Turning slightly, you found yourself face-to-face with Jungkook. His dark eyes were locked on the man, his jaw tight, his entire body radiating quiet danger.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And who are you?"

Jungkook's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Her husband."

The word hung in the air like a gunshot, silencing everything around you.

The man's eyes flicked between the two of you, suddenly less confident. "Right... well, my mistake." he backed away with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

Your heart was pounding, though you weren't sure if it was from the alcohol or the way Jungkook's eyes hadn't left you once.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to sound unaffected.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice calm but laced with barely restrained frustration. "But I guess taking off your ring and disappearing without a word answers that for me."

"I needed space," you said, crossing your arms. "You don't own me, Jungkook."

His eyes darkened. "You're right. I don't. But I'm still your husband. If you disappear in the middle of the night, I'll come looking for you. And if some creep thinks he can hit on you, then I'm going to do something about it."

You rolled your eyes, the alcohol emboldening you. "So this is about your ego?"

He took a step closer, the tension crackling between you. "No. It's about the fact that I care, whether you want to believe it or not."

His words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Let's go," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "It's late."

"I'm not going anywhere," you said stubbornly, turning back toward the bar.

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Fine. You want to be difficult? Have it your way."

Before you could react, his arm looped around your waist, and in one swift motion, he threw you over his shoulder like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Jungkook!" you gasped, pounding your fists against his back. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he muttered, already weaving his way through the crowd. Heads turned, curious eyes following the scene as you squirmed in his grip. "You brought this on yourself."

"Jungkook, I swear to God..."

"You can yell all you want," he said calmly. "We're leaving."

Once outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did little to cool the heat rising in your cheeks -from anger or embarrassment, you weren't sure. Jungkook carried you all the way to his car, finally setting you down beside it.

"You're insane," you snapped, your breath coming fast as you straightened your clothes.

"Maybe," he said, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I thought you'd have learned to love it by now."

For a moment, you stood there, caught in a standoff.

"Get in the car," he said softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

Your pride told you to refuse, to stand your ground and make this even more difficult. But something about the intensity in his eyes made you falter.

Wordlessly, you opened the car door and got in, your pulse still racing.

Jungkook slid into the driver's seat, starting the car without another word. The ride home was silent, the air between you charged with tension. You could feel his occasional glances, the way his hands tightened around the steering wheel every time your bare finger caught the light.

The ride home was silent. He didn't speak, and neither did you. But the weight of everything unsaid filled the car, pressing down on you both.

When you pulled up in front of the building, Jungkook finally broke the silence.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice low. "But if you want to leave, really leave, just say it. I'll let you go."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his eyes. It was the first time you'd seen him drop his guard like this.

But instead of answering, you opened the door and stepped out, your heart pounding in your chest.

Jungkook stayed in the car for a moment before following you inside. Neither of you said a word as you climbed the stairs, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

When you reached your room, you paused in the doorway, glancing back at him.

"Goodnight," you said softly, your voice barely audible.

For once, Jungkook didn't have a clever comeback. He just nodded, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than they should have.

"Goodnight," he echoed, his voice rough around the edges.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you -something neither of you was ready to admit yet.

The tension between you and Jungkook had been palpable since that night. Every word, every glance, felt like a battle -a silent war that neither of you was willing to lose. And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you found yourself trapped at one of his company's lavish parties, drowning in champagne and meaningless small talk.

It wasn't your kind of crowd. Polished executives and their equally polished partners swirled around you, exchanging pleasantries and hollow laughs. Being the accessory of the main character of the party wasn't your thing at all. You stood near the bar, sipping your drink, counting down the minutes until you could escape.

That's when you saw him, Jungkook, standing at the center of a group of people, commanding their attention with ease. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair perfectly styled, exuding the kind of confidence that made it impossible to look away.

And then you noticed her.

She was standing beside him, too close, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she laughed at something he said. A striking woman in a sleek red dress, her eyes sparkled with something far more than professional interest.

Your grip on your glass tightened as you watched her lean in, whispering something into his ear. To your horror, Jungkook didn't pull away. Instead, he turned toward her with a slow smile, his eyes dropping deliberately to her lips before meeting hers again.

It was a calculated move -one meant for your benefit. You knew it. He knew it.

Your stomach twisted, a mix of anger and something far more dangerous bubbling in your chest. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

You turned your back to him, willing yourself to focus on the conversation happening nearby. It was meaningless chatter, something about stock prices, but you latched onto it, pretending you didn't notice the way your pulse was racing.

"Jealous, love?"

The voice was low and teasing, right behind you. You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Hardly," you said, taking a sip of your drink without looking at him. "Do what you want. I couldn't care less."

"Is that so?" Jungkook stepped into your line of vision, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Because it looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing your drink at her."

"More like two seconds away from smacking this glass on your head" you finally sentenced.

"That does sound like someone who's jealous"

You forced a smile, meeting his gaze head-on. "Please. If I wanted to make a scene, you'd know it."

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. "Careful, Y/n. You might give me the wrong idea: that you actually care about me and what I do."

Your pulse jumped, but you refused to let him win. "Trust me, I don't." you narrowed your eyes while looking at him "Just be careful of how you behave in front of everyone. We're still married. In private, do whatever the fuck you please".

His smile was slow, almost predatory. "Good. Because I'd hate for you to get hurt playing a game you can't win."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. You couldn't stop watching him: laughing, smiling, always with her by his side. Each glance felt like a deliberate push, a challenge to see how far you'd let him go.

By the time the party started winding down, you'd had enough. You grabbed your purse and made your way toward the exit, your steps quick and determined.

But before you could leave, a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"Running away again?" Jungkook's voice was calm, but his grip was firm.

"Let go," you said, your voice low and dangerous.

"Not until you admit it." His eyes locked onto yours, the amusement gone, replaced by something far more serious.

"Admit what?"

"That you care," he said simply.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with fury. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet, here you are," Jungkook said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Still standing in front of me". You didn't know when he stepped so close that your chests were pressed together and your breaths were mixing between you two "I'm only yours, love. You just need to ask me, and I'll declare to you my love without thinking twice".

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, the party noise a distant hum. You hated how close he was, how easily he could get under your skin.

But you refused to give him what he wanted. Not tonight.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, ignoring the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

The car ride back was suffocatingly quiet. The air between you felt like a loaded gun, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. Jungkook's hands rested on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window in stubborn silence.

The tires crunched on the gravel as the car came to a stop in front of the building. You didn't wait for him to say anything -didn't even glance his way as you pushed the door open and strode toward the front entrance.

But the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you, steady and deliberate, made your pulse quicken.

You barely made it inside when Jungkook's voice cut through the silence.

"Care to explain what that little stunt at the party was all about?" his tone was deceptively calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

You spun around, glaring at him. "Are you seriously accusing me of something after what you pulled tonight? Flirting with her right in front of me?"

Jungkook smirked, stepping closer. "You noticed."

"Of course I noticed!" you snapped, your voice rising. "You made sure I would."

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Maybe. But you didn't have to leave the party like that, running off again like you always do. It's getting old, Y/n."

"Maybe it's because I can't stand being around you," you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with the force of your anger. "Did you think of that?"

Jungkook tilted his head, studying you. "No," he said quietly, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you. "I think you left because it bothered you. Because for once, you didn't have control, and it drove you crazy."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "You think too highly of yourself."

"Do I?" his voice was a whisper now, low and deliberate, each word wrapping around you like a challenge. "Then why are you shaking?"

You hated him for being right. Hated how easily he could strip away every layer of defense you had built.

"I'm not..."

"You are," he interrupted, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "And it's not because you're angry. It's because you feel something."

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out.

His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before locking onto yours again. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll back off," he said softly. "Tell me you don't feel anything, and I'll stop."

You stared at him, your heart pounding so hard it was almost painful.

But you couldn't say it.

The words wouldn't come.

Jungkook's smile was slow and triumphant. "That's what I thought."

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious, your skin still burning from his touch.

"You're insufferable," you called after him, but your voice wavered, the heat of your frustration blending with something far more dangerous.

Jungkook stopped mid-step, his back still to you. For a split second, you thought he'd ignore you, that he'd let you stew in your own whirlwind of emotions.

But then he turned, slow and deliberate, his dark eyes locking onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey. His steps were measured, each one bringing him closer, the air between you thick with electricity.

"You know what's really insufferable?" his voice was low, almost a growl. "The way you keep running. The way you keep fighting me when we both know exactly how this will end."

Your breath caught in your throat as he came to a stop just inches from you, his body radiating warmth, his presence overwhelming.

"I'm not running," you said, though it sounded more like a whisper than the firm declaration you intended.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of heat racing through you.

The space between you disappeared in a heartbeat. His lips crashed against yours, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The kiss was anything but gentle -wild, desperate, and filled with every bit of frustration and desire that had built up between you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing grounding you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip possessive and unrelenting.

It felt better than anything neither of you could've ever imagined. It wasn't just a kiss -it was a battle, a collision of everything you didn't say, everything you'd tried to ignore.

His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before deepening the kiss. You gasped when he sank his tongue in your mouth, quickly meeting yours at the same time he cornered you on the wall next to the door, his hand gently cupping the back of your head before moving it back to your neck.

You hated him for making you feel this way, for always knowing how to push you to the edge and catch you before you fell.

But at that moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths were ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

"Say it," Jungkook whispered, his voice rough and breathless. "Say you don't feel anything."

You stayed silent, your lips still tingling from his kiss.

But the way your hands lingered on his chest, the way your body leaned into his, spoke louder than any words ever could.

He took your silence as the perfect answer, smirking to himself before he linked your lips together again. His fingers sank in your hair at the back of your head, twirling them on some locks to pull from them and throw your head to the side as he kissed you down your neck.

"You're absolutely everything I've ever fucking dreamed of" he heavily whispered on your skin. "I want to admire you, worship your body and make love to you so you'd meet a devotion you had never seen in your life. But hell... when you look at me that way..." his thumb brushed over your cheekbone "I want to ruin you so bad, show you no one will fuck you so good to make your ears beep so loud you won't be hearing your own pleas when you ask me to stop".

Your kiss grew more passionate, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, when he kissed you again. His hands began to wander, tracing the curve of your back, the swell of your hips. You could feel the hardness of his body against yours, and it sent a thrill through you, craving for something you didn't know you were desperate for. You moaned softly into his mouth, pressing yourself against him, at the same time his hands held your hips to keep your body glued to him.

Jungkook broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck again, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You arched my back, a soft sigh escaping your lips, when his fingers brushed against the little skin that was shown off through the cleavage of your dress. It frustrated you, but it also felt so good the way your body responded to his touch without a resistance, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your bra, your entrance clenching around nothing as you kept waiting to feel him inside you.

When he looked down at you once again, his hands moved down to the zip of your dress, his thumb brushing on your skin while his other fingers slid the material down. He didn't need to ask you, he didn't need to tell you, you helped him take off your dress.

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching. You were definitely better than he could've ever imagined. No light pajamas would ever compare to the vision in front of him.

You reached for the hem of his black shirt, pulling from the buttons to reveal his toned chest. Jungkook had to hold back the growl in his throat when you ran your fingers over the muscles, feeling the heat of his skin, making him sure your fingerprints were burning every inch you were moving through.

He wasn't going to let you take control so easily though.

He lowered his head all of a sudden, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth through the lace of your bra. You gasped, your hands fisting in his hair as a way to control your own self. He teased and suckled, his other hand cupping your breast before he dragged his fingers down with the fabric, exposing the flesh, his thumb rubbing against your nipple before he pinched it with his index. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body aching for more.

Jungkook slipped the straps of your bra off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He took his time, exploring every inch of your body with his mouth and hands. He made you squirm beneath him, he filled your head with pleas you never thought would ever be aimed at him, your body was on fire for him.

You reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly. He lifted his hips to help you, his jeans and boxers coming off in one swift motion. You looked down at him, your eyes widening at the sight of his hard length. He was thick and long, the tip glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips when a sudden urge to taste him overwhelmed you. Was it how sexy he actually was? Or how bad you wanted him to beg for you and finally accept you were in control? Maybe both?

You leaned down on your knees, not wasting a moment before taking him into your mouth. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair as your tongue swirled around him. You sucked and licked, your head bobbing up and down at a tortuous speed. You could feel him getting harder, his hips thrusting gently. You took him deeper when he pushed you lower, your nose brushing against his skin to look up to him.

And hell, if that image wasn't the best sight ever...

He pulled you up with one swift motion, your lips still parted to the size of his length when he crashed his lips against yours again. Your back slammed against the door, and your head banged against it the moment he pulled your panties down and slid two fingers in you. His thumb brushed over your clit gently, slowly, which was opposite to the way his curved digits moved and rubbed against your walls.

He earned another moan from you, and his cock twitched in the air against your body once more.

"Who do you belong to, Y/n? Who owns you now?" his voice was thick and raspy as he whispered. His voice was a mix of cockiness and need to prove you always belonged to him.

The moment you tried to move your head forward to rest on his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around your throat and stuck your head against the wood to keep your eyes fixed on him.

You didn't know what to do with your arms, how to keep yourself on your feet, but you did know you had to keep your eyes fixed on him.

"My love" he almost sang when he felt the way your walls clenched around him and your clit throbbing "I've only been yours" his digits squeezed your throat tighter, unaware of how that dragged you closer to your orgasm.

Your body squirmed and folded under his grip when that hurricane hit you, yet he didn't stop. His movements were more delicate and slower, but he fingered you through your orgasm until he felt your breathing settling again.

Your lips were parted when his wet fingers slid through them, and you blindly obeyed, closing your mouth around his digits to lick every drop of his work of art. Jungkook barely gave you time to let go of them before his lips crashed against yours again, his tongue looking out for yours to taste you directly on it.

You were so addictive.

Jungkook picked you up effortlessly, humming at your legs wrapping around his waist, as he made his way to his bedroom.

When he let you down on his mattress, he couldn't help but admire the way your naked skin stood out so clearly while lying over his sheets, dying to twirl his fingers on those locks spread over his pillow. You brought in him a feral attitude he didn't know was so strong.

You looked up to him, eager for what was to come, your body ready to jump as he kneeled on the bed and crawled to you. His hands parted your legs easily, resting your calves on his thighs when he redirected his length to you.

He rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, making your moan. "You're so wet," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Will you let me fill you up? Hmm?" he looked up to you while still rubbing himself against you "Let me mark you now that you've finally accepted that you're mine".

His words, the idea, the look in his eyes... all of them influenced you to finally nod.

He slid into you slowly, his eyes locked on yours. You gasped, your body stretching to accommodate him. He felt big, bigger than you could've guessed when you took him in your mouth. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, until your hips met and you both moaned with relief.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, giving the two of you time to get used to each other before he began to move, his hips thrusting against yours. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, your moans and gasps echoing around you. You could feel every inch of him, the sensation overwhelming.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours. "So tight and wet." he rubbed his nose on yours. "It was really worth it to wait for you".

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back. "Harder," you whispered, your body aching for more.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing in anticipation.

He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit at the same time his lips found your mouth. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He continued to move, his own body tensing as he chased his own release. You felt him getting harder, his thrusts becoming more erratic. With a final thrust, he groaned, his body shaking as he came deep inside you, his load hitting a deep spot.

You lay there for a moment, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths ragged. He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. And as much as that feeling felt foreign, you didn't push it away. Instead, you snuggled closer to him.

The weeks after that night were nothing like the stormy start of your marriage. Slowly, without even realizing it, you began to lower your defenses. Jungkook softened in his own way, his sharp-edged words losing their sting, replaced by warm glances and lingering touches.

It wasn't love -at least, that's what you told yourself- but it was something dangerously close. You found comfort in his presence, in the late-night conversations you shared after you agreed on sharing bed with him, the stolen moments of laughter, and the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

The night he was officially named the head of the company, the entire building was alive with celebration. People congratulated him left and right, raising glasses in his honor, praising his charm, his brilliance, and his unstoppable rise to power. You stood by his side, smiling softly as he greeted his investors and thanked his board.

But despite the glamour, something felt off. Jungkook was different -detached, colder than usual, like the man you first met. He didn't seem to notice your growing unease.

Later that evening, after slipping away for a moment to get some air, you made your way down a quieter hallway in the building. As you rounded a corner, voices stopped you in your tracks.

It was Jungkook's.

"You're really settling into this husband role, huh?" the voice was familiar -Eunwoo's, you realized after a second.

His tone was light and teasing, but it was what came next that made your blood run cold.

Jungkook let out a low chuckle. "Don't get carried away. This marriage means nothing. It was a deal, plain and simple. I finally got what I wanted"

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a glass clinking.

"And the rest?" Eunwoo asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Sleeping with her?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering painfully in your chest.

"That's just part of the game," Jungkook said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Keeping her close keeps everything in control. She's predictable now. She's exactly where I need her."

Your vision blurred, your mind racing to process what you'd just heard. Every moment you'd spent with him, every touch, every whispered word in the dark -it had all been a lie. A calculated move in a game you didn't even know you were playing.

The sound of their laughter echoed down the hallway, cutting into you like a blade.

You turned and walked away before they could notice you, your steps quick and unsteady. Your chest ached, a painful mix of anger and heartbreak constricting your lungs.

By the time you reached the main hall, the noise of the party felt like a distant hum, your surroundings spinning as you tried to catch your breath.

You thought you had started to know him. You thought maybe, just maybe, there was something real between you.

But you were wrong.

You were nothing more than a pawn in his game -a game you never agreed to play.

The rest of the night at the party, you avoided him like the plague, your attitude a huge contrast to how you behaved when the night had started. Whenever Jungkook tried to approach you, you found an excuse to step away -chatting with guests, refreshing your drink, even pretending to admire the floral arrangements like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Y/n" his voice caught you off guard as you lingered near the exit, your hand brushing the stem of an untouched champagne flute. Jungkook's dark eyes studied you, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on? You've been distant all night."

"I'm just tired," you said flatly, forcing a tight smile. "It's been a long day."

His frown deepened, but he didn't press further. Not yet.

The ride home was quiet -tense in a way that made the air between you feel suffocating. Jungkook sat beside you, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, as if waiting for you to explain what was wrong. But you kept your gaze fixed out the window, your thoughts swirling in chaos.

Once you were back home, you made a beeline for the stairs, wanting nothing more than to put distance between you as you closed yourself back in your room.

"Y/n" his voice was sharp now, demanding. You stopped halfway up the stairs, your hand gripping the banister tightly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze. The man you had once started to trust, the one who had held you so tenderly just nights ago, now felt like a stranger.

"I want a divorce."

The words fell from your lips with a finality that hung heavy in the air.

Jungkook froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," you said, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you. "You finally got what you wanted. You're head of the company now. There's no need to keep up this farce anymore."

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Is that what you think? That this was all just some business arrangement, and now it's over?"

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You've gotten everything you wanted, Jungkook. There's no point in pretending anymore."

"You're unbelievable," he growled, stepping closer. "You want to throw everything away just like that? After everything we've been through?"

You laughed bitterly. "What exactly have we been through, Jungkook? Lies? Manipulation? This marriage was never real. It was just a means to an end for you."

His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And what if it wasn't?"

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him sway you. "It doesn't matter. I'm done."

"You're not done," he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "You don't get to decide that impulsively."

"It's not an impulse," you snapped. "This was part of our deal since the beginning. I've made up my mind."

Jungkook's eyes burned with fury, but beneath it, there was something else -something raw and unguarded. "And when exactly did you make up your mind about it, huh?" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I think it's better for both of us," you said, ignoring the way your heart clenched at the look in his eyes.

