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joelsgoldrush · 9 months ago

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“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.

OR What happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ strangers to lovers. drinking. cursing. slow burn. angst. pining. mentions of alcohol. fluff. reflecting on the art of writing/poems/books. dual POV. takes place after the events of “deadpool & wolverine”. TW: multiple descriptions of scars. worst/variant!logan. implied age gap (reader’s in her late 20s). they’re both touch starved. wade’s everyone’s friend. miscommunication/misunderstandings. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering, grinding. some slight hair pulling. unprotected p in v, creampie. sex with feelings.

A/N: HOPELESS ROMANTICS RISE! here we go again with another long ass fic. this is a soulmates AU in which you get your soulmate’s scars. if you feel triggered by this topic, please refrain from reading. i had a lot of fun writing this even though it took me a while to get it done. thanks to @lubdubology for being my beta and allowing me to share my work with you. and also thanks to @brushworth for giving me the chance to write this. having said this, enjoy the story! i’d love to know your thoughts on it <3

Love giveth and love taketh away.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

If it weren’t for love, you wouldn’t be here. No one would, actually. Human beings are the result of billions of people who loved each other just enough—or at least long enough to bring life into the world.

But isn’t it in the name of love that people act in bad faith? Why would something so pure be used in vain?

You don’t get it, but as the years go by, you slowly come to terms with the idea that perhaps you never will. Not because there isn’t a reason, but because you’re in love with the idea of love.

How could you not be? It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up.

Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

It had always been a relentless race, your only worry being to catch it before time ran out. But with each day that passed, the finish line only stretched further and further away. Now, they all blur together, to the point where you live and breathe on autopilot.

In a Jane Austen novel, you’d be considered a lone woman. That character who’s nice, and kind, and loved by some, but not in the way she yearns for. Every time she’s mentioned, you go “Oh, the poor girl,” until the slow realization dawns.

In reality, she’s you, and it’s you who you feel sorry for, not a fictional character. You.

All in all, love giveth. And love also taketh away.

Love maketh you miserable.

Soulmates—a nine-letter word that holds so much meaning.

It’s one of those words that you learn early in your life, one you hear at home or on the TV. Your parents never fail to mention it if given the chance. The first time you’re introduced to the topic is at school when you're older, a bit more self-conscious, and no longer preoccupied with picking your nose.

“Everybody has a soulmate. And no,” your teacher had added after a pause, already anticipating the inevitable questions from any curious 10-year-old, “there isn’t such a thing as not having one. We all do. You just have to search for them.”

Back then, that had been your favorite game—always keeping an eye open, scanning the crowd more than once in new places. You knew for sure that more than one person probably thought you’d strained your neck from all the times you glanced over your shoulder.

It must be pretty obvious now, the fact that you’re—well, alone. Saying ‘without a companion’ sounds quite outdated. They can’t see through you, but something in the way you walk or speak must give it away.

Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?

“Are you expecting someone else?” A waitress approaches you, her tone gentle as she makes sure you’re on your own. A small notebook dangles from her slender fingers, and your eyes catch the name stitched onto her apron: Emily.

The response you give her is on the verge of sounding automatic, robotic even, like one of those prerecorded messages busy people leave on their phones. “No. Just me.”

She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity.

Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.

As she jots down your order, you’re met with the ring on her left hand. Very pretty, very shiny. Very expensive as well. Your attention must linger on it a little too long, because she catches you staring, making you feel exposed.

Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile.

“I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.

“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable.

Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.

Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus.

Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.

One article stands out from the rest: Hollywood Actress Divorces Loving Husband of 25 Years to Pursue Presumed Soulmate. “I saw his scars and knew he was the one.”

Interesting. You can’t help but feel sorry for the displaced husband, though.

“Good for you,” you mutter under your breath, clicking the link to read more. There’s a picture of the actress and her new boyfriend that makes you stop dead in your tracks: they’re smiling at each other, their faces close, noses almost touching, while they show off their matching scars—the unmistakable sign that they’re, in fact, soulmates.

Soulmates, superheroes, mutants. It all sounds like a whole lot, doesn’t it? Overwhelming, to say the least. One thing’s for sure—you’ll never get bored in this world.

But, hey! Don’t forget that there are multiple universes out there. Maybe in one of them, you’re not this pathetic.

Why are you being so hard on yourself? That’s not even the point. Shaking your head, you keep glancing at their scars—they’re identical, perfect mirrors of one another. The kind of scars that only two destined souls share.

Their happiness is evident, tangible. You can feel it by just eyeing the image. It’s a bitter sensation that metamorphoses into a warmth, which heavily spreads through your chest, filling up every empty space it finds.

To say you understand that feeling would be a downright lie. And you may be many things, but a pathological liar is not one of them.

As if on cue, you duck your head, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You do the same with your shirt, foolishly hoping to find something other than smooth, unmarked skin.

No scars. No marks. No sign of a soulmate, of a lover. In the world you inhabit—this universe full of the most inexplicable things—you’re alone.

Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.

The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.

Have they? Do you think they see you like you see yourself? The lone woman who writes poems for an addressee who will never read them?

In silence, you hand Emily the money for your coffee. You fear that if you open your mouth, a cry will come out, and that’s the last thing you need today. She gives you that look again—pity laced with sorrow, the one you despise. It burns.

At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.

The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.

They are soulmates.

It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is.

She wishes you a nice morning as you leave the cafe. Little does she know you’ll spend the rest of the day locked in your apartment, mourning someone you never even met.

Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.

They were scattered across your stomach, back, chest, and even your legs and arms. Some were shallow, others deep. It never occurred to you—the thought that they belonged in the shadows, hidden.

Everyone has them, you thought as you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers along their jagged paths. I just seem to have more than most people.

Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours.

Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.

The older you grew, the more you realized having a good memory was both a gift and a curse. You still remembered that moment so vividly—when you found out that somebody out there was meant for you and only you.

A point of no return, that’s what it’d been. From that day on, not a single one went by without you imagining the first encounter with your Prince Charming.

In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d told yourself.

God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.

At the age of seventeen, it sounded like a brilliant plan.

You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office.

Everybody was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.

The scars multiplied, yet he was nowhere to be seen, remaining out of reach. Your soulmate’s whereabouts were a mystery. What the hell does he do in his free time? was something you used to often ponder. Is he suffering? Does he need help?

“Be patient, give it some time. The less you seek, the more you’ll find,” your mother would say, trying to sound encouraging. Although she was trying to do her best, that phrase alone had the power to make you go nuts.

Be patient? Waiting was all you’d been doing. What was so wrong with you that he seemed to be hiding from you? You didn’t want to wait any longer, no—you wanted to find him. If it meant traveling to Italy like your cousin had to meet her husband, then so fucking be it.

Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful.

Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?

Nevertheless, you secretly wished he’d have brown hair. He didn’t need to know, but you had a weakness for brunettes.

On the night of your twenty-second birthday, you were getting ready for the big event when every trace of your scars disappeared.

The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.

There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.

But as you lowered your gaze, tracing your limbs again and again, the truth hit you. The marks you knew by heart, the ones that reminded you, He’s out there, somewhere, were gone.

You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.

Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.

The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”

But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain.

It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone.

He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?

When one’s soulmate passes away, that person will notice the disappearance of their scars. The physical marks that once symbolized their connection fade, leaving no trace. This absence is accompanied by a distinct, unsettling sensation—an awareness of loss that goes beyond the physical, signaling the end of the bond.

A part of you died with him that day.

The first time you exchanged words with Wade Wilson, you thought he was a total dick.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t know him—not when he was so infamous for that mouth of his. Deadpool: the self-proclaimed superhero with a vocabulary that was 90% profanity, who made cracking jokes while fighting the bad guys look easy.

Super funny? Sure. But not exactly your cup of tea when all you wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed.

He was apparently long retired from superheroing. No one had seen that red, sex-toy-looking suit in ages, which was why you were only mildly surprised as you spotted him hauling boxes into your building on a Tuesday afternoon.

It was late, and you weren’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been there barely a week, yet somehow, he’d already managed to fuck things up.

You let out a deep sigh, rubbing the crease between your brows. “Look, Wally—”

“It’s pronounced Wade,” he corrected you, trying to edge his face further into the gap between the door and its frame, though you didn’t let your guard down. “You’re pretty rude, you know that?”

“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I need to sleep,” you groaned, trying to push him away with one hand. Technically, he wasn’t even asking for something that complicated—he wanted to use your microwave to heat his dinner, since his had decided to stop working out of the blue.

The thing was that you’d had the kind of week that felt like a one-way trip to hell, an important detail he wasn’t aware of. “Go ask someone else. I can’t do charity tonight.”

“You’re the only one who answered,” he said, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture, his lips curling into a heartbreaking pout. “Please, my lovely neighbor, whose name I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to starve to death, would you?

“I thought you couldn’t die.” You raised an eyebrow, half-interested.

Wade’s arms dropped to his sides, his eyes drifting downward. “And I thought kindness wasn’t extinct, but here we are.” He spun on his heel, acting defeated and dragging his feet like a scolded puppy. “Can’t believe this is what the world’s come to. I’m sure the Bible says something about treating others how you’d want to be treated.”

Why. Just… why? Some cosmic, divine force from beyond might have been testing you that night.

“Wait,” you croaked just as he was about to step into his apartment—which was literally three meters from yours. His face lit up, expecting you to continue, and you moved aside slightly, signaling him in. “Five minutes and you’re out, okay? I really need to get some rest.”

The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before.

You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.

You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.

Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

“Please, stop it,” you eventually told Wade, whose gaze shifted from the microwave to you, brows furrowed.

“And why’s that?”

“They say it’s bad for your eyes,” you explained, recalling a half-forgotten news report you’d heard on the TV. Whether it was a myth or not, you’d never know. “I believe it’s because of the radiation exposure.”

Leaning back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. “At this point, I think I’m safe. You, on the other hand… maybe not so much,” he nearly whispered that last part, and your desire to strangle him grew stronger.

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

He jerked his thumb toward the pile of papers and books you had on your kitchen table. “So, you’re a writer?”

“Editor, in reality,” you snapped, your eyelids twitching as you watched him leaf through your stuff. “Wade, don’t touch my things.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself. I’m very curious.” Flashing you a quick grin, he opened your notebook, squinting his eyes as he went through the pages. “But you write too, huh? I’m discovering plenty of material here.”

The bastard. “Give. It. Back,” you snarled, lunging at him and trying to snatch the notebook from his hands, but he was faster, raising it out of reach. “I hope your food explodes in that microwave, asshole.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about it,” he snorted, tossing the notebook onto the couch and retrieving his dinner instead. You stared at him in disbelief, opening your mouth to scold him, but nothing came out. Then, there he was, standing in front of you with his plate and a fork.

Wait. Was that your fork?

“It’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He blew on his food to cool it down, and as he glanced up, he was met with your murderous glare. “Whoa. Want some? You could’ve just asked me. No need to get so angry.”

Calling it a desire to kill him would’ve been an understatement. And the worst part? He couldn’t die. “You’ve got what you needed. Now, can you leave?”

“How long’s it been since you talked to another human being?”

You blinked, feeling the sudden urge to look around, half expecting a hidden camera. “Why do you always answer with another question?”

“All I’m saying is I’ve been meaning to talk to you for days now, but you’re practically living the hermit life,” he said between bites of chicken, excusing himself briefly to chew. “That robe you’re wearing? It’s had the same stain on it since I moved in. Also, your doormat’s buried under a mountain of newspapers, so either you really love trees, or you’ve been avoiding any sort of social interaction.”

If he had been wrong, you would’ve felt much better. But he… wasn’t, and it sucked.

“I feel like I should be scared,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, your eyes going round.

Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.

After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, following his movements as he ambled toward the door. “Are you telling me your microwave does work?”

“Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Wade patted your head, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. “Good night, peanut.”

From that moment on, the two of you became inseparable. Your personalities clicked in a way you’d never experienced before with any other friend. Wade was loyal to a fault, and he treated you like the little sister he had never had.

Most importantly, he didn’t pity you—he saw you for who you were, not just someone marked by a lost soulmate. You never told him how much that meant to you, but deep down, you were grateful.

Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends.

“Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.

Somehow, you had managed to bond with them—especially Althea, his elderly roommate, who occasionally forgets who you are despite living next door.

“Remind me of your name again, sweetie? All this disco dust must be affecting my memory,” she’d ask, leaning in close so you’d practically have to shout it into her ear. Then she’d nod, smirking knowingly. “Ah, yes. I thought so. Just making sure.”

She’s quite the character. A real sweetheart if you leave aside the number of times she’s offered you more types of drugs than you knew existed.

Tonight, you’re throwing Wade a surprise birthday party. Among all the party tasks, you’ve handled the decorations and the cake. The room’s a riot of color, with balloons floating lazily from the ceiling and a cascade of streamers draping over the furniture.

Guests start arriving, greeting you warmly, a feeling you once thought impossible. They’re Wade’s friends, sure, but on some level, you like to think they’re your friends now too: Vanessa, Dopinder, Buck, Shatterstar, Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio.

As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.

Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.

You flip the lights back on just as Dopinder pops his much-anticipated party popper. “Surprise!” you all scream in unison, and Wade’s face splits into a grin, unsure of whom to hug first.

“You guys are lucky I’m not armed,” he quips, slinging an arm around Dopinder’s shoulders. “Six years ago, you’d all be dead!”

And you giggle, because… well, what else are you supposed to do?

As you expected, the night unfolds smoothly. You’re having fun, engaging in conversations despite yesterday’s emotional meltdown at the cafe. It’ll be okay—it always is. The food is amazing, the company even better. You remind yourself that romantic love isn’t the only kind that matters—that’s what friends are for, after all, to teach you that lesson.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively symphony that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Yukio calls your name, waving her head in front of your eyes, trying to snap you out of your thoughts. “Everything okay?” she wonders, concern flickering in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

You all gather around the cake when Wade’s about to blow the candles. You know he’s preparing himself for a speech. “Another year of spinning around the moon, huh?”

“Sun, you dumbass,” Al corrects him, and you have to bite your lip to keep your laughter to yourself.

“Okay, flat-earther,” Wade shoots back, giving her a playful side-eye. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, right—I can’t thank you all enough for being here. These past few years have been... well, rough on me, to say the least,” he says, glancing down at the cake with a small, crooked smile. “But I’m happy now. We’ve got each other’s back, like a team!”

“Like The Avengers, you mean?” Dopinder pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s a moment of silence in which you swear you’d be able to hear a hairpin drop.

It’s still a sensitive topic.

“Next time, give me a trigger warning before you mention them,” Wade mutters in a hushed tone, and Dopinder shrinks sheepishly. “I guess what I wanted to tell you was…” he trails off, his palm covering the place where his heart is, “that I'm glad you’re all here. Being surrounded by the people I love most is the best birthday gift ever.”

His words stir something inside you. Vanessa gently nudges his arm, smiling up at him. “Why don’t you make your wish?”

Wade dramatically drops to his knees in front of the cake, eyes fluttering shut before blowing out the candles, whistles and cheers erupting all around.

Just then, you hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell ringing through the air. You exchange a curious glance with Wade, raising your eyebrows. “That’s weird. Want me to get it?”

“Nah, I got it,” he says, excusing himself to answer the door. He slips outside, shutting it behind him, and everything returns to normal. For a while, you assume he’s chatting with someone who dropped by to say hi—but that doesn’t really make sense.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s been out there so long?” Vanessa inquires, her worry starting to creep in.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.

But when you open it, there’s no Wade in sight. Just… his toupee—or “hair system” as he insists on calling it, lying on the floor.

Kneeling down, you gingerly pick it up, a strange sensation settling in your chest.

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

Completely out of character, right? He thought so too. The number of times he'd stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand, so why would a man like him resort to religion?

In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake.

After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.

Things only spiraled after letting everyone down, especially after that particular day when things took a turn for the worse. He had prayed, asking God to make him forget.

When that didn’t work, he just drank harder and smoked more. But not even drowning in alcohol and clouds of nicotine could put an end to his struggles—he was condemned to suffer.

In spite of everyone’s wishes, he’s still going strong, stuck with no defined purpose. It’s almost impossible not to fall into a routine that seeks to numb him, to put him under anesthesia—waking up after passing out who-knows-where, finding the nearest bar, sinking into whiskey and the haze of ashtrays.

Then he does it all over again, a never-ending cycle. His self-destructive habits don’t lead him to oblivion; instead, they intensify every sensation, making each memory and emotion painfully vivid.

Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.

No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.

He slams the empty glass onto the counter with a heavy thud, tapping two fingers against it. “Again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The bartender looks at him like he's the reincarnation of all things vile. “I told you—you’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”

Oh, yes. Music to his ears. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that, he’d be rich. “Just give me one more drink and then I’ll leave.”

“That’s not how it works,” the bartender replies, and Logan knows he’s screwed. Another public establishment he’s been banned from—fucking perfect.

Will there ever be a day where he’s not treated like garbage?

“It does now,” an unknown voice joins the conversation, and Logan glances to his side, arching a brow. The masked man doesn’t let his stare falter. “Leave the bottle.”

“Do I know you, bub?”

“You don’t, but I know you.”

This serves as evidence of how pliant he’s become. Years ago, he would’ve already wiped the floor with this guy. They didn’t call him Logan “short fuse” Howlett for nothing. But now? He just can’t bring himself to do it.

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

“—Wolverine.” Once he finishes the sentence, his words taste bitter. Perhaps it’s the venom on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the alcohol from yesterday kicking him again. Either way, both hit hard.

“Yes, you are,” the stranger says, continuing to stare at him, as if Logan’s worth the effort. “And I’m going to need you to come with me. Right now.”

Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him.

But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.

Or so he believed five minutes ago. Life seems to have its own way of surprising him.

Knowing he’ll regret it later, he closes his fingers around the whiskey bottle, chugging the liquor until darkness takes over his senses.

Nighty-night, Logan.

I'm aware that you're not mine, and nor will you ever be.

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from.

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

nor can I control who touches you and who doesn't.

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

You're beyond reach—someone has already marked you.

I’m aware that you’re not mine,

and I guess maybe that’s how life is meant to be.

“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.

Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.

Since then, you’ve been working on refining the details, but something is missing—that you can feel. The flow is awkward, the choice of words stiff. It’s like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit together.

You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really.

Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.

Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.

It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.

Without warning, a memory slips into your thoughts—one girl you used to work with once advising you to change the subject of your writing.

“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.

Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”

“I haven’t published them yet,” you answered, your voice coming out more high-pitched than usual, betraying the doubt you intended to suppress. Her blue eyes flicked up, studying your face as you slid the now red-stained notebook back into your bag, away from her careless, messy fingers. “I thought… I thought we were supposed to write about what we feel passionate about.”

That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears.

“Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.

Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.”

Kind of depressing. From that moment on, you kind of hated her. Small victories, though—the agency fired her a year later. You like to think you kind of won that battle.

Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.

Are you… lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.

You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.

What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.

And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.

As long as you live and breathe, love will remain in your thoughts, haunting you—especially with your muse being the fleeting dream of a soulmate you never got to meet in the first place.

But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.

The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.

You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.

Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.

The scars.

They’re not the same, not the faded lines etched into your skin that you could see every night behind your eyelids. New marks glow against your flesh, each one a map of something you don’t yet understand, standing out like new brushstrokes on an old canvas.

You can’t help but freeze, your breath faltering for a moment, and you nearly trip over yourself. Kicking your pants to the side, you stare down at your hips, thighs, the hollow of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.

But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.

These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you.

Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

You've never heard of scars returning like this. It goes against everything in the manual on your shelf. Scars vanish when a soulmate dies, but they don’t come back. Not like this. And they certainly don’t change.

Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.

What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.

Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.

That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.

Ringing the bell, a smile tugs at your lips. News like these are meant to be shared.

“Althea, it’s me!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you. You press your forehead against the door, fidgeting with your fingers. “I have something to tell you.”

Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with.

You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.

When the adrenaline wears off and the heroism fades, he’s back to being just Logan again. If he had a watch, he’d probably tap the glass and fake impatience to Wade, pretending he’s got somewhere else to be.

He should leave. That’s his first impulse: to escape before it’s too late, but a question arises in his mind: does he truly want to?

Wade watches as Logan rises to his feet, planning to walk away. Pretty stupid, Logan thinks, considering he knows no one else in this universe—apart from the scarred man he’s become friends with against his will.

“Logan!” Wade yells his name, his voice light but firm enough to halt him in his tracks. Logan turns to face him, greeted by Wade’s familiar, infuriating smile.

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

Nothing’s holding him back, so why not accept it? The odds of being the target of hateful glares are lower here, and that’s reason enough for Logan to give a small tilt of his head and return to the bench where Wade remains seated.

“We’re gonna be roommates!” the latter exclaims, a wide grin stretching across his face as they head toward the building. “Can you imagine all the fun we’ll have?”

Logan presses his lips into a thin line. “Looking forward to it,” he murmurs, a small glimmer of sarcasm slipping into his tone, although Wade takes his words at face value.

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—”

The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.

“You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”

Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys.

Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.

“This doesn’t happen often,” Wade reassures him, rubbing his neck.

“Hard to believe,” Logan mutters, some unknown muscle in his jaw beginning to ache from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “You just leave the house without your fucking keys?”

Wade huffs, jutting out a hip in mock offense. “Those TVA guys didn’t exactly send a ‘We’re here to ruin your day’ memo. I was ambushed, okay?” he retorts, keeping a finger glued to the doorbell, its shrill ring gnawing at Logan’s already thin patience. “Al, I swear to God, I’m replacing your blood pressure pills with laxatives if you don’t wake up!”

“How old is she?” Logan asks, searching for anything to keep him from snapping the other man’s neck. Peaceful thoughts.

“Compared to you, she’s basically a newborn,” Wade replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’s having the time of his life—meanwhile, Logan’s self-control is reaching its limit.

His claws twitch in his knuckles. He’s had enough, and with a jerk of his left hand, they gleam as they slide out, ready to break the damn door.

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, buddy! I’m not letting you turn my door into a strainer.”

“Move,” Logan barks, not an ounce of friendliness in his tone. His stare is flat, unfazed.

“I’d rather not. You can’t just go around breaking people’s doors, man. Not cool,” Wade blurts quickly, placing both hands on Logan’s chest, pushing him away. “How about I ask my neighbor, huh? I gave her a spare set of keys for situations like these.”

“I thought you said this didn’t happen often.”

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

Before Logan can answer back, Wade rushes to the door next to his, slamming his fist on it like a madman, his finger hammering the doorbell simultaneously.

The devil’s orchestra—a symphony straight from hell.

Logan grabs Wade’s wrist before he can knock again, hissing: “Have some manners, will you?”

Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.

After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”

This neighbor must be very patient, Logan thinks, to keep up with a guy like Wade without often seeing red.

As the door finally swings open, his grip on Wade loosens, and his hand falls limply to his side.

“What… the fuck?”

The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early.

Back in The Void, Wade had rambled on about all his friends, you included. Logan recalls how he had described you: a book editor who lived on her own and loved reading. You were younger—but then again, who wasn’t younger than him?

The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

Fuck. Why is he even thinking about that? He must’ve been staring at you for quite a while—you glance at him like a startled lamb, clearly feeling self-conscious under his unwavering stare.

“May I know,” you start, tightening your robe, “why you were banging on my door like that? I thought I was getting robbed for a minute.” You direct your question at Wade, avoiding Logan’s presence, which makes something tighten in his chest.

He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.

Okay, that’s enough, he tells his mind. Let it go.

Wade steps in first, dropping his mask on the nearest surface. “Hello, my dear. Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. No, I wasn’t partying—I was kidnapped. Thanks for asking.”

You draw in a long breath, rubbing your eyes to wake up once and for all, and then you proceed to gesture for Logan to enter. Even now, you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. “Do you—would you like to come in?”

Not only are you pretty, but also polite. He nods, muttering a gruff: “Yeah, thank you.”

As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.

His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo.

“I’m always up for company, but why so early?” you ask your friend, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “And are you going to tell me what happened the other day? You left without saying anything.”

Wade hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child. “You know Al. When it comes to sleeping, she’s like a much older version of Sleeping Beauty,” he replies with a grin, snatching the mug you were about to use for your morning coffee. “Thanks, you’re such a doll.”

“That was—mine,” you sigh, hitting him in the thigh, and Wade winces with a fake whine. “I don’t think I’ve missed you that much. Go back to being missing in action,” you say, grabbing another mug and filling it before raising it toward Logan. “Coffee?”

Logan hesitates. You’re treating him like you’ve known him for years, not minutes. “I’m… good.”

“You sure? I made it fresh, just before you guys arrived.”

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

“I love the chemistry here,” Wade interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention back to him, “but you still got the keys I gave you, right?”

You roll your eyes, blowing on your steamy coffee before answering. “I do, but I want answers first. And I want them now.”

Twenty minutes and a rambling, half-coherent story later, your drink has gone cold, and Logan’s patience is wearing thin… again.

Will he survive sleeping under the same roof as Wade? Stay tuned for more.

“And then I told Paradox ‘He has risen, babygirl’—”

“I think you’re being too specific,” Logan interjects, noting how you’re staring into space with wide eyes. “She seems confused.”

“I am,” you admit, rubbing your temples. He doesn’t blame you: Wade’s a terrible storyteller. You offer him a weak smile as you turn to him. “So… you’re from another universe.”

“Last time I checked.” His back collapses against the couch, groaning softly. He sits beside you, and the way your eyes sweep over him, taking in his disheveled and sweaty appearance, doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

Wade says your name, and you look to your right, lifting your brows. “Do you mind if I grab the keys myself? I need a shower. I’ve been marinating in sweat and blood for way too long.”

You grimace, pointing toward your room. “Top drawer of my nightstand.”

With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.

He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.

“You and Wade…?”

Letting out a giggle, you lean back on the couch. “God, no. We’re just friends,” you explain, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. For a fleeting moment, your eyes bore into his, and then you return to burning holes in the floor. “I’m single. Haven’t found my soulmate yet.”

It’s his turn to chuckle now—a dark, humorless sound rumbling in his chest. You chew on a cuticle, Logan’s gesture igniting a sense of curiosity in you.

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

“Do you really believe in that? Soulmates who share scars?” If he were to think carefully, he’d watch his tone. It’s too late, anyway—you straighten your posture, your face contorting with each passing second. “I can tell you do.”

“And I can tell you don’t.”

“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.

The look you give him is enough to wipe the smirk off his face.

“Soulmates exist, Logan. We all have one.” There’s a certainty in your tone, marked by the subtle way in which you say his name, that he finds alluring. He shouldn’t, especially when you seem angry above all.

“And where is yours, then?”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps?

Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.

You strike back with silence. Plain, pure, dreadful silence that has him wondering if he’s breathing properly.

At long last, Wade comes back from his expedition, keys dangling from his fingers. “It was quite the treasure hunt, you know? You’ve got a lot of garbage in there.” He sticks his face between Logan’s and yours when you don't answer him. “Guys, is there something wrong? Are you doing a staring contest? If so, can I join?”

“I need to start getting ready for work,” you announce, standing up from the couch. Logan mimics you, and you open the door, your fingers curling around the knob. “You should get going. And Wade,” you pause, acknowledging only him, “I need to talk to you later. In private.”

Without Logan. That’s what you wanted to say but didn’t.

“Sure, my queen. I live to serve,” Wade says in rejoinder, and he kisses your forehead briefly, which forces Logan to avert his gaze the whole time his lips are on you, feeling uncomfortable watching. “Take care, alright?”

You give Wade a small nod, waiting until he’s outside your apartment to glance at Logan.

“Goodbye,” you croak, and he knows he should say something, that he—

The door almost closes on his nose.

Had he been an asshole? He was merely expressing his thoughts. The idea of soulmates didn’t sit well with him.

Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.

The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.

The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.

He feels drawn to you, as if some sort of invisible string is tying the two of you. Were it possible, he would use his own claws to cut it, but he can’t discern where it begins or ends. Instead, he prefers to blame his touch-starved state for this reaction.

He’s already hating this earth. So much for a man whose skin refuses to scar.

And where is yours, then?

His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished.

The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.

A ridiculously good-looking moron? Yes, but a moron nonetheless.

There is something about him you can’t quite place. A chill creeps down your spine as you replay the instant your eyes first locked. Your body had reacted in ways it never had before, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.

Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space.

How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?

You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.

So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.

You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.

The next day, you drop by Wade’s place for a quick visit, your eyes darting around the room every few seconds, half-expecting Logan to appear out of nowhere.

“I told you, he’s sleeping. That guy’s got a fucked up sleep schedule,” Wade says, urging you to take a seat beside him at the table. “Why don’t you wanna see him?”

Because he’s messing with your sanity. Your brain cells are practically disintegrating at the mere thought of breathing the same air as him.

“I just—I need to tell you something.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“What? Wade, no! You’ve been gone for three days—pregnancies take months.”

“I’d make an amazing uncle, though.” He grabs your hand between his, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Babies are so adorable at that—”

“My scars are back,” you cut him off, putting an end to his nonsense. Pulling the neck of your sweater to the side, you show him the thin lines etched into your collarbone. “But they are different this time.”

“Different? You mean they changed?” His disbelief is clear as he reaches for your arm, frowning while he inspects more of your scars. Wade’s jaw slackens, color draining out of his face. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Fuck?”

“Yeah, fuck!” His strong arms envelop you, and you lean into the embrace, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Is this good news? Are we happy? Does this mean I have a shot at becoming an uncle after all?”

You laugh a little at his eagerness, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “I am happy. I just—I don’t know what these changes mean yet.”

Althea steps out of the bathroom, her cane tapping the floor in rhythmic beats. “I already told you what they mean.”

Wade pulls away from you, glaring at her. “You meddler! Haven’t we talked about not eavesdropping? Hasn’t life taught you anything after all these decades?”

“Upside of being blind: I’ve never seen this motherfucker in Crocs,” she says, pointing her cane at you, though you know her aim is Wade. “Downside of being blind: I hear everything in this apartment. And you, kid, have a new soulmate.”

“I know what we talked about the other day, but... it doesn’t make sense, Al. You only get one soulmate,” you protest, feeling the tension grow as you pace around the table. “Why can’t it just be simple? My friends are getting engaged, years are flying by, and I’m still out here chasing this… this idiot who no one can even find!”

That’s when Logan appears, emerging from his room, holding several empty beer cans. He rolls his eyes and walks straight into the kitchen. “Great. Who else is coming tonight?”

Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.”

With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”

You decide to take that as your cue to leave. You grab your bag, muttering a quick goodbye to Althea as you head for the door.

But Logan calls after you. “Can we talk?”

You freeze, your back to him. “How much did you hear?” you ask, not daring—not being able—to meet his gaze.

“All of it,” he admits after a beat, and you curse under your breath. “But it doesn’t—Hey!” He follows you into the hallway. “I’m talking to you!”

“No, you’re not.” You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking as you try to unlock your door. “Leave me alone.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles behind you, his voice softer now. “Come on. Don’t be so harsh.”

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, finally finding the right key and jiggling it into the lock. The door swings open, and you step into the safety of your apartment. But when you try to close it, Logan’s foot wedges into the gap, blocking it. “Get out.”

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, me neither. But I owe you an apology.”

You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.

Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.

“Can I come in?” he insists, his tone on the verge of sounding pleading.

You hesitate. The sensible part of you screams to send him away. Thinking that avoiding him would be as easy as stealing candy from a baby is a long-forgotten idea now: you’d been naïve to even consider it possible.

He’s going to find a way to sneak into your space, your home—and you’ll let him in. You’ll grant him a chance to cross a boundary that should’ve been already drawn.

It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now.

The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.

But God, it feels so good to be near him.

You step aside. He walks in. Something tells you this won’t be the last time.

“I’m waiting.” You stay near the counter, pressing your back against it, and keeping your distance. Logan sits awkwardly on the edge of your couch, unsure of where to begin.

“Look, about what I said yesterday…I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, earnest. “I didn’t know you believed in soulmates.”

“It’s not a matter of believing in them or not, Logan. My soulmate is out there—yours too.”

Your words coax a grin from him, and he shakes his head. “I guess we’ll never see eye to eye on that.” In a fluid motion, he crosses the room, and you find his unexpected proximity a bit exasperating. “Do you forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Give me a break, darlin’. I’m trying my best.”

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

It’s not that you’re easy—it’s Logan’s persuasive allure that gets to you.

“What else can I do to win your forgiveness?” he wonders aloud, his syrupy voice making you tighten your grip on the counter.

An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger.

It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.

“How do you feel about reading?”

“Not my strongest suit,” he answers, arching a brow as he takes in your enthusiasm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“You want me to believe you’re sorry for what you said? Then read this,” you say, wiggling the book in front of him, “and we can start over.”

“What is it about? Let me guess: love and soulmates. Did I get it right?” he asks, playfulness lacing his tone. His breath hitches as you press the book against his chest, silently urging him to take it. His pinky grazes your hand, feeling your skin and sending a jolt through you.

Logan watches you with half-lidded eyes, and it takes every ounce of willpower to tear yourself away from him and his maddening touch.

You clear your throat. “Open it to page one hundred fifty-three.”

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

“And read what’s underlined in black,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed for an instant. “Please.”

Logan must mutter something along the lines of ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ before searching for it. It’s only then that he begins to recite the passage:

He is not to them what he is to me. He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; – I am sure he is – I feel akin to him – I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other light than a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: – and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

Logan looks up from the book, his mouth slightly parted, as if he’s about to speak. You interject before he can find the words.

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

He surrenders, sighing in defeat. “You’re killing me here, y’know?”

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

Right there, Logan offers you a mock laugh. “Haha. That’s so funny.”

“It is for me,” you talk back, unable to hide your smile from him, and soon he mirrors your expression.

As Logan steps toward the door, he hesitates and glances back. “We’re all good then?”

Leaning against the doorframe, you raise your chin defiantly. “We’ll be when you finish the book.”

What he says next has your stomach turning into knots. “You’re trouble.” His tone shifts—no longer teasing, but grounded in truth. Gone are the jokes; he seems to mean every word.

For the rest of the night, one line from the book doesn’t stop echoing in your mind—the line about soulmates: I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.

You’re trouble for him, and he’s trouble for you. You hope he knows it too.

He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.

That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.

Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable.

Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.

The way you laugh, the right corner of your mouth lifting just slightly higher than the left—he swears it isn’t the first time he's seen a smile brighter than the sun.

Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.

He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.

Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.

Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?

Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?

The walls in this place are paper-thin. When darkness falls, and the moon rises, the big, scary Wolverine can’t close his eyes.

Instead, he listens.

Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.

He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.

None of the other films you pick ever ends in heartbreak, he realizes. They all have happy endings—the kind you wish for yourself.

One way or another, there must be a way to get you out of his system. He knows, without a doubt, that you wouldn’t want him. He’s not your soulmate, and it’s clear that finding that person has become the center of your existence.

Logan can’t allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.

Sure, he’s done bad things, but he likes to believe that at least a part of him—some small fraction—hasn’t been lost yet. That there’s a piece of him that can be saved, which is the reason why he stayed here: to be a better man than the one he was in his universe.

But it’s hard. Harder still because it’s you who disrupts his quest for redemption. How is he supposed to go on with his life when every thought circles back to you? The idea of holding you, kissing you—sleeping beside you haunts him.

And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

One afternoon, while deliberately steering clear of Jane Eyre, he reluctantly turns to Wade in search of answers. “Tell me more about her.”

Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”

Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.

“No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”

“You keep saying we, but you’re the only alcoholic in this apartment.” Wade kicks off his shoes, propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, why the sudden interest in the lady? She getting through that tough exterior of yours? I’ll give her points for that.”

“And you wonder why I don’t talk to you.”

“I saw the book,” the younger man replies, lacing his fingers behind his head, watching as Logan rummages through the fridge with increasing frustration. “You never told me you were into classics. If I’d known, I’d have gotten you a copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?”

The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.

“See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”

“Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”

“More times than I can count. I’m just not everyone’s cup of coffee.”

“Tea, Wade. Not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Whatever.” Wade simpers, as though Logan’s correction is the punchline to a joke only he gets. He sets his palms flat on the table, looming closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what would you like to know about my dear friend?”

Logan hesitates, the weight of his question heavy on his tongue. “What’s the deal with her scars?”

The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.”

Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”

From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away.

The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.

It wasn’t just a momentary hurt. It was the kind of torment that lingered, making you question who you were and what little remained of you.

You and Logan had more in common than he’s willing to admit.

“She’s a good person,” he mutters absent-mindedly, his thumb grazing the cover of the book. He had carried it everywhere for a week now, without even cracking it open.

“Oh, you dirty pig…” Wade whispers, his eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his mind. “Now I get it. You wanna know her. Like, really know her!”

“I don’t—”

“Your sex life is none of my business. I’m all up for you putting your mutant dick to work, otherwise it’s just wasted potential. But it’s my friend we’re talking about.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, and he snaps. “Drop the speech, alright? I’m not trying to get into her pants. I just want to be nice. That’s all.”

“Nice, huh? What’s your version of nice? Starting a two-person book club?” Wade stifles a laugh, pressing a finger to Logan’s chest. “Look, if you want to sleep with her, and the feeling’s mutual, then go for it. Just tell me this—how long’s it been since you visited Pussy Village? Was it before or after the Big Bang?”

Things are never truly serious with Wade Wilson. “I’m not answering that.”

Wade raises both hands in surrender, still chuckling. “Fine, fine. But if you’re really interested, just be clear about it. She doesn’t need a half-assed situationship.”

By now, it’s like a mantra he repeats again and again, hoping that eventually both Wade and he will start to believe it. “I don’t want to have sex with her.”

As he heads back to his (now Wade’s old) room, Wade adds, “I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you underlined some quotes you like.”

Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does.

His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

He finishes the book at 7 a.m. A long-ass book—just for you. While getting ready for work, Wade calls him an unemployed fucker, and Logan knows nothing better than to shoot back a similar insult, stretching his arms as the first rays of sunlight creep through the curtains.

Wade was right about something, even if Logan himself doesn’t wish to admit it: he’s behaving like a teenager—staying up until dawn, practically chained to the bed without daring to go out. Falling for a girl he didn’t know a week ago.

Learning to control his impulses has been a hard task, especially with his temperament. Over the years, Logan thought he’d mastered the art of self-restraint, long past the point where his body moved without his mind’s permission.

As his feet carry him down the hall toward your apartment, he recognizes how wrong he is.

This is a terrible idea, he thinks. And yet, his fist knocks on the wood. Three times.

Fuck.

The door opens just a crack. You peek out, your face barely visible, eyes puffy from sleep. “Logan?”

His name isn’t a fancy one. It’s pretty normal, pretty standard. There must be a thousand other guys named like him—yet it’s only when you say it, your voice turning it into something rare and unique, that it feels different, like it’s only his.

The tone you use with him isn’t the one he’s used to: Logan, you’re a disappointment. Logan, how dare you turn your back on your friends? Logan, they’re all dead. Logan, it’s your fault.

Yours is inviting, and warm, and new. He likes new.

“I just finished it,” he answers, holding up the book, mindful not to grip it too tight as not to crumple the pages.

You scratch the back of your head, blinking at him. “You just finished it… at 7 a.m.?

Yeah, it sounds stupid now that you say it out loud, but it’s true. Hoping his reaction is enough to explain what he can’t put into words, he gives you a slow nod.

This time, you don’t wait for him to say more. “Come in?”

Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.

This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.

His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?

He follows you into the kitchen as you move to make tea. “Want some?” you ask, but he declines the offer. If he were to drink anything right now, it would be something much stronger, not tea, despite the early hour. “You’re here to talk about the book?”

“Well, you told me I could come back after reading it.”

“I did,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hide it behind your mug. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so punctual.”

You don’t need to know that he’s been counting down the seconds, marking each minute in his mind since the last time he saw you. That’s a detail he’ll keep to himself. “It’s a good story.”

“Tell me about it.” You smile even wider, and he takes a moment to absorb the details of your face—the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches when you’re amused. “I lent you my most precious book. Fell in love with it years ago.”

“I can see why you liked it,” he explains, flipping through the pages to find the one he marked. “All the romance and the yearning—”

“Hey, it’s also good for other reasons,” you try to defend yourself, but any other argument dies on your lips when he finds the passage he was looking for and begins to read aloud.

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now,” he recites, his voice lower, almost reverent, as he looks up from the page to meet your gaze. “It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.”

You seem startled by the sharp sound of him closing the book. He’s sort of breathless, and from where he stands, he can tell you are too. “That’s one of my favorite passages.”

“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you.

Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.

Grinning, you take it, your eyes remaining trained on his. “I happen to notice it hasn’t changed your perspective on soulmates.”

“It’ll take more than a book.”

“This is, in my opinion, one of the best love stories ever written. How else will I convince you?”