But Jungkook wasn't having it. His hand gripped the banister beside you, his body blocking your path. "No," he said firmly. "We're not done. Not until I say we are. And you're not leaving," Jungkook said, his voice steady but barely restrained, his body now fully blocking your path. His gaze locked onto yours, fierce and unrelenting.

"Move, Jungkook," you said through gritted teeth, trying to push past him. "I'm done having this conversation."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist -not hard, but firm enough to keep you from walking away. "No. We're going to finish this right here"

You glared at him, your pulse racing. "What's the point? You made it clear I was just a means to an end. Now that you're head of the company, what reason is there for us to stay married?"

"Because this isn't just about the company!" Jungkook snapped, his voice rising, frustration boiling over. His chest heaved with each breath, and for the first time, he looked genuinely unhinged, like he was losing control of everything he'd carefully built.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "Then what is it about? What part of this marriage was real to you? Tell me!"

His silence was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching your face for something -anything. But no words came.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, and you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Exactly. You can't even answer that."

Jungkook's eyes darkened, his frustration tipping into something dangerously possessive. "You really want to know what's real?" he said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between you. "You." his voice was low, his eyes burning into yours. "Every damn second with you was real"

But for some reason, those words that night felt like the most painful stab at your chest. If there was something clear to you that night, it was that Jungkook never really cared for you, but his own control over you. That idea alone made your head spin, trying to decipher if all of his words in that moment were part of the act as well.

His proximity sent a jolt of heat through you, but you refused to back down. "Words mean nothing, Jungkook. Actions do."

"Then watch me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could say another word, his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that stole your breath. It wasn't soft or sweet -it was raw and consuming, a war between his frustration and desire. His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin.

You tried to fight it, to remind yourself of everything you'd just overheard, but your body betrayed you. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed at you to push him away.

His tongue swept across your bottom lip, coaxing a soft gasp from you, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. It felt like drowning, like falling too fast and too far, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

When he finally pulled back, your hand slapped across his face, making it turn. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, until he finally moved his head back up, his eyes searching yours, dark and unreadable. "You think I don't care?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're wrong."

Your heart thundered in your chest, and for a fleeting moment, you believed him. You believed every word, every touch. But the sting of his earlier betrayal still lingered, refusing to let go.

"I can't do this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Not like this".

Not when you couldn't trust him, or know what he was saying was real or not. Not knowing when he was playing with you or showing off his feelings.

It was too much.

Jungkook's grip on you tightened, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Yes, you can. You're not leaving."

"I don't want to be near you" you let go of his grip once again. "You disgust me. I can't even stand being near you right now. Who knows? Maybe it had always been like that and now that the reason that kept us together is gone I can be honest with the two of us. Be honest with yourself, too".

The next afternoon, sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow across the marble countertops. You sat at the kitchen island, quietly picking at your lunch, your mind still tangled in the events of the previous night. Sleep had been elusive -every word, every touch, every kiss replaying in your head on an endless loop.

You were lost in thought when the sound of the front door slamming snapped you back to reality. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder until Jungkook appeared in the doorway, his expression dark and unreadable.

Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of papers. He strode over to you and threw them onto the counter in front of you, the crisp white pages fanning out across the surface.

Your heart stopped for a second as you glanced down at them: "Divorce Agreement". Signed.

"You wanted this, right?" Jungkook said, his voice cold and biting. "There. You've got it. Congratulations, you're free."

You looked up at him, stunned into silence, your fork frozen in mid-air. His eyes were like shards of ice, his usual warmth completely gone. He looked almost... victorious, but underneath it, you could sense something else, some of his vulnerability was still obvious in his eyes.

"Jungkook, I..."

"You don't need to say anything" he interrupted, his voice dangerously calm. "You made it clear last night that this marriage means nothing to you. So, I'm giving you what you want. No more pretending. No more games."

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you struggled to find your voice. "You think this is what I want?" you finally said, your voice trembling.

"Isn't it?" he shot back, his eyes narrowing. "You were the one who asked for the divorce. I'm just making it easy for you."

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. "You're unbelievable."

Jungkook crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a bitter smirk. "No, what's unbelievable is that you think you can just walk in and out of my life whenever you want. You're the one who pushed me away, Y/n. I'm just giving you the freedom you begged for."

"Don't you dare act like you're some kind of victim here," you snapped, rising to your feet. "You lied to me, acting like you cared, like you were into me. You said you were after me long before all of this happened... Bullshit! You used me for your business, just like you admitted to Eunwoo. But I was dumb as fuck to believe we were more than that".

His eyes flickered with something -surprise, perhaps, or regret- but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same infuriating calm. "So, that's what this is about," he muttered. "You overhear one conversation, twist it in your head, and suddenly I'm the villain?"

"I didn't twist anything," you said, your voice shaking. "I heard exactly what you said. That I'm just a pawn in your game. That sleeping with me was just part of your plan. Hope you enjoyed the bit of control you had while you fucked me."

Jungkook laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. "You really think that's all you are to me?"

"Isn't it?" you challenged, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. "Tell me I'm wrong."

The silence that followed was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, he stepped back, his expression hardening.

"You already made up your mind," he said quietly. "So what's the point in convincing you otherwise?"

Your breath caught in your throat, tears stinging your eyes. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to tear down the walls he had so carefully built around himself in less than a few days. But instead, all you could do was stand there, your heart breaking all over again.

"Fine," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "If that's how you want it."

He nodded once, his face devoid of emotion. "It's what you wanted, remember?"

Annoyed, you reached for a pen, signing up the papers next to him, slamming it against the table before getting up and walking away, leaving the papers on the counter in front of him. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house, and for the first time since the start of your marriage, you felt truly alone.

[jjscrybaby]

hi! can you one with rafe where his girl as asthma — maybe she’s had shortness of breath throughout the day and he can tell she’s not doing ok. or like at night, he wakes up without her and she’s needing steam from the faucet or shower to help her with her attack?

just an idea! i just love when he takes care of his girl xx

rafe cameron x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (asthma attack, cutie pie rafe, rafe being an amazing bf.)

thankyou for the req angel, hope you enjoy this! i don’t have asthma, so i did as much research as i could for this to be accurate so if it isn’t i very much apologise!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Rafe’s eyes blinked open, a soft groan leaving his mouth as he looked over to the window. It was still dark out, he definitely didn’t need to be awake yet. He closed his eyes again, turning over to throw his arm around your waist; his hand landed on an empty bed.

He opened his eyes in confusion, sitting up tiredly to look around the room. It was empty, no one there but him, but the bedroom door was ajar. He groaned again, forcing himself to his feet to go and find you.

The sound of the shower running caught his attention, he quickened his pace as he opened the door to the guest bathroom and stepped inside. You were sat against the bathtub, still clothed, taking sharp, croaky breaths. Steam filled the room, and he instantly knew what was going on.

“Hey, baby,” he cooed, kneeling down beside you. You let out another breath, it sounded painful. “Why haven’t you used your inhaler?”

“Can’t find it,” you croak out, he has to fight the urge to tell you off.

“Okay, baby. I know where the spare is, wait here one second, okay?” He murmured, running a hand through your hair as he stood back up and left the room.

He kept two spares, one in his bedside table and the other in his truck for when the two of you were out. He rushed to the bedroom and pulled open the drawer, grabbing it before making his way back to you. You’re now holding your chest, letting out wheezes and dry coughs.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he urged as he shook the inhaler and then pushed it past your lips. He pressed down on it and you inhaled the medicine slowly. “Good girl,” he praised softly as you breathed it in.

Your breathing slowly went back to normal, your chest loosening and your head starting to feel less dizzy. You leant against his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back. You’d felt off all day, breathing had been difficult but not difficult enough for you to mention anything to Rafe.

“Why didn’t you wake me, huh?” He asked, reaching over you to switch the shower off. “Hate the thought of you strugglin’ in here by yourself.”

You looked down at your hands, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Didn’t want you to be mad that I lost my inhaler.”

“Silly girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple. He stood up and helped you to your feet, arm wrapping around your waist to lead you back to bed. “We’re gonna get a designated spot, yeah? You need that shit, y’know that.”

“I know,” you pouted, leaning your body weight on him.

He hummed, laying you down in bed before crawling in beside you. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist, tugging you backwards so you were fully in his arms.

“Next time, you tell me. What kinda boyfriend am I if you’re doin’ this shit alone?” He reprimanded, leaving open kisses to your cheek to soften the blow of his telling off.

“Promise,” you nodded, holding onto his hand that was wrapped around you.

“Get some sleep, baby. Know you must be tired out,” he urged.

He stayed awake until he was sure you were asleep, and he made a mental note to come up with a plan so you’d stop losing your damn inhaler. He just couldn’t bring himself to properly tell you off, not when it means he gets to take care of you.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

bonus i came up with when finding the header pics (i don’t want to talk about how long it took me to make, someone lmk what app they use for fake messages pls)

[rafecameronssl4t]

One Big Misunderstanding || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Tensions rise when an innocent comment about a missing bracelet sows doubt between you and Rafe, sparking suspicions of infidelity.

Warnings: ANGST GALORE

Word count: 2,711

A/n: inspired by the perfect couple on Netflix 😛

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

The sunlight streamed through the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the drawing room, casting a warm glow on the pristine marble floors. You sat perched on one of the luxurious cream sofas, a curated array of diamond necklaces sprawled elegantly across the glass coffee table before you.

Across from you, Eloise, your private jewellery consultant, adjusted her notepad, a professional yet friendly smile playing on her lips. “Madeline, sweetie, no touching, please,” you gently reminded, catching your daughter’s small hands as they reached out eagerly for the sparkling treasures.

Her curious blue eyes, so much like Rafe’s, widened in innocent protest before she giggled, retreating to your lap with a playful pout. Eloise chuckled softly, waving at Madeline. “Someone has quite the eye for jewels already,” she teased, her gaze fond as Madeline shyly buried her face into the folds of your dress.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing Madeline’s hair back as your fingers glided over the dazzling collection. “I don’t think it’ll be too long before she’ll be in my position,” You softly say. The newest designs shimmered under the light, each more stunning than the last. “They’re all exquisite,” you sighed, lifting a delicate piece encrusted with diamonds.

“But I think I’ll take this one, and…” Your eyes roamed over the display again, settling on another necklace with an intricate design. “This.” “Excellent choices, Mrs. Cameron,” Eloise praised, jotting down notes in her leather-bound book. Her tone brimmed with approval, and her smile didn’t waver as she looked up.

Madeline squirmed in your lap, reaching up to tug at the simple necklace you were already wearing. You adjusted her gently, holding her small hands to keep them still. Eloise glanced up from her notes. “Did you like the bracelet Mr. Cameron gave you?” Her tone was casual, but her words made you pause. “Bracelet?” you echoed, your brow furrowing.

Your voice held a slight edge of confusion as you looked at her. “The gold bangle with the pavé diamonds,” she elaborated, glancing up with a look of delight. “Rafe spent so much time picking it out for you.” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious as she beamed. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, your mind racing.

You had no idea what she was talking about. A heavy silence lingered for a moment, and you felt the weight of Eloise’s expectant gaze. “Oh! The bracelet!” you quickly feigned recognition, a forced smile stretching across your face. “Yes, of course. It’s lovely—he knows me so well.” Your voice sounded light, but your heart sank as the lie left your lips.

Eloise didn’t seem to notice. She rose gracefully, tucking her notebook under her arm. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you next month, Mrs. Cameron,” she said cheerfully, giving you a polite nod before heading toward the door. You stayed seated, your posture still and tense as Madeline babbled happily on your lap.

The silence of the room closed in around you once Eloise left, leaving you to wrestle with your thoughts. Rafe had bought you a bracelet? Why hadn’t he given it to you himself? Had he left it somewhere, expecting you to find it? Or had it been an afterthought, something he had no time—or desire—to present personally?

The questions swirled in your mind as you absentmindedly stroked Madeline’s hair, your gaze fixed on the glittering necklaces on the table. As much as you tried to push it aside, the confusion, and a small pang of hurt, lingered.

~

Later that night, you sat before your vanity, the familiar routine of your skincare ritual grounding you in a semblance of normalcy. The soft hum of the bathroom light and the gentle swish of creams and serums felt like a small act of defiance against the questions that kept circling in your mind. The bracelet. Rafe’s strange omission of it.

The way Eloise had mentioned it so casually, as though it was something you should’ve known. You brushed the thoughts aside, telling yourself you were overreacting, but they lingered, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. The bedroom door creaked open behind you, and without turning, you saw Rafe in the reflection of your mirror.

Still in his suit, looking as polished and untouchable as ever. You didn’t acknowledge him, continuing with your skincare, your movements slow and deliberate. “Busy day?” you asked, your voice flat, more out of routine than affection. His response was distant, lost on you as you remained absorbed in your own thoughts, the quiet hum of your routine enveloping you.

The bracelet. “How was the jewelry showing?” he asked, his voice still detached, but something in his tone caught your attention. You glanced up at him briefly through the mirror. His eyes were on you, studying you with a faint trace of curiosity. “It was good,” you mumbled, your focus wavering again.

Rafe’s brow furrowed as he watched you, sensing the lack of the usual excitement you carried after these showings. His fingers paused at the buttons of his shirt as he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Did you… pick anything you liked?” he asked, his tone slower now, as if he was gauging your mood, sensing something was off.

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, your voice empty, devoid of any real emotion. Before he could continue, you stood up abruptly, tightening the robe around your body more than necessary. The familiar movement felt like a barrier, an armour you could slip into. “I’ll just make myself some tea,” you said, the words sounding rehearsed, like you were already running from the questions.

You didn’t spare him another glance as you walked past him, leaving the room without another word. You descended the stairs mechanically, but instead of following the usual route to the kitchen, your feet took you in the opposite direction, towards Rafe’s office. Your heart pounded as you approached the oak door, glancing over your shoulder to ensure no one was watching.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, the room still and quiet in its untouched state. The room was a sharp contrast to the chaos in your mind. Your eyes darted to his desk, and instinctively, you moved toward it. You knew Rafe kept everything meticulously in order, and his drawers were always locked. But tonight, your curiosity outweighed your caution.

You pulled open the first drawer, then the second. It was the third one that caught your attention. As your fingers sifted through papers, your eyes landed on a familiar logo—the jewelry shop. Your pulse quickened as you pulled it free, finding a receipt tucked between papers. The words on the page seemed to mock you as you read, Rafe Cameron, the date, and the item listed: Nature Bangle, Pavé, priced at $18,000.

A photo of the bracelet accompanied the receipt. The image burned itself into your mind—elegant, delicate, and undeniably expensive. Your breath caught in your throat, and your mind spun. You quickly shoved the receipt back into the drawer, snapping it closed. The weight of what you’d seen was suffocating, the overwhelming question taking shape in your mind.

Was Rafe cheating on you? The thought gnawed at you, its edge cutting deep. You had been with him long enough to believe that something like this wouldn’t happen. But the pieces didn’t fit. Rafe had always been… Rafe. He wasn’t the type to hide things, or at least, you never thought he was.

The doubts began to creep in, unsettling your thoughts, but before they could settle into a clear conclusion, you stood up from the desk and made your way out of the office.

~

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. You sat on the plush sofa, coffee in hand, its warmth grounding you as you watched Leo and Madeline play on the rug before you. Their laughter filled the room, a soothing balm to the unease still simmering from the night before.

The sound of Rafe’s footsteps descending the staircase pulled your focus, and soon enough, he rounded the corner into the living room, his presence unmistakable in the tailored suit that hugged his frame. Despite the domestic setting, he still exuded the same composed, businesslike energy he carried everywhere.

“Jordan told me your schedule was clear for today,” you remarked, your voice calm but inquisitive as you tracked his movements. “Hm?” Rafe hummed in response, crouching slightly to press a kiss to the top of both Leo’s and Madeline’s heads. The gesture was effortless, automatic, and yet it made your chest tighten—a cruel contradiction to the doubts swirling in your mind.

“I said, Jordan told me your schedule is clear today,” you repeated, watching him carefully as he straightened, his gaze finally meeting yours. A small, almost nonchalant smile tugged at his lips. “Last-minute meeting, that’s all,” he replied smoothly, brushing off the question as if it were of little consequence. His tone was casual, but it didn’t sit right with you.

You cocked an eyebrow, your expression neutral but sharp enough to suggest you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll be back before three,” he added quickly, as though the reassurance might settle you. Without waiting for a response, he stepped closer, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek. The gesture was familiar, practiced, and yet it felt hollow.

You remained still, your eyes fixed straight ahead, your coffee cooling in your hand as his cologne lingered in the air. “Drive safe,” you murmured, your voice even but distant. You didn’t look at him as he pulled away and adjusted his cufflinks. The sound of his footsteps retreated, leaving a subtle void in the room once he was gone.

~

The door to your bedroom creaked open, and Rafe stepped in, his movements deliberate but calm. Your eyes lifted from your phone, following him briefly before drifting back to the glowing screen in your hand. “They’re asleep,” he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with exhaustion. You hummed in acknowledgment, barely lifting your gaze as he moved toward his side of the bed, shrugging off his jacket and placing it neatly on the chair by the window.

Rafe climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He leaned back against the headboard, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and letting out a quiet sigh. The silence between you felt heavy, the kind of quiet that wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t quite confrontational either. You placed your phone down on the nightstand, your fingers brushing its edge before folding neatly in your lap.

The glow of the bedside lamp softened the room, but it did little to ease the tension you felt knotting in your chest. “Are you cheating on me?” The words left your lips before you could stop them, your voice sharp yet trembling, slicing through the quiet. “What?” Rafe’s hand froze, his body stiffening as he turned to look at you, his tone laced with shock and disbelief. His brows furrowed deeply, searching your face for an explanation.

“Are you cheating on me?” you repeated, softer this time, the vulnerability in your voice stark against the tension building in the room. His lips parted, words stuttering for a moment before he finally asked, “What are you talking about?” You sat up straighter, folding your arms as you exhaled shakily. “The bracelet, Rafe.” The words were laced with hurt as your eyes locked onto his, watching the colour drain from his face.

His expression shifted—confusion, then understanding, and finally a look that you couldn’t quite place. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes began to water, the emotional floodgates breaking against your will. “Eloise mentioned it. She said you spent so much time picking it out, but I never got it, Rafe,” your voice cracked slightly. “So, where is it? Who is it for?”

Rafe ran a hand down his face, the exhaustion in his eyes now replaced with something akin to guilt—but not the kind you feared. He pushed himself up against the headboard, facing you fully. “It’s not what you think,” he said firmly, his voice low, almost pleading, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside you. “Then explain,” you demanded, your voice trembling with a potent mix of anger and sorrow.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, hot and relentless, and you swiped at them quickly, unwilling to appear completely undone. But your composure was already fractured, and Rafe could see it in your glistening eyes and the slight quiver of your lip. His silence was unbearable. The hesitation hanging between you wasn’t just a pause—it was an admission, a crack that threatened to shatter everything you’d built together.

It cut deeper than words ever could, leaving a hollow ache in your chest. “Explain,” you repeated, your voice firmer now, laced with urgency. “For the sake of our children, for our marriage, Rafe. Tell me what I’m supposed to believe right now.” He ran a hand over his face, his usual confidence, his composed exterior, seemed to falter under your gaze. For once, Rafe Cameron looked unsteady.

“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” he muttered, his voice low. You blinked, your breath catching. “What wasn’t meant to be like this? Stop talking in circles and just tell me.” Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt your chest tighten with the weight of your fears. Rafe exhaled sharply, finally looking up at you. His eyes locked onto yours, their usual sharpness softened by something unfamiliar—regret, perhaps.