“Why do you feel like you need to convince me?” He takes a step forward—you take a step back. “Why can’t it be the other way around? I might end up being the one who convinces you.”

“You could never,” you respond, clasping your hands behind your back. “It would be like convincing me the sky is green instead of blue.”

Logan retreats slightly. “Don’t you get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Of waiting. Of always being on the lookout.”

You don’t react badly to his question. You’re not even shaken, not fazed in the slightest. “When I meet him, I’ll know all the waiting was worth it.”

“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?”

If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.

“I think you misunderstand, Logan.” You study him through your lashes, and he feels he’s become the keeper of your most sacred secrets. “It’s not about waiting as if my life’s on pause. I’ve been with other people. But in the end, I want to choose him.”

That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.

I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.

He imagines someone else standing in your kitchen. Perhaps in five minutes, there will be another man knocking on your door, here to discuss a book, and it won’t be him.

Perhaps this isn��t rare for you—all this come in, grab something to drink, let’s talk when you’re done reading.

Perhaps he’s not as important as you make him feel.

His thoughts spiral until your voice pulls him back from the brink.

“Don’t you understand how beautiful it is?” There’s a dazzling glint in your expression, a light in your eyes that makes him ache. “Outside of these four walls, there’s a person who’s waiting to meet me, in the same way I expect to meet him. I can’t grant myself the choice not to believe in something like this.”

Far from easing the martyr in his mind, this conversation only deepens his internal struggle. The questions overlap each other: what happens if you never find him? Would you ever consider settling for somebody else?

He rephrases that last one—would you ever consider being with him?

“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.

For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.

Maybe, just for you, he’ll allow himself to believe it.

Your eyes soften with sudden emotion, glistening with the beginnings of tears. He feels the primal urge to reach out, to cup your cheek, to be there when the first tear falls. “You think so?” you ask, your voice fragile.

I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his tone quiet but laden with a strange, undeniable truth.

It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.

Whatever this is between you—it’s messed up. He’s messed up. And you… you’re just as tangled in this chaos for indulging it, for looking at him in that way that calls out to him.

The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do.

It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.

Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.

Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.

When the two of you stand at the threshold once more, just as you have other times before, you softly say: “I feel like I’m experiencing a déjà vu.”

He laughs, because it sounds ridiculous. “Care to explain why?”

“You come, we talk, you leave.” You lean against the wall, your hand ghosting over the handle. “But you never stay that long.”

There’s no mistaking the layered meaning in your words. You, who work with language and its peculiarities for a living, never speak by chance—every phrase, every pause, carries an assigned weight. The double meaning in your statement doesn’t escape either of you.

You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before.

Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.

They say food and shelter are the basic human needs, but Logan chooses to believe they forgot to include the longing to reach out and just feel you.

“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.

His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.

Before the impulse to kiss you becomes too overwhelming to resist, Logan leaves.

Some time later, you’re making lunch, music playing softly in the background at the same time the city’s distinct noise finds a way to break through your tranquility.

You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.

The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.

This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.

Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.

“Fuck,” you grumble, watching the skin redden in protest. “Lesson learned: no more multitasking.”

The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.

It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.

Wade notices his distraction. “Hey, you okay?”

Logan pays no mind to it. “Sure. Just felt something strange.”

Is it still called avoiding if you’re both doing it? You’d like to think so.

For the sake of clarity, let’s say you’ve been actively avoiding Logan, but truth be told—he’s been avoiding you too. That last encounter in your apartment didn’t help matters at all.

If anything, it made everything worse.

You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not.

One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’

They disappear as though they never existed, and not even the best detective can track them down.

So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.

Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?

You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him.

As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.

Then the elevator doors slide open, and you drop everything to the floor.

You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.

And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.

“Hey,” he greets you, standing just outside the elevator, like he’s not sure if he should step inside or stay where he is. He’s dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt, layered over a white vest, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that seem made for him.

He looks... ridiculously good.

“Hi,” you manage to answer after a beat, scrambling to collect the bags you’d dropped. “Just—give me a second.”

“Let me help you,” Logan says, ducking down to gather the groceries, but you pull them away.

“I’ve got it. Are you going out? On a date, maybe?” You nod toward his clothes, trying to keep things light, teasing even.

Glancing down at himself, a crease appears between his brows, and in one swoop, he gathers all the bags with a single hand. “I’m supposed to meet Wade at a bar, but he’ll survive without me.”

“Logan, you don’t—”

But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.

“Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”

Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.

As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”

That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.

His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He thinks he’s so discreet, so smooth. “Well, I’ve been busy,” you explain, fiddling with the frayed edge of your sweater, tugging at it like it might unravel your nerves.

You hear him click his tongue. “Been busy too.” His words hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere. Your body tenses, and you stare at his shoes, until— “Sweetheart,” he calls you softly, and your eyes snap shut for a moment, your chin almost pressing against your chest. “My eyes are up here.”

A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go.

You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. “You already want me to leave?”

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

He huffs out a laugh, inhaling a shallow breath like you’ve missed something obvious. “Wade can wait. He’ll be fine.” His expression shifts, and the playful tone in his voice falls away, replaced by something more raw. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.

Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.

“At least I have a reason for it. What about you?” His hand reaches out, fingers closing around yours in a grip that’s both firm and gentle, enhancing your anxiety. Your throat tightens, the room shrinking around you. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy,” he says, his voice rough and low. “I need you to tell me you feel it too.”

Panic flares in your chest, and you scramble for time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but your voice cracks, the uncertainty leaking through the cracks in your bravado.

He doesn’t buy your acting. “You do. We can’t keep playing dumb. You’re gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind one of these days.”

It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.

The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.

“Logan, this isn’t—”

“What? Okay?” There’s a glimpse of mirthlessness in his tone as he speaks, his forehead furrowing. “I can’t stay away from you, don’t you see it? It feels too good to be wrong,” he utters, inching forward. You know you should take a step back, tell him to stop. Nothing good can come from this. “It takes two to feel these things. It can’t be just me.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.

More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.

Logan runs his eyes up and down your face, agitated, almost going cross-eyed. “Earlier you asked if I was going on a date. Would you like that? Me being with other people? Kissing another woman?” His hot breath caresses your cheek, and you avert your gaze momentarily. “Answer me.”

Don’t do it. For the love of God, don’t. “I can’t—I don’t—”

“Come on, baby.”

“I don’t want you to be with other people,” you mumble, your lips almost grazing his, and that’s all he needs to grip your chin and pull you into a kiss.

His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.

Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.

“This is what you were hiding from me?” he rasps, his forehead bumping against yours. “These sweet sounds you make?”

You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.

Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.

Everything seems to fall into place. Outside your window, birds chirp. The world feels lighter, like a better place. The beast inside you quiets, and for once, your mind is blissfully blank.

Logic? Error 404—not found.

You tug at his hair, and Logan growls, breaking the kiss. “Do that again.” He jerks under your touch, bucking up into you. Encouraged, you pull his hair again, fingers wrapping around a strand at the nape of his neck, and you’re rewarded with a deep groan.

He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.

“I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.

That’s when recognition settles over you.

What are you doing? And why are you doing it?

He ceases sucking your flesh when you go rigid on top of him. Pecking your lips once again, Logan’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t understand how he does it, how he can remain so calm. Doesn’t he realize the gravity of this? “We have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask me something you already know the answer to.”

His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”

Your reaction seems to get on his nerves, his frustration somehow increasing. Logan stands, towering over you. “Was it stupid when you were dry humping me?”

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“I’m not the bad guy here. You kissed me back.” He doesn’t let up, trailing behind you as you try to escape. “You want me as much as I want you.”

“Will you stop saying that?” you bark, throwing your arms in the air. Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Yeah, we like each other. So? Does that make it right? How can you just ignore how wrong this is?”

His expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “Forget your idea of what's good and bad. You're just upset you can't control what you feel.”

“He’s closer than ever.”

Logan gawks at you, his voice bitter as he goes on with his rambling. “That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.”

“You wish you were him, don’t you?” You jab your finger into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a flutter you choose to ignore. “You want to be my soulmate.”

“Damn right I do,” he practically spits his words, narrowing his eyes at you. “But I’m not him.”

“No. You’re not.”

Everything seems to fall out of place. Outside your window, birds don’t chirp—they scream for mercy. The world doesn’t feel lighter, but heavier. The beast inside you roars back to life, restless and louder than ever, while your mind spins in chaos.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Your voice pierces through the thick silence in the room, and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.

“If that’s what you want,” he replies, his jaw clenched tight, irritation radiating off him in waves.

“It’s what we both need.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t have a soulmate.” His tone is biting, but you don’t miss the undercurrent of longing in his words. “But if in any other universe I do, I hope it’s you.”

Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.

No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

It didn’t go well in the end.

You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.

Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.

Almost ten years later, another heartbreak shouldn’t come as a surprise. By now, you thought you would’ve developed the tools to survive it. You should be able to piece yourself back together by instinct.

But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.

Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.

Though you’re not the one who’s suffering the most. Neither is Logan.

Wade, the third party in this tangled mess, has somehow taken it the hardest.

“I feel like a child of divorce,” he says, his head resting on your lap, eyes distant as they fixate on the peeling wallpaper. “You need to do something about that.”

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent.

“My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”

All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.

Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.

One thing stays constant—you and Logan don’t talk. Stolen glances in the hallway, awkward elevator rides—those are the only remnants of whatever you once were. Back to being strangers again.

Well, not really. Strangers don’t know the route to your mouth the way he does.

The ache lingers every day. Missing him when you’re awake is a common occurrence. At night, as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, he stars in your dreams. You can’t recall the last time he wasn’t lodged in your thoughts.

Where there used to be ideas, creativity, and plots worth scribbling down, there’s now only Logan—a man destined to problematize your stay on earth.

That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.

And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.

What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.

You liked to separate things into categories: good and bad, right and wrong. A simple method to structure everything, to make sense of your world, and it has worked most of the time.

But now? The limits of those sacred categories look blurred. Your judgment feels unreliable, and you wonder if the choices you’ve made lately have been the correct ones.

Each of your decisions seems to be leading you further down a path you can’t recognize.

What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?

You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

You don’t want to be the lone woman who sits by herself in a cafe, drawing pity from waitresses who discuss her solitude. By no means do you wish to be that friend who dispenses wise dating advice, but goes home to an empty bed. You refuse to become the godmother whose hand no one holds when her time comes.

No, this can’t be all fate has to offer to you. There must be more. If your life were a book, you’d be flipping through the pages to the last chapter, desperate to see how it ends.

Or, better yet, you’d grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.

It’s Sunday, one of those endless weekends where the only way to survive is by rearranging your entire apartment. You could manage it alone, but help would be nice—Wade’s help, to be more precise, would be perfect for this kind of task, and you find yourself knocking on his door.

No answer. Deciding to dial his number to see if he’s fallen asleep, you try calling him, waiting through the rings until he finally picks up. “Hey.”

Except it’s not Wade’s voice that answers. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear.

He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”

You feel foolish for still being on the call, so you lock your phone, ending it. “Where’s Wade?” you ask, frowning as you hold your breath, your voice sharper than intended.

“Out and about. Didn’t tell me where he was going,” Logan replies, glaring at you as he raises the phone to your face. “He left without this.”

Abort mission! Nodding in agreement, you begin to step back. “Great, I’ll look for him later.”

You’re close to being locked up once again in the safety of your apartment when you hear him: “You need anything?”

It’s the most he’s said to you in weeks. You hesitate, keeping your back turned. “I’m moving some heavy stuff around. Thought I could use the help.”

“I could do it.”

No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head.

“It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he retorts, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as they draw closer. With each passing second, your options shrink, leaving you no room for retreat. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to kiss you again if that’s what’s got you all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.

The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.

His eyes roam the room, like he’s forgotten what your apartment looked like. He pauses by the bookshelf, his fingers gliding over the spine of Jane Eyre, and a low whistle escapes him as he slips it back into place.

You, frozen at the threshold, feel your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and the urge to hide in your bedroom only becomes stronger.

After this, you’ll have to burn your favorite book. What a pity.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.

There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.

You gesture toward the couch. “Can you put it by the window?”

He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.

Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.

Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack.

You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—

“So,” Logan’s voice cuts through the silence, startling you, “how’s the search going? Got any luck?”

His words have the desired effect on you, and the glass slips from your grasp, shattering against the floor in a crash that mirrors the jump of your heart. You curse under your breath, stepping back from the mess, taking in the shards sprawled around your shoes.

“Be careful,” he says from the other side of the room, still dragging the furniture into place, and you scrutinize him over your shoulder, your brows knitted.

“I don’t need your advice,” you murmur through gritted teeth as you crouch to pick up the larger shards. His attention returns to the couch, but you guess he’s not technically thinking how nice of a person you are.

As you kneel, your hands tremble slightly, and you wonder when that started. You fumble for a larger shard of glass, bracing your hand against the floor for balance, unaware of the smaller piece lying dangerously close to your fingers.

The sting comes fast, slicing through the skin of your pinky. You flinch, raising your hand, and Logan, hearing the faint wince, abandons his task and crosses the room to you.

"I don’t need your advice," he echoes, mocking your tone as he squats beside you, his hand closing around yours to inspect the wound. "You’re bleeding."

“Brilliant observation, Sherlock. I hadn’t noticed—” The words die in your throat, your eyes widening as you take a closer look at his hand. “Wait, why are you bleeding?”

He snorts, diverting his attention to his own hand. “What do you mean I’m—” Whatever it is he intended to shoot back remains unsaid as both of you stare down at the small cut in his pinky.

Driven by instinct, you place your hands side by side, your finger grazing his. The cuts are identical: same place, same width, same depth. The only difference is his vanishes within seconds, leaving only a few droplets of crimson blood as evidence.

Logan couldn’t have cut himself. He was nowhere near the glass. “Are you…?” You swallow thickly, trying to string together a coherent thought, dizziness making its triumphant appearance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

“Can you stop acting like a dick for one second?” You peer into his glossy eyes, watching him try to avoid your gaze, though he can’t seem to resist. “Please, Logan. Look at me.”

When he does, his mouth parts as if to speak, then closes again. “I don’t understand. I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.” His gruff tone slows even further, like he's straining to push the words from his lungs. “I thought—I thought I was alone.”

It explains so much: how your scars had reappeared once he and Wade returned from The Void.

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

The dread that washed over you each time he walked away.

The dreams that plagued your nights, and the tightness in your chest these past few weeks that made you wonder if you could ever coexist in the same space as him without breaking apart.

All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there.

But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?

Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.

He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.

In a sense, you’re his. You carry his scars, the physical manifestation of the life he has lived. Even though he may not bear any of his own, you do, and that’s more than enough.

He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

“There are more,” you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. He stands, offering you his hand, and you take it, rising to your feet. Logan inches closer, his mouth hovering just above yours, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.

“Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.

He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.

You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.

Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.

Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.

“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes.

Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.

Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.

“They’re yours. I could never not like them.”

Before you stands a man you once believed was meant to be your burden, your trial. Logan had been the earthquake sent to test your endurance, to see how much you could withstand before surrendering and waving the white flag.

The same fingers that once imprinted his mark on you now linger on the strap of your bra, waiting for you to decide whether to let him go further or stop.

Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.

This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.

“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.

He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.

Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.

Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.

His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.

“What is it, honey?” He slides his fingers your stomach, just below your belly button, brushing a small scar in there. “Want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.

You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”

He moves toward the couch, and you follow, trying to anticipate what he’s got planned for you. “I know, baby. I know. You’ve waited long enough.” Guiding your body down, he has you lying horizontally on the sofa. He unhooks your bra, kneading your breasts with both hands, eliciting a ragged gasp from you. “But I’m here now. You don’t have to wait any longer,” he huffs by your ear, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and inviting. “Gonna let me make you feel good? Show you how much I’ve been thinkin’ about you?”

Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.

As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.

He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.

You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.

His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.

Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.

One can be certain that he’s marking your inner thighs with a hickey or two, the scratch of his beard feeling magnificent against your sensitive skin, and you can hardly bring yourself to think about the potential burn he’ll leave behind. Logan inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dangerously close to your cunt, and you tangle a hand in his hair as he continues to test your patience.

“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.

He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds has you scrunching your eyebrows in pleasure, tightening your grip on his hair. Logan moans against you, the sound muffled as he dips the tip of his tongue into your entrance, lapping at your arousal with an insatiable hunger.

The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.

His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.

Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world.

Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.

Then his fingers join the symphony of pleasure, pumping in and out of you as he keeps flicking your clit with expert precision, and your back arches from the couch, following his pace with your hips. He pushes back, you push forward—he pushes forward, you push back.

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.

Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.

Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.

In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.

Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.

“Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.

A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”

“Shut up,” he retorts breathlessly, but you revel in the strangled noise that escapes him as you take him deeper, his head disappearing between your lips. His palm rests on your nape, anchoring you in place. “Goddammit. The fuckin’—mouth you have on you.”

You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.

“Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, actin’ all stupid.”

At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.

It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.

He sinks into you and the world collides in a way you never expected. Everything you thought you knew falls apart, leaving you stranded in unfamiliar territory.

You can’t comprehend how you’ve spent so many years without him. Without this.

Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.

He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

You come to understand it fully as his eyes flicker to yours, checking for any signs of discomfort in your features.

You understand why people write books and songs about love when he breathes your name in the shell of your ear, chanting how good you’re taking him, how tight and wet you are for him.

You understand the place love occupies in your life as the sound of your bodies slapping together creates a melody which has never been played before.

You understand why you’ve searched for this your entire life, lifting every carpet in hopes of uncovering the love you’ve pined for.

In the past, it had always felt like a race—finding your soulmate before the clock struck twelve. Now that you have him, you wonder what the future holds for you, how this connection will evolve.

For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.

Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.

“So full,” you blurt out, mewling with a specially hard thrust, a chocked sob lodged in your throat. “Please, stay.”

It could mean many things: Please, keep fucking me. Please, don’t leave after this. Please, remain by my side form this moment onward, because I don’t know how to go on with my life now that I’ve experienced this closeness.

Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?”

Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”

His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.

“Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”

Logan stutters against you, his forehead falling against your collarbone as he finishes with one powerful thrust, his cock pulsing warm ropes of come within your cunt. You clench around him, whining as he prolongs both your pleasure and his, milking the last drop of his seed. His voice is a constant murmur, filling every space in the room until he slumps against you.

Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

Logan grasps your chin and tilts it up, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he mutters, his gaze roaming all over your face.

You cup his cheek, his rough stubble grazing your palm. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see.”

A genuine laugh pierces through the silence. the kind he rarely allows himself. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, his brow furrowing as he glances at you with love.

Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.

Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.

You’d do it all over again if it meant ending up like this, tangled and intertwined, with the promise of a future together. He has many stories to share—about his past universe, about himself. You have secrets to unveil, too. There’s so much you both have yet to discover about each other.

But time isn’t up. This isn’t a race, you remind yourself: things are just getting started.

Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up. Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

5K notes · View notes

hyprfixate · 6 months ago

Text

for the taking :: [B.C] x [H.J] x [K.S] x reader

read on AO3

summary: of your three boyfriends, you like to push chan's buttons the most so that he'll really get things going. you sadly underestimate how wild things can get when you rile him up.

pairing: kim seungmin x bang chan x han jisung x reader

tropes: poly!skz mmmf foursome, porn without plot

smut warnings: mentioned free use dynamics, dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, brat play, overstimulation x100000, pussy eating, implied mxm dynamics, dom jisung, soft dom/sadist seungmin, hard dom/brat tamer chan, mentions of safewords (it's not used), unprotected sex but it's a long established relationship, reader initiated slight cnc, dirty talk, reader is called a slut as a degradation thing. it's really just pure filthy, not a plot point in sight.

author's note: i didn't plan to write this at all. idk where it came from. enjoy anyway!!

word count: 8.7k

You're laying on your stomach in your bedroom. The lights are dim, music is thrumming from your speaker, and there's a candle on your wax warmer. It's a quiet, soft night, the kind that you don't see many of. There's always something going on in the duplex you share with your partners. It can be tiring, but in the quiet, you realize you sort of miss it. You fiddle with the green beaded bracelet on your wrist as you scroll aimlessly through your phone.

Then, the door across the hall slams.

Only you and Chan are home tonight, Seungmin and Jisung off God-knows-where for whatever reason. Chan was supposed to go out with them, but he had a project to finish for his job, the same project that had him losing sleep for the last few weeks. You may never understand what exactly goes into producing music, but from the way he stayed hunched over his computer 24/7, you knew it was complicated.

You're not at all surprised when you hear your door creak open slowly. You turn over, eyes catching Chan's as he stands in your doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He's wearing a haberdash of house clothes, including a baseball cap, but you can still see the dark tint on his eyes.

You feign innocence.

“Hey you,” you smile at him. “Taking a break?”

“Something like that. What're you doing?”

You shift your phone to the hand with your bracelet, holding it up and giving it a little shake. His gaze hardens even more. “Just on Instagram.”

His eyes are trained on your wrist, just like you wanted. He recognizes the bracelet. Of course he does– he and the boys bought it for you after one of your many, many conversations. You give a little smile. "It's cute, right? The green matches my t-shirt," you say sweetly.

It does, but that's not the only reason you're wearing it.

You're wearing it because they know that green means go. Or yes.

Or take.

"Did you need something, Chan?"

He doesn't respond, choosing instead to push up off of the doorframe and make his way over to you. You decide to roll onto your back to see him better, and by the time you're situated, he's standing over you, arms still crossed.

You gulp.

"Um, hi," you breathe out. Nervousness was not part of the plan. "I– Did you... need something?"

He drops one of his hands and grips your ankle, and where the skin connects you feel like you've been electrocuted. Your body comes alive immediately. You can only watch as he barely strains a single muscle as he pulls you down to the edge of the bed.

"Put your phone down," he instructs. He reaches the soft part of your thigh and pinches, lips curling into a smirk when you yelp.

"Channie, I—"

"I said," he repeats, a little harsher this time, "put your phone down."

You do as you're told, dropping it on the floor next to his feet. He keeps pulling until your entire lower half is hanging off the bed. With your legs spread like they are, you're certain he can feel the pulsing coming from between your legs.

He hums.

"You know why I'm here," he says lowly. It's not a question.

Despite the speed of your heart, you blink up at him dumbly, fighting against the wave of arousal that licks down your spine when he raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you manage.

Both of his eyebrows are up now, his expression seemingly surprised for a second before it fades. He nods lightly, almost as though contemplating what you've said, and then he releases you and takes a step back.

Your heart drops for a second. You think you've messed up somehow, or maybe your tone didn't come out right. You're about to backtrack, but then he's back, hooking his fingers into either side of your waistband, and with one simple tug he has your pajama pants completely off.

If Chan is surprised that you're not wearing any underwear, he doesn't show it.

You gasp when the cool air hits your lower body, and you watch as he smirks. He returns his vice like grip on your ankle when you start to squirm under his gaze.

"I see you still like to pretend that you have some ounce of control in this relationship," he deadpans. He tugs you back down the bed when you try to wiggle away. You're embarrassed that his strength doesn't seem to be affected by his sleep deprivation. "Come on, baby. You know better than that."

You fight back the giddy smile that threatens to take over your face at his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about," you lie. "Why're you bothering me? Don't you have work to do?"

"I can't focus," he says smoothly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was working. About how much easier work might be if I could fuck you to clear my head."

"That's too bad," you shrug, hoping he can't see how you're clenching around nothing. "I was busy."

He hums absentmindedly, letting the hand on your ankle travel higher. He runs his fingers up your calf, then your knee, until finally he hooks the inside of his wrist behind it, forcing your legs to part. You gasp and try to snap them closed, but he only has to shift a bit so that his other hand is on your opposite leg, holding you open for him.

"Why do you always act like you're not dying for me to touch you, hm?" he asks, but it's rhetorical. He knows you don't have an answer. You never do. Even so, when you stay quiet, he huffs out a humorless laugh.

"Okay. I'm going to give you two options, because I'm feeling generous." He holds up one finger. "Option one, you admit you're just being a brat, I'll fuck it out of you, and then we can both go back to what we were doing. Or–"

You whine as he abruptly leans down with your legs still in his hands, effectively folding you in half. "Or, option two, you keep it up, and I can tell the boys to come home. Then we'll make this a lot longer than it needs to be."

Chan is dangerously close to your face now. The brim of his hat is touching your forehead. You're almost sure he can feel your heartbeat through the fabric of both of your shirts.

"So what do you want, princess?" he asks, voice dripping with honey.

You shiver. His gaze is so intense you forget how to breathe. At your silence, he yanks you further into him, pressing himself right up against your uncovered cunt. Even through his basketball shorts you feel the unmistakable heat of his erection.

"I said, what do you want?"

Fuck.

You can't take it anymore. You feel like you're burning with need. "I'm sorry, Channie," you whine out. You can see the fire in his eyes, the way he's so worked up already, and it makes you weak. "I'll be good."

He gives you a sweet smile, leaning forward to press a kiss against your mouth. You sigh into it, letting your body go lax so he can take control.

Despite your attempts, brattiness never lasts long with Chan. With Seungmin and Jisung, you love the challenge, love making them crack and beg a little, but Chan is entirely unrelenting. You know better than to get him too riled up, especially if you actually want anything to happen.

The kiss is a stark contrast to what you know is to come, and you know that it's on purpose. He always likes to give you the chance to back out, a way to change your mind. Bracelet or no bracelet, your comfort is still always his first priority. It's what makes you comfortable enough to tease him.

But when he pulls away from the kiss and you chase after his mouth, he only smiles.

"There's my good girl," he says. He releases your knees and presses a kiss against your cheek, and then the tip of your nose.

"Chan," you whine. Your body feels cold where his hands just were.

He only tilts his head when he looks at you. "Hm?" Then his gaze turns sinister. "Did you... need something, princess?"

Oh.

Shit.

"Wait,” You're scrambling up from your position. “Wait, please, Chan, don't–"

He hums. "You were so mean to me," he says, trailing a single finger down your cheek. "I don't think you deserve anything from me."

You attempt to sit up, eyes widening, but he's keeping you pinned down on your bed. "But I said I'm sorry," you whine. "Channie, please, I'll be good--"

He tilts his head again, pretending to think, letting his hand fall down your face to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"No," he decides, and he straightens up, taking a step back. "I think I'm gonna go back to work."

Before you can grab him, he's slipped away, nearly halfway to your door. "Sorry, babygirl. Maybe next time, yeah?"

The smirk on his face is proof he's anything but sorry. He gives you a fake little pout before winking and stepping out of your room, clicking the door closed behind him.

You're sat up on the bed, staring at the door with your jaw slacked. This is a new level of evil, you think. You hear his bedroom door open and shut, then the muffled sound of the track he's working on vibrates the walls.

It takes longer than you'd like for your wits to come back to you, but when they do, you're both utterly gobsmacked and thoroughly impressed.

He's teasing you.

There's a part of you that's tempted to just give in, to make your way across the hall and apologize. Chan is stubborn, but not unreachable. You know if you march into his room, you could get on your knees and make him relent in seconds.

But fine. He wants to play dirty?

You can play dirty, too.

It's less than an hour later when you hear the front door open and shut, the sound of Jisung and Seungmin's voices carrying up the stairs. You hear takeout bags and the jingling of their keys, and then–

“We're home!”

You make no effort to move, waiting to see if Chan will leave his room first. Besides, you're still working through some of the details of your plan.

If you stay in your room, Seungmin would come upstairs to check on you first. You know he'll fuck you good, but it takes time to warm him up. By the time you start getting anywhere, Jisung will get to Chan, who might do something stupid like tell him that you were being a brat, and then he'll come in and ruin the whole thing.

No, you need eager. You need impulsive.

You need Jisung.

You pad to the bedroom door, opening it and sticking your head out. Chan's door is still closed, the track he's working on still pumping through the speakers, so you take the opportunity to get the ball rolling.

You make your way down the hall and to the top of the stairs, where you can see Jisung standing in the entryway of the kitchen. The two have already shed their jackets and shoes, and Seungmin is now busy unloading the food they brought back into the fridge. His back is turned to you.

Bingo.

"Hey," you say softly. Jisung's head whips up, eyes brightening as he spots you. He says something you can't hear to Seungmin before he's jogging up the stairs towards you. He scoops you into a squeezing hug.

"Hi my baby," he says happily, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "How was your day?"

You giggle in the hug. "It was alright. Kind of boring. How was yours?"

"We had fun," he says. He sets you down and leans against the wall next to you, reaching and catching your hand in his. You deliberately give him the hand with the bracelet, but he doesn't see it. "I missed you though."

"I missed you, too."

Jisung grins. He opens his mouth to speak again, but then he furrows his eyebrows when he looks at you, like he's just noticing something.

"Is that my shirt?"

“Is it?” You look down, feigning surprise. "Oh, yeah I guess it is."

He hums, tilting his head. His eyes trail to your hand, and he finally seems to notice the bracelet on your wrist. "That's weird. I could've sworn I saw it in my drawer this morning."

You shrug. "Maybe you're just losing your mind."

He grins, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss against your open palm. "Yeah, maybe. Or are you trying to tell me something?"

You bat your eyelashes up at him. "Am I?"

His smile turns sly. "You are, aren't you?"

Jisung doesn't wait for a response, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you down the hallway back into your room. He kicks the door shut behind him and spins to face you, a wicked grin on his face.

You squeal when he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and laughing against his mouth. His kisses are hot and eager– there's no break for breath as he moves across the room with you. You don't even pause when he lays you down on your bed, hand sliding “his” t-shirt up your body.

You shiver when he brushes against your thigh. His hands are cold from outside, and the contrast against your warm skin feels like electricity. He smiles in the kiss and squeezes the skin tight.

Your own hands find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer into you. Through the thin fabric of the shirt you're wearing, you can feel the hardness of his body all pressed against yours. He shifts against you and the friction makes your nipples harden right under him.

His hands leave your thighs. They wind their way up your torso, feeling you up all along the way until he finds the stiff peaks that called his attention. He runs his thumbs over them, drinking up every sound you make. One of your hands cards into his hair and you tug.

He groans at that, finally pulling away from the kiss with a grunt and instead trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. His teeth graze your pulse point and you buck up into him in surprise.

You feel him laugh against you.

"You're so cute," he says into your neck. He mouths over the skin before biting down, hot wet tongue immediately after. A bruise, then.

"Sungie," you gasp out. Your back arches off the mattress as his hands wander all over you. You've always loved how naturally his mouth works its way around your body– he knows just where to kiss, what spots to brush his nose over. Like he's learned the entire road map to your pleasure.

Maybe he has.

He mouths down your body, pausing and sucking on your breasts before leaving wet, soft kisses down the expanse of your tummy. When he gets to your core, he shifts his kiss-trail over to your inner thigh.

"Do you know how hot you are?" He murmurs. "Like all the time. Holy fuck. This is my shirt, princess. My shirt. Don't you know that drives me crazy?"

You do. It's precisely why you grabbed it.

His tongue meets your skin in an agonizing, slow stripe along your inner thigh. The higher he gets, the more your legs tremble around him, until finally his lips close around your clit.

The feeling is overwhelming. Your head lolls back against the bed and you let out a breathy moan. He hums against you, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs as he holds your legs up. Your hands are shaking, but one winds its way back into his soft hair, and you tug.

He moans at that, a sound that sends vibration up through your whole core. He takes a hand away and brings it down, letting his thumb just press lightly against your entrance. Even in the slightest sense of pressure, you arch further into him, wanting more, more, more.

He sucks on your clit even harder, his tongue joining, and when you look down and see his blissed out expression between your legs, you think your heart might jump right out of your chest.

In all the times the boys have taken you apart, they've never made you come this quickly. You're not sure if it's because of the moment with Chan earlier, or because you've been thinking about having one of them fuck you all day. All it takes is two large fingers, pushing and stretching inside of you while his mouth moves so perfectly around your throbbing clit for you to snap. You come with a sob, your thighs pressing against his head.

If there's one thing Jisung certainly loves, though, it's eating you out. He could spend hours between your legs, kissing and sucking and licking until you're boneless and spent. So there is no sign of slowing in his rhythm, even when you wriggle from overstimulation.

"Sung," you moan. He responds by pinching your thigh, sucking hard on your clit so your yelp turns into a moan.

Distantly, you register the sound of footsteps that pause right outside of your door. You hear knocking, but not on your door, and you realize Seungmin has finally come upstairs, likely to grab everybody for some quality time after a day apart.

You almost laugh at how well this is working out for you.

Jisung slides his fingers back into you, and your attention is split between straining to hear what's going on in the hallway and the blinding pleasure you're feeling. He curls his fingers up and you find yourself gushing on his hand, your own fingers tangled in his hair so tight he can barely move.

"God, you're so fucking wet," he murmurs against you. He almost sounds giddy. "Did you miss me, baby?"

You can't even form a response, only able to whine as he fucks into you with his fingers, tongue flicking over your clit just fast enough to make you tremble. Your orgasm is coming on strong, and you feel like you're floating above your body, every touch electric, every movement monumental.

And then–

"Ah, so that's where they are."

Your eyes snap to your now-open door. Your other two boyfriends are there, and you make direct eye contact with Chan just as your second orgasm reaches its peak. You arch up off the bed, gasping into the air as your body trembles, and Jisung keeps his mouth on you, sucking hard and making your vision go white.

After a minute, he finally slows his pace, pulling away and finger-fucking you slowly and deep. He would never stop completely, especially not now that everyone's in the same room. His voyeurism is likely cranked up to 10, and you know he'll be pouty and whiney for the rest of the week unless he gets to watch one of the other boys split you open on their cock.

From the way he's looking at you, you feel like it'll be Chan doing the splitting.

Seungmin, ever the sane one, pretends to roll his eyes. "So this is why neither of you were answering my texts about movie night? This couldn't wait?"

"Well, she was wearing my shirt and nothing under it," Jisung says, grinning up at him. He gives your clit one last suck before kissing it and propping himself up, fingers still buried to the hilt inside of you. Your brain feels foggy as you stare at the three of them. You can still feel yourself gushing on his fingers.

Seungmin notices, eyes glued to your cunt as he walks over. You see his faux annoyance dissolving. "Fuck, she's really wet, isn't she."

Jisung grins. He presses a kiss against your inner thigh. "Yeah, I think she missed us."

Chan scoffs. He finally makes his way into the room fully, and you can see where his cock is straining against the fabric of his shorts. "No. She missed getting fucked."

He stands at the end of the bed, eyes fixed on Jisung's hand as he continues to move inside of you. "Did you tell Jisung what happened earlier, baby?"

Jisung huffs out a little laugh, half lidded eyes going back to your face. "Hmm. No. She didn't."

A chill runs down the length of your spine. Fuck. It sounds like Chan got to them first.

"Chan said you were being a real big brat earlier," Seungmin hums. He pulls his eyes away from your center and finally looks at you. "Is that true, angel? Were you being bad for Chan?"

You shake your head, eyes going doe-ish as he gets closer to you. You realize you need to change your plan and do it quickly. It takes less than half a second for a new idea to come: Seungmin is the softest of the three of them, at least in sexual situations. If you can get him on your side you might have a chance.

That thought flies out of the window when his hand makes its way around your throat, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart." His voice is deceptively soft. "Don't you think Chan already spoke to us?"

You fight back a gasp at the sheer betrayal, but decide to double down anyway. "Wasn't being bad," you manage. You stick out your bottom lip in a pout. "I didn't do anything!"

Seungmin squeezes again, harder, and you really do gasp this time. "Then why did we both get a text from Chan earlier saying you were being mean to him? Hmm?"

"He said he came to blow off some steam and someone," Jisung presses his fingers directly against that squishy part inside of you, "Was being all bratty. Telling him to leave her alone."

It's at this moment that you realize all your planning was futile. You've fallen right into their trap.

You try the Seungmin strategy again, panting as you look up at him. "Minnie, please," you whine. You can't think with Jisung hitting your spot like that. "I wasn't– I–"

He tilts his head. "Oh come on baby. I think you're just lying to us now."

Your chest heaves. Jisung has chosen now to dive back into your cunt, tongue swiping up your slit and circling around your clit. Your brain is too scrambled to think of any other ways out of this situation, so you resort to what you always do:

Pleading.

"'m sorry, Minnie," you rasp. "Didn't mean to– Didn't mean to be bratty."

Seungmin softens only slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" You're gasping around your words. "I promise. I just wanted to make him mad, wasn't trying to be mean."

In all of your begging and the relentless fervor of Jisung's tongue, you barely notice Chan making his way to the other side of your bed. Seungmin's grip loosens around your throat, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he takes in your words.

"Hm. What do you think, Chan?"

You turn to look at him. He's shed his shirt somewhere along the way, and the hard musculature of his stomach is glistening with sweat. He climbs onto the bed and situates himself so that he's behind you with your head in his lap. You're expecting his hand to replace Seungmin's around your throat, but instead he reaches over you, gripping the hem of your shirt and sliding it up over your chest until your breasts are on full display. Seungmin immediately sinks down to his knees and takes your nipple into his mouth.

You're a gasping, whining mess, eyes rolling back until all you can see is white. You feel Jisung sling his arm around you to keep your body still.

Above you, Chan lets the shirt go and switches his focus to your hands, pulling them up and holding your wrists together in one hand to keep them above your head.

"I think," he murmurs, using his free hand to caress your face, "That if she wants to cum so bad, we should let her."

Your heart drops. To the untrained ear, it sounds like you've won, but you know better. You know Chan, and you know he has something up his sleeve. But when you look up at him, he's looking down at you with a sickly sweet smile.

"If she's sorry," he continues, "She'll behave. Right, babygirl?"

You can't speak. The dual sensations are sending you to the moon. The hand caressing your face grips your jaw tight, keeping your gaze locked on him.

"I asked you a question, princess."

As soon as you open your mouth to answer, your orgasm crashes into you without warning. It's the third one in a row, and you feel much like a washcloth that's been wrung out. Your movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and even as you continue trying to respond to Chan, your voice is not coming out.

"Jisung." He says simply.

The boy in question pulls away from your cunt with a satisfying pop. He's absolutely pussy drunk, eyes half lidded and tongue rolling over his lips to savor the flavor of you. If it were just the two of you, he'd keep going, but amongst the hierarchy of dominance, Chan has been, and will always be, at the top.

"I think she's ready now, yeah?" Chan rubs his thumb against your skin. "Fuck her good for me."

When orchestrating your own plan, you looked at Jisung’s eagerness as something to work in your favor. You hoped he would get you riled up enough for you to scream his name a couple times and really make Chan mad. But now, as he shimmies out of his sweats and boxers, taking his thick length in his hand, you feel nervousness tickle your gut.

Seungmin has pulled away from your nipple, reaching down to hold one of your thighs up. He's murmuring sweet nothings to you as he holds you open for Jisung. The latter is poised at your entrance, stroking himself and watching you with hungry eyes.

You tip your head back to look at Chan again, and he only smiles down at you.

"Channie," you whimper out. You can barely speak, you're so overwhelmed. "Please–"

"Shh," he coos. "I know, baby. But this is what you wanted, yeah?" His hand moves from your jaw to your mouth, pressing a finger against your lips. You suck it in without thought, letting your tongue swirl around him with your cheeks hollowed out like you would on his cock. "I just want to see you take Sungie's dick. Be good, baby."

You almost choke when Jisung thrusts into you. You're already so wet and so sensitive, and his cock is stretching you so wide, pushing deep inside until you're sure you can feel him in your stomach. He gives you no time to adjust, that eagerness coming full force as he fucks right into you.

"God, she's still so tight," he breathes. One hand finds purchase in the dip of your waist, the other moves to the thigh not being held by Seungmin, folding you up and spreading you open to give him more leverage as he fucks into you hard.

Seungmin hums, trailing kisses along your leg and the side of your neck. "Feel good, angel? You like having Jisung's cock inside you?"

You can't even respond, mind blank as Jisung plows you deep. Your back is arched off of Chan's lap, head pushed back as his finger keeps your mouth propped open. You're a dumb, drooling mess around him, and despite the soft smile on his lips, you know it's wrecking him.

To prove your point, he digs his nails in one of your palms, a stark contrast to the way Seungmin's hand is gently rubbing up and down your body, playing with your nipples and caressing your sides and stomach.

It's all too much, the sensations are overwhelming, and you're so wound up from earlier that you already feel the orgasm building. You mewl pathetically, eyes watering as you look around for someone to have pity on you.

It's Chan who catches your pleading gaze, but he only raises an eyebrow.

"You're gonna cum again? Already?" he says. It's not condescending or snarky, rather genuine disbelief and curiosity. His finger leaves your mouth and you let out a dry sob as trails of spit drip down your chin.

Jisung doesn't hear this– or can't, rather. He's fucking into you like he'll die if he stops, breathy moans leaving his mouth as he does. He's babbling nonsense, things like how tight you are and how well you take him in. You know he's close too, because his hips have gone erratic in their rhythm. Yet somehow, he gets faster.