“The bracelet,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “was supposed to be a surprise. For you.” Your brows furrowed as you tried to process his words, your heart racing. “What?” He leaned back on the headboard, his hands clasped together. "It’s… for our anniversary. I wanted to give it to you then. I even had it engraved.” His voice wavered, and he shook his head.

“I thought I was doing something thoughtful, but I should’ve just given it to you right away. I didn’t think it would—” He stopped, the weight of your reaction sinking in. You stared at him, your mind reeling. His explanation had knocked the wind out of you, leaving you unsure whether to feel relief or frustration. “You… were planning to give it to me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.” He looked at you earnestly, his expression softening. “I didn’t realise it would make you question everything. That’s on me. I’m sorry.” Your tears slowed, but the tension in your chest lingered. “Why didn’t you just tell me that when I asked? Why make me feel like I was losing my mind?” Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought you’d laugh at me, or brush it off as something meaningless.

You don’t exactly make it easy to do… sentimental gestures.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, but it held a hint of frustration. You exhaled slowly, processing his words. The weight of your accusation settled heavily on your shoulders, mixing shame with residual doubt. “You should’ve told me,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm. “And you should’ve trusted me,” he countered gently, his tone not harsh but pointed.

“We can’t keep doing this—assuming the worst about each other.” You looked away, your throat tight as his words sank in. Perhaps he was right, but the wounds of mistrust weren’t so easily healed. “I just… I don’t want to be a fool,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. “Not for you, not for anyone.” Rafe turned his head, his hand reaching over before settling on your knee. “You’re not a fool,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

“You’re my wife. And I know I don’t always get it right, but I need you to believe that I’m trying.” You met his gaze, searching for any flicker of insincerity but finding none. His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, and for the first time that night, you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. “I’ll believe it,” you whispered, the words tentative but genuine.

"But you have to meet me halfway, Rafe. No more secrets. No more hesitation.” He nodded, his grip on your knees tightening briefly in silent agreement. “Deal.”

[colormepurplex2]

Golden Cufflinks | JJK

▻ Golden Cufflinks ↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ Best Friend's Fiance, Strangers to True Mates ⤜ A/B/O AU | angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 11,742 ⤜ Summary: You’ve never given much thought to finding your true mate, firmly believing it’s something that will happen when it happens. But, when you do find him—thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks—it very well could ruin everything. They say not all’s fair in love and war; you just hadn’t expected your best friend’s wedding to be the battleground. ⚠️ Crass language, talk of designation hierarchy, mild talk of misogynistic practices of the past, confessions of cheating(not by main pairing), anger/arguments, kissing, dick sucking, mild cum intrigue, maybe mild breeding kink if you squint, unprotected v. sex, knotting, lots of slick and cum

Written for @hisunshiine as part of the 2nd Quarter 2023 @bangtanwritershq Awards Season! A/N: Congratualtions, Vanessa. You deserve all the kudos for a job well done during the 2nd Quarter 2023, I hope you enjoy the story!

A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi, @lo1k-diamonds, @moonleeai for the amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Nerves flutter in your belly as you gather your belongings from the plastic bin at the end of the rolling conveyor belt on the other side of security. As you walk away, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you have to juggle your purse and jacket to retrieve it.

You feel bad for making Hayun, your best friend for as long as you can remember, wait for a response, but you desperately just want to find your gate and have a seat first. Once you find it and settle in at a chair by the big windows looking out on the tarmac, you thumb to her contact.

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you right now for making me wait so long for a response,” Hayun sasses before her voice softens, “Hello, I love you.”

“Love you, too, girl,” you say, unable to help the smile that tilts your lips up. “Sorry, I’ve been MIA for the last few hours. Things have been hectic. I misplaced my passport this morning, but I finally found it under the bed and then missed the hotel shuttle. I had to call a rideshare, but of course, it took them forever to get through airport traffic, and ugh…” you trail off with a sigh. “I’m sitting down for the first time since I woke up this morning.”

Which was approximately four hours ago at this point. Your flight is set to take off less than an hour from now, so you imagine boarding might start soon. You’re not exaggerating when you say it’s been hectic. It was bad enough waking up at 3 AM, but you’re a chronic planner and stickler for time, so missing your flight was the absolute last thing you wanted to happen.

“Oh, babe, that sucks. I’m glad it’s all worked out, though. I really can’t wait to see you!”

The conversation passes quickly, easing your heart and mind as you catch up on the last twenty-four hours. You haven’t seen Hayun in a handful of years. Her career took her to the other side of the world, and yours kept you where you both grew up. The last time you saw her was through a haze of tears at this very airport when she boarded a plane destined for Seoul, South Korea, where she was adopted from at just two years old.

Visiting each other was always something you both talked about. But, as with most things, life just happens, and eventually, you find yourself making that visit you always talked about for reasons you never considered before—like your best friend tying the knot with a guy you’ve never met.

Sure, you’ve seen pictures of him and have heard him talk in the background of most of the phone calls you’ve exchanged with Hayun over the last few years. But, it was never on your friendship bingo card that the next time you’d find yourself seeing your best friend, it would be her at her wedding.

“I gotta go. They’re about to start boarding.”

“I’ll see you when you land. Can’t wait!”

Hayun disconnects the call, and you gather your belongings to prepare to line up in the boarding queue. It will be a long flight, but seeing Hayun again after so long apart will be worth it.

You fiddle with the bracelet on your left wrist, twisting and pinching at the silver moon charm dangling from the thin chain. Hayun has a matching one. They were presents from your parents on the day you were both recognized with your designations; she was thirteen, and you were fifteen.

The dynamics of Alphas and Omegas have long since changed from what it once was. Legend has it that once upon a time, an Alpha and an Omega were closer to their wolf-kin than how the world is now. Thanks to evolution and science, the only things remaining from that time are the more basic bodily functions—scents, knots, and slick, to sum it up.

The crescent charm on your wrist symbolizes your designation—Omega. But being an Omega doesn’t hold much meaning for you. You don’t feel all that special, and it’s not like you’re rare or any more or less capable than the next person. As it stands, you can see at least a dozen other moons jangling from bracelets, waiting to board the same plane you are.

There are also necklaces, tattoos, and other ways to display a designation scattered around the waiting area. The how of it is mostly regional, sometimes generational. The Beta standing behind you in the queue has a teardrop earring dangling from their left ear, and if it weren’t for the pheromone blockers you took this morning, you might be able to smell their unique scent.

You also have your own smell, a scent that is just you. You’ve been told it’s a sweet, citrusy bouquet like lemonade on a hot summer afternoon. However, also thanks to the blockers, it remains suppressed to the point someone would have to make you bleed or press their nose so firmly against your throat it hurts to smell it.

There really is only one thing that a lot of people are envious of when it comes to an Omega’s designation, and that is that they supposedly have an Alpha true mate out there somewhere that will call to their baser nature. It’s such a rare phenomenon these days that it might as well be part of the legends of old, too.

The bottom line is that no one cares about subgenders anymore; it doesn't matter whether your charm is the Omega crescent, the teardrop of a Beta, or the triskelion denoting an Alpha. In fact, you’re pretty sure you could ask the Beta for their earring and offer them your charm bracelet and no one would bat an eye over it.

Though you’d never do that, considering the chain around your wrist isn’t technically yours. The night after you presented as Omega, when you snuck away with Hayun to lay on a blanket under the stars and moon that was so like the charm hanging from your twin bracelets, you giggled as you exchanged them. Her tiny fingers trembled against your wrist as she secured her silver chain around it. You did the same with your own around hers a second later.

It was that night that you both swore always to be friends. No matter what happened in life or where either of you ended up, you would always remain true to one another. So far, your friendship has been unfailing, a constant thread of comfort and light for you both. No matter how long it’s been, the charm still smells faintly of your best friend—a perk of the charms themselves, holding a token essence of their owners. Hers holds a soft lilac and jasmine scent that you’ve always thought complimented your own citrus notes.

The flight attendant scanning boarding passes beckoning you forward breaks you out of your internal reflections. With a full heart and giddy anticipation curling in your belly, you find your seat and settle in.

It’s a long flight, longer than most flights you’ve taken. But when you finally walk off the plane, make it through customs and immigration, and finally empty into the arrivals terminal of the Incheon Airport, you feel immediate relief, and the hours spent in the air don’t seem so bad.

“Hey, over here!” a familiar voice calls out, catching your attention.

You spin on your heel, confusion setting in for just a moment before it’s replaced by another wave of relief and a little of something warmer. Taehyung, Hayun’s adopted brother, swamps you in a giant bear hug that quite literally sweeps you off of your feet.

“Wow, hey. This is a surprise. What are you doing here? Where’s Hayun?”

Taehyung scrunches up his face, letting out a small scoff. “It’s a good surprise, I hope. Something came up, and she had to meet with the wedding planner and caterer at the last minute. She called me and asked if I could pick you up.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah,” you confirm with a smile. “Good surprise.”

It’s no secret that you’ve always been fond of Taehyung. As a baby, you were toddling around with him long before his family adopted Hayun. She ended up being the sister you never knew you needed, even if you were a few years older.

When she moved to Seoul for work, Taehyung ended up being the physical representation that took her place. He flew out a week before you to help her with planning and will stay for a few weeks after you’ve already headed back home. They may have had their differences over the years, but their sibling bond is stronger than petty arguments and rivalries.

“Ready to get on the road? It’s a long drive.”

Hours later, with the rolling countryside and farms dotting the horizon, you discover the fiasco inside your backpack. The bottle of pheromone blockers you packed this morning somehow got shuffled to the bottom of your bag and popped open. The once-powder-filled capsules litter the bottom of your bag, broken open. Pale blue powder coats your things, the mild flower smell of the medicine lingering in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you groan. “Any chance there’s a clinic somewhere between here and where we’re going?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He frowns, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, making the triskelion signet ring on his index finger glitter in the mid-day sun. “We’d probably have to turn around and head nearly three hours back to get anywhere near a clinic with blockers. I'm told most people don’t use them anymore these days here. Maybe another one of the wedding party might have some you could borrow if you really need them. But, honestly, I don’t see anyone minding if you don’t use them.”

“Most people here don’t use them anymore?”

“Well, yeah, with the progression of equality and things like that. They’re so great here, way more progressive than back home. It’s very common for Omegas to go off of blockers or never even begin them. Laws have been implemented to punish Alphas who can’t control themselves. The responsibility of remaining safe shouldn’t be solely set on the shoulders of the Omega population.”

Talk like that has only recently become popular back home. You’ve heard the speeches and followed the media and the sources, but you suppose after nearly half of your life taking blockers, it just comes naturally to continue to do so.

“Hm, yeah, okay. I guess it’s no big deal, really. As long as you’re sure people won’t mind?”

Taehyung sniffs the air, his nose twitching. “I think you smell great, but just in case not everyone does, if someone says something, then I’ll personally drive all the way back to the city and pick you up some,” Taehyung promises, giving you one of his swoon-worthy smiles.

The crush you once upon a time had on Taehyung threatens to spark anew at the sight of his charming, boxy grin—a grin you would have once done anything to pull from him. But now, it just fills you with warmth and a homey comfort.

You give him a smile of your own. “Deal.”

“Hayun!”

Her squeal of delight when she turns around and catches sight of you echoes through the open space of the dimly lit bar of the bed and breakfast where the wedding is taking place.

It’s a cozy space with rich dark wood accents and royal blue velvet upholstery. Brass gas lamps and light fixtures give the entire lounge an upscale and chic atmosphere that you know is right up Hayun’s alley.

The few hours you had between checking in at the bed and breakfast and meeting Hayun for her very small—just you and one other person—bachelorette party were spent familiarizing yourself with the grounds.

The ceremony will take place in one of the lavish gardens, and the reception will follow in one of the grand dining halls. For a bed and breakfast, it’s far fancier than any you’ve ever been to. It definitely does not have the mom-and-pop feel that you typically associate with the term ‘B&B’.

“You’re here!” she shrills, throwing her arms around your neck.

Her petite form fits just like it always has against yours. Thick black hair, shorter than the last time you saw it, curls around the rounded lines of her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright and glisten with happy tears. With her bubbly personality and small, wispy frame, she's always reminded you of a fairy.

You sigh, taking a deep breath and savoring your best friend's soft, floral scent. Thanks to the bracelet tinkling around her wrist, it holds the smallest undercurrent of your sweet citrus. Clearly, she’s not taking blockers; the scents are heavy and delightful. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Hayun sucks in a deep breath that mirrors yours. “Wow, babe, you smell good! Finally gone off the blockers, huh?”

“Uh, kind of,” you chuckle, untangling yourself from her arms. “I brought some, but they broke open in my bag at some point.” You shrug. “Tae said it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s not. Absolutely not,” Hayun agrees, grinning broadly. “I’ve been off them for years and haven’t had a single issue. Come on, let’s have a drink and catch up!”

You settle in at a table, and it’s not long before Eunseo, Hayun’s other guest, joins you. You’ve heard a lot about Eunseo. Much the same way Taehyung took the place of Hayun for you, Eunseo took your place for Hayun. You half expect to feel some sort of friendship jealousy upon meeting Eunseo for the first time, but it doesn’t come. If anything, you’re immediately fond of the young woman.

The evening carries on, Hayun and Eunseo regaling you with tales from working together and their various adventures around Seoul. Eunseo shows genuine interest in your life back home, seeming eager to hear stories of Hayun’s childhood. She shows a particular interest in Taehyung, asking you in no certain terms more than you think is appropriate to share.

“But you’ve seen it, right?” Eunseo asks. Her elbows rest on the table, and her chin is nestled on her clasped hands, her eyes wide and glassy from the countless glasses of wine she’s had. “I bet it’s huge. Am I right?”

“Ugh,” Hayun groans. “Can we not talk about my brother’s dick. Please.” She makes a gagging sound before slurping down the rest of her cocktail and flagging down a passing waiter for another.

You try to wave off the waiter, but he’s turned toward the bar before you can get his attention. If Hayun has much more to drink, you’re not sure she’ll be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow unassisted.

“I’m just curious. It’s a harmless question,” Eunseo pouts. “Ignore her. Tell me. I just have to know.”

You swirl the straw around in your glass of water before giving Eunseo what you hope is a conspiratorial look. “Well—”

“What?! Ew. Are you really about to answer her? Please, dear god, do not tell me you have seen my brother’s penis. If you’ve seen it—fuck, I might actually puke.”

As much as you probably shouldn’t, you laugh, which earns further protests and obscene noises from Hayun.

“Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that maybe Eunseo should ask him herself.”

Hayun howls a protest, sloshing her new cocktail onto the table as she gesticulates a crude hand gesture in your direction. “Do not. I repeat, do not do that, Eunseo!”

The conversation peters off, Hayun losing herself in another cocktail while Eunseo stares dreamily up at the ceiling.

“I think—hiccup—it's bedtime,” Eunseo slurs.

As if right on cue, a familiar face peeks through the entrance to the lounge. You wave Taehyung down, and he comes jogging across the space to your table. His shirt is rumpled with the top few buttons undone, but his eyes are clear, and you know he’ll be a perfect gentleman.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, pitching your voice low.

“I got this, don’t worry. We finished up a few hours ago anyway.”

Taehyung gives you a warm, private smile before turning to Eunseo. “Hey there, beautiful. Let’s get you on to bed, okay?”

“Where’s my savior?” Hayun asks, frowning after her brother escorting Eunseo from the lounge and back through the front lobby.

“Right here,” you tell her, sliding out of your chair and coming around to her side of the table. “Come on, let’s go.”

It takes you more than twice as long as it usually would to get to Hayun’s room. She leans against the wall in the hall as you dig through her pockets in search of her room key. Once you find it tucked between a few stray bills and her ID, you usher her into the room and deposit her onto the bed.

Her fiance has a room on the other side of the grounds, but after the ceremony, they will both be moving into one of the couple’s suites for the night before jet-setting off to Jeju Island for their week-long honeymoon.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Hayun’s question catches you off guard. You throw a confused look at her over your shoulder as you rummage through her suitcase in search of something for her to sleep in.

“What?”

She sighs as she rolls over, letting her head hang off the edge of the bed so she can look at you upside down. “Marrying Jungkook. It’s a mistake…so why am I doing it?”

“Hayun…what are you talking about? Jungkook is perfect for you. You guys have been dating for five years, and you told me you’ve never been happier. Where’s the mistake in that?”

The sound Hayun makes is akin to something a wounded animal might make. She flops, flailing her arms and legs like a child throwing a fit.

“That’s the thing, though! I’m happy, but I don’t love him. Oh god,” she cries. “I don’t love him.”

“Hey, hey now.” You abandon the search for sleeping clothes and crawl across the floor until you’re kneeling beside the bed. Smoothing your hand across her forehead, you ask, “Where is all this coming from?”

“He thinks I’m his true mate,” she whispers. The tears leaking from her eyes slide up her face, wetting the edges of her eyebrows before sliding over her forehead and disappearing into her hair. “But I know he’s not mine.”

“Wh—wait, what?” You push up from the floor and move onto the bed, gathering your best friend’s head into your lap so she’s no longer hanging upside down off the side of the bed.

She hiccups a sob, lips trembling as she explains, “He says I’m his true mate, that he knows because of my scent. But he doesn’t smell special to me…how is that possible?”

“Hayun, I don’t—”

“I cheated on him,” she whimpers in confession, cutting off what were going to be your soothing words of affirmation. They sour on your tongue, refusing to be released now.

Your stomach churns at her admittance. “You what?”

“You have every right to judge me. I’m a terrible person. But, when he told me I was his true mate…I panicked. I had to be sure I wasn’t broken, that me not finding his scent special wasn’t just something wrong with me.” Hayun blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears as they begin to come in earnest. She clutches at the front of her shirt, hand fisting over her heart. “So, I slept with two Alphas that I work with to see if it was any different. I had to be sure. I had to know.”

“Hayun, I-I-I don’t…I’m not—”

“I’m such a fucking mess,” she sobs, curling in on you and pressing her face against your stomach. “I don’t deserve him. I only said yes to marrying him because I don’t want to be alone forever. I can’t be like you. I need someone.”

Her words sting, causing you to flinch involuntarily. You watch as she falls apart in your lap, ultimately giving in to her grief. It’s on the tip of your tongue to call her out on her childish behavior, to set the record straight about your own love life, and to leave her to her wallowing. But…the shaking of her shoulders and soft whines from her remind you so much of a younger and more fragile Hayun—the Hayun of your shared childhoods.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” No matter how you might feel about her actions and the hurtful words she’s spilled, you hate to see your best friend so distraught and broken. “Hey, look at me.”

You wait until her watery eyes peel away from your shirt and meet yours. “Tell me you hate me; it’s okay.”

“Hayun, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You made…a mistake, that’s all. You were trying to figure things out. But…Hayun, you…you have to tell him.”

She frowns up at you, her expression sobering. “Tell him?”

“He’s about to marry you, Hayun. That’s a big freaking deal…you have to tell him tomorrow morning before anything else happens.”

The laugh that bubbles from her lips is anything but humorous. “I-I can’t do that! He’ll hate me. He’ll call the wedding off!” She shoves out of your lap and stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“If Jungkook truly loves you and says you’re his true mate, I don’t see that happening. But, he deserves to know. You have to know that. Either you tell him now, or he finds out years from now, and then it’ll be so much worse,” you try to reason with her.

“He doesn’t have to know!” she whisper-yells, her tears turning from sad to angry in an instant.

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing from her. “This isn’t right, Hayun. You can’t go into a marriage with someone with secrets like that!”

“It’s not like it’ll happen again. I’m not going to cheat on him while we’re married. Please,” she begs, her face once more softening into saddened anguish. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“He deserves to know, Hayun,” you whisper, remembering your own keen sting of betrayal from many years ago. There is a reason you don’t date much. “You say it won’t happen again?” you ask, trying to buy yourself some time to process everything Hayun just told you.

Her silence is deafening, and you think she’s about to not answer you the way you hope, but, finally, she murmurs, “No. Never. I swear it.”

“Okay. Okay, good. But, he still needs to know.”

Just because you’ve never actually met Jungkook, it doesn’t mean you don’t care for him. He’s the one who puts a smile on Hayun’s face when you can’t. He’s the reason she’s as happy as she is…or has been? Now, you’re not so sure. But, what you are certain about is that Hayun is far too drunk right now to know up from down and is just having a moment of raw vulnerability.

“Are you going to tell him?” she asks, voice a hoarse whisper.

You chew your bottom lip for a moment before slowly shaking your head. Thinking about it, even if you didn’t care for Jungkook, he still deserves to know on pure principle. “No. I won’t tell him.” She lets out a soft sigh of relief, which has you tacking on, “Because it’s not my place to tell him, it’s yours.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Okay.” She doesn’t say anything more beyond that, falling into a listless stupor, all of her energy sapped from the quick argument and endless cocktails from the bar.

After you wrestle her out of her clothes and put on a long nightgown, she tucks easily into bed. You leave a glass of water on the bedside table for her, then exit the room and head to your own.

A pang of uncertainty refuses to quell in the pit of your stomach. You toss and turn most of the night, falling into a fitful sleep just before the sun begins to kiss the horizon. It’s going to be a long day…a battle of wills you never saw coming.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook

Today is the big day, and Jungkook couldn’t be happier. Nothing could possibly bring him down from the high he’s feeling. Not even the fact that he is unable to find the cufflinks that were passed down to him by his father.

“Did you check the pockets of all your pants?” Jimin, Jungkook’s best friend, asks from where he’s lounging in one of the chairs on the other side of Jungkook’s hotel room.

“Yes,” he mutters, dumping his entire suitcase onto the bed to rifle through it once again. “I remember putting them with the pile of Hayun’s—oh fuck.”

“That’s great,” Taehyung sighs. “So my sister probably has them.” He checks his watch. “We don’t really have time to go on a scavenger hunt through her room. Jimin and I are supposed to meet the photographer to get started on some of the bride and groomsmen shots.”

Jungkook purses his lips and rakes his hands through his hair as he thinks of a solution. “I’d go look myself, but what if I run into Hayun between here and there? She specifically requested that we not see each other until the ceremony.”

Taehyung hums lightly. “I think I have an idea. The other girls don’t meet for pictures until after we’re done. So…yeah…okay…done,” he murmurs, tapping away at his phone screen. “If they’re in Hayun’s things, they’ll be delivered to you soon.”

“Thanks, Taehyung, you’re a lifesaver.”

Minutes later, Jungkook finds himself alone, Taehyung and Jimin having gone to meet with the photographer. Somewhere out there, beyond the confines of his room, his fiancee is probably smiling and laughing as she poses in front of the camera. If only Jungkook could see through walls. He’d give anything for even just a little glimpse of his bride-to-be.

When Jungkook first met Hayun almost six years ago, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to track her scent. The meeting he was heading for was instantly forgotten, replaced by a visceral need to discover the source of that titillating aroma that had his hindbrain firing on all cylinders.

Never before had Jungkook experienced something so…primal. It was both alarming and utterly fascinating. Amongst the harsh scents of car exhaust and the warm notes of roasted coffee, Jungkook wove his way through the crowd on the sidewalk to the doors of a little cafe; Hayun was inside, ordering a matcha tea to-go, and the rest was history.

Jungkook sighs, forcing himself to stop daydreaming and fiddling with his shirt's empty cuffs and focus on putting together the rest of his suit.

The scent hits Jungkook a moment before the sound of a soft knock reaches his ears. He’s standing in the ensuite bathroom, mid-skin care routine. Wiping his wet fingers off onto a towel, he draws in a deep breath to confirm the aroma wafting to him from beyond the door of his room.

A roguish smirk quirks up one side of his mouth as he exits the bathroom and moves across the room. Unable to help himself, he opens the door. “Hayun,” he chuckles, fingers wrapping around the doorknob, “I thought we agreed that you…you are not Hayun.” The words tumble from his suddenly numb lips, rasping past his too-dry tongue.

“Umm, no. Not Hayun, sorry. You’re Jungkook?”

The woman standing before him is clearly not his fiancee. The woman’s purple gown is familiar, Jungkook knowing it’s what Hayun chose for her attending party. You’re a friend of Hayun, clearly, yet you smell exactly like Hayun…if Hayun smelled like Hayun times a thousand. The fragrance slams into his olfactory system, and the edges of his vision grow blurry a moment before he shakes his head and steadies himself with a hand on the doorjamb.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice raspy with his suddenly dry throat. Revelations pounding him right between the eyes, washing through his body and keying right into his most basic of instincts.

Jungkook watches as your nostrils flare, and he knows it’s in that moment that you register his cedar and lavadin scent; the scent that marks him for what—who—he is.

“Jungkook,” you repeat his name, and he wants to howl with delight at how it sounds coming from your lips. “No. You can’t…it’s not—” your voice cuts off a second before you drop the small, black leather box you were holding and turn, disappearing in a flash of violet tulle and silk.

🥀🥀🥀

“Stop! Wait, please!” The shout of your name follows you down the hall, but you’re too focused on getting as far away from him and the feelings threatening to overwhelm you as you can.

“No, no, no,” you chant under your breath as you move as swiftly as the slippered feet will allow you to go without tripping yourself up.

It’s clearly not fast enough. It only takes a few frantic beats of your heart before a firm grip on your elbow draws you to a stumbling halt. The touch is electric, and your skin flushes with goosebumps at the heated contact.

“Don’t run,” Jungkook pants. “Please.”

You wretch your arm from his grip and whirl on him, a sharp remark ready on the tip of your tongue. Only, it dies there, never to be uttered, as your heart thumps violently in response to the look on his face—pure anguish.

Your voice is thread-thin as you finally manage to get words out, “This can’t be happening.”

Jungkook’s brow twitches, his lips tucked between his teeth. His emotions are stark on his face, and the conflict is raw and bare to you. Clearly, he’s warring the same as you, maybe even more so.

“Why do you smell like Hayun?” he asks, his voice soft in contrast to the raging storm you see in his eyes. “Why do you smell more like my true mate than she even does? Is this some wicked, cruel prank?”

You shake your head, intentionally drawing a breath through your mouth in hopes of saving your nose from another assault of his perfect scent. But, instead, his flavor laces over your tongue and slides down your throat to sit like a knot in your belly. You might as well have licked a stripe up his neck for all the good that did.

“I-I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to keep the pool of saliva under your tongue from dripping down your chin.

Jungkook steps closer to you, leading with his nose. He sniffs the air around you and something must not sit well with what he discovers because he rears back and bares his teeth. “Of course,” he mutters as his eyes drop to your left wrist.

Your eyes track his movement as he scoops up your wrist in a loose grip, and you realize it’s the bracelet there that has his attention. Everything clicks into place, and you feel like the faintest breeze could sweep you away with how lightheaded you’re feeling at this moment.

“We traded,” you whisper as if speaking low enough means the admission won’t utterly destroy the world as you know it.

“She’s not my true mate,” he states, voice as low as yours, fevered and quiet. “You are.”

Those words punch you in the chest, nearly taking you to your knees. If it weren’t for the hold Jungkook has on your wrist, you’re sure you’d be in a heap on the floor. As it is, he catches his other arm around your waist as you sway on the spot.

“Y-you shouldn’t.” Your protest is stilted, the words feeling robotic and unnatural as you gingerly press a hand against the arm that’s angled around your ribs. It was your intention to push his touch away, but the most you accomplish is flexing your fingers against the smooth cotton covering his thick bicep.

Somehow, you find yourself back in the room you had fled from just a few minutes ago. Jungkook settled you on the bed and is now pressing a chilled water bottle into your hands.

He kneels before you, headless of putting wrinkles in his black dress slacks. He’s wearing a thin white undershirt, his starched white button-up undone over it. The cuffs of the sleeves flop as he brings his hands into his lap and picks at the edges of his thumbnails.

Your eyes rove the room, catching on the black leather box still sitting on the floor by the door where you dropped it. Inside the box is nestled a pair of golden cufflinks—a pair you now understand have been passed down through the generations of Jeon men.

Absently, you press your thumb to your phone, unlocking it to reveal the text message that has irrevocably changed your life forever.

If you had known Taehyung’s text message requesting help would have led you to where you are right now, you’d probably have ignored it.

Yet, at the same time, if you had, you’d probably have had this revelation with Jungkook in the middle of the ceremony, and it would have caused all sorts of untoward chaos. No, it’s far better that it’s happening now instead of later. Maybe you can get ahead of this and fix it somehow. Though…

“Hey? You okay?” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts. “Fuck, that’s a stupid question. Sorry.”

“Huh? Oh. Umm…yeah. I don’t—what do we do now?” You turn your phone over, finger ghosting over the power button to lock the screen once more.

Jungkook sighs, and you can’t help watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, framing the swell of his defined chest with the action. He’s an exquisite specimen of masculinity, and even if it weren’t for the musky notes of his scent that mark him as your true mate, you’d find him devastatingly attractive.

“We need to tell Hayun. I c-can’t…I can’t marry her. Not when I’ve found—” he cuts off, wincing as his voice breaks. “I should go and find her. Now, before this can go any further. I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Wait,” you call after him. He stops halfway to the door and glances back at you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we tell her together?”

Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek a moment, his eyes flicking over your face as he thinks through your suggestion. Slowly, he nods. “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best.”

There is palpable tension between you and Jungkook as you follow behind him out of the main building. He texted Jimin, knowing he’d be the most reliable with his phone on him, asking where the photos were currently taking place.

It only took a few minutes for Jimin to respond that they were almost finished but were currently capturing some group shots on the walking path by the lake on the backside of the property.

You’re vaguely aware of where the lake is located, having given the map of the grounds that was posted on the backside of your room’s door a cursory look the day you arrived. It’s a relatively short distance, yet it feels like miles with the weight of pure dread sitting firmly on your shoulders.

At least it’s not a feeling you’re experiencing alone. Jungkook is right there with you, and you can clearly see the unease in the stiff way his body moves. The tips of his fingers twitch back in your direction every few steps like he’s fighting off the urge to slip them between your own.

The first person you catch sight of is Yoona, the photographer. She’s squatting in the grass, her large DSLR camera held up to her face, as she captures candid moments of Hayun, Taehyung, and Jimin repositioning themselves along the lake's edge.

Your heart squeezes hard at how beautiful Hayun is in her form-fitting silk ivory, off-the-shoulder wedding gown, the lacy bell sleeves fluttering around her hands. Her head is thrown back, the peel of her carefree laughter carrying to you and further crumbling your soul into a million pieces. You ache, not just for the desire to draw closer to your true mate, but for the inevitable aftermath of what is about to happen.

Taehyung is the first to notice you and Jungkook. The smile on his face slowly disappears, replaced by a concerned frown. Hayun catches his expression and follows his line of sight. Her gaze sears into you, and you feel like you might combust into a cloud of ash at any second with the irritation contained in her pretty brown eyes.

“What’s going on?” Hayun exclaims, throwing her hands up in a frustrated manner as she stalks towards you and Jungkook. “It’s not time for your photos yet,” she tells you before her eyes swing to Jungkook. “What happened to not seeing me before the wedding? That was your rule!”

“Hayun, we need to talk.”

“Talk about wh—” she cuts off, her question turning into a gasp. Your wide eyes flick to you. “You told him?”

“What? No!”

Your protest rings out at the same time that Jungkook says, “She’s my true mate.”

A breeze kicks up, sweeping from behind you and tossing errant strands of hair across Hayun’s forehead. You’d give anything for the power to pluck the wind from the air, shove it back…keep it from showering her with yours and Jungkook’s combined scents—a blatant confirmation echoing the words Jungkook just let loose.

Hayun stiffens. Her jaw goes rigid, and her face pales as her nostrils flare. It’s a moment that will be forever written across the band of your friendship. Betrayal flashes through her eyes before morphing into something akin to somber resignation.

“Hayun,” Jungkook begins. “I don’t—we didn’t…I’m sorry. What do we do?” He spreads his hands out in front of himself in a helpless manner.

By this time, Jimin and Taehyung have come up from behind Hayun, faces wary as they take in the scene with growing clarity. You look to Taehyung, hoping he can see the silent plea in your eyes.

“Explain,” Hayun says simply. Despite how collected she seems, you can see the subtle tremble in her hands and the way the muscles in her neck continue to flex and strain as she clenches and grinds her teeth.

Jungkook launches into recounting the events that brought you to his room and broke the proverbial dam. “We—we had no idea. I swear this is the first time we’ve ever met, and gods, the bracelets…” Jungkook trails off, a pained sound rumbling from his chest.

“Is this a joke?” Taehyung asks accusingly, and it’s like a barb to your heart.

“We wouldn’t do that.” Your croaked statement draws Hayun’s attention.

Hayun sniffles, her chin jerking a little higher into the air. “My nose tells me one thing, but my heart tells me another. Did you know about this last night? Is that why you pushed so hard for me to tell him?” The last part is whispered, meant only for you, which hurts even more.

“Hayun, no! You know that’s impossible. I couldn’t have known.”

“Tell me what?” Jungkook asks, having heard despite her whisper, his eyes swiveling between you and Hayun.

You shake your head at him, not wanting to throw further fuel on the fire. “Hayun, please, believe me.”

A pregnant moment full of thick tension passes before it fizzles, and Hayun shakes her head, not in a dismissive fashion but in gentle acceptance. “I believe you,” she tells you. “I guess…I guess there won’t be a wedding in four hours unless you two want…” She trails off, a bittersweet smile tugging at her cherry red painted lips.

Jungkook blanches, wide eyes landing on you. “What? Us? No. I mean, sorry…but—”

Hayun holds up her hand, quelling Jungkook’s flustered response. “I was teasing, Koo, trying to lighten the mood. Um,” she pauses, absently twisting the diamond engagement ring around her finger before slowly slipping it off and closing a fist around it. “Can we talk, though? There’s something I needed to tell you today anyway.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says wearily.

“Tae, do you mind…?” Hayun asks, not even having to fill in the blanks. Her brother instantly steps into his role as protector and savior.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll make some phone calls,” Taehyung assures her before grabbing Jimin’s arm and starting back down the walking path.

“I’ll just—” you thumb over your shoulder in the direction Tae and Jimin just disappeared in “—be in my room.”

“Wait,” Hayun calls, pulling your retreat up short. “Come here.” She opens her arms, her hands opening and closing in grabby motions. “Please.”

A sob cracks from your throat as you throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I’m so sorry, Hayun. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush. None of that. This isn’t anything we could have predicted or stopped from happening. If anything, maybe this is life’s way of getting back at me for what I did to him,” she whispers in your ear. “This is how it’s meant to be.”

Hayun smoothes a hand over your back and releases you. She steps back, using the back of a finger to lift the tears from your cheeks, and gives you a watery smile.

You’re not sure you can speak without completely losing yourself, so you just give her a tight nod and continue back on your way down the path. A part of you wants to hear what she has to say to Jungkook, to be there to soothe any hurts or aches…which is a startling realization that you’d not just tend to Hayun but to Jungkook, too. That internal, visceral part of you yearns to turn on your heel and…protect what’s yours.

It’s an odd revelation to think of Jungkook as yours. Well, yours unless either of you reject the bond. Though, that thought makes your stomach pitch and roil. You have to trail a hand along the wall in the hall leading to your room to keep yourself from curling over your abdomen at just the idea.

Once back in your room, you’re unsure what to do with yourself, so you absently start to gather your belongings and pack them up. Every few minutes, you find yourself pausing to stare at the door, ears pricking at the slightest sound from beyond it.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting. Whether it’s Hayun coming to your room so the two of you can cry together or Jungkook coming to claim y—uh, you shove that thought aside quickly because now is not the time. At. All.

The time for the wedding comes and passes without a single knock on your door nor a text or call on your phone. You’re tempted to go looking. For what, you’re not entirely sure—an answer, maybe, some sort of direction on what you should do now.

Finally, after hours of sitting in silence with just your thoughts for company, a soft knock sounds at your door. The long hem of your dress nearly trips you up in your haste to make it to the door. It swings open, and for some reason, your stomach drops, the flutter of disappointment heavy and unexpected.

“Hey, beautiful,” Taehyung says, his voice soft and full of emotion. “Mind if I come in?” 

His necktie is loose, and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. There is a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier. It makes your chest ache.

“Sure,” you say, stepping back and letting him into your room.

Taehyung sighs, perches on the end of your bed, and props his elbows on his knees. His chin rests on an upturned fist, his other hand dangling between his legs, clutching his phone.

He opens his mouth, a single word the only thing coming out, “So.”

“So,” you parrot.

“Hayun wants me to take her home…alone. I’m not sure what all she and Jungkook talked about, but I think they’re at least amicable in agreeing that it would be best if he gave her a few days at home alone before they start the process of separating their lives.” You’re not sure if the bitter tinge in your chest is hurt because Hayun isn’t the one telling you this or because now you have to find your own way to the airport. As if reading your thoughts, Taehyung continues, “I can be back in two days, maybe sooner, depending on traffic. Perhaps they’ll let you extend your stay. If not, I can talk to Jimin—”

“No, Tae, it’s okay. I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Hayun, make sure she’s okay...as okay as she can be, at least. Fuck.” The last word comes out choked, and you gnash your teeth on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting the angry tears out. You have no right to be angry. Hell, you’re not even sure why you’re angry. It just seems like the easiest emotion to feel right now, the only one that doesn’t leave you feeling like your world is slowly imploding.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, bringing one of his big hands up to cup the side of your face. His thumb prods at the swell of your cheek, causing you to release the tension in your jaw. “Hayun isn’t the only one I’m worried about here.”

“I’m fine—I will be fine,” you amend. “I promise. I think I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I’m mad at myself for ruining Hayun’s big day. I can’t believe this is happening at all. This…this just doesn’t happen. This is the kind of shit you read about in books, it’s not supposed to be real life.”

And there it is, you surmise—the truth of the matter. None of what’s happened makes sense. It honestly belongs on the pages of a book or in a movie script, not in your real life. It still feels surreal. If it weren’t for the subtle, lingering ache you instinctively know is associated with finding your true mate but not allowing yourself to fully accept it, you’d think this was all some elaborate party trick or impractical joke.

Taehyung smiles at you, but the unease in his eyes can’t be masked that easily. “I’m not sure what to say or what to do. You’re right. This isn’t a situation I think anyone was prepared for or ever thought possible, actually. But, here we are…and we have to face it the best way we can.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I'll tell you what: I’ll text Jimin—he’s a good guy, I think you’ll enjoy his company—and ask him to meet you in the lounge. Have a few drinks, wind down, and try to relax as best you can.”

“Sure,” you say lamely, trying to muster up at least a little bit of enthusiasm.

“That’s my girl.” Taehyung offers you another smile, this one not so tense. “Here, I have something for you.” He fishes into his pant pocket and produces a familiar thin silver chain, a tiny crescent moon dangling near one end.