The knot in your stomach feels heavy as lead. This orgasm might genuinely take you out.

"Please," you rasp. "Please, please, I can't–"

Chan shakes his head, smiling. "Oh, but baby, I thought you wanted to cum?"

"I do," you whine. "Want to so bad but 's too much. Too much, Channie, please–"

"No. Shut up and cum, princess," the grit in his voice is back. "Cum on Jisung's cock. Be good for us."

That's all it takes for you to snap. You let out a broken cry as another orgasm rocks through your body. It's even more intense than the others, pulling all of your muscles taut so you sit up before slumping back into Chan's arms. You barely register the way your hands flex uselessly above your head, writhing in Chan's grip. You can only vaguely feel Seungmin kissing your cheek, whispering little encouragements in your ear, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look when you cum.

And then Jisung is grunting, snapping his hips against yours one last time before spilling into you. Your walls spasm around him as he cums, milking him dry and causing you both to whine into the air.

In typical Jisung fashion, he's still rutting up into you after you're both well past overstimulation. The pressure in your cunt throbs throughout your body, tears springing into your eyes. You're very close to abandoning the little bit of pride you have and begging him to stop.

It turns out you don't need to, because as if on cue, Jisung finally pulls out and Seungmin lets go of your legs, standing up. You nearly sob at the loss of his gentle contact, so you don't even notice he's taking off his clothes until he's standing where Jisung was, hands gripping the soft skin of your thighs to hold you open.

"Aw, baby," he says softly. He runs a hand up your leg. "You did so well."

You pout, a sob bubbling in your throat when you realize their plan now. They're gonna drag as many orgasms out of you as they can, overstimulation be damned. The thought makes your clit throb, and that alone makes you whine. It's all too much.

Despite knowing you're already so wet and lax and malleable, Seungmin reaches down to rub at your clit in an attempt to open you up.

"Min," you cry, squirming at his touch. Your cunt feels tender, and even though the first set of tears are long dried up on your cheeks, fresh ones start to come. "Minnie–"

"Shhh. It's okay, angel."

His words are gentle and reassuring, but when his eyes catch yours, all you see is darkness.

Seungmin's gentle dominance has a limit. He doesn't get all stern and mean like Chan, or desperate like Jisung, but there's only so long he can last before that other, darker part of him surfaces, the one that gets off on hurting you, on seeing you in pain and feeling good from it. You can tell by the look in his eyes that this is the part of him you'll be dealing with.

When he finally sinks his cock inside you, it's slow, and the moan that he lets out vibrates through his length and right into you. Your neck seems to give up, dropping you right back down in Chan's lap less than gracefully. It gives him better access to you, and he leans immediately to attach his mouth to yours. He alternates between soft kisses and hard bites that will surely bruise in the morning.

Seungmin is only a bit longer than Jisung, but he's so damn girthy. Every tiny thrust he rocks into you sends shivers down your spine. Your skin feels like it's on fire and you're not even kissing Chan back, basically panting into his open mouth.

"Prop her up, Chan," Seungmin grits out. "Wanna watch her while she cries."

He gives you one final peck, and then the hand that's still holding your wrists lets go. It takes a second, then both hands are under you, lifting you up off the mattress until you're sat up on his lap with his chest against your back. He crosses your wrists against your chest and holds them in one hand, and then the other snakes up and finds your throat. His hand is way bigger than Seungmin's, and he's not as gentle when he squeezes and forces you to look back at him.

He doesn't look mad, or even turned on. He's smiling at you, like you're a particularly good puppy. "Good girl. Gonna give us a big one, yeah?”

You barely have a moment to understand what he's implying before you feel a hand on your clit. Both of Seungmin's hands are occupied, so you're not sure why it surprises you to see that it's Jisung's deft fingers on you. He's standing behind Seungmin, one hand on him and the other on you.

It feels like your eyes are bulging out of your head. The touch is gentle, but it still feels like you're being hit with lightning bolts. You're too spent to even buck up at the contact.

"Oh my God," you choke. "Oh, oh, I–"

“That's it,” Chan purrs when you cum again. He kisses whatever skin is closest to his mouth, his fingers gripping your jaw. Your head feels light, the only thing keeping you grounded to the bed are their hands on you. You feel like you're going to faint, and Seungmin's eyes are only egging you on.

Your body trembles so violently, Seungmin is forced to pause in his motions to hold your knees and keep your legs from buckling in. Your vision is blurry, but you can see Jisung has a steady grip on Seungmin's hair, effectively holding him in place.

"Good girl," he breathes, those big brown eyes trained on your face. "You take him so well."

His words send shivers down your spine. Jisung is always more coherent and in control after an orgasm. You know if Seungmin was today's focus, Jisung would likely be spitting all kinds of nasty, filthy words in his ear, but his gaze is fixed on you. All it takes to get you going is a good stare.

He taps at your clit with his free hand. You jump, moaning loudly at the contact, your back arching off Chan's chest and into Seungmin's body.

"She's good. Keep going," Jisung murmurs, pulling his eyes away from yours to look at Seungmin. He pulls a little at the hair on the nape of his neck, causing Seungmin's cock to jump inside you.

They work in tandem. Jisung's hand keeps circling your clit in the same soft rhythm, and you're not sure how but it's making you even wetter and more loose. You're a mess of moans, not knowing whose name to scream when they all have their hands on you. It's dizzying in the best way.

Seungmin has started rolling his hips into you with more vigor, the soft sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. The dark shroud over his eyes is back as he stares down at you. "Feels good doesn't it," he grunts. "Look at your little cunt fluttering open for me like a good slut."

You feel another sob bubble out of you, this one accompanied by tears, but it dies in your throat when Chan's grip on you gets even tighter. All you can do is pout and whine.

"Aw, look at the little crybaby." Seungmin starts to fuck into you in earnest, his own moans getting higher in pitch. You can tell by the way Jisung's grip in his hair tightens that he's close. "C'mon angel. You're being so good, you can take it."

"Minnie," you rasp, barely able to speak. "Please–"

"I said take it." He’s looking down, watching where your cunt is sucking him in with each thrust. He thrusts into you particularly hard, and your entire body lurches forward, causing you to gasp. "And if you can't, you know what to say. You know your word."

You do. Somehow, under all the begging and pleading, you're actually insanely giddy with want. It's all part of the little game you play, so you just pout pathetically at Seungmin as his hips snap harder into yours.

"She's not gonna say it," Chan sing-songs. He uses the hand on your throat to tilt your head to the side, giving him perfect access to more of you. He nips at your skin. "She likes being treated like this. Like a little toy."

It's all too much. Every inch of you is on fire, the room feels like it's a thousand degrees. Chan's mouth on your neck, Seungmin's cock deep in your cunt, and Jisung's fingers–

It's like something snaps.

A knot you didn't even realize was in your stomach explodes and your vision goes white. It's an orgasm unlike anything you've experienced before. Your brain completely melts, your hearing dulls, and you can feel the drool running down your chin. You feel like you're floating and drowning all at the same time.

"Oh shit," you hear Seungmin groan. Your cunt is spasming around him. His thrusts become harder, sloppy. "God, fuck–"

He cums hard inside of you, hips jerking as he chases the aftershocks. You've gone completely limp, barely able to move at all as Chan continues to bite at your neck.

The hand on Seungmin's shoulder drops. "That's so hot," Jisung mutters, almost to himself. He's lost some of his in-control voice. "Wow, baby, you should be bratty more often.”

If you could see straight, you'd probably laugh at that.

Seungmin pulls out slowly, and when the head of his cock leaves you, you let out a tiny mewl. You're overstimulated to the point that you're numb. Seungmin smiles softly as he rubs the inside of your thigh.

"Oh, sweetheart, I know. It's a lot. But you're being so good for us. I think it's Chan's turn though, hm? Wanna make him feel good?"

"Give her a minute," Jisung chides. You hear a sharp intake of breath and you know he's likely yanked on Seungmin's hair again. "She's about to pass out."

You can feel your limbs slowly returning to you, the fog clearing in your head. When Chan moves the hand from your throat, you breathe deeply, taking in gulps of air as moves his hand down to rub against your tummy. Jisung and Seungmin are bickering somewhere around you, and you let yourself relax in Chan's hold.

"Do you want to finish now, princess?" His lips are warm against your ear. "We can be done. You don't have to take me.”

It's a very tempting offer, especially with the way you can hardly remember what day it is. You could easily take it and call this all done. The four of you have almost certainly been at this for more than an hour now, and they've wrung six orgasms out of you. They're sweet enough to offer to call it a night.

But then you think about Chan, and how, despite being the reason this all started, he's barely done anything. Hasn't tasted you, hasn't shoved his cock down your throat– He's usually not one for letting go until you've milked him dry at least twice, and you can't stand the idea of him having that buzz under his skin all night.

So you shake your head.

"No?" Chan laughs, almost like he's surprised. "Really? You still want to finish with me? Are you sure, princess?”

He's giving you the same offer he gave you earlier. An out. Making your comfort the first priority. The thought alone is what gives you the strength to nod against him.

"'m sure, Channie."

"Oh, fuck, okay." His grip around you goes a little slack as he moves, pulling you away from his lap and laying you back into your bed. He leans over you and presses a gentle kiss against your mouth. It feels like he's thanking you, almost.

When he pulls away, his eyes are sparkling. You want to look into them for hours.

He barks something at Jisung and Seungmin, and the bickering stops immediately. You hear shuffling around you before Seungmin takes Chan's empty space and Jisung appears at your side. They're pressing soft kisses to your face and praising you as Chan works his shorts and boxers down. When his cock springs free, he lets out a hiss of relief.

The sight of him alone makes anxiety rear its ugly head. You start to wonder if maybe you should've taken the opportunity to tap out, or if maybe you should use your safeword, but then Jisung is grabbing your hand and pressing kisses against it, squeezing you and keeping you tethered to the present.

"You can do it, pretty girl," he murmurs in your ear, breath fanning over your cheek. "You did so good for us, just a little longer."

Chan catches your eyes, and he smiles again, reassuring. His hand runs down your body and grabs one of your legs, lifting it and hooking your calf over his shoulder. "Gonna go easy, baby. I know it's a lot."

Your stomach is filled with butterflies, and your hands are shaking a little bit when he ruts himself up against you. You're so open from the others that when his head catches on your entrance, it nearly slips inside.

Your back arches as you moan, and then his cock brushes against your entrance with purpose and it feels like you're going to split right open. He rocks into you again, pushing in the barest inch and pulling right back out. You whine and shift your hips in an attempt to escape.

"Come on, be a good girl now, princess." His voice has gotten lower, lust taking over. "Relax.”

His eyes flit up from where you're connected to look at you, and in one move he pushes right inside of you.

It doesn't hurt– you're way too wet and open for that. It does feel like your stomach is being forced open, however. Like his cock is pressing against all of your internal organs. You arch up off of Seungmin's lap and he pulls you back to him quickly.

Chan groans, bottoming out inside you. His eyes are closed as he lets himself bask in the sensation, hips rocking shallowly. You're thankful that he doesn't move immediately, but even the barest amount of movement feels like too much, like you'll come apart at any second.

You barely feel it when Jisung slips your hand into his. It takes you a minute to realize it's because your brain has been reduced to nothing. Your body has melted into the bed, your muscles are lax, and there's an emptiness in your brain filled with nothing but static and Chan's name. You don't think about anything at all, can't form a single coherent thought. You don't feel the kisses on your throat or the way Seungmin's hands have taken residence on your stomach. The only thing you feel is the overwhelming pressure in your cunt as Chan slowly pulls out, leaving just the tip, before pushing all the way back in.

He builds a rhythm quickly. Seungmin is holding you tight to his body, as though he's scared you might float away, and you appreciate it because it gives you another sensation to focus on. Your head is lolled against his shoulder, eyes rolled back into your head so far all you see is white.

The sound of Chan fucking into you is absolutely obscene, a mixture of your juices and the remnants of the cum still leaking from your hole. He fucks you slow, but hard, snapping his hips into yours so hard it almost feels like you might get a bruise on your thigh.

Jisung is watching with hungry eyes from your side. He's not touching you at all anymore, too engrossed in the scene unfolding to do much else other than stare with his jaw slacked. Seungmin takes over for him.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's it angel, look at you." He moves the hand on your stomach and lets his thumb rub circles on your clit. You feel like you're going to pass out. You don't get time to beg him to stop before you feel that same hand move to your mouth, and two fingers push past your lips.

"Here, sweetheart," he breathes, eyes fixed on your lips as you suck his fingers. "That's you on my fingers, baby. Isn't it good?"

You moan around his hand, head spinning both at the taste of yourself and the intrusion of Seungmin's fingers in your mouth. He's not fucking them into you with any kind of rhythm, just shoving them in there until you're dribbling around his hand. He hums happily when he pushes in more and makes you gag, kissing away the tears the spill over.

Chan grunts, head falling back. "Min, again, please, she just– fuck, she–"

Seungmin doesn't need to be told twice. He repeats the motion again, making sure his fingers go far enough so you're choking around him. This time, when you splutter and gag, you can feel it when you clench down on Chan and his cock pulses in response.

"Oh my God," he moans, thrusting into you again. "Oh my god, baby, you're so good. You're doing so fucking good–"

Between the movement of his hips and the feeling of Seungmin's fingers down your throat, you're not quite sure you're still on this plane of existence. Everything is spinning around you, your cunt is throbbing, you can hear Jisung moaning somewhere, but you don't know from what.

You can feel Seungmin's lips pressed against your forehead as his fingers fuck your mouth, your eyes rolling back into your head again. You're so lightheaded, so far gone, you can barely remember your name.

It's when Chan starts to thrust faster that you come back to your body with a jolt, mind filling with white hot heat. The pleasure has long since lost it's edge, and you're a moaning, writhing, teary mess again. The coil in your stomach starts to build for the seventh time, and you're pretty sure your brain has gone empty. The only thing you're able to focus on is Chan. Chan, Chan, Chan.

"Almost done, angel." You register a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth, and then another on your forehead. You think the voice belongs to Seungmin. Maybe, if the way he eases his hand out of your mouth is any indication.

Nothing is making sense anymore. It all feels like you're having an out-of-body experience.

Chan's hips falter, and his hand slides up to your throat again, but he doesn't squeeze. Just rests it there as his orgasm approaches, hips snapping against you at an erratic rhythm.

"Sweetheart." His eyes flutter open with strained effort, but they remain locked on yours. "Can you give us one more, princess? Hm? Can I get you to cum on me too, please?"

There's a desperation in his voice that makes your body feel hot. You want to tell him yes, that you're close, so so close, but all that comes out is a weak noise that you're not even certain you made.

Seungmin seems to get it though, because he slips his fingers down between your legs, finding your clit again. He rolls it between his fingers with one hand while his other reaches up and settles on your jaw. You feel Jisung's tongue flick over your nipple and your world draws to a pinpoint.

Chan curses above you, fucking into you at an almost punishing pace. "Yes, baby, let go for us. That's it. We got you."

It feels like someone's stuck a vacuum in your brain with the incoherent way you're thinking. The sound of his voice saying your name in that desperate tone is all it takes, and suddenly you're floating out of your body, ears ringing as the pressure inside you bursts. Your eyes roll back and the clinging remnants of an orgasm wash through your body. It feels more like an aftershock. You're only vaguely aware of the way Chan moans, loud and throaty, when he finally spills into you.

It takes a couple minutes before the two of you come back down to earth. You can't move, and even though you know Seungmin is holding you tight, it feels like you might drift right off the mattress and float up into the clouds.

Chan pulls out slowly, and you shudder when you feel a trickle of his cum leaking from your hole. It's not long before your eyes droop shut from pure exhaustion. You think you might pass out right on the spot.

The room gets kicked into gear pretty quickly after that. From what you can tell in the hazy state you're in, someone grabs a wet cloth to wipe you down with while someone else finds you a new t-shirt (and panties this time). They dress you like you're a doll, maneuvering your limbs and telling you you're good, you're so good, they love you so much.

Then you're scooped up into a pair of arms while the distant sounds of sheets being pulled off the bed floats up to you. They take you out of the room.

"You did so good for us, baby." The owner of the arms whispers against your ear. From the cadence in their tone you're pretty sure it's Jisung. "You were such a good girl for us, sweetheart. We're so proud of you."

You think you nod against him, but you can't be sure. You hear him kick a door open, and then he sets you down on a bed and you register Seungmin and Chan coming in.

"Okay," Jisung murmurs, going through his aftercare list out loud. "Fresh bed, fresh clothes, we got her some water."

You feel the bed dip behind you. "We got it, but she's gotta drink it, though," Chan chimes. There's fondness in his voice as he scoots closer to you. "Come here, baby."

You let yourself go limp, and a content smile plasters on your face as your boys fuss over you and make sure you're comfortable. They're so gentle, despite what just transpired, and they all take turns pressing kisses against your head, your cheeks, your nose.

When you've all settled into the bed, you feel three pairs of arms around you, holding you close, and you feel insanely lucky for all of it. You snuggle deeper into someone's chest, humming absentmindedly in that dreamy, fucked-out headspace.

"Thank you," you mumble, pressing a kiss to whoever you're snuggled against. You think it's Jisung from the way they nuzzle into your cheek.

"Of course, princess," Chan replies, his voice vibrating against your back. You feel his lips press against your temple, and you smile again. "You're our good girl, even when you're a brat. We'll always take care of you.”

You don't bother replying, simply allowing yourself to sink back into that fuzzy state. You're about to slip out of consciousness when you feel Jisung's nose against your cheek.

"You really do need to be bratty more often, though."

You hear a dull thump as Seungmin smacks the back of his head, and you let their hushed bickering be the lullaby you need to lull you into sleep.

#stray kids #hyprfics #skz chan #skz x reader #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #skz seungmin #skz jisung #poly!skz #skz smut #skz jisung smut #skz seungmin smut #bang chan x reader #seungmin x reader #skz seungmin x reader #jisung x reader #skz jisung x reader

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selfcarecap · 9 months ago

Text

Cat & Dog [L.H.]

✧ Logan Howlett x kitty hybrid!reader

✧ summary: Logan rescues you, a kitty hybrid, on a mission and you become infatuated with him. (that’s all the plot you get, the rest is porn lol <3)

✧ warnings: smut 18+, unequal power dynamics bc Logan saves reader (and she’s a bit naive and inexperienced), kitty hybrid!reader (human with kitty ears, a tail, claws and kind of fangs and she purrs), reader’s first time, unprotected piv, oral sex, Logan teases reader a lot, slight daddy kink (like two mentions – still figuring out whether i like it for Logan), implied age gap, pet names (baby, bub, kid (not during sex), sweetheart, kitty — at first mockingly but then not), reader making biscuits on Logan w/ her claws lol, slight pain kink, Logan teaches reader about consent, uh i ignored that the reader’s probably gone through some trauma lool, Logan is indifferent to reader’s feelings for him at first but it changes, reader wears Logan’s hoodie; alternative summary that i thought was too cringe to use: Logan’s a nasty dog and you’re his pretty kitty.

✧ word count: 5.2k

Logan Howlett is your saviour — the most handsome hero to ever exist.

He finds you on a mission, abandoned like the runt of the litter. The only reason he knows you’re still alive as he carefully approaches you, curled into a ball, is because his strengthened senses allow him to hear your dull heartbeat, and the matted tail at your lower back bristles when you hear him come closer.

“I’ll get you out of here, kid. You’re safe now,” he says, telling you his name and that he’s part of the X-Men. You turn slightly at the sound of one of his claws unsheathing, and watch him use it to pick the lock of the cage you’re being held in.

He opens the door and takes more steps backwards than necessary, “There you go.”

You’d be able to dart straight past him and escape. You trust him. He smells different from the men that locked you in here, too. Sure, he smells a bit doggish, or like a wolf maybe, but he’s sweaty from fighting men to get to you so you’re not going to complain.

You slowly crawl through the cage door on all fours, feeling his eyes rake over your body. You don’t know why he’s staring – apart from your tail, and, sure, your ears, you have the body of a human – but you don’t mind it. You immediately feel warm in his presence. Everything is about to get better, all thanks to him.

He carries you in his arms when you’re too weak to even stand and you’ve never felt as peaceful and protected as when he holds you, and you cling to him with all the energy you have left. You can’t help but hiss when he puts you down in the seat next to him instead of in his lap to get you home.