The sight has your spine straightening. “Right, of course.” You quickly thumb open the clasp on the bracelet around your wrist, letting it fall from your skin for the first time since you put it on when Hayun gave it to you all those years ago. It never felt right to take it off…not until now.

Taehyung helps you swap the bracelet with the one in his hand. The metal feels cold against your skin and you immediately miss the subtle fragrance of Hayun’s scent clinging to your wrist. Though, you suppose that’s what has gotten you both into this mess to begin with. Taehyung explains in soft words how Jungkook explained to Hayun about the scent mix-up with the bracelets—such a silly, seemingly insignificant thing…the catalyst to spark such a colossal moment.

“I’m going to get on the road with Hayun, but I’ll call you as soon as we get to her place and check in on you, okay?”

Sitting at the bar with Jungkook’s best friend seemed like a good idea when Taehyung first presented it to you. But, at the time, you weren’t connecting the dots that Jimin was Jungkook’s best friend. He was just Jimin, the guy that just so happened also to be part of the wedding party that you had met in passing briefly, but he seemed like a good enough person. Now, however, you feel all the awkward tension radiating right between your shoulder blades, emphasized by the silence lingering between the two of you.

You traded in your lilac dress for jeans and a light silk blouse, canvas slip-ons in place of your slippers, yet no matter how comfortable you know your clothing is, you can’t shake the prickling discomfort eating away at the back of your neck.

“Want another?” Jimin asks, nodding to your mostly watered-down rum and coke. It’s barely late afternoon, and as much as Taehyung’s suggestion of a drink sounded like just what you needed, you’ve found yourself not in the mood to drink after all.

“Um, nah. I’m okay, thanks.”

“Cool. Okay. I’ll be right back.” Jimin drums his fingers on the tabletop and pops his lips before giving you a slight head nod and pushing up from his chair.

You watch as he saunters to the long bar, his crescent moon tattoo on the nape of his neck peeking out from the top of his collar, and props his elbows onto the shiny top. His smile is flirty and casual as the bartender, a beautiful woman with long, inky tresses and fiery red lipstick, sidles up in front of him.

They’re too far away for you to hear their conversation, but her tinkling laughter carries across the space, and you know it might be a while before Jimin returns to your table.

Which you’re okay with. Considering you know you’re not exactly pleasant company right now, you don’t blame him one bit. You glance down at your phone, once again reading the last text message Hayun sent you not too long ago.

Eunseo stopped by the lounge around the same time Jimin showed up. If her smile and lingering hug were any indicator, she clearly had a thing for him. She gave you a small wave goodbye before giving Jimin another hug and heading out. Apparently, she was going to follow Taehyung and Hayun back to Hayun and Jungkook’s place to help Hayun with whatever she needed over the next few days.

Does it hurt that your best friend is relying on someone else, her new best friend? Yes. Do you also understand why? Also, yes, but that doesn’t make the sting hurt any less.

You’re just about to give up and retreat back to your room, which the front desk still hasn’t given you a definitive answer about whether or not your stay can be extended while you wait for Tae, when a shadow falls across your table a second before.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Jungkook asks in a low voice.

He fidgets, threading and unthreading his fingers together while he waits for your answer. The suit he had half on earlier is gone, and in its place is a dark pair of jeans, the knees worn fashionably, and an oversized white graphic t-shirt. Black sneakers peek out from the rounded bottoms of his pant legs.

You clear your throat, forcing your eyes away from his and instead on the glass sitting in a puddle of condensation on the table before you. “Oh, I—uh, I was actually about to go. You’re welcome to the table, though. Jimin was—” You cut off, realizing Jimin is no longer in the lounge at all. “Well, he was here,” you add with a frown.

Jungkook scratches a hand across the back of his neck and gives you a hesitant smile. “Yeah, he texted me. He went…well, that doesn’t matter. Could we, um…can we talk?”

“Yes.” The response is out of your mouth before he even finishes asking. “Please, I think I’d like that,” you say, nodding toward the open seat across from you.

A shaky breath rattles from Jungkook as he eases into the empty seat. “Have you talked to Hayun at all?” he asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“A text message, but that’s all. I’m not sure she wants to talk to me right now.” Needing something to do with your hands, you trace a finger along the edge of the water pooled around the bottom of your glass and use your other to poke more drops on the side of your cup, making them race down to join the growing puddle.

Jungkook nods, his lips pursing thoughtfully. “She told me what happened last night. Her confession.” That draws your attention back to him, and you wait, fingers still on the glass, intent on hearing what he says next. “I thought I’d be angrier finding out the woman I’ve been with for years—the woman I was hours away from marrying—had cheated on me…but I’m not. For the life of me, I’m not mad at her…even though I know I should be.”

“How do you feel?”

Maybe it’s none of your business, but you have to ask.

Blowing out a breath, Jungkook slides one of his hands across the table and, giving you plenty of time to protest or pull away, slowly slides his fingers between yours, effectively joining his hand with yours. It’s the first time hand-holding has felt so intimate yet wholly innocent.

“Relieved, I think,” he finally says. “Grateful, maybe? Hayun was hurt. As she has every right to be, but she said she also felt relief, too. I think, as much as she said she loved me, she was still holding back even in the end.” With a rueful shake of his head, he tacks on, “We were just a disaster waiting to happen, held together only by the thin chain of a bracelet. We would have shattered eventually.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to where your fingers are entwined with his, trailing up to your wrist to land on the object he just spoke of.

“I’m relieved, too,” you whisper. Your eyes meet his as he glances up, and you’re instantly captivated.

This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to really study Jungkook. His hair is tousled like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. You suppose he probably had been and wonder if that’s one of his nervous ticks.

The bow of his lips is prominent and draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on his lips, making small mental notes at everything you see, like the tiny beauty mark under his bottom lip. His straight nose leads you to his expressive eyes, so dark and full of secrets you want to be privy to.

To say Jungkook is handsome would be a gross understatement. You’re not sure if it’s the fact he’s your true mate or just simply a gorgeous being, but he is pleasing to the eyes, that’s for sure.

You mentally kick yourself for thinking such thoughts about your best friend’s almost-husband after everything that has just happened. It’s not in good taste to entertain these thoughts so soon, right? True mate or not.

Yet, you can’t shove those thoughts away completely.

“Where did you go just now?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head and studying you intently.

Not wanting to explain yourself and the thoughts you were just having, you choose to ask him a question instead. “So, what now?”

You’re thankful Jungkook doesn’t push you to answer. He shifts in his seat and withdraws his fingers from between yours.

“I think we start with…” he trails off, a playful smile tugging up the side of his mouth as he holds the hand he pulled back in the air in front of you in offering. “Hi, I’m Jungkook.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you smile. A laugh escapes you, and you instantly feel a thousand times lighter with that simple action.

As you take his hand back into yours, allowing yourself to truly savor the feel of his skin against yours, you realize that no matter what happens with Hayun or the fact that you live thousands of miles apart from Jungkook…everything is going to be okay and maybe you wouldn’t have ignored Taehyung’s text after all.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook, 3 months later

The flight was long but worth it. Jungkook stretches as he climbs out of the Uber he took from the airport. You would have picked him up. In fact, you are supposed to pick him up…just, not until next week. He decided to surprise you by coming early. He hopes you don’t mind.

Time seemed to drag to a near stand-still following that fateful day at the bed and breakfast where he was so sure he’d be joining his life with Hayun’s officially. No one could have anticipated what actually went down that day. But, in the end, he and Hayun parted ways on pleasant terms, and it’s actually thanks to her that he’s here right now, a week early.

Jungkook was worried that with everything that happened, yours and Hayun’s friendship might suffer. But, surprisingly—and thankfully—you guys have been getting on great. Hayun has been looking at work prospects in Thailand but, from what you’ve told Jungkook, is planning to visit you and Taehyung for Christmas.

It’s been three months, and not a day has gone by that Jungkook hasn’t talked to you in some capacity. From the moment he offered to be your ride to the airport, and you agreed, he’s thought about nothing other than getting on a plane and following you. The draw to you is just that strong.

You’ve expressed similar feelings, already having planned a return trip to Seoul next month. Neither Jungkook nor you have really talked about what the future holds or how to even begin to navigate it. But Jungkook hopes that during the week he is here, you can both begin to figure that out.

Giddiness makes his tattooed fingers shake as he reaches out and grasps the brass knocker on your door. He gives it a rap against the thick wood and waits. Jungkook counts the breaths as his anticipation rises. It’s only three and a half exhales before he hears the soft pad of your feet on the other side of the door.

Jungkook can imagine you pressing up onto your tip toes in order to peer through the peephole. He’d pay money to be able to see the look on your face when you see it’s him. Not being able to see your face doesn’t take away from the dopamine rush he gets when the sound of your surprised squeal sounds through the door.

“Jungkook!” Your shout is followed by the frantic sound of you disengaging the locks on your door before you swing it open and launch yourself at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Oh, my gods! Why didn’t you tell me? You’re here!”

It feels good to laugh, but it feels even better to have you in his arms finally. The brief embrace he shared with you at the airport when he dropped you off was not enough and is what drove him to try and come sooner than planned.

Jungkook savors the warmth of your soft body pressed against his, your arms tight around his neck. Running one of his hands up your spine, he clasps the back of your neck and uses his hold there to angle your head away from his neck so he can look you in the face.

“Surprise,” he whispers. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You sigh dreamily, your eyes fluttering closed for a second like you’re savoring the feeling of being in his arms. “Pleasant surprise,” you murmur with a smile on your face.

Jungkook can’t help himself. He wants so badly to know if your smile tastes as good as he thinks it will. The press of his lips against yours causes you to melt against him, a throaty sound escaping around the intrusion of his tongue as he works it between your lips.

“Your taste,” he groans, forcing his mouth away from yours before the allure of you can drive him completely mad. Who is he kidding? He’s already there. “I need more.”

🥀🥀🥀

Those words do something to you.

I need more.

They echo the thoughts you’ve been harboring for the last three months. You’ve ached with those words, desperately willing yourself to be patient and let it happen when it’s meant to happen.

But, fuck, it feels so good to have him in your arms, to have his mouth brushing against yours. He tastes divine, a warm sweetness that compliments the musk of his scent that is slowly wrapping itself around you.

“Take me. Take it all,” you urge, completely baring yourself to him, body, mind, and soul. “I’m yours.”

It’s a frenzy, the frantic discarding of clothing. Your fingers work to free him of his jeans while also helping him with the criss-cross straps of your lounging romper. You don’t care that you’re still standing by your front door, bared down to your underwear. The only thing you’re focusing on now is how Jungkook holds you at arm's length and drinks you in from head to toe.

“You…are…everything.” The way he whispers those words crawls under your skin, rooting itself deep in your being. You feel sexy…desired, and unbelievably empty—your body clenches, the ache deep between your thighs. You’ve never been so turned on from just taking your clothes off before, from whispered words and a heated look.

Jungkook allows you to undress him as slow or as fast as you want. You try to take your time and savor every inch of skin you expose. But, you can barely contain yourself when you get to his jeans, shoving them unceremoniously down his thighs with your eyes locked on the many planes and angles of his toned chest and stomach.

Your fingers ghost over his skin, eliciting goosebumps in their wake as you explore the smooth and lush expanse of his shoulders and down his arms. Without needing to say anything more, he gathers you into his arms and covers your mouth with his once more.

It’s a miracle you make it to your bedroom. But, seeing Jungkook sprawled out on your bed is a sight you’ll never forget, with his lowered lids and bottom lip caught between his teeth. You want to taste every inch of him, from the tips of his ears down to the defined muscles of his calves.

Now, though, your gaze focuses on the front of his tented boxer briefs. The dark grey material has darkened even further, where you can see the distinct outline of the head of his cock. Saliva pools in your mouth.

You crawl on the bed, knees slotting between his, your hands on either side of his hips. With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and mouth gently at the wetness. You moan at the flavor of him, your tongue peeking out to seek more.

“Fuck,” you curse. “You taste so good.”

Jungkook lets out a quick breath. “You can’t say shit like that, baby girl. You’re going to make me lose it.” He flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, his lips moving like he’s sending up a silent prayer, before looking back down at you. “You have maybe three seconds before I can’t hold back any longer and tear that ass up.”

You chuckle softly, pouting out your lips in a faux sullen manner. “Yes, sir.”

That earns a growl from Jungkook that has heat racing down your spine as you hook your fingers into the band of his Calvin Klein’s and pull them down. He lifts his hips, helping you free him from their confines.

His cock stands so pretty before you, the full heft bobbing against his belly, smearing a pearl of precum against his golden skin. You dive in, licking at the sticky mess before taking the tip between your lips and lavishing your tongue over his slit.

Jungkook fists the sheets, a litany of curses falling from his lips. “Please,” he chokes.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you inch your way down his length, your jaw forcing itself wider to accommodate as much of him as you can. The blunt head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. You take a steadying breath in through your nose before forcing yourself a little further until your throat constricts around him and you have to pull back.

The second your mouth leaves his cock, saliva stringing from your lips to his tip, Jungkook grabs you and hauls you up over him. You laugh, loving the heat emanating from his body as yours covers his.

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

His strong hands land on your hips and tangle in the band of your panties. “I need these off. Please. I need you. I want to feel you…be inside you.”

You want that, too, you realize, your body already primed and begging for it. The sweet, fragrant notes of your arousal saturate the air, mixing with Jungkook’s to paint a picture of hedonism and wanton desires.

The rest of your clothes come off, your bra and panties are tossed to the side, leaving you utterly bare to him. Your inner thighs slide like velvet over his hips as you move your body against his until you can feel the press of the head of his cock against your entrance.

You wrap a hand around his base, angling him perfectly. It’s a slow descent into madness, the lowering of your body onto his. His eyes bore into yours, pouring out everything that has been building to this moment, this pinnacle that will forever throttle you onto a different path for your future—with him. You can feel every perfect inch slide along your walls as they adjust and welcome him. It’s like sliding home; he is the perfect fit for your body, filling you completely.

The pace you set, at first, is languid. An easy rise and fall of your hips as you both learn the body of the other. Jungkook’s hands mold around your breasts, his thumbs caressing over the pert points of your nipples.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, emphasizing your words with a generous roll of your hips. “So much better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it often?” he asks, a teasing tone to his words.

With the amount of teasing photos and videos you’ve shared with each other over the last few weeks, he knows you have. You can tell he’s just giving you a hard time. That’s fine, because you can…

Jungkook throws his head back as you arch yours, letting his cock hit that special place inside that has you both seeing stars. “Fuck!” His hands drop to your hips, landing with a satisfying smack. His grip tightens, dimpling the supple flesh around his fingers. “Can I knot you?” he asks with a breathless moan. You’ve never taken an alpha’s knot. The idea has your body pulsing around his, flooding slick onto his pelvis as you continue to roll your hips. “Fuck, baby girl, do you like that idea? You want to take my knot like a good girl?”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, much less answer him. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a panting keen, your chin jerking up and down as you frantically nod your want.

Jungkook braces his feet against the mattress and uses his grip on your hips as leverage to thrust upward, sending you forward onto your hands. He’s relentless, pounding into you from below to the point your eyes roll back, and you have to squeeze them shut. Tiny pinpricks of light burst behind your lids as your body coils tighter than ever before.

You cry out as he sends you over the edge, your body careening into an unfathomable abyss of pleasure. The sounds coming from around his cock as it pounds into you are slick and obscene, debauched yet wholly satisfying. 

“Alpha, need your knot,” you mewl, your lips finding the triskelion tattoo over Jungkook’s left pec muscle. You nibble at it, your teeth sinking softly into the skin.

“Oh, baby, fuck…fuck…Fuuuckkk!” Jungkook shouts, the sound turning into a guttural snarl as his body goes primal.

He seats himself completely inside of you with one final, deliberate thrust, and then you can feel the swell of his knot capture within you. It hurts, your pleasure turning into a moment of pain and panic. You squirm, trying to lift your hips from his, but the clasp of his hands on your body won’t let you go far. You whine, “J-Jungkook.”

“I know, baby girl, I know. Relax. Let your body do what it needs to do.”

It’s like those words unlock some inner Omega part of your brain, and suddenly you feel your body rush with endorphins and dopamine as it accepts the thick jets of his cum now flooding in. Like administering a drug, it’s such a fast transition that you feel lightheaded and giddy, sheepish and almost silly over your moment of panic.

“Gods, that feels so…good.” You wiggle in his arms, gasping as his knot pulls tight. You want more, need more of that feeling…need more of his cum. “More, Alpha, please.”

Jungkook pants, a tired smile on his face. You can feel it when his cock pulses inside you, dribbling even more liquid heat into your body in answer to your plea. “That’s my pretty girl,” Jungkook coos, brushing a hand across your forehead. “You’re so beautiful taking my knot, full of my cum.” He curses softly, reverently, and another gush of heat fills your body. “I’m going to take such good care of you. I swear it.”

You fall into a half-sleep, content and sated as you are. There are no worries about the future, nor the past. You are happy…all thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks.

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2024-11-05 ColorMePurplex2

[ridingreeves]

𝖯𝖾𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒❣︎

𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝖼𝗄＆𝖲𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗌❣︎

𝖩𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝖼𝗄

Penthouse in New York with floor-to-ceiling windows and a closet full of high-end designer everything.

Black card access — no limit, no questions. You want it? You got it.

Gifts arrive in velvet boxes and matte black wrapping, usually with no note… just the knowledge it’s from him.

⸻

You’re untouchable. Every whisper of danger disappears before it reaches your door.

You don’t have to look over your shoulder — he already did, and the threat’s handled.

That subtle man watching you from across the street? He’s your bodyguard, sent by John. You didn’t even notice when he was hired.

⸻

Dinner at private clubs, drinks at bars that don’t have a name — only coins and codes.

Everyone knows you’re his, and that means they treat you like royalty (or stay ten feet away).

⸻

You’re not the only one he spoils — his dog loves you too.

You get to see the softest side of him when he’s on the floor, playing with dog, “He likes you more than me.”

⸻

Cold to the world, but warm to you. Protective. Possessive. Obsessed.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does? Every word is measured and meant.

He’s all rough hands, tailored suits, and that look — the one that kills men but melts you.

⸻

There’s something intoxicating about being kept safe by someone who can destroy the world if you cry.

He’ll wipe blood off his hands and still kiss you like he’s been gone for years.

That gun on the nightstand?It’s always there, just in case.

𝖬𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖽

He’s calm. Too calm. That kind of slow-burning, you-don’t-know-what’s-coming calm.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t fumble. He touches you like he’s memorizing. Like he’s mapping every inch just in case he never gets to again.

But when you push too far—bite his lip, pull his hair, say something smart—he flips the switch. Real quiet. Real fast. And suddenly your back’s on the mattress and he’s in full control.

⸻

Doesn’t say much, but when he does? Your knees go weak.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Say it louder.”

“Good girl.”

And that raspy voice? He’ll murmur filth in your ear mid-stroke, all while keeping that same unreadable expression—like he’s watching you come undone for him.

⸻

His fingers are careful—on your face, your hips, between your thighs. Gentle when he holds you, cradles your jaw.

But once you’re ready? He doesn’t hold back. Deep, steady strokes. Focused. Deliberate. Like he’s trying to ruin the memory of anyone before him.

⸻

He kisses like it’s the last time. Fucks like it’s the only time. Holds you after.

He’ll lay you out, strip you slow, and just… look. Take it in. Eyes scanning like you’re art.

And when he finishes? He doesn’t leave. He wipes you down. Pulls you in. Lets his hand rest on your lower belly like a claim.

⸻

He’s not loud about it. But you know when he’s claiming you.

Marks you—hickeys, bite prints, handprints. Doesn’t say why, doesn’t ask permission.

Anyone even looks at you the wrong way the next day? They feel it.

𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾

Your rent? Handled. Your car? Upgraded. Your closet? Looks like a store.

You mention a bag once and it shows up in three colors the next day. “Didn’t know which one you wanted. Keep all three.”

Even your lip gloss stash is stocked like a Sephora aisle—because “I like when your lips shine when you talk back.”

⸻

Pulls up in a blacked-out Range Rover, music bumpin’, blunt in hand. Passenger seat is yours. Always.

He opens your door. But only after checking his gun. “Just in case, baby.”

Late-night food runs in pajamas, windows down, his hand on your thigh the whole ride.

⸻

Nobody talks to you slick. Nobody looks too long. Nobody plays with your name.

If someone even thinks about disrespecting you? Smoke handles it before you can blink. “Don’t trip, mama”. Just like that, He handled it.

You don’t need pepper spray. You’ve got Smoke.

⸻

“You mine, right? Say it.” (You say it every time. You love how he says mmh after.)

“Why you walkin’ like that? I ain’t even go deep yet.” (Lies. He did.)

“You too pretty to worry ’bout bills. That’s my job.”

⸻

The lace you wear? For him. But it doesn’t stay on long.

Rough, slow, or possessive—it depends how long he’s gone without you.

Morning head. In the kitchen. anywhere. “You don’t even gotta lift a finger, baby. I got you.”

⸻

You in the club? He watching you like a hawk. Letting you dance—but just enough. “Alright now, that’s it. Bring that ass back over here.”

Stack and Sammie clown him, but never you. Not once. You’re off-limits.

girls hate. men stare. But no one can touch the pedestal you’re on.

⸻

He buys flowers, secretly.

He’ll press a kiss to your temple and mumble, “You my home, you know that?”

And when it’s just the two of you? He’s soft. Real soft. “Come here, let me rub your feet. You been walkin’ too much.”

𝖬𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖽

Not too soft, not too rough… but just the right kind of dangerous.

Smoke’s bedroom game? Lethal. He’s not all slow strokes and tender kisses all the time—but he’s not full-blown feral either (unless you beg). He lives in that middle space—where control and chaos meet. Where your body sings and your brain short-circuits. Where he ruins you just enough to make you come back crawling.

⸻

He moves like he’s been there before—because he has. But he never treats you like a routine.

It’s the way he grips your thigh with one hand, cigar still burning in the other, telling you, “Keep still. You actin’ like you don’t know who this is.”

Sex with Smoke feels like R&B in a dark car… windows fogged, bass thumping, and nothing but tension.

⸻

He’ll bend you over without warning, yeah—but then rub your back while he’s deep inside, breathing all heavy against your ear.

He might say some filth—but it’s the way he says it. Low. Like a promise. Like he means it.

“This what you wanted?”

“That mouth got smart earlier. Keep talkin’.”

“Look at me. Yeah… right there.”

⸻

Smoke don’t do praise. He commands. Calmly. Casually. Like it’s second nature.

You don’t even realize he’s the one in control until your legs are shaking and you’re asking permission to come.

He likes to hear you talk shit, though—so he can shut you up.

⸻

Starts slow just to tease. To get in your head. He knows you’re ready. He just likes making you wait for it.

Then out of nowhere? Rough. Deep. Fast. But he never loses rhythm. It’s like his whole body got built to break yours in the prettiest way possible.

He’s not a jackrabbit. He’s a menace with a plan.

⸻

After? He wipes you down with a warm towel. Pulls you close and kisses your shoulder like he didn’t just leave you folded.

If you whimper when he slides out, he grins—then kisses your temple and says, “Told you I’d take care of you.”

Might run you a bath. Might feed you fruit. Might even spoon you. But he’s never gonna talk about it out loud.

𝖲𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾

Stack’s money is long and quiet. He not on the ‘Gram throwing bands—he’s behind the scenes, owning the block and the buildings.

You got a direct deposit from him every Friday labeled: “For looking pretty.”

You whisper about wanting something? He already wired the funds. Don’t ask how. Don’t ask when. It’s just… handled.

Rent? Paid early. Tuition? Gone. Your mom’s light bill? Handled and never mentioned again.

⸻

Stack’s voice never raises his voice at you—but you listen. That calm “Come here, baby” hits harder than any shout.

Protective in the softest, most dangerous way. That man will pull you behind him and calmly say, “I got it.” And it’s got.

“You mine. That’s it. That’s the whole story.”

⸻

He takes his time like he’s got all day. Eyes on you the whole time.

He’ll rub your waist, kiss your thighs, and still ruin you slow. “Relax, baby. You safe here.”

Loves when you ride him—hands behind his head, smirking, low moan in his throat. “That’s all you, baby.”

After? He cleans you up, then carries you to the kitchen to feed you like the queen you are.

You’re not just spoiled in public. You’re spoiled in bed, too. Satin sheets, silk robe, and a man who knows how to use his mouth and his hands.

⸻

“Put your wallet away. You got me.”

“You don’t even gotta ask. I already did it.”

“What’s mine is yours, mama. And you mine.”

“Come here. You stressed out? Lemme take care of it.”

“Nah, don’t lift that. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

“You like being my problem, huh?”

⸻

Surprise spa appointments, nail appointments, even therapy sessions—because he takes care of all of you, not just the body.

Custom jewelry with your initials. A chain that says Moore in diamonds. “In case you forget who got you.”

His driver knows your name. His crew knows not to speak on you. His family knows better than to disrespect you.

“Had the driver bring you something.” It’s a Cartier bracelet. In rose gold. Because he said “it looked like you.”

He’ll book a hotel for you to have a spa day alone. “You need time to yourself. I’ll see you later tonight, mama.”

⸻

He doesn’t argue with people who try you—he makes calls.

Enemies don’t mention your name. They know better.

He’ll walk into a room full of tension and only care if you ate yet.

⸻

Ain’t no “showing off.” It’s real connection, real care, real provision.

Late-night convos where he lets you in—slowly, vulnerably. Only you get that side.

He’ll kiss your forehead before a meeting and say, “Wish me luck, baby.” Like your love is a good-luck charm.

⸻

Random “check your account” texts. No explanation. Just $10K.

“Had the driver bring you something.” It’s a Cartier bracelet. In rose gold. Because he said “it looked like you.”

He’ll book a hotel for you to have a spa day alone. “You need time to yourself. I’ll see you later tonight, mamas.”

⸻

He’s not showy, but the way he pulls your chair out at dinner? The way he stands behind you in every photo? It’s clear.

Girls wonder what you did to bag Stack. You didn’t have to do much—just be soft for him.

You’re the only one who sees the full version of him—cold-blooded to the world, but warm as a cashmere hoodie with you.

𝖬𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆

Low voice, deep stroke, big problem.

Stack in the bedroom is pure danger. He doesn’t need to talk his game. He’s calm, deliberate, and obsessed with every little reaction you give him. He’s the type to ruin you slowly, then ask if you’re okay with your whole body trembling under his.

He’s not fast. He’s not soft. He’s focused.

⸻

Stack takes. His. Time. Every move is intentional. He’s not rushing—he’s studying.

The type to undress you piece by piece, eyes low, hands warm, knuckles grazing your skin like he’s memorizing.

He doesn’t just touch—you feel it. Palm on your waist. Hand around your neck. Fingers in your hair. It’s quiet dominance that makes your knees buckle.

⸻

“Breathe.”

“Hold still.”

“You takin’ me so good, baby.”

That low, raspy voice in your ear while he’s deep inside? Life-changing.

⸻

He’ll go slow. Deep. Stretch-it-out pace. And when you start shaking and clenching? He doesn’t stop—he slows down even more.

Might flip you over mid-whimper just to keep going, hand on your lower back, whispering, “You ain’t done yet.”

Doesn’t need breaks. Doesn’t need direction. Just needs you quiet and obedient… or loud and ruined. Either way.

⸻

Stack looks at you the whole time. Doesn’t break eye contact when you moan his name.

If you try to hide your face, he’s lifting your chin like, “Nah… lemme see you.”

Those hooded eyes and that slow smirk when you hit your climax? Enough to make you forget your name.

⸻

“That’s it. Take all of it.”

“You look so good like this… full of me.”

“You mine, right?” —soft but serious. Like it’s more than sex. Like it’s a bond.

⸻

Cuddle—will keep you close. Arm wrapped around your waist. Hand under your shirt. Chain against your back.

Kisses your shoulder in the dark. Rubs your thigh while you fall asleep. Wakes you up with his hand already between your legs.

If you try to get up, he pulls you back and says, “Five more minutes. Lay down.” (And you do.)

𝖠／𝖭－ 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗄❣︎

[hey-iam-fire-ghost-but-i-write]

the morning bliss he brings

Lord Morpheus x Fem!Reader

not my gif, credits to the owner.

English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!

Summary: Dream Lord guards your dreams in hope of finding himself in them.

Warnings: literally none? this ones just sweet and fluff and a tiny itsy bitsy angsty? dunno.

Word Count: 2.5K

-

Waking up in the morning was always the hardest part of your day. It was like fighting the need of never leaving your dreams, those perfect places made out of your hopes and wishes. Always drunk in the bliss of resting in a place where your worries wouldn’t chase you.

Slowly —almost sweetly— the chirping birds and the bright sunrays covered your senses coaxing you to come back to the waking world. It always welcomed you with it's warm embrace that never failed to make you feel goosebumps.

But this morning wasn’t just the sun you woke up to.

He looked just like a dream, which was understandable since that was one of his many names.

You love calling him that, Dream. It was the first name of his that he gave you and the one that rolled the sweetest on your tongue.

Morpheus was currently sitting on your armchair, in front of the coffee table. An open book was lying on his lap, probably from your own bookshelf. His eyes were closed and he had his fingers intertwined under his chin.

He definitely knew you were awake, but refused to acknowledge it. Too focused in whatever thought he was stressing himself out with.

You sighed, sleepily still. Rubbing your eyes, you convinced yourself that getting out of the couch was the least of your priorities at the moment. Not when everything around you was designed to make you feel embraced and supported in warmth.

Looking back at your Dream, you smiled. And just when you were about to call for him out loud, someone beat you at talking.

“He’s been like that for ages” you jump a little, taken by surprise by Matthews’ voice sounding too close to you. You turned your head towards him “Not sure what he’s thinking about, though” the black raven, loyal companion of Morpheus, was perched on the back of the same couch you slept the whole night on.

“Probably in that he has to go and feed the birds at the park” you flash a smile to your singular friend, who gave you a way too human-like scoff.

“Please, he doesn’t even feed me” you huff a small laugh at the raven’s joke.

“Perhaps if you didn’t criticize every step I take, you would actually have time to put food in your beak”

Matthew jumped down to rest on your side, his small claws squeezing the skin of your hip softly two times— calling for your attention at his next jab “Someone can’t take a joke” the raven whispered looking at you, only to then turn towards his master “I shall go to the kitchen to press more buttons, my Lord, but this time the coffee machine’s ones” and with that overly played impression of Morpheus’ accent, the bird took flight disappearing in the kitchen in matter of seconds.

You looked at Morpheus with a smile. He was still with his eyes closed “You shouldn’t have taught him that” he said, his words dragging lazily.

You chuckle sweetly, remembering how at the beginning of the week Matthew learnt how to operate the coffee machine without breaking it in the process. Morpheus watched the two of you in silence, knowing better than anyone that your little shenanigans consisted in a ten percent of the goal of learning a new skill and ninety percent in annoying him. It was the way you and his raven bonded: the amusement you both got out of making Morpheus grumpier than usual.

Now, Matthew insisted every morning to make you coffee and you didn’t have the heart to deny the overly sugared mug.

You closed your eyes, snuggling even further under the covers “Good morning, Dream”.

When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you “Good morning” he said with a voice deeper that the ocean you were dreaming about a few minutes ago.

The sun, entering from your window, bathed the whole apartment in a beautiful light. Morpheus, in the center of the scene, looked glorious. Godly like. The warm rays bathing all his features and making him look soft in all the right places.

“I can tell it was a good night sleep”

Your sweet smile turned into an amused one “When I ask for your help to sleep, you didn’t have to watch over me the whole night”

“How else am I going to make sure you’re sleeping well?” he inquired, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Cheeky little god.

You raised an eyebrow “You are the king of the Dreaming, sweetheart”

The corners of his lips pulled totally upwards thanks to the nickname you gave him “With you, it’s not enough” his voice was hushed, a murmur that lulled you into an incredibly flustered state in the most delicious way.

You sighed, trusting that with your eyes closed it wouldn't sound too dreamily “You still can’t find me in there?”

“We’re not sure where you go when you sleep, that is the reason why I need to keep an eye on you for now”

“How is that even possible?”

“Well, you do have the same magic I use to nourish the Dreaming inside of you” he explained “It’s not hard to hypothesize that the reason we don’t find you back home is because you simply don’t want us to”

You nod slowly, wanting to agree with him. You came from a long bloodline filled with magic. Your power was a gift from Dream to one of your ancestors and those same powers bled down your family line for centuries. When you met him, it was the first time someone of your own saw him after a really long time.

At first, he came to you for your magic. Needed it back to retrieve his stolen amulets, the ones he lost to the pretender Roderick Burgess. And when instead of giving him your gifts, you offered him your help… he was intrigued to see firsthand what his powers could give to a simple mortal like you.

But that was a long time ago, when you still wouldn’t call each other a friend and the only worry between the both of you was the possibility of losing your power to the other.

“So, why?” he questioned. You open your eyes to look at him confused, then he insists “Why don’t you want us to find you in there?”

You frowned, dropping your smile “Dream. If I knew I would’ve corrected it already, don’t you think?”

“No nightmares, no bad dreams, only happiness” the man recalled your first conversation on the matter, not even stopping to listen to your point “And you don’t let any other entity to get closer to your mind but me”

"You just said you could not find me in there" because it sounded like he was getting at a dangerous point, an overwhelming conclusion.

"It's not the only way you shared your mind with me" Morpheus explained his point "When you offered your magic to help my cause, you had to let me in. Why are you keeping me out now?"

You sat on your sofa, the warm cover falling to your lap. You tried to ignore the implication of his concerns: it wasn't the fact that a dream or a nightmare could not reach your mind, it was that himself could not cradle it with his own intentions.

"I'm not doing it on porpuse" you defended yourself.

"But that's the only explanation I can offer you" he stood up and got impossibly close to you. You had to tip your head up to look into his eyes that were looking down to yours. You were filled with surprise when you saw a bit of hesitation on his features.

"What are you thinking about?" you whisper softly, worried about him pondering himself into misery.

"You are casting me out"

The accusation almost makes you jump from your seat "I am not" you shake your head side to side.

"You're keeping your mind beyond my reach, you've been doing it this whole time" he interrupted you before you could defend yourself again "On purpose or not and you're doing it because there's something you don't want me to see"

"Why are you taking this so personal?" you insist, a bit desperate.

"Because the alternative is that you're keeping an endless out of your mind— because there's something in there you don't want a cosmic entity to see" his cold tone stole your breath away "Which is the most dangerous and threatening thing you could do against someone of my kinship"

You stay in silence for a few seconds "I'm not keeping anything away from you"

"You're keeping yourself away from me" he whispered, mindlessly and filled with disappointment.

"I'm right here" you whispered, distraught "I don't understand this accusation—"

"What are you dreaming about?" hard. Unbending.

"I—" you felt tears welling up in your eyes "I told you" you croak out, standing up and circling him "I need to see what Matthew's doing"

"I forced Matthew back into the Dreaming— I need to understand what are you doing. We need to discuss this. What are you dreaming about?" he demanded. you gave your back to him.

"I told you about it, Dream" you voice was a plea "It's always something nice, something that makes me feel just right. Tonight it was the ocean. Blue and dark and—"

And you— you thought to yourself. So awfully and beautifully you.

You face him, not finding a safe haven from his questioning.

"I do not understand it" he insists "And I need to understand you, before the alternative becomes unbearable to ignore"

You adverted your eyes from him, looking out your window. A tear rolled down your face and you dry it quickly before he accused you of using them against him.

"You accuse me of casting you out" you tried to hide a sob "You believe in the good in this world, and yet that's not what you think me out to be"

"This is not a matter I'm bringing to you lightly" he insists, stepping closer with urgency.

You cross your arms, just to hold yourself for a moment and then you smile sadly at him.

"I can't believe this morning started feeling like one of my dreams and now it's turning into this nightmare" you tilt your head to the side, a tear rolling straight to your earlobe.

Morpheus stayed in silence, looking intently at you for a few seconds.

Suddenly, realization brightened up his face.

"Why did you feel the need to keep this from me?"

"I didn't even know I was keeping this away from you until Lucienne made me list my dreams to her" you whispered "I suppose some part of me thought that one glance to my dreams and you would understand"

"Show me"

"Dream" you begged "Why do you wish to humiliate me like this?"

"I need to know" he got closer to you in an instant, so suddenly that he took your breath away "Share your mind with me again"

You look up at him, eyes bluer than any sky you could imagine— more inviting than any waters you could dream of.

And if you didn't know any better, you would think that was a plea.

"If I do that, my mind won't be the only thing I would be sharing with you" you breath out, feeling a bit helpless.

"What is the wrong in that"

You looked intently into his eyes.

He looked away from you, turning his face to your window "Admidts of a confession and you're still keeping your love away from me"

"I'm keeping my heart" you almost need to sob "I don't want to expose it just because you need something to be proven"

He turned his face to you again "I believe in you, I don't need anything to be proven to me"

"Then why are you demanding my mind?"

"Because it's the only way I get to protect my heart"

Somehow that took your breath away in an instant.

And without even attempting to, you allow a wave of your ocean crawl onto his shore as you feel his hands cupping your jaw. Eyes closed, breathing jagged and tears feeding his hunger.

Your mind opens up, and your heart bursts into emotion as soon as your feet touch the evergreen grass of the Dreaming— summer breeze caressing your skin and sunshine hitting against your closed eyelids.

As your eyes open, he´s standing tall in front of you still. Dark and glistening, eyes of deep gold and fire burning at the hem of his black tunic.

And just as it began, you force yourself to wake up.

Back home, back in your apartment.

You need to take a step back, but he doesn´t let you get far as he smirks widely at you.

Cheeky little god.

"Cheating darling girl, you barely showed yourself" he cups your jaw securely once again, face contorting around amusement as you let a smile creep in too.

"I've shown enough" you counterpart, a bubble of giddiness about to explode in your inside.

He contemplates you in silence, eyes traveling around your face "I will see all of it—" he warns "—even if I have to take it out of you caress after caress-"

"Dream Lord" you warn, the formality foreign in your tongue.

"Lady enchantress" he warns as well, playful and too close to happiness for you to stand on your offense for long.

You look around his face, shaking your head as your nose bumps against his "I can't dare to dream about you anymore"

Dream stands in silence at that, "In counterpart, you'll find a piece of you all around the fabric of my Dreaming—" he rasps, forehead nudging against yours "Inspiration used to be something I gave away, now I´m tempted to keep it all to myself"

"Mellow and needy" you accuse him.

"All the more reason for you to stop casting my love away" he demands softly, almost as a plead.

"In exchange I would demand far more consideration when giving me dreams" you shift slightly, lips kissing the palm of the creator.

"Demanding and needy" he accuses you now "Always getting your way around me"

And just when you´re about to talk once again, a high pitch croak can be heard "Is rather rude to cast me away when needing alone time, my Lord" Matthew's voice is heard. He's standing on the window frame.

You chuckle.