It’s now been two weeks since you last saw Logan. He gave you his zip hoodie to keep you warm as soon as you got to the mansion and he didn’t leave your side until you were safely in the infirmary. You wish he never left.

They’re insisting on keeping you in here to heal, ignoring every time you ask for Logan. You feel healthy – they’ve even made your tail all pretty and fluffy again – so you take it upon yourself to find him.

You sneak out of the infirmary late at night, and all you have to do to find Logan is follow your senses.

Once you’ve located his room, you push the door open without any thought. He’s in bed but he’s still awake. The light on his nightstand casts a glow over the room and you smile when you finally see him again.

“What’re you doing here, kid?” he asks, sitting up slightly. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and you eye the muscles from his chest down to his abdomen, noticing the delicious layer of hair he has all over.

“Can’t sleep,” you take a step over the threshold, holding onto the door shyly.

Logan smiles, more to himself, “Was wondering when I’d see you again, bub.”

“Was waiting for you to come visit me,” you pout. You jut out your hip to one side, your tail curling upwards and peeking out behind your legs. You’re showing off. Last time he saw your tail, it was all tattered, but now it’s soft and bouncy again. You see Logan looking at it, smiling slightly, but he doesn’t compliment it like you hoped.

“We barely know each other. It’s nothing personal, kid. It was a standard mission. Anyone from our team could have got you first.” It stings that he doesn’t find your bond as special as you do, but you don’t mind if you have to do some convincing. He’s worth it.

“But we do know each other,” you close the door and make your way to his bed, “You saved me. I wouldn’t be alive without you. I just want to show you my appreciation.” You’re at the foot of his bed, crawling onto it on all fours. You’d never normally be this blunt but you can’t help yourself around him. Your need for him has taken over your entire being in the last two weeks.

You watch him taking you in. Your movements are sensual and sleek – feline. You know he’s never been with someone like you, and you’re happy for him to take his time if he needs it. Perching on his bed, between his spread legs, you slowly unzip the hoodie of his that you’re still wearing.

His eyes follow the languid movement as you drag the zipper down, revealing your simple black top underneath. It clings to your skin in all the right places in the same way that your soft, tight, black shorts do.

“Looks good on you,” he nods towards the hoodie.

“Do you want me to keep it on?” You ask, but he shakes his head, smiling.

“It’ll look better off.”

You unzip it fully, throwing it to the side of the bed.

“Can I stay with you?” you lean over him. He’s about to open his mouth, and you have a feeling he’s going to tell you no.

“Please,” you cut him off.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he huffs, moving to give your ears a light scratch, “you can stay for a bit”. He’s intrigued enough to let you stay – you can hear it in his elevated heartbeat – and you don’t mind if curiosity is the only reason he’s keeping you with him for now.

He paws at your fluffy ears, almost groping you, unsure how to treat you, but you haven’t been touched there in so long that it feels like heaven anyway.

“Who’s a good kitty?” he mocks as he gets the sweet spot behind your ear, but you don’t realise he’s teasing you, pushing your head further against his hand in bliss as you begin to purr.

Logan isn’t sure how you’re making the noise, but it turns him on. He wants to hear more of it, “Well, don’t you sound pretty?”

Your purring intensifies. You move down his body and settle over his legs, your head in his lap as his hand stays on your head. It’s then that Logan realises he’s already half-hard. The only reason he let you in was because he’s sexually intrigued by you, your cute demeanour and that fluffy tail somehow doing it for him. But he wasn’t planning on actually doing anything — not until now.

Your face is mere inches from his cock and he’s starting to ache to do something about it, getting harder. You’re still trying to find the most comfortable position as you rub your cheek across his lap like a little cat. You stop when you feel his erection.

“Are you hard?” you ask bluntly, eyes all wide.

“I am, bub.”

“For me?” you purr quietly.

“All for you.” Logan tips his head to the side, waiting to see your reaction. He can tell that whatever you’re asking him next is taking you a bit more courage. He watches you gnaw on your lip all cutely.

“I’ve never seen a cock before…” you confess, and Logan stifles a laugh.

“Y’wanna?” He surprises himself when he says it. At first, he thought your affection was simply that of the saved towards her saviour, or familial maybe, but he’s not mad at this.

Logan gets fully hard as you nod at him in such awe, your tail curling around his bare leg, and it’s even softer than it looks.

He pushes his boxers down just enough to pull out his cock, jerking himself off for just a few seconds to get some friction. You’re staring at it as you move your legs back, instinctively arching your back with your ass up.

Your tail bobs behind you Logan can’t resist giving it a light tug, curling his finger around it. “Mmh,” you huff, pulling your tail away by instinct.

“Sorry, kitty,” he chuckles, “just wanted to feel it.” Your cheeks warm at his confession and you move your tail back in the direction of his hand so he can reach for it when he wants to. Your tail is your pride and you won’t let just anyone touch it – Logan’s the exception. He can gladly dominate you by tugging at your tail all day if he wants.

He smiles as he touches your tail again, letting it glide through his fist from the bottom to the tip of your fur. “Such a pretty kitty,” he hums as he bites his lip.

Hearing that he likes it pleases you more than you would’ve thought and you begin to purr again. You’re not exactly sure how to go down on a man, but you let your intuition guide you as you lower your face to press a wet kiss to the tip of Logan’s cock.

Suddenly, he’s pulling you back up by the scruff of your neck.

“Ah-ah. Manners, bub. You gotta ask first, you don’t know that?” Logan scolds.

His expression goes soft as you shake your head all sadly and apologetically, “‘S okay, kitty. I’ll teach you. Say please.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You look at him as you get back up on all fours, leaning close to his face. You want to kiss him so bad but you gather you’re not allowed to do that without asking either.

“Please can I kiss you, daddy?” you ask.

Logan is surprised, not unpleasantly, at the word, “Where’d you get that from?”

You shrug, and even that movement is fluid and smooth. “Just wanted to call you that. ‘S that okay?” You slur, head already clouded with pleasure and Logan.

He nods and places his hand back on your neck, pulling you towards him as your face reaches his in a searing kiss. He’s hungry for you, devouring you with his mouth and tongue and teeth immediately. His hand glides down your spine and to the side of your ass, grabbing you there.

You purr against his lips as his other hand squeezes the flesh at your waist, and the vibration feels so good to him. You lower yourself against him so you’re chest to chest, and your belly rubs against his cock as some of his precum spills between you two, rubbing up against your skin and dripping onto his own abs.

Logan gently pulls you off, “Be a good girl and suck daddy’s dick now, alright?” You nod so adorably it makes his heart clench – you’re so eager to please him, all wide-eyed as you get between his legs, your ass up in the air.

On your way down, you give tiny licks to his skin; your tongue is all over his chest hair and his happy trail. Your tongue glides through his pubic hair, ignoring his throbbing cock, and you make your way to his thighs. He watches you lick through the dark hair there, and he realises what you’re doing.

You’re acting like a cat, taking care of him. You’re bonding with him, and grooming him. He lets you do it some more, but it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore how hard he is, leaking precum. He slides a hand down to his dick, jerking off right next to your face.

“Mhh,” you pout, pushing his hand away with your head and giving him a cross look.

He smirks, “you gonna start sucking at some point then, baby?” It’s not that he doesn’t like you playing around but he’s getting desperate. He places a hand on your face to make you look at him.

“I don’t know how to.” Your cheeks are hot under his touch.

Logan smiles, “Start with kisses. Or lick, like you’ve been doing.”

You nod and curl your tail around his knee, your hands to the sides of his hips. You press a wet kiss to the underside of his cock and Logan sighs in pleasure; you immediately want to hear more of it. You press quick kisses all over him, remembering what he said about using your tongue.

You begin to lick all over his dick, his balls too, until you’re drooling over him. But he’s stopped making pretty sounds and you’re not sure what you’re doing wrong. You hear a quiet chuckle from above you.

“Come up here,” Logan says. You sit up and straddle his waist. He takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth.

“Like this,” he tells you, taking one of your fingers between his lips. He wets it with his spit, sucking it into his mouth, tongue moving over your fingertip. You grin – you like the look of it. You like the way his cheeks hollow as he sucks on your finger, wishing your hands were as big as his.

As you move to push another finger past his lips, Logan takes your wrist. “Uh-uh. Your turn, kitty.”

You pout but then feel his hard cock against your ass, your tail brushing it, and you get excited.

“And none of those sharp teeth,” Logan tells you as you move down his body again. You bare your smile to him, letting your fangs retract. They’re a special part of you and you’re glad you could finally show them off to someone who deserves to see. Logan awards your little show with a grin.

“Good girl.” Those words make you put your mouth on him immediately, swallowing him down your throat as deeply as you can. You pull away when you almost gag, heat spreading over your face, but Logan is unbothered.

You settle between his legs as you press a few more open-mouthed kisses to his cock with spit-slicked lips. You take the tip in your mouth, staying for a bit as you suck on it, spit dripping down his length and over your lips.

You start purring when you take him a little deeper, and Logan’s breath catches in his throat when you do, the vibration turning him on even more.

“Keep doing that,” he mumbles absent-mindedly, eyes on you but mind evidently gone. You smile around his cock, moving your mouth up and down as the spit begins to make a crude sound against your lips, but you like it. You’re feeling more and more of an urge to touch yourself between your legs, but you want to make Logan feel good first.

Your purring gets louder as you take him even deeper, and Logan lets out a sharp gasp. You pull your mouth off him, wondering if you’ve hurt him, sliding your tongue over your teeth to make sure the sharp fangs aren’t out.

Following Logan’s eyes, you see what you’ve done. Your claws have come out, and you’ve been scratching his thighs open. You feel tears prick your eyes as you bend down to lick over the wounds apologetically, wondering in awe as they heal up immediately.

“Don’t worry, just surprised me. You won’t hurt me.”

“Sorry, ‘s just how I show that I like you. Don’t wanna let you go”, you hang your head low in shame despite his words.

“It’s okay, kitty,” he lightly scratches at your ear, making you purr and forget all about hurting him, “Do your worst.”

You’re not sure if he’s teasing you. “Know they’re not as big as yours.”

Logan huffs, taking a hand away from you, pressing his elbow into the bed and his claws come shooting out. You only saw one of them briefly, when he saved you. They’re majestic up close and in all their glory, glinting against the low light.

You reach out, “Pretty.” Logan smiles at your sparkling eyes, but retracts his claws before you can touch them.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

You give him the meanest look you can muster for not letting you touch, sinking your own, much tinier, claws into his abs to hurt him. But Logan lets out a soft moan instead, and you marvel at the pleasure he takes in the pain, forgetting all about why you’re mad at him.

Your eyes light up when you realise he likes you scratching him open. It’s a dream come true – someone who likes the way you show affection. You bite your lip as you scratch over his abs, his hips, and his thighs, watching as the wounds close up just before you draw blood. You hook your tiny claws into the flesh of his thighs as you wrap your lips around his cock again.

Logan lets out a string of moans as you have your claws in him and your mouth on him. You begin to purr, and with the way his cock flexes in your mouth you know he’s close.

“Just a little more for me, can you do that, baby?” he gently nudges your head down some more, and with the praise coming from his lips you can definitely take him – you feel like you could do anything.

“Yeah, just like that.” Logan’s voice gets shaky as you take his cock deeper, spit running down to his balls as you take almost all of him in your warm, wet mouth.

You swallow everything Logan gives you as he cums in your mouth, shooting strings of his warm load down your throat. You don’t stop until he’s gently pulling you off him, and you look up at him.

“Again,” you plead, eyes wide, taking in how his cock is still hard.

Logan chuckles, “Don’t get used to the idea of that. Most men can’t go more than once.”

You look at him strangely – what do other men matter to you? Before you can ask, Logan manhandles you into a different position, and you don’t notice until then that you’ve been grinding your clothed pussy against his knee, and you whine at the loss of contact.

You’re on your knees as Logan gets up to fully remove his boxers, and you see the skin at his knee glistening from where you’ve soaked it. The sight makes your cheeks heat up but also makes you press your thighs together.

He’s standing in front of you like a god, and you put a hand on his thigh to suck his cock again. Before your mouth can reach him, he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Your turn now, kitty.”

“Oh,” you say as he lies you on your back.

“Gonna play with you now. Can I take this off?” he’s holding the bottom of your top, and you nod as he pulls it off you. Logan gets on the bed again, taking in the sight of you half-naked. You’ve never felt so good about yourself. He looks as if he’s seen God herself.

“Look at you, kitty, so fucking pretty,” he whispers more to himself, touching and kissing you there as his knees sink into the mattress. You arch your back when he wraps his lips around your nipple, and the action makes your pussy rub up against him. He looks down between your thighs, pushing his mouth there.

You’re not wearing any underwear, so his face against your thin shorts makes you squirm. “Smell so good,” he breathes, rubbing his nose up against your clit. It makes you moan.

He begins to pull down your pants, stopping as they catch on your tail. The nurses cut a hole into the back of the material for it, and your cheeks glow when Logan carefully pulls your sensitive tail out of the way before he slides your shorts all the way down your legs, spreading them to get a look of you afterwards.

“Look at you, kitty. Prettiest kitty I’ve ever seen,” you miss his joke, placing your feet on Logan’s broad shoulders, as he says “Can I?”

You’re appalled that he even has to ask, pushing his head down between your legs.

He begins to eat you like a man starved, moaning against your skin at the taste of your wet pussy. He doesn’t even tease you, licking through all your wetness, licking over your clit in circles.

Logan pushes two fingers in without any preparation, but you still feel too empty, grinding your hips against him.

“I got you,” he promises, lapping up all of you, “Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” He grabs one of your thighs, holding it so that you don’t squeeze his ears any more. Your knees are still pressing against his temples, but he doesn’t mind them there. He can feel you tremble when he licks and sucks and when he curls his fingers.

Logan has you cumming on his tongue quickly, sucking on your clit until you’re seeing stars, whining for him to stop. He pulls his lips off you, sitting up to push his fingers into your mouth.

“You taste good, huh?” he smirks as you suck your own arousal off him, humming around his fingers in agreement. He slowly fucks his fingers into you again, bringing them up to his own lips. He moves his hand between your legs again, fingers going over the hair above your pussy.

“You’re so soft here, kitty,” he says, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek against your pubic hair, making you giggle.

You’re still wet, and he’s still hard, and you don’t want to be too direct but you want to know when he’s finally going to fuck you. You tell him “I’ve never done this before either,” hoping he’ll catch what you’re getting at.

He places a kiss above your pussy, into the soft hair, smirking up at you and kneeling between your spread thighs, “I know. I’ll go slow.”

“Don’t want you to go slow,” you mumble, watching his eyes darken a bit.

“Don’t say that to me. Y’don’t know what you’re saying.”

You don’t reply, smiling to yourself. He is big – very big – you remind yourself, but you still want him to be rough with you if that’s what he needs. You want him to use you. But maybe you should wait before you tell him that.

Logan wraps a hand around his cock, fucking his fist for a few moments before he leans down to rub the tip against your clit. You mewl at the sensation, ready for more.

“You sure?” he asks, head already beginning to push in.

“Yeah,” you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close. Logan pushes himself halfway in, both of you moaning with pleasure. The stretch already stings, but you tell him you want more.

“So fucking tight for me, baby,” he grunts as he fucks into you deeper, bottoming out with an almost pathetic groan that makes you smile through the slight pain.

“You’re so big,” you moan, leaning your head back against his pillow.

“I know. Think you can take me?” he kisses up the side of your neck, hand sneaking between your bodies to play with your clit.

“Yes–yeah. I want you.”

“That’s a good kitty,” he whispers from above you, beginning to thrust into you slowly, rocking your whole body with his movement. He feels so big in your pussy, but you like the feeling of being stretched out for him. Even if it hurts, you want him to take what he needs.

It helps when your claws come out, scratching at his back to relieve some of the pain.

“Hurt me, baby. Hurt me as much as you need,” he moans into your ear, fucking into you at a bit of a rougher pace. You sink your claws into him, feeling how you draw tiny drops of blood from his big muscles, dragging your fingertips down his shoulders and over his big arms.

“That’s it, baby,” Logan moans against your mouth, kissing you sloppily, thrusts becoming messy, and you grunt in a mix of pain and pleasure that feels so good. He looks down at you, hips getting slower as he takes your tail in his hand.

“Does your tail hurt like this?” he asks, tugging at it lightly. You’re lying on your tail, technically, but it doesn’t hurt. You shake your head. Still, Logan tips your hips to the side a bit, lifting your thigh to fuck you sideways. But this way you can’t reach his back, and you don’t like not being able to squeeze around him with your thighs.

“Wanna sit on top,” you say, and he pulls away to look at you, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“You can’t take me like that yet, bub. Trust me.”

“M-mh,” you mumble, and with a bite to his lip Logan lifts his hands in defeat, slipping out of you and obeying you. He flips you around so that he’s on his back and you straddle him.

His dick looks bigger when you hold it in your hand, raising yourself to your knees to line him up with your pussy. Logan chuckles and you smile too, but you want to show him that you can take him.

You struggle to even get the angle right because you have to sit up so high, but when you’ve got the tip in your pussy, you just slowly lower yourself, hands leaning on Logan’s chest.

“Go slow, baby,” Logan says, suddenly gentle, seeing the pain on your features as he goes deeper. His fingers draw circles on your hips and on your ass, and he almost cums from the way you moan when he won’t fit in all the way in this position. He reaches out to rub at your fluffy ears, loving the way you lean into his touch, purring again.

“Sounds so pretty when you do that.” He’s less and less sure about the thing he said earlier, telling you not to get used to him, about you fucking other men. He’s not sure it’ll be relevant after all. He’s going to keep you all to himself.

“Hurts so bad,” you moan, pussy straining around him.

“Then stop. Y’don’t have to,” Logan coos, pulling you up by your hips but you take his hands off you.

“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna cum.” You grind your hips against Logan’s, his cock pulsing inside you. It drives him fucking crazy seeing you struggling to take him, fucking yourself stupid in his lap nevertheless.

He rubs his thumb over your clit, in circles to match the movement of your hips on him.

“Lo–Logan,” you moan, hands back on his chest as you start to fuck him again, your claws coming out against his chest to scratch him there, and he revels in it.

“Yeah, that’s it, kitty. Don’t stop,” he keeps playing with your clit, starting to become breathless himself as your pussy squeezes around his cock.

You cum with a whimper so animalistic it sets off his own orgasm, pulsing his cum into your pussy that clenches around him hard. Logan’s hand on your hip helps you grind on him as the pleasure spreads through your body and he’s grabbing at your flesh.

You come down from your highs together, a fucked out smile on your lips as you bend down to kiss Logan. He pulls you off his cock, not wanting you to hurt any more, but from the way you kiss him back lazily, hurt is the last thing you are.

“Did such a good job for me,” Logan tells you, holding onto your face, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, “Didn’t mind it,” and you kiss him again, liking the way he devours you like a hungry animal every time his lips are on you.

As he’s kissing you fervently, with tongue and spit, you let your fangs come out, nicking his bottom lip carefully. He hisses into your mouth, and you draw two drops of blood – one for each tooth – before the wounds heal shut.

Logan grins, “Feisty kitty,” he squeezes you at the waist, making you giggle.

“See, you like pain and I like it too.”

Logan hums at your words, hand moving up to play with one of your ears. You move to lie down on your side, Logan turning to face you. You watch him.

“Can I stay?” you ask shyly, quietly, and he doesn’t understand the man he was only an hour ago. How could he not want you entirely? He hates that he made you feel unsure for even a second.

“Of course, bub. You’re staying with me from now on.” You purr at his words, cuddling into him.

He puts his arm around you, holding you close as you begin to lick all over his face. He giggles as you make your way over his beard and his neck too, grooming him like a kitty. Your claws hook into the muscle of his arm and, as much as he enjoyed it during sex, this is definitely something he still has to get used to, gasping at the contact. The way you purr louder makes it more than worth it.

You’re pawing at his hair, smoothing it back into place from where you’ve messed it up. Logan closes his eyes from how good it feels. Suddenly, he hears you giggle.

“Your hair is kind of like kitty ears,” you grin.

He deadpans. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Your fluffy tail bounces up and sways a bit as you giggle mischievously. You pretend to zip your mouth shut but he knows he’s never hearing the end of that. Maybe he doesn’t even mind it coming from you.

“So, did you escape just to come see me or d’you get permission?” He asks, remembering how you’re probably not even supposed to be here.

You panic for a second, beginning to sit up, but Logan holds you down, “I won’t tell anyone you’re here, kitty. Told you you’re staying with me. Would just be good to know if you’re making me break the rules.”