Morpheus sighs in annoyance, "Tell Lucienne I heard her calling the first time"

Matthew croaks once again, "Boss Lady just wanted to make sure" and then he was off.

You look back at Morpheus, and he´s already looking at you.

"Consideration you will have, dazzling creature" he reassures you softly.

And before he goes, his lips tingle against yours.

[ateezlibrary]

cherry blossom (m) • kys

pairing: street racer!yeosang x tattoo artist!reader

tags/genre: smut with plot, strangers to friends(?) to lovers (except there's sexual tension from minute one), sub!yeo x dom!reader, garage sex, dirty talk

word count: 7.8k words

synopsis: when wooyoung comes in for an addition to his sleeve, he brings along a very handsome friend who says he's got a thing for cars. in a poor attempt to stay in touch with him, you suddenly become the victim of so many car troubles. needless to say, yeosang isn't exactly the best on picking up hints ...

notes: 18+ content (mdni!). for funsies, this yeosang had a cameo in mingi's street racer fic and i thought it'd be fun to do a spin-off for him. enjoy!

the shop was quiet, save for the scratch of pencil against paper. you sit cross-legged on the aged leather couch by the front window, neon lights casting a glow around you while you work on the final details of your next client’s design. sharp, jagged outlines surrounded the blooming rose, something that wasn’t in your usual style but you quite enjoyed working on. you lose track of time by the time you’ve made it to the printer, prepping your station with antiseptic and replenishing your vials when the bells perched over the doorframe capture your attention.

“guess who’s here!” a voice sings, shrill and high and all-too-familiar to your ears. you turn to see wooyoung in his grand entrance, arms outstretched as he beams over at you.

“hello there,” you call out to him, laughing as you set aside your tools and tug the gloves off of your hands. “aren’t you a bit early?”

“yeah, i had a friend drop me off since my car’s at the shop,” he answers, settling into the plush armchair beside your station with a dramatic groan. “he’ll pick me up when it’s done.”

“what’s wrong with it?” you ask, nodding your head towards the bench at the center of your space. wooyoung follows, putting his arm out for you to see his previous work you’d completed not long before. the ink has settled well, no bleeds or gaps in the line work. “seems like it healed well.”

he nods, twisting and careening his arm under the overhead lamp for you to see. “engine’s been sputtering more than usual. figure i get friend of mine to fix it for cheap so i can save my money for better use.” wooyoung blinks up at you with a sickeningly sweet smile, one that forces you to roll your eyes with another laugh as you reach for his stencil.

“well, i’d hate to be the sucker you’re taking advantage of.”

“you’d like him! he’s nice.”

“if you say so.”

for the next few hours, you and wooyoung spend time catching up as you begin the outline of his new tattoo. he grimaces under the needle’s pressure, something he does every time as if he’d never experienced it. you smack his arm, scolding him for twitching and yelping so that he would sit still. you tease him for the cliché choice of a rose tattoo while he shares more details about the time he’d been spending at car meets.

“i’ve got to take you to one of the meets soon,” he continues excitedly, “you’d love ‘em.”

“you think?” you replenish the vial in your hand, glancing at the needle under the light as you assess the next steps to begin shading wooyoung’s skin. the outline is clean, just the way you liked it. “i know absolutely nothing about cars.”

“it’s more than just looking at the cars,” wooyoung tries to explain. “there’s drinks, usually lots of good music. plenty of people who come that aren’t into cars but want to hook up with people who are.” he raises an eyebrow suggestively, leaning into you as you shove him back down onto the bench with a huff.

“i’m not that lonely,” you scoff, glancing back at your reference before pointing the needle at wooyoung. “now, sit still.”

wooyoung has groaned and whined for another good fifteen minutes when the doorbell signals your attention, the dull hum of your needle coming to a stop as you glance up. you don’t even register that wooyoung has called out to the stranger in his usual high-pitched cry, your eyes fixated on what may have been the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

he was unfairly handsome in an effortless way—his burgundy hair fell in loose waves around his face, eyes sparkling under the warm lighting in the shop. his beauty was striking, but it was the contrast from his face to his body that left you speechless. he was incredibly built, strong biceps flexing under the tight black shirt he wore that left little to the imagination.

wooyoung calls out your name urgently and you blink, realizing he’d been trying to get your attention. he notices your surprise, stifling a laugh under his breath as he summons the stranger over. you glare at him, ignoring the nerves that prick at your skin as he comes over and settles into the armchair beside your station.

“this is yeosang,” wooyoung introduces, earning a soft smile from the stranger that makes your heart flutter for just shy of a second. “he’s the one that’s working on my car.”

“sounds like you’re good with your hands,” you joke, and yeosang lets out a chuckle. his voice is deep, but there's a richness to it that you want to hear more of.

“you don’t seem so bad yourself,” he replies, eyes traveling to wooyoung’s arm where you were still working on the shading. “really nice line work.”

you feel your cheeks warm at the compliment, meeting his gaze with your own smile. “you got any tattoos?”

“me? oh, no.” yeosang shakes his head, showing you his bare—his broad, sculpted—forearms as evidence. “i think i’m too scared of needles. and i don’t know if i can commit to something i like enough.”

“commitment issues,” you sigh, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “what a shame.”

“enough talk,” wooyoung interjects and you glare down at him. “i don’t know how much longer i can sit in this chair.”

“keep complaining and i’ll make sure to tattoo something across your forehead,” you threaten, the laugh you evoke from yeosang warming you as you focus intensely on the rest of wooyoung’s shading. you can feel yeosang’s eyes on your work the entire time, an uneasy nervousness settling in your stomach. the two of them go back and forth for a while as you shade in silence, listening to them discuss the details of wooyoung’s car repair and how it’d be ready for their next meet.

“you run your own shop?” you ask as you finalize the last of wooyoung’s shading. your eyes flicker to yeosang’s and you swear you see stars in them for a moment. what the hell got into you?

“it’s small,” yeosang replies, his smile humble as he shrugs. “just something to pay the bills and keep these guys on the road.”

“sounds like i know where to go if my car ever decides to act up,” you reply, setting aside your needles and reaching for the cleaning supplies. wooyoung hisses and writhes at your touch, antiseptic stinging his tender skin as you curse at him and wrap his fresh tattoo carefully.

“you know the rules,” you instruct wooyoung, pointing at his new ink. “focus on your aftercare. come back in about a week so i can see how it’s healed and if we need to fix any of your shading.”

“you got it, boss,” he answers, chipper as he offers his payment and turns to yeosang. “now, let’s get out of here. i’m dying to test out the new fuel injector you installed.”

“you’re gonna run her into the ground again,” yeosang sighs, rising from your armchair and offering you a final smile. “it was great to meet you.”

“you too,” you reply softly, mirroring his smile as you turn to tidy your station.

what a beautiful man.

* * *

the next week flies by, your time occupied by a handful of clients and plenty of time to work on new sketches for your upcoming flash sessions. even so, your mind constantly flickered back to yeosang and how he was genuinely one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen. you couldn’t help but think about what he’d look like under patterns of ink and line work, or what he’d feel like under your touch as you steadied him to run your needle on the surface of his skin.

maybe you just hadn’t gotten laid in a while.

wooyoung shakes you from your thoughts as he bursts in, arm no longer wrapped and tattoo fully healed as he sings your name. you roll your eyes, setting aside your coffee as you glance up at him from your phone.

“i see the pain didn’t take you out,” you mutter, eyes already scanning every inch of his arm to ensure that the work had healed well.

“what pain? i wasn’t even in pain,” wooyoung bluffs as he settles onto the bench across from you. the overhead lamp illuminates the now-healed rose on his forearm, the lines clean and free of any bleeding or blotches. “took this like a champ.”

“sure you did.” you circle him like a hawk, ensuring his skin was no longer tender to the touch as you set his arm down and look up at him. there was a question you’d been dying to ask him, one that gnawed at you as you fiddled with your fingers to think about the best way to bring it up. “so, uh—”

“i already know what i want next,” wooyoung drawls on.

“wooyoung—”

“we should do something that’s like flames. no, no—roman numerals, no—”

“wooyoung!” you shriek, forcing him to jump in surprise as his eyes widen at your sudden outburst. you sigh, shutting your eyes as you regain your composure. “sorry. there’s just something i need to ask you.”

“you want yeosang’s number?”

“huh—? i mean, how did you—”

“you were eye fucking him the entire time he was here with us last week,” wooyoung scoffs. “he’s just a very oblivious guy.”

“i’m sure i can work past that,” you offer, arms folded across your chest as you chew at your bottom lip. wooyoung arches an eyebrow, reaching for his phone with a shake of his head.

“sure. all i’ll say is good luck.”

that night in bed, you scroll through each of your friends’ stories in your usual routine. some are traveling abroad, others sharing their engagements or baby showers. you finally land on wooyoung’s, the bright lights and loud music behind him a clear indication of the car meet he was attending that night. you freeze, thumb glued to the screen as you squint at the man behind him.

there stood yeosang, clad in a muscle shirt and a backwards cap as he leaned against what you recognized only as a gorgeous car that seemed perfect for him. it shone a striking silver under the garage lights, the glow flickering against his skin and making him seem borderline angelic.

“god, he’s so pretty,” you mutter to yourself, shifting your attention to your messages where wooyoung had sent you his contact information. you stare at the number for a long time, pondering exactly how you’d plan to get yeosang’s attention when you were so far removed from his world. it seemed like he lived and breathed cars and you knew better than to have wooyoung of all people try to get his attention for you.

glancing out your bedroom window, you look down at the street where your old honda civic sat. you’d gotten her as a hand-me-down from your older cousin, with a lifetime of mileage and an engine that fought to stay alive beyond a ten-mile radius. your eyes widen as an idea dawns on you, your hands moving on their own to text yeosang.

[new message to: yeosang] hi! this is wooyoung’s friend, the one from the tattoo shop. he gave me your number because i told him i was having some issues with my car. think you could take a look?

you toss your phone aside, adrenaline rushing to your fingertips as you feel yourself grow giddy in anticipation for his reply. you mentally scold yourself for acting as though you were in high school and had never flirted with someone before. nonetheless, there’s little time for you to overthink as sleep takes you for the night.

[new message from: yeosang] hey! yeah, bring it by. i can take a look after i’m done with my regulars today.

blinking the sleep from your eyes the next morning, you squint at your screen as if you couldn’t believe what you were seeing—he replied. he actually replied. you grin as you like the message, praying you would be able to focus for your flash sessions that day before you’d head to his garage. by the evening, you’d spent ample time in the shop’s bathroom making sure your makeup wasn’t smudged, your hair was perfectly blown out still and your perfume still clung to your skin. even your coworkers commented on how good you’d looked when you arrived for your shift, a welcome change from your usual.

your civic hums and sputters as you turn on the ignition, groaning to life. you sigh, knowing she did actually need a bit of work if you’d planned to keep a car around for some time. reaching for your phone, you put in the directions to yeosang’s garage and fight to settle the nerves gnawing at your stomach.

when you show up, he’s under a car that looks well out of your tax bracket with a wild series of mods and accessories you couldn’t even begin to name. the faint clang of wrenches against metal capture your attention and you clear your throat, afraid to tap on the car to get him out as if the jack weren’t holding it up in place. he rolls out with a soft groan, burgundy waves coming into view as he peeks out and sits up with a small wave.

“hey there!” he calls out, gesturing for you to enter. “come on in.”

“hi,” you reply, dumbfounded as you look around at the garage. he’d commented on the shop as if it were a little hole in the wall, nothing more than a small space for rent in a warehouse complex. this was a full-scale operation, several hundred feet wide with intricate technology and equipment connected to the various sports cars. your civic looked like a dumpster fire beside these cars. from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of the silver car that yeosang had been propped up against in wooyoung’s story and mentally note how much nicer it was in person.

“so, where’s the damage?” yeosang asks, wiping the grease off of his hands with an old rag that he tosses aside. you gesture through the bay doors, out at the beaten gray sedan that sat in the parking lot. “a ’95 civic, nice! she could be a real beast if you ever thought about getting her into street racing.”

you blink in confusion. were you looking at the same car? the one with the dented bumper and the engine that screamed bloody murder at you if you threatened to go above 50 at any given moment?

“this old thing?”

“you’d be surprised,” yeosang smiles, glancing at you for permission to enter the driver’s side to pop the hood. you nod, watching his every move as he looks down at your engine intensely. there’s a deep concentration etched across his face, something that gets lost in his obviously good looks as you lose track of his questions.

“h-huh?”

“what’s the issue you’ve been having?” he asks, still fixated under the hood.

“uh—” you panic, realizing there wasn’t any one problem you could pinpoint beyond making up the excuse to visit yeosang. you glance down at the engine, the myriad of metal and wires foreign to you as you rack your brain for anything you could think of.

suddenly, you remember wooyoung.

“it’s the fuel injector!” you cry out, almost startling yeosang as you clear your throat. “yeah, it’s been bad. my car won’t run that well because of it.”

yeosang furrows his brows, peering down at a particular section of the engine. you watch his every move, as if you were able to tell what he was doing. your eyes travel, down the expanse of his biceps that flexed freely under the muscle shirt he wore. it was slightly cropped, at least enough to where you could see a hint of a well-defined stomach beneath the fabric. he pulls away, folding his arms over his chest as he sighs.

“looks like it’ll need replacing,” he explains, glancing into his shop before turning back to you. “i don’t have this specific model in shop right now. i’ll have to order it and see if i can get it before the weekend. i wouldn’t drive her until i fix that. it’s a miracle you even made it to the shop from downtown without stalling at every light.”

“oh!” you exclaim, unaware that you’d really had such a dire issue with your engine to begin with. you reach for your phone, ready to text wooyoung to see if he were nearby to take you home when yeosang interjects.

“if you don’t mind waiting for me to close up, i can take you home?” he offers shyly, an innocent smile gracing his features. “i have to head into downtown to meet a friend, anyway. least i could do since i kind of dropped it on you that your car is basically out of service for the next few days.”

“oh, i couldn’t,” you reply almost immediately, cursing yourself for trying to turn down an offer to spend more time with him. his smile grows wider as he gestures to the silver car in its bay at the corner of the garage.

“i insist. i’m already going to be heading that way.”

“… well, if you insist.”

the garage is empty aside from the pair of you, yeosang the last to leave as he turns everything off and puts away a wide range of tools that were left out around his work station. you watch the concentration on his face with admiration, thinking of how you must look when you were prepping your own station at work. he’s quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“ready?” he finally asks, changed into a clean outfit no longer covered in grease or sweat. he looks expensive, a faint cologne of spiced woods wafting past your nose as you relish in the scent. he smiles as you follow him to his car, opening the door for you and guiding you in gently. you gasp as you settle into the passenger seat, eyes darting wildly around the interior of his car. the leather was crisp and smelled brand new, with bells and whistles you’d never seen. the dashboard hummed from the vibrations of the engine at the ready.

yeosang slides in beside you, his scent filling the tight space and enveloping your senses for the second time. you swallow, watching as he relaxes in his seat. he has one hand on the wheel, the other shifting the car into gear as you can’t help but wonder what his hand would feel like on your thigh in his passenger seat.

“what kind of car is this?” you ask, finding a poor excuse to make small talk as you struggle to focus on the stretch of highway ahead.

“2020 toyota supra,” he answers, and you nod at the mention of a car you knew very little about beyond its aesthetics. “i got it not long ago and it’s a lot of fun to work on since it’s really built for speed.”

“very cool.”

“do you actually think so?” he asks, glancing over at you ever-so-slightly.

“i do,” you reassure him. “i don’t know a ton about cars. but i can tell you’re really passionate about your work. i get it.”

“well, thank you,” he replies, smile fixated on his face as he turns his attention back to the road. “what about you? what got you into tattooing?”

“i really enjoy the idea of bringing someone else’s vision to life. it’s interesting to hear what they come up with and how i can make that happen for them. plus, i get paid to draw. i think it’s a pretty good gig.” you realize you’ve been rambling for a moment and clear your throat awkwardly.

“that’s sort of how i feel about working on cars,” yeosang comments. “getting to take what people envision for their cars and the limits they can take it to. a lot of the car meet crowd loves the hype but i think it’s just fun to get under the hood.”

wish you’d get under my hood.

“yeah, that makes sense.”

“think you’d ever come out to a car meet?” he asks, and you look over at him in question. “even if you don’t think you know a lot about cars. it can be fun just to get out there for a little. wooyoung said he’s been trying to convince you forever.”

“he has,” you admit. “i’ve thought about it.”

“well, there’s a meet this weekend. by that time i should have your car fixed up. you should come out.”

“i’ll consider it.” anxiety creeps under your skin as you think about wooyoung’s description of the car meets—loud, bright lights, drinks flowing and music blasting. it wasn’t a scene you’d shy away from, but at least this time there’d be good motivation to go.

* * *

“i need whatever is the strongest drink you have tonight,” you grumble to wooyoung as he pulls into the abandoned industrial complex. you could hear the bass resonate from against the concrete pillars from a good half-mile away. neon lights flickered through the openings in the main garage and you could see glimpses of sleek-wrapped cars lined up along the ground floor. wooyoung scoffs, patting your thigh reassuringly as he pulls into the back end of the complex.

“you’ll like it,” he promises, shifting his gear into park and turning to you. “you really don’t need to know a ton about cars. a lot of people come out just to sit and look pretty, which—” he glances at the outfit you’d chosen. wide jeans, sneakers, and a cropped tank top. a bit of a clash compared to the miniskirts, platform boots, and oversized racer jackets that surrounded you. “—you will. you don’t need to fit into some particular mold. just relax."

“if you say so,” you grumble, nerves clawing at your stomach as you step out of wooyoung’s car and into the humid night. you can’t help but admit the anxiety is quickly replaced by a strange rush of adrenaline at the sight. engines rev around you, guys tossing bottles of liquor back and forth as they pop their hoods and comment on all of the technical ins and outs. the girls are nice, a handful of them complimenting your outfit as they pass by and asking where you’d got your shirt.

“here you go,” wooyoung calls out, offering you a red solo cup where you sat perched on the edge of his hood. you take the drink graciously, the warmth of liquor sliding down your throat much-needed as you release a satisfied sigh.

“this is actually pretty sick,” you comment, your voice hoarse as you yell at him over the music pounding against the walls. “the cars are really cool to look at, too.”

“maybe we’ll get you into racing when you finally get rid of your old car,” he suggests, earning a roll of your eyes and a chuckle.

“i wouldn’t say all that.” your attention flickers over the crowd when a familiar flash of silver catches your eye. yeosang’s supra comes into view, through the main path and down to the end beside wooyoung’s car. your heart hammers against your chest as you sit up, praying the perfume you’d picked out for the night was still strong enough over the smell of gasoline.

“you made it!” yeosang calls out as he steps out of his car, waving over at you with a broad grin. god, he’s cute. you smile, tipping your cup in his direction as he approaches. “was planning to text you tonight to let you know your car’s good to go.”

“good to hear,” you reply, a pang of disappointment at the fact that he’d finished the job so quickly.

“has wooyoung shown you around yet?” you shake your head. “let’s go then. i can introduce you to some of our friends.” yeosang rests his hand on the small of your back to guide you off of the hood, his touch gentle as you slide onto the ground beside him. 

he leads you deeper into the garage, weaving through the crowd with a laid-back charm in the way he greets people. you watch the way that he banters with everyone, distracted when someone bumps into him and his fingers brush against yours. he reaches for your wrist, steadying you with a silent glance to make sure you’re alright. you smile, ignoring the thundering in your chest as you keep following him again. the two of you stop by a handful of cars, yeosang commenting on the owners’ mods and the work he could do at his garage if they stop by. you smile beside him, quietly enjoying watching him in his element as you sip on your drink. he’s even so kind as to making sure you’re topped up as you chat with one of his friends.