The way you smile at him sheepishly tells him everything he needs to know. He presses another kiss to your adorable face.

“You coulda told them you’re leaving. I’m sure they’ll be looking for you, bub,” he tells you. You turn around so that you’re spooning, with him at your back and your tail wrapped around his thigh.

“Hmpfh, don’t care,” you begin to purr, closing your eyes, “Just wanna be with my daddy.”

Logan wants the same.

You don’t stop purring as you drift off to sleep, held safely in Logan’s arms.

P.S. Logan thinks that hot readers leave a reblog and a comment and let the writer know what they enjoyed about the fic <333 🫣🤭

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #Logan Howlett x hybrid!reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #Logan Howlett x you #kitty hybrid!reader #Logan Howlett x kitty hybrid!reader #hybrid!reader #wolverine x hybrid!reader #fem!reader #selfcarecap

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kooktrash · 3 months ago

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SHAMELESS ⊹ jeon jeonkook

summary: unsatisfied with your current relationship, you find yourself swept into an affair with a regular at your gym. it turns out he’s not the sweet, charming man you fooled yourself into believe he was but for some reason, you keep going back to him.

⊹ genre/au: gym instructor!y/n x jungkook. infidelity au. obsessive [she/her. afab] yandere

⊹ 31.6k

warnings: yandere towards the end. smut. coercion. morally gray characters. established relationship. cheating. heated arguments. aggression. angst. mentions of bl00d. manhandling. slight mind break. victim blaming in a sense. beware jk is very condescending and mean at times. he’s a munch. kissing in the bathroom. implied stalking. slutshaming.a lot more probs. manipulation. fight or flight response

[ song inspo: the greatest — billie eillish. phantom bride — deftones. jigsaw falling into place — radiohead. red sex — vessel ]

The first time you ever got a good look at the stranger was just a couple weeks ago. It was hard to keep track of the new members all the time and rarely had the chance to get to know any of them. You weren’t one of the ones at the front desk checking people in, getting them signed up and greeting them for their every visit. It made sense why you’d never seen him before that time.

You ran into him by pure coincidence one late evening when you were heading downstairs after a session and practically crashed into him at the water fountain. You apologized countless times, making sure he was alright and went on your way without thinking about it too hard. The only reason he was still on your mind was because of the others here. They wouldn’t shut up about him.

“He’s got a nice build, I think he’s my favorite,” Eunbi began with her usual rant about the new regular. You stood at the front lobby reading over your schedule for the morning when your friend started.

“Did you figure his name out?” Hoseok asked, only half interested in the conversation if not to entertain himself.

“Jeon Jungkook,” Eunbi said with certainty, “He’s from another location but looks like he’s switched over to this one. Y/n, just look at him.”

“Who?” You asked with feigned curiosity, looking over to the gym floor and who on Earth your friend could be talking about.

“The new guy, kind of tall, buff, tattoos,” Eunbi tried to explain but you and Hoseok just laughed. That describes most of the guys here nowadays.

“He’s over at Upper-Body,” He nodded his head toward the training area and found the presumed, Jeon Jungkook, Eunbi was going on about. It didn’t take long for you to realize she was talking about the guy you bumped into.

Today he wore a dark gray compression shirt under a baggy hoodie he had pulled off to do pull-ups and an entire sleeve of tattoos caught your attention, “So you found your newest victim?”

“Hardly, I’ve tried being friendly when he checks in but he couldn’t care less, it’s gonna take more to butter him up,” Eunbi said with a sigh, “Maybe he has a girlfriend.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok shrugged, “But it won’t hurt to try.”

“Y/n, what do you think?” She asked playfully, contemplating it.

“I think you can do whatever you put your mind to,” You answered sarcastically, making her lightly shove you as you smiled. Without much thought to it, you looked back at Jungkook trying to see what Eunbi saw.

He was attractive but he looked similar to many of the other regulars here. There was definitely something in his aura that seemed different but was Eunbi attracted to that type? Somewhere between your zoned out staring, he caught your gaze.

“I met this girl last night, she’s hot, her friend’s hotter and she’s interested in you,” Taehyung told him as he let go of the bar and made room for his friend’s turn.

“Is she?” Jungkook asked, barely paying attention as his friend did a set. He was supposed to be making sure he was doing them correctly but he was more distracted by who he saw in the mirror.

He’s seen you a couple times now but everytime is more exciting than the last. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t know anything aside from the fact that you’re an instructor here, but he’s only been able to have one interaction [if he can call it that] with you.

“Yeah, I’m hanging out with them this weekend, you should join,” Taehyung huffed tiredly, pacing a little to catch his breath, already wanting to move on to something else.

“I’ll think about it,” Jungkook wiped sweat off his forehead with the end of his shirt, “Have you ever checked out the training here?”

“Not when I’ve got free training sessions with my best friend,” Taehyung said with a chuckle, patting Jungkook’s arm, “Come on, I can’t take any more of this torture.”

He let Taehyung lead the way to the locker room, trying his hardest not to start at the front desk where you had been at for the last ten minutes waiting on someone. He still remembers how you bumped into him and he had to put a hand out to stop you from stumbling against the corner of the wall.

“Why?”

“Huh?” Jungkook asked, opening his locker to grab his things.

“Why are you asking about personal training ? You trying to ditch me onto someone else?” Taehyung asked jokingly.

“No, nothing like that. You’ve been here longer, I just wanted to know if you’re close with any of them,” Jungkook said with a shrug.

“I know the guy at the desk, his names Hoseok,” Taehyung said after they grabbed their things, “And Eunbi.”

“Which one’s that?” He asked, beginning to walk out of the locker room.

“The one at the desk, she always says hi,” Taehyung said, trying to subtly point at her. Jungkook looked with some recollection of who she was but she wasn’t the one he was curious about. He’s seen you a couple times around but not as much as the others.

He just simply thinks you’re pretty.

“Have a goodnight,” Eunbi said with her usual polite smile as they walked past and he couldn’t help but look at you instead as he said it back. You weren’t looking but that didn’t bother him too much. For now he had to play it cool, he didn’t want to be the creep at the gym who flirts with people there.

“So this weekend?” Jungkook asked as he unlocked his car, trying to think about what Taehyung wanted to do.

“I’ll text you more about it later. I’m still trying to figure out what we’re doing,” Taehyung said, “Same time tomorrow?”

Jungkook nodded and waved goodbye, leaving the gym’s parking lot to call it a night.

When you left work that day you barely remembered anything special that happened. It was more so the usual with your private sessions, gossiping with coworkers and Eunbi going on about the latest gym rat she’s obsessed with. Your at-home routine didn’t far off from the ordinary either, you had a quiet dinner waiting for your boyfriend to text back and called it an early night.

The weeks flew by pretty mundane aside from the times he’d get a glimpse of you. He still thinks you’re pretty, he likes your smile and your body, even your hair. You’re not exactly his type but for some reason his mind is stuck on you everytime he comes to the gym—which is often. To be honest, he thinks he moved to this location because of you and not because Taehyung came to this one more. It’s nothing serious aside from a small crush and there’s nothing he planned to do about it.

It was just his luck to catch you at the front desk one early morning with no one else around.

“Good morning,” you said with a yawn, regretting telling Eunbi the night before that you’d cover part of her morning shift before your first session. Jungkook hesitated to scan his member QR code immediately like he usually did. The gym was empty aside from a few early morning goers like him and it was still a little dark out.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, exiting out of the app and thought quickly what to say, “The code doesn’t seem to be working right now.”

“That’s okay, I’ll check you in,” You moved toward the desk top, trying to navigate through the check-in system you rarely used and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” he cleared his throat, leaning against the counter a little. That seemed to wake you up a little more, you looked up curiously to find the guy Eunbi was ‘crushing on’ and who you bumped into a while back. He was definitely more attractive up close and it took you a little by surprise.

He didn’t think twice about meeting your gaze with equal curiosity and he used this time to get a good look at you.

Pretty.

Very pretty.

You looked away first, ensuring the picture in the system had matched the guy in front of you.

“Alright, go ahead—“

“You’re not the one usually here, right?” He asked, stalling just one more time.

“No, Eunbi’s the one who works the front desk, she has an appointment this morning so I’m helping her out,” You told him with more enthusiasm, wondering if he was interested in her. If he was, Eunbi would be thrilled. Maybe, she likes to jump around a lot, her “Gym Boy of the Month” might have changed. It’s a fun staring game that she has and you like to play along with it despite being in a relationship.

Jungkook just nodded in acknowledgment at what you said before heading to the locker room.

He lost track of you when Eunbi came back and he finished his workout. You were probably working with someone and doubted he’d see you again until he’s back later tonight.

“You’re late,” His friend joked as he got to the car shop he worked at. He threw his things down in the office and clocked in.

“Went to the gym this morning,” Jungkook answered with a shrug. He grabbed his navy blue jumpsuit and slipped it over his clothes, “At least we don’t have any early appointments.”

“If you keep going twice a day you’re going to get too bulky like you did when we were at camp,” Namjoon joked as he read over the planner, “And we’ve got a failed transmission to fix some tint to do in an hour.”

He tried concentrating on work but today he struggled which wasn’t usual for him. He was distracted and had an itch of curiosity he couldn’t scratch.

When lunch came around Jungkook found himself on his cellphone, looking over the training program the gym provided and scrolled through the instructors. It didn’t take him long to find yours and learn your name. You’d been at the gym for two years and were basically booked out.

“Who are you talking to?” Namjoon asked curiously.

“Nobody,” Jungkook said.

“How’d it go with those girls Taehyung was talking about?” His friend pressed him.

“They wanted to reschedule so we never met up,” Jungkook told him as he searched you up on other social media platforms, “What are some telltale signs that someone has a boyfriend?”

Namjoon scrunched his face in a scowl, “One of them has a boyfriend? Yikes, and Taehyung still wants to—“

“Not them, who gives a fuck. I mean in general, I’m looking at someone’s Instagram but she doesn’t even post so I can’t tell,” Jungkook said seriously and Namjoon chuckled. He took the phone from him and looked at your profile.

“Everyone’s taken nowadays and this girl definitely is,” Namjoon said with a shrug, “Look at her tagged photos.”

Jungkook cursed under his breath.

“Who is Y/n?” Namjoon asked.

“No one, just some girl from the gym. She works there and I think she’s cute,” Jungkook tried sounding indifferent.

Namjoon smirked, “Ah, so that’s why you went this morning—you're still planning on going later aren’t you? I mean, yeah she’s cute but too bad she’s taken.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything because in all honesty he stopped listening—conveniently around the time Namjoon tried reminding him you had a boyfriend. There was no way to really tell anyway. Sure he was staring at a picture you were tagged in looking close to some guy but it could’ve been anyone. Right?

Later that day when you returned home, checking your cell phone for any missed calls you washed up and began to prep dinner when your boyfriend arrived. He didn’t bother knocking, unlocked your door and let himself into your apartment with no hesitation, “Here.”

“I see that,” You looked over at him from the kitchen, “Where were you?”

“I was with the guys getting a couple beers,” Minu said, kicking his shoes off at your door like he usually did, “I thought you were working late.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, “I got home a while ago.”

“I see that now,” he cleared his throat, walking past you for a glass of water and he reeked of beer, “Oh, and I’m going out this weekend.”

“With who?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“The guys,” you couldn’t help but mock him quietly. With a shrug of your shoulders you said, “That’s fine, Eunbi wanted to get some drinks this weekend too.”

“Eunbi? Who else is gonna go?”

“Just us two, maybe Hobi I don’t know,” You told him as he watched you finish up cooking.

Minu rolled his eyes, “Great.”

“What? You’re going out with your friends so I can go out with mine,” You told him with a raised brow trying to see what tone he was using.

“Nothing, just Hoseok’s a guy and Eunbi is… yknow,” He looked away, “Boy crazy?”

“So? All your friends are single and I don’t say anything when you go out for beers with them every other night,” You carried plates over to the dining table and Minu followed to sit down, not bothering to help you, “Plus Hobi has a girlfriend.”

“It’s different, the guys and I just hang out. You and your friends get drunk and do who the fuck knows,” Minu’s tone raised with irritation as you began to serve him, “What time will you be home?”

“What time will you be home?” You asked him harshly and watched as he scoffed.

“Let’s just eat, we’ll talk about it later.”

Choi Minu was your boyfriend of three years. Three years together and you get the same questions anytime you bring him up.

Why don’t you live together?

Why aren’t you engaged?

Do you plan on marrying?

Usually, the two of you did pretty well at avoiding them and finding something else to talk about but sometimes you find yourself asking those questions too. One would say you’re in a long term relationship and couples nowadays at least move in together after a few months, why didn’t you and Minu?

You were similar in many ways but it still felt like you didn’t know each other that well. He liked loud sports games and visiting dive bars every other night. He can be somewhat irrational and hypocritical but he wasn’t too bad of a guy. You loved him—of course you did—but you didn’t always like him.

He can surely say the same about you—he has. He’s called you a bitch before or screamed in your face for something stupid but you’ve done your fair share to annoy him. He’d say you’re stubborn and moody, confrontational instead of sweet. In reality, the question should be why you’re still together.

Clearly neither one of you cared to progress the relationship but at the same time neither of you wanted it to end. You’re comfortable with each other’s ugly parts and the idea of letting someone else get that close again grossed you out. So, you stuck around and you’re sure he felt the same.

Saturday came quicker than expected and you found yourself with your best friend getting dressed in your bedroom listening to whatever song was queued. With the weather as shitty as it’s been and packed schedules, you’ve barely had time to go out for a good night and you were determined to make tonight work. It probably had something to do with the fact that your boyfriend would be out doing his own thing and you didn’t want to spend the night wondering what that was.

“Is Hobi meeting us?” You asked, looking at your reflection in the mirror one last time. Despite it being cold, you felt the urge to wear something short tonight and to be honest, you think you looked good.

“Yeah, he’ll meet us somewhere on 11th street,” Eunbi applied a final layer of lip gloss, “Did you order the Uber.”

You rummaged through the grocery bag you bought earlier and pulled out two mini bottles of liquor for some early, well-needed liquid courage. You always got nervous whenever you went out with your friends—not because it wasn’t fun but because usually it ended with Min blowing up your phone while he’s drunk off his ass needing you to meet him somewhere.

“It’s five minutes away,” You handed her one of the bottles, making sure everything you needed was in your mini bag before you quickly cheered each other on and finished the drinks in one go.

Jungkook was thankful he chose to drive tonight. It worked as an excuse to not drink and he could make sure his friend wasn’t driving himself out. Finally, after a couple weeks those girls from before got back to Taehyung and asked him to go out.

Usually, Jungkook doesn’t entertain people a second time. He gives them one chance and if he’s not impressed he doesn’t try again, and when they rain checked his friend for the first time he had no intentions on going out tonight. The only reason he agreed is for Taehyung’s sake knowing he liked one of the girls.

“So you work with cars? You must know a lot,” one of them said to him over drinks. She had to practically tell it in his ear over the loud music and even then he can barely make out what she was saying.

“I guess,” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, “What's your name again?”

“Koo, we’ve been talking all night and you seriously forgot my name? That hurts my feelings,” she said with feigned hurt, putting her hand on his arm, “Hyejin.”

“Right,” Jungkook couldn’t bother to sound more interested.

He tried, he really did, and when Taehyung scolds him for not being more enthusiastic he’ll have to make him believe that. It’s not even that Hyejin wasn’t attractive, she was and probably his usual type but he wasn’t interested. She just seems like she tries too hard for approval from others. Does that sound bad? She was just boring and the girl Taehyung was with was so much hotter. Okay, now he probably sounds like an asshole.

“Want a smoke?” Jungkook asked Taehyung, hoping to get his friend away so he can convince him to let him go do his own thing with someone he would probably be more interested in.

“Sure,” Taehyung looked down at Mina, “We’ll be back.”

He didn’t bother asking them if they wanted to come along and left the nightclub with Jungkook for fresh air, “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook pulled out his pack and handed it to Taehyung while feeling around his pockets for a lighter, “What about you? How’s it going with Mina.”

Taehyung lit the end, “I’m sleeping with her tonight. I just know it. I’m sure Hyejin would be down if you actually acted interested in her.”

Jungkook could’ve said something about the way Taehyung was talking but it seems like he didn’t care enough to, so he just said, “Well I’m not interested.”

“She’s hot.”

“Yeah, so?” Jungkook rolled his eyes, inhaling smoke and releasing it into the cold night air, “I’ve been listening to her go on and on about absolutely nothing for the past two hours.”

“Great wingman,” Taehyung shoved his arm playfully, “Thanks for taking one for the team.”

“Yeah whatever, I’m about to leave you guys and do something else,” Jungkook said, “Tell them something came up and I’ll be back.”

“Are you serious?” Taehyung groaned, “Don’t go.”

Jungkook wasn’t fully listening anymore as he looked across the street at the long line leading into another nightclub. He had to do a double take and make sure who he saw was who he was thinking of.

“Isn’t that the people from the gym,” Jungkook asked trying to get Taehyung to look over. He noticed you first [clearly], you wore something black with light pink accents that suited your complexion nicely and the Eunbi girl had on something green. One of the guys behind you with an arm around another girl was Hoseok from the gym and the other he didn’t know. The only thing he did know was that he didn’t look like the guy from the pictures on your profile.

“Oh shit, yeah, looks like one of them has a boyfriend,” Taehyung said, finishing his cigarette before Jungkook finished his and threw it on the floor. He stepped on it to put it out before picking it up and taking it to the trash bin, “Ready?”

“You go ahead,” Jungkook said, looking across the street curiously, “I’ll go right now.”

“You better not be lying man,” Taehyung said with a sigh, showing the bouncer his entrance bracelet and going back in. He watched your group reach the front of the line to go in and without question, he found himself crossing the street to follow.

“I swear Y/n if I see you look at your phone one more time I’m stuffing it down my pants,” Yoongi said.

“Is that a threat?” You teased playfully, clutching your phone tighter in your hands and trying to deflect, “Or an invitation?”

“A threat,” Hoseok chimed in, “Can we just say ‘Fuck Minu’ and get drunk?”

“What have we been doing for the last three hours?” You asked following them to the bar at the club you just entered.

“We’ve been drinking, you’ve been babysitting one cup at every bar we go to,” Ara, Hoseok’s girlfriend, told you, “You gotta catch up.”

“Minu’s out with the guys, you know how he gets when he—“ Hoseok covered your mouth drunkenly, pulling you into a back hug.

“Shush, enough about him I need a drink and it’s your round,” Hoseok said, playfully shoving you toward the counter. With a roll of your eyes you made your way to the front and ignored your drunk friends behind you. You didn’t pay much attention to who was around you until someone made room for themselves right next to you.

For a second you thought they might try and cut in line before you but he didn’t seem to do that. He was able to get the bartender’s attention better than you but once he had it he directed her to you.

Jungkook listened to your order and waited to see if you’d notice him. Would you even remember him? You see him practically every day now.

“You work at the gym on ___ street, right?” He decided to ask, unable to stop himself from grabbing your attention. You looked at him closely, finally getting who he was and nodded your head.

“Yeah, I saw the other one, Eunbi over there,” He cleared his throat, “I always forget your name though.”

Y/n.

“Y/n,” you said with a clear voice, “Yours?”

“Jungkook, sorry I'm not trying to be a creep or anything but I see you practically everyday,” He said with an apologetic shrug. He tried looking indifferent but in reality he was extremely happy with the way things have turned out. He never expected to see you on a night out. It was like a reminder that you weren’t some figment of his imagination for when he’s working out.

“Yeah, you go a lot,” as you said it you couldn’t help but check him out. He wore a black button-up shirt and baggy jeans with sneakers and he looked good. His shoulders were still broad and his tattoos still peaked from under the sleeve. His hair seemed slightly pushed back which made his face look prettier even under this poor lighting.

Of course you shouldn’t be looking at another guy’s physique when you have a boyfriend, it just happened. In your defense you were a little tipsy.

Jungkook smiled, “Nice of you to notice. What are you drinking?”

You looked back at the bartender who currently made the drinks for you, trying not to think of how you were just looking at him, “I actually don’t remember. One of my friends told me what to order.”

He nodded his head, getting the bartender’s attention, “Add them to my tab—“

“No, don’t do that,” You rushed to say but Jungkook just flashed her a smile and told her to do it.

He couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, “Why? It’s fine, it’s just a little ‘Hey I know you’ gift, nothing more.”