“is that who i think it is?” a shrill voice interjects, pin-straight, platinum blonde hair and a tight leather fit coming into view as you raise an eyebrow over the edge of your solo cup. yeosang glances over at the girl propped up against the hood of—was it a nissan gtr?—and chuckles under his breath.

“i haven’t seen you since you worked on yeonjun’s engine,” she purrs, leaning over the hood with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “been waiting for you to take a look under my hood.”

oh, brother.

“oh, have you been having trouble? i can take a look,” yeosang offers earnestly, and you almost smack yourself in the face at how oblivious he was to this girl’s obvious attempts at flirting. she catches your eye, in silent disbelief herself as she clears her throat, looking up at him through her lashes with a giddy laugh.

“actually, i think you need to take something off.” she hums, coming over to rest a hand on his shoulder with long claws pressed against his collarbone. he blinks under her touch, wheels turning in his mind as he seems to struggle to make sense of her words. you clear your throat awkwardly, not wanting to be a bystander to this any longer.

“i’m gonna get some air,” you mention to yeosang, not waiting for a response as you hurry back to where wooyoung’s car was parked. he was at the center of the garage with his crew, offering shots of hennessy to a girl that seemed to have just won a race. the crowded garage suddenly felt too expansive, isolating as you tapped against the metal of the hood of wooyoung’s honda.

you don’t know how long you’re lost in thought, fiddling with the rim of your drink when yeosang approaches you with a soft smile. his eyes are sparkling under the neon lights, not a thought behind them as he looks up at you.

“hey! you doing okay?”

“yeah,” you lie, glancing up at the crowd and wondering if the girl had made herself clear enough to earn yeosang’s favor for the night. then again, he probably wouldn’t be standing here talking to you if that were the case. “just a little much for a first car meet.”

“you get used to it,” he reassures, following your gaze before he flashes another smile at you. “would you want to get out of here? i can take you back to the garage to get your car so that i’m not holding it hostage much longer.”

“sounds good.”

the drive back from the garage to yeosang’s shop isn’t quite long, but you still can’t fight off the urge to stare at him and the way he handles his car. the hum of the engine was admittedly addicting on the stretch of highway, his handling of the gear shift and his grip on the wheel almost magnetic as you peeked at him from the corner of your eye. he kept the windows down, cool night air making a poor attempt to calm your unholy thoughts.

there’s a strange sense of comfort as you pull into the bay of yeosang’s garage, his engine slowing to a low purr as you catch glimpse of your old beaten civic. the supra growls beside it and you’re sure you’ll be disappointed with the coughing and sputtering you’re about to hear from your car. yeosang darts out of the driver’s seat to open your door, offering a hand and guiding you to your car where he’s popped the hood.

“so, i installed a new fuel injector and tightened up a few other things that looked concerning,” he explains, not realizing he’s caged you against your fender. his arms circle you, pointing out various parts of the engine he’s worked on as his explanation fades behind the internal screaming in your head at him being so close to you.

“should be running way smoother now,” he continues, stepping back just slightly but still close enough so that you could feel the heat radiating from him. you hum, trying to focus on his work and not the scent of his cologne flooding your senses.

“what are my damages, then?”

yeosang glances down at you, his expression unreadable. “nothing. i just enjoyed working on it.”

“you can’t expect me to walk away with a free repair,” you protest, turning so that you sat against the fender and looked up at him with furrowed brows. “there must be some way i can repay you.”

he blinks, clearly still unfazed by your offer as he shakes his head with a reassuring smile. “no, it’s okay. your injector was shot, it was definitely needed.” his gaze flickers to your arms for a brief moment, as if scanning the maze of tattoos that formed your sleeve. “maybe if i can ever commit to something, i’ll let you tattoo me.”

“that so?” you tilt your head, eyes trailing over the expanse of his broad, sculpted arms that were blank canvases. “i’m sure i can come up with a few ideas.” his hands brace the edge of the engine bay, leaving inches between the pair of you.

“i’ll have to stop by the studio, then.” just as you expect him to take the bait, he pulls away and shifts his attention back to the engine. as if nothing shifted in the tension in the past few seconds. you’re about to throw yourself under the hood and slam it shut out of sheer exasperation. “anyway, you should be good to go. need anything else?”

“no, that’s it,” you grumble, utterly defeated as you snatch your keys from yeosang with your pulse thundering against your ears. “i’ll see you around.”

that night, your hand did little to appease the growing frustration that you desperately needed to release.

* * *

you show up at the garage again a week later—per wooyoung’s advice to get yeosang’s attention with new phantom car troubles—a sheepish smile and keys in hand. he peeks up at you from beneath the hood of another car, surprised but not disappointed to see you as he reaches for a rag to wipe the grease from his hands.

“hey, you,” he calls out, sauntering over to you as you step out of the car. you made sure to wear the shortest shorts you owned, propping yourself against the fender as you nod your head back to your car. his hair is pulled back into a haphazard ponytail that you try your best not to stare at. “everything alright?”

“yeah, but i think something’s off with the alignment,” you lie, as if you haven’t practiced on wooyoung a good handful of times the night before to make sure you sounded convincing. “pulls a little to the right more than usual.”

“you hit a curb?” he asks, tilting his head as his eyes flicker instinctively to your tires.

“huh? no, not that i remember.”

he takes your keys, not questioning it as he hovers over your tires and takes a closer look. you scowl, not getting more than a lingering gaze at your legs as he locks in on the work to be done.

three days later, you’re back.

“i’m positive it’s the brakes this time,” you lie again, popping the hood yourself as if you have any clue what you’re looking for. you hope he likes the scent of orchids and water lilies on your skin as he leans over the engine bay beside you, frowning at the sight in confusion.

“didn’t you mention you got them replaced last month?”

“well.” you bite down on your bottom lip, racking your brain for another excuse. “maybe they were defective.” and then you try again. “maybe my car just likes seeing you as much as i do.”

yeosang chuckles, holding your gaze for a moment before he’s distracted by his inspection of the brake pads. you stare at him, dumbfounded as he begins to ramble on about your rotors that potentially needed replacing.

the fourth visit in two weeks finally does it.

it’s late at night, and you’d gotten on a regular texting basis with yeosang to know he was the only one that would be at the shop. even wooyoung seemed frustrated by this point at his density and had given up on helping you. slamming the door to your civic, you step out onto the asphalt with a huff and storm into the garage.

one last feeble attempt.

yeosang is hovering over the engine bay of his own supra when you walk in. you can hear the clang of wrenches against metal, the only sound over the r&b that hovered overhead from the speakers. you bang your fist against the car’s side door, startling yeosang to drop the wrench as he looks up at you in confusion. you jut your keys out at him, eyes locked on the ground.

“what now?”

“heard a rattle.”

“a rattle?” yeosang scoffs, backing out of the engine bay and folding his arms over his chest as he stares down at you. his expression is blank, his shirt too tight as you meet his eyes. “you’re messing with me at this point.”

“am i?” you laugh dryly, setting your keys on his toolbox as you mirror his stance. “because i’m pretty sure no one is humanly this oblivious.”

“huh?” he straightens, tilting his head.

“yeosang.” you sigh and close your eyes before returning his gaze. “i have been coming in here and flirting with you. for weeks. i’m about to drive over a box of nails for you to look at my tires before you realize that there’s nothing actually wrong with my car.”

“well, there’s still work your car needs,” he answers honestly, and you glare at him.

“forget the car!” finally, finally you see something flicker across his face. not confusion this time, something more like an understanding as the wheels begin to turn in his head.

“are you…” he drawls on quietly, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to make sense of his own question. “are you into me?”

you stare at him in disbelief and throw your hands above your head.

he blushes, actually blushes as he holds your gaze. silence engulfs you, the slow rhythm of the r&b and the faint tick of cooling metal in the supra behind you the only other noise. he reaches for the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but yours as he stammers.

“you could’ve just told me.”

“i’m sorry, the fuck-me eyes weren’t obvious enough?”

yeosang’s lips part in a quiet exhale, unable to defend himself for being so thick as you approach him with renewed confidence. you stop right before him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to keep him there as he arches an eyebrow in surprise. his hands ghost over your hips, still polite despite the growing tension that surrounded you.

“i’m taking what i came here for,” you order, nails scratching lightly over the skin of his stomach as his breath is caught in his throat. his cheeks are still flushed and he looks boyishly cute despite the fact that you knew you were about to jump his bones.

“here?” he asks hoarsely, as if there were an audience.

“right on the hood of your fucking supra,” you urge in a low voice. a darkness flickers across his eyes, understanding clicking as he shuts the hood and finally rests his hands on your waist. his touch is firm, but gentle. “unless you want to stand here and keep talking about mechanics instead of having me bent over your car.”

yeosang grabs your waist harder this time, determination etched across his face that you ignore as you back him against the edge of the car he’d been working on. his eyes go wide, mouth hanging open in uneven breaths as you ghost your lips over his. you trail your fingers lower, beyond his belt and over where he’s already growing hard. he jerks against your touch and a soft gasp slips past his lips as he presses his forehead to yours.

“fuck,” he whispers, and you scoff against his lips.

“i haven’t even actually touched you yet,” you scold, reaching to undo his belt and the button on his cargos. you wrap your hands around him, warm and hard under your touch as you pump your fist painfully slow to make him twitch in your grip. his eyes flutter shut with a strangled whimper as his hips stagger against your palm, desperate for more. you can see the veins in his arms strain from the way he’s gripping the car beneath him.

“say it,” you whisper, lips trailing from his to the base of his neck. “say you like it.”

yeosang can barely form words, let alone a coherent thought as he throws his head back, his chest heaving in trying to steady his breathing. “i—fuck—i like that.” you laugh against his throat, pleased with the way he shudders under your touch exactly as you’d been imagining from the moment you met him.

just as you’re about to reach for the hem of his cargos and pull them aside, he catches your wrists.

his eyes are fixated on yours, dark and feline as he slowly slides your hand off of his cock and up to his chest. you can feel his pulse thundering against his chest, evidence that he wants this as badly as you do. his other hand comes up, reaching for your jaw and forcing you to hold his gaze as he drags his thumb across your bottom lip. he doesn’t say a word before he spins you around to trap you against the car and press you against the heated metal. you can feel the weight of his entire body on yours, pinning you in place. it’s as if he’s testing you, trying to see if you really were into him.

one hand flattens over your stomach, his breath hot against your ear as the other drifts down to pull your thighs apart just a little further. you writhe under his touch, trying to ease against him for some sort of friction when he tenses, pressing his palm into your skin with a warning.

“easy,” is all he says, and you can hear the low chuckle at the edge of his words. you wanted to fight against his restraint but the heat of his fingers on your skin stole the words from your tongue. he was so deliberately slow in his movements and it drove you insane. he trails his tongue along your neck, catching your earlobe between his teeth and biting down gently. you can feel him smile as he whispers into your ear, “let me take my time with you.”

you gasp, trying to lean further into his touch. his grip on your waist tightens as he reaches the other hand between your legs, fidgeting to unbutton your shorts and slip his own hand in. his fingertips brush against soaked fabric, barely ghosting over them and clouding your mind. every time he presses against your clit, you twitch at the pleasure it sends running down your spine. he pries and prods for a while, refusing to slip his hand past your underwear as he draws tantalizingly slow circles.

“oh, come on,” you whine, your head rolling back and resting against his chest. he chuckles, not letting up on the teasing as he presses a string of kisses along your neck. “don’t make me do your job for you.” out of sheer frustration, you plunge your own hand past your waistband and press against his knuckles, the pressure against you forcing your eyes shut with a satisfied sigh. he groans, forehead resting on your shoulder as he painfully follows your pace in forceful, deliberate strokes.

“that’s it,” you praise, lips brushing against his jaw. “good boy.”

his body tenses at the compliment, breath caught in his chest as his fingers pick up the pace and dip between your folds. he slides two fingers in, knuckles deep as his lips find yours. you reach for his jaw, fingers trailing to his hair as he keeps a steady rhythm pumping in and out of you. a long, drawn-out moan slips out of you and into his mouth, one that he groans at as he moves his hand even faster.

“god,” you moan, head thrown back against his chest as he holds you steady. “you’re gonna make a mess of me, aren’t you, pretty boy?” he curses under his breath, almost like a whimper as his composure slips. you relish in the fact that he’s enjoying the way you talk to him.

“fuck,” yeosang rasps, his fingers working deeper and faster with the sounds of your arousal buried under his shallow breaths. you hum, content as you rock your hips against his hands to meet every thrust of his hand. he groans softly, biting down on your shoulder like it’ll ground him.

before you can tease him again, his hand slips out of you and leaves you empty and aching. he finally turns you, laying you back against the hood as his lips crash into yours. there’s nothing soft or teasing about his movements anymore, his tongue meeting yours desperately as he latches his hands onto your hips. he pulls your shorts off in one swift motion, his knee forcing your legs apart to hold you open for him. you try to reach for his broad shoulders, desperate to sink your nails into them when he pins your hands down for the second time.

“tell me what you want,” he commands, his eyes burning into yours as his hair falls around his face in messy waves.

“you know what i want.”

“i need to hear you say it.”

“i want you to fuck me.”

yeosang lets out a low growl, freeing his cock and sliding his own hand along its length with parted ljps. you look up at him expectantly, looping a leg around his waist and pulling him in so that he’s forced to brace himself on his forearms on either side of you. his eyes never leave yours as he aligns himself with you, sliding in painfully slowly as your eyes flutter shut.

you wrap your arms around him, hands threaded through his hair and pulling him in as he begins to move. his hips rock against yours as he buries his face in your neck, stifling the groans that slip past his lip with every thrust. he trembles under your touch, your nails digging into his back as he begins to thrust harder, deeper.

“fuck, just like that,” you moan, arching your back off of the heated metal and against his chest. he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him as he thrusts into you at a steady rhythm. your moans reverberate against the garage walls, the only other sound aside from skin on skin and music blasting through the speakers.

“how bad do you want me, pretty girl?” yeosang asks, lifting himself from your collarbone and wrapping a hand around your neck. his eyes glaze over at the sight of you getting fucked by him, head hanging as he keeps pounding into you. all you can do is moan in response, your stomach tightening as he pushes down on your waist so that you could feel every inch of him.

you can’t form a coherent answer as he wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you from the hood and moving to sit on the edge of his workbench so that you’re firmly in his lap. he drapes his strong arms around you, fingers digging into your skin as he grips your waist. you arch an eyebrow as you look down at him, tugging his head back in a fistful of hair as you begin to grind down on his cock. the sounds that slip out of him are delicious, music to your ears as you rock your hips more intensely.

“i want to feel you come inside me,” you command, watching the way his face twitches in pleasure as you continue to grind against him. you fully lift yourself before slamming back down into his lap, the shock wave of pleasure rocking your entire body as you struggle to stifle your own moans. sweat slicks across his forehead as he squeezes his eyes shut, head thrown back as he begins to meet your pace with thrusts of his own.

with a final jerk of his hips, he releases up and into you and you follow soon after with your own climax. the wave hits in one violent swing, pleasure thrumming against your veins as you collapse against his chest with an exhausted sigh. you drop your forehead against his as you fight to catch your breath.

the two of you sit in silence for a moment, working to steady your breathing as your body temperature begins to cool. yeosang’s eyes evade yours, color still flushing his face as he gently lifts you off of him and hurries into the backroom to collect clean washcloths to help clean you off. you smile up at him silently, adjusting your clothing and watching as he settles onto the edge of his supra once more.

you were never going to look at that car the same way ever again.

“next time, just tell me you want me.”

“you know, i think i’ve learned my lesson.” you roll your eyes, finally able to steady your breathing as you approach him with a gentle nudge. “looks like i’ll have to show up to car meets more often.”

“looks like i’ll finally need to commit to getting a tattoo.”

“you know, i think you’d look good with a cherry blossom branch,” you comment, running your fingertips along his forearm as you illustrate your idea. “right here. i think it’ll look particularly good the next time your hand’s around my neck.”

“…oh.”

[fayelero]

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of your shared apartment with Atsumu, casting a warm glow across the hardwood floors. You had just returned from your morning run when you noticed a sleek black package sitting innocently by your door. The distinct white Chanel logo made your heart skip a beat.

"No way..." you muttered, picking up the package with trembling hands. Just last week, you had casually mentioned how beautiful that new Chanel collection was while window shopping with Atsumu. You specifically remembered telling him, "It's gorgeous, but please don't even think about it. I'm happy with my regular bags!"

But as you opened the package, there it was – the exact same black leather bag you had been admiring, complete with its iconic chain strap and quilted pattern. Your jaw dropped at its beauty, but immediately after came the familiar exasperation.

"ATSUMU MIYA!" Your voice echoed through the apartment.

You heard shuffling from the bedroom, and soon enough, your boyfriend appeared in the hallway, wearing his MSBY Black Jackals training shorts and a plain white t-shirt. His blonde hair was still slightly messy from sleep, but there was a telling glimmer in his eyes that he was trying hard to suppress.

"Mornin', what's with all the yellin'?" he asked innocently, leaning against the wall with that signature smirk of his.

You held up the bag, your eyes narrowing. "Care to explain this?"

"What? That's a nice bag ya got there. Secret admirer?" He scratched his head, playing dumb, but the slight pink tinge on his ears gave him away.

"Atsumu," you said firmly, though you couldn't help but feel your heart warm at his thoughtfulness, "who else would send me a Chanel bag?"

"Maybe it was Bokun? Ya know how he gets when he's shoppin' for Keiji-kun, might've got carried away and bought ya somethin' too!" His explanation was so ridiculous that you couldn't help but laugh.

"Bokuto-san, who panicked last week because he accidentally bought premium rice instead of regular rice, bought me a Chanel bag?"

Atsumu's facade cracked as he let out a chuckle. "Okay, okay, ya caught me." He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "But before ya lecture me about spendin' money, just hear me out."

You sighed, letting your head rest against his chest. "Tsum, we've talked about this. You don't need to buy me expensive things."

"I know," he said softly, his Kansai accent thickening with emotion. "But ya work so hard, and ya never ask for anythin'. Ya even pack my lunches for away games and come to every match ya can. Let me spoil ya a little bit?"

"But—"

"Plus," he interrupted with a playful grin, "ya should see yer face whenever we pass by that store. Yer eyes light up like when ya watch me serve an ace."

You couldn't help but blush. "That's different! Your serves are actually impressive."

"And my girlfriend deservin' nice things ain't impressive enough reason?" He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I got money to spend, and I wanna spend it on the love of my life. Sue me."

You looked down at the bag, running your fingers over the smooth leather. "It is beautiful," you admitted reluctantly.

"Just like ya," he said, and even though it was cheesy, your heart fluttered. "Now, are ya gonna model it for me or what? Gotta make sure my investment was worth it," he teased.

You playfully swatted his arm but couldn't hide your smile. "Fine, but this is the last time, okay? No more surprise luxury gifts."

"Sure, sure," he agreed too quickly, making you suspicious.

"Atsumu..."

"What? I didn't say anythin'!" He raised his hands in surrender, but you could see him already planning his next surprise in those mischievous brown eyes of his.

"You're impossible," you sighed, but reached up to kiss him anyway. "Thank you for the bag. I love it... and I love you."

His resulting smile was brighter than any designer purchase could ever be. "Love ya too, even when yer yellin' my name through the apartment."

"Only because you deserve it!"

"Worth it," he grinned, pulling you closer. "Every single time."

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