“But—“

You were hesitant to leave, not liking the feeling of him paying. If you were slightly more drunk and less aware you don’t think you’d care but you do. Jungkook shook his head, nudging your arm playfully, “It’s fine, go take them to your friends and if I find you again you owe me a conversation.”

A light scoff left your lips, not able to leave just yet as you caught on to his act. He was flirting, maybe? You can’t tell when someone’s flirting with you anymore [Minu doesn’t even bother] and maybe you’re overthinking it but that’s what it felt like. If that was the case then you shouldn’t entertain it. You know that.

“I thought it was nothing more than a gift,” You said, meeting his stare again. You weren’t nervous per se but this conversation felt strange. There was a slight teasing tone in your voice that urged Jungkook to keep going, hoping the conversation would go somewhere.

“You’re right, but I’d still like to talk to you just a little,” he couldn’t help but quickly look you over once more. Usually when he sees you you’re in some form of athleisure. He noticed your favorites were in soft colors like pink, matcha green, a nice cream and sometimes powder blue. Right now you’re in a black top with pink bows on the sides at the neckline near your chest. Your skirt was dark but he couldn’t quite tell the exact color but he’s sure he’ll figure it out. Simply put, you looked even prettier tonight than usual.

You considered stalling a little longer but you knew there was no reason to. All your friends were drunk and your phone buzzed with a notification from your boyfriend but Jungkook said it was nothing… he just wanted to talk. Surely it was nothing more…

With a small sigh, you pushed away from the bar counter and said, “Thank you for the drinks but my friends are waiting.”

And you have a boyfriend, you thought.

Jungkook looked back at the group with little interest but nodded his head anyway. It’s not like can force you to stay even if he really wanted to. You told him a quiet goodbye and he watched you walk away from him. What was he supposed to do now? Return to his friend and those women who could barely remember? Stay here and entertain whatever bimbo approaches him just so he can keep an eye on you?

He was more sure than ever that he was interested in getting to know you.

The way things would go was all mapped out in his head. Not once did he stop to consider your so-called boyfriend because he never saw him. You didn’t bring him up and in reality, Jungkook had no reason to think you were in a relationship. As far as anyone knew he was just someone you kind of knew.

After the night drinking he began to make himself more known when he saw you. He’d say hi at the door or give you a smile when you’d walk past him. Occasionally when he was lucky enough, he’d try and spark conversation—and not once did you mention a boyfriend. You talked about other things, your friends, your hobbies, but never once a partner. Even if you had a boyfriend it must not have been serious, he thinks.

“I can’t anymore Kook, my legs are going to fall off,” Taehyung groaned one afternoon as he nearly collapsed on the ground. Jungkook looked at him, slightly unimpressed and said, “You want to quit already?”

“Oh I’d love to,” Taehyung said sarcastically, “I’m done. I want to go home and take a nice hot shower.”

“Alright, well I think I’m gonna stick around a little lo—“ Jungkook began to say when Taehyung cut him off with a laugh.

“Just grow a pair and ask Y/n for dinner or something. That’s why we’re here this late, right? You’ve got a little crush,” Taehyung said looking around for you, “Personally I think Eunbi is more my taste but I think she’s got a thing for you.”

It was hard to ignore the constant attention Eunbi put on Jungkook whenever the two checked in. Jungkook didn’t say anything about what his friend said and let him leave without much care. After a while he finished his last set and headed toward the locker room to freshen up.

The sun had set by the time your last session ended. You were running behind schedule and hurried downstairs to the locker room to change. Your phone lay in a heap of clothes and you grabbed it to see the time.

You were supposed to meet up with Minu for dinner after work and you’re cutting it real close on time. He hasn’t texted you or tried to call so that worried you a little. Either he was running late too or something came up like usual. You sat on the bench for a moment, trying to ring his line but he didn’t answer right away. You nearly ended the call when he picked up.

“What’s up?” Minu asked casually.

“Are we still on for tonight? I just need to wash up—“

“Oh shit, yeah I forgot, um,” he looked around his apartment nervously, “I got off work and joined a tournament with the guys. Do you want to just pick up a pizza and come over? I got some drinks in the fr—Shit!—yeah, just come over. My team’s winning.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You slumped back, hoping the locker room was empty, “We’ve been talking about dinner for over a week now.”

“I know, I know but I might win money—fuck, I gotta hang up just walk in when you’re here,” Minu hung up on you.

He had the nerve to hang up on you.

You couldn’t help but scoff, annoyed with your boyfriend and unable to do anything about it. You could text him a long paragraph about what a stupid piece of shit he was but maybe that was too much? Was he even worth the energy?

Once you had all your things you walked to clock out at the desk and Eunbi was there talking with no other than the man of the hour. Her mon amour, Jungkook.

She looked at you with hearts in her eyes, “You’re off already? Where are you going now?”

“Home,” You said almost bitterly, glancing toward Jungkook. He flashed you a little smile but you didn’t return it. You were annoyed with Minu and it ruined your entire mood now.

Eunbi’s brows scrunched together, “I thought you and M—“

“Not tonight,” you cut her off quickly, heading around to the front of the desk and began walking toward the front doors, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jungkook didn’t want to act too sudden when the opportunity presented itself. He didn’t want to raise suspicion from Eunbi who he was currently buttering up. He wasn’t attracted to her but if she liked having him around it could bring him closer to you. Clearly it was working, he caught a hint of your conversation and it didn’t take much for him to understand what was going on.

You were upset, going home and with no plans tonight. The mere mention of you and someone else that Eunbi attempted to bring up was quickly shut down on your end and it was all Jungkook needed to hear. You left a couple paces before him but after a minute or so, he came up with his farewell to Eunbi.

The parking lot was dark aside from a few lamp posts here and there but he was able to find you pretty easily. He wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything but he had to make a move. You were walking toward a white, polished car.

“Are your days usually this long? I feel like I see you all the time,” Jungkook said, keeping a safe distance away to not startle you but he managed to, only a little.

You smiled in relief once you noticed it was someone familiar and began to unlock your car, “Sometimes. I take longer breaks between clients so it's not too bad.”

“You still owe me a talk,” Jungkook said with a playful tone.

“We talk all the time now,” You said back.

“We haven’t over dinner and drinks,” He said, “On me, I know a place near here.”

This was it. This was your chance to just outright tell him you’re in a relationship. He’s clearly not hoping to just be friendly like you’ve been telling yourself lately. He’s asking you to dinner, that’s gotta be something. You need to just tell him you’re taken. You’re in a relationship with someone that drives you insane and you can’t go out with him because he’s so clearly trying to pursue you.

“I don’t know,” you bit your lip, standing at the door of your car but not getting in just yet.

“It beats heading home for a boring night,” Jungkook said with a shrug, acting like it made no difference but he just wanted you to take him up on his offer already.

What he said hit closer to home than it needed to and it kind of irritated you. You were supposed to be heading to a nice dinner with your boyfriend but like usual he finds something more important to waste his time on. Tonight he chose video games over you, how considerate. The thought alone was enough to make you want to scream but now you’re being reminded of it and felt the need to do anything but spend a night alone.

“Where are you thinking?”

He smiled as you gave in and told you the address.

It was a small ramen place that you’d never been to but it was nice. The food was good and there weren’t many people around which made you feel less guilty. If you told yourself Jungkook was nothing but a friend then it’d be less weird to be having dinner with him alone behind Minu’s back.

“So, you’re always at the gym, what kind of work do you do? I’ve been wondering about that,” You played with your silverware as you waited for your meal, unable to think of what better to say.

He smiled a little at the thought of you being curious about him too and he sat straighter as he said, “I’m a mechanic, I just finished my military service a couple months ago and that’s the only kind of work I knew. It pays the bills.”

You saw the car he drove, it was a large truck that marketed around 80k dollars at the least. Even if he didn’t want to brag, clearly his job did more than just pay the bills. It was a black truck with silver detail and it somewhat suited his mysterious persona. You weren’t into cars but you knew a thing or two about popular models. Plus, although it’s mandatory, knowing he was in the military recently made you look at him differently. Did he bulk up while he was away or has he always been into fitness? What about his tattoos?

When the server came around with your bowl of soup Jungkook helped clear the table for you and watched how you thanked them, “Have you been here before?”

“No, I’ve walked past it before but I’ve never been inside, it’s nice,” You told him honestly, “Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes, with Taehyung or my coworkers,” Jungkook said.

“You live around here then?”

“About ten minutes away, you?” He asked curiously in between bites.

“Yeah, I live about the same distance? Crazy I’ve never run into you anywhere else,” You said, making him nod his head.

“Well we ran into each other that one night,” Jungkook told you, “I was surprised when I saw you. I don’t know how honest I should be but you looked very pretty.”

Okay, he’s flirting, you think. Tell him now, stop walking around it and just tell him that you’re in a relationship and shouldn’t be here.

You looked at him, finding his eyes already trained on you and every thought to tell him left your head. Jungkook was attractive and surprisingly soft spoken. He was attentive and made an effort to get to know you so you found it very hard to end this by telling him about Minu. Could he possibly be interested in a friendship instead of anything more?

“You looked good too. I thought you were one of those guys that lives in gym clothes all day and everyday but you clean up pretty well,” You said in a teasing tone, “I was impressed.”

He quirked a brow in amusement, “Good. Do you go out often?”

“Sometimes if I’m in the mood for it but lately it’s been too cold to be walking around from bar to bar,” You told him. Guys don’t usually like girls that go out and have fun so you fully expected him to get the ick but he just nodded.

“So tell me something else about yourself,” He said. In all honesty he had been waiting for you to bring up your boyfriend. You had many chances to but you hadn’t yet and now he couldn’t be any more clear. You can tell him how you’ve been seeing someone for a couple years now but will you? Will it make a difference to him anyway? He’s already decided that he likes you. Would he run off right away? No.

He’s never struggled in the dating scene but lately he’s found a lot of the women who approached him boring. Hyejin tried too hard to appeal and even Eunbi came off too desperate. He’s gladly never gone for someone in a relationship but he’s finding out that he doesn’t really care. Something about you has captured his attention and he doesn’t think he cares about who you’re seeing. Once his mind is set on you, he doubts it’ll change.

“I want to open a gym and teach reformer Pilates, that’s my goal,” You finally said to him, “I like working at the gym but that’s just something to help me save up for what I really want. Does that seem like too big of a goal?”

Minu always tells you it is. He said there’s other things you can use the money on but that’s what you want.

Jungkook smacked his lips in disappointment and looked away from you. You worried he’d tell you something similar about how it’s not likely to happen but instead he said, “I don’t think I’m flexible enough for Pilates but I’ll be your first client when it happens. Will I get one on one sessions where it’s just you and I alone somewhere?”

Inappropriate, that was inappropriate to say to someone in a relationship but in his defense he didn’t know. You’re supposed to tell him but you haven’t yet.

“I’ll see what I can do,” You said with a smile that matched his. The two of you finished eating, talking about anything and everything in between and to be honest you had a good time. It was getting late and you should be home by now but nothing was really urging you to go. Your boyfriend never called back asking why you didn’t go to his place and it only made you want to be with Jungkook more.

After a small disagreement over whether to split the bill or not, you let Jungkook cover it and followed him out. Jungkook held the door open, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

You didn’t decline his offer and walked down the street to where you had parked and looked back at him. It was late and time for you to go home.

“This is it,” You leaned against the driver’s side of your car, looking up at him as he looked around it. The space between you grew smaller with every step he took toward you but you didn’t do anything to change that. His arm rested on top of the car, practically trapping you between his body and the vehicle but once again, you didn’t do anything to push him away.

“When can I see you again?” He asked just above a whisper, leaning toward you more than before. His forehead nearly touched yours yet you still wouldn’t just… push him away.

“You’ll see me at the gym,” You said in a poor effort to distance yourself from him. He didn’t take the bait, only chuckled at your words and brought his arm closer, slipping down the car and so close to where your back pressed against the door. It would be so easy for him to pull you into him.

“Not enough,” Jungkook said simply, closing the space just a little more. He licked his lips, looking down at yours and not caring that you were in public or not. There was no one around and it was dark so really, who was worried about two people looking a little too close on the side of the street? “Just push me off if you don’t want this.”

You blinked, unsure what to make of what he was saying as you began to ask, “Wha—“

His hand touched the softness of your face, tilting your chin upward until you were at the right angle for his liking. His lips brushed against yours teasingly, trying to catch a taste if you wanted this or not and you haven’t pushed him away. It urged him on, closing the distance until his lips pressed firmly into yours, feeling the way you gasped in surprise and welcomed his advances.

Your hand fell on his chest, not to push him away but to grasp at his shirt and pull him into you with more force. Jungkook was tender at first, basking in the feel of your soft lips molding against his and how your face fit perfectly in his hand. As slow as the kiss was, it felt oddly intense and wanting like he couldn’t get enough. Once you opened yourself up to his advances, he didn’t hesitate to keep going.

His tongue slipped past his lips, swiping against yours softly and your lips parted more to let him in. With a low groan, he pressed into you harder, arm circling your waist as he kept you caged in his hold so he could kiss you however he liked. Your arms wrapped around his neck, dragging him down and kissing back with eagerness, tongues tangled together and without a care of what you were doing in public.

When you felt his fingers sneak under the head of your top, you seemed to snap back into reality. You shoved at his chest, nipping his lip with your teeth on accident but it didn’t seem to waver him. He stepped back, licking over the sudden swelling on his bottom lip and looked down at you, “Was that too much?”

“I—“ your mouth felt dry, combing your hair out of your face and looking around feeling embarrassed. Did you just kiss someone who wasn’t your boyfriend for anyone to see?

Realization hit you hard and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You shouldn’t be doing this, you were an idiot and a… cheater, what were you thinking?

“Y/n,” He reached down for your hand, lacing your fingers together, “Everything alright?”

Tell him. Tell Jungkook you’re in a relationship. Tell him you’re nothing but a cheating liar and made a mistake meeting him tonight. Tell him you can’t do this and that you don’t think you should see him outside of work but you found yourself staying quiet. Jungkook was waiting for the truth too but it never came.

Maybe if you told him, he might’ve hesitated to kiss you a second time…

This time around it felt more needy. Jungkook could feel the desire laced with every touch of your lips and he wanted more. He struggled to speak between kisses, “Let’s go somewhere more private. Where do you live?”

“No, no, we can’t,” you sighed breathlessly, eyes closed trying to reel yourself back into reality. You looked up at him with lust blown eyes and bit your lip in thought.

“Back to mine?” He asked instead, taking your keys out of your hands when you didn’t protest, “My truck’s fine parked here overnight…”

You didn’t argue when he led you toward the passenger’s side, drunk off his affection when he kissed you one last time before getting in the driver’s seat. His hand stayed firm on your thigh the entire ride, inching upward and back down in a soothing manner like he knew the earthquake that was happening in your head.

The drive back to his place passed you in a blur and you don’t remember how you found yourself tugging at his clothes the second you entered his apartment. Al thought his hands were rough and stained with grease from his job, they were oddly tender against your skin, sliding your top up so he could feel your bare waist.

You kissed heavily, following his lead to wherever he took you and felt yourself fall into black bed sheets beneath you. His hair wasn’t long but the front pieces fell against your forehead and brushed against your neck when he trailed his lips toward your jawline, nipping at your skin teasingly and making you gasp at the feel. With your lips parted to catch a breath, he kissed you again, tongue kissing yours in a nasty, wet mess of saliva. Usually when Minu got a little too handsy or did something you weren’t used to, you’d push him away but right now you’re welcoming this somewhat aggressive approach Jungkook took toward you.

You pushed at his chest gently, surprised when he began to lift himself off you without wanting to break the kiss and you followed him up until you were sitting. You worked quickly to unzip the front of your light pink defined jacket and he didn’t hesitate to help you slip it down your shoulders. His suddenly rough hands held onto your sides, pressing you firmly against him, not able to get enough of your mouth on his.

Jungkook released a breathless grunt when he felt your fingers slip into his hair and he pulled away to stare at you. Your breath hitched in your throat, when his hand cupped your jawline, fingers disappearing in your hair as he held you to look at him firmly. Without any meaning behind it, your fingers wrapped around his wrist as if he was holding you too strongly but that wasn’t the case at all. You liked the way his hand felt on you and he made sure you were looking in his eyes. You were even on your knees, sitting between his legs on the bed and in just your leggings and bra now.

He took the second to look you over, staring straight down at the black material of your bra. The hand around your jaw pulled you further, nearly making you stumble into him while his other hand traced along your spine, feeling around for the clasp of your bra and undid it easily. You didn’t care to act surprised about the indecency you found yourself in. His fingers brushed against your shoulder blades as he helped you out of the straps and his lips kissed every inch of skin he passed.

You couldn’t help but sigh, feeling the way he kissed your collarbone, trailing toward your breasts and teasingly touching you just just under them without acting touching your chest at all. It made you arch your back so your front would be pressed into his face more and he had you lying back down on the bed in no time.

“You gonna let me have a little taste?” Jungkook asked, hand finally cupping your left breast, thumbing your hardened nipple and running the pad of his skin over it to feel how your breath hitched. Goosebumps formed on your body when he kissed down your stomach with his experienced fingers gripping the waist of your leggings so he can pull them off. You went limp as you let him finish undressing you and his eyes didn't shy away from checking out your naked form.

His head fell, looking straight toward where your legs parted around him and lifted a curious brow before looking back up at you.

You shrugged, holding your head upright with your elbows digging into the bed, “Sometimes I don’t like wearing anything underneath when I work out.”

“Mm,” He hummed, taking in your words and running his hands up and down your bare thighs, wanting to crouch over to get a better look at your naked pussy, “Good to know.”

Just before he went all in, face first into your spread legs, you spoke up, “I need you to take something off too, you’re being a little unfair.”

He could hear the teasing tone in your voice and he couldn’t help biting back a smirk as he sat back on his haunches and did as told. You watched him stand up and pull his t-shirt off first, eyes scanning down to his sweats and watching him pull them down too. He wore white Calvin Kkein’s that showed the bulge of his erection clearly. You’ve seen most of this at the gym before but goddamn was his body amazing. Feeling impatient, he got back on the bed, hiding his body from you as he laid between your legs and threw them over his shoulders.

You squealed in surprise when he pulled you closer to his face. With his arms around your thighs, you felt his hands now pushing down on your hips, likely to stop you from squirming away as he pressed a soft, butterfly kiss on your hooded clit. It was just a teasing touch but your body reacted immediately and he smiled knowingly. Even if you had a boyfriend—clearly he wasn’t taking care of you.

Jungkook can show you just how well you need to be taken care of. You were beyond soaked and it made Jungkook want to ruin you with his mouth. He sunk his head down and licked flatly along your cunt. Your slick pooled on his tongue and he dragged it up, wetting your labia until it was to his liking and covered your hardened clit with your own arousal. Your thighs threatened to shut but his bruising hold on your legs kept you suffocating him. Even if you did, he doesn’t think he’d mind.

To be honest, Jungkook loves putting his mouth on someone and hearing them come undone by his actions. It made his cock hard and he couldn’t help but rut against the bed for some friction.

He had your lips parting with breathless moans at the way he worked his tongue inside you, his nose bumping your cloth beautifully and his tongue lapping at your pussy like it was his last meal on earth.

Your hands clawed at the silk sheets, body wanting to shudder with pleasure, unsure how to take everything he was giving to you, “Fuck, I can’t.”

You said it as your nails traced along his hair, grabbing a good chunk of it and pressing his face more into your pussy, moaning at the way he kissed your clit while his fingers pulled your folds apart.

“Just a little more, baby, you’re soaked,” Jungkook said with a glistening chin, looking down at your greedy cunt hungry for another taste. His middle finger played at your entrance, wanting to get inside of you but the longer he tempted the ring of nerves, all he could think about is how good it’d be to feel the first stretch of your cunt around his cock instead.

A low groan left his lips as he sat up suddenly, shaking his head of hair in disappointment when you whined cutely, “Condom, we need a condom.”

“Just pull out,” You said in a sultry voice that made his heart beat faster but he was thinking with his dick too much. He needed to think with his brain, “I’m not gonna pull out so I need a condom unless you want my babies tonight.”

Though the offer was half tempting, you very clearly didn’t want that all and let him search for protection. When he got back to you, his dick was covered and pointing at you and your legs spread shamelessly for Jungkook to lay between them. Instead, he grabbed your left leg and threw it over your right so your hips were on their side and your ass was toward him nicely. He still had a view of your pretty tits but now he got a view of your ass too and the way your torso turned in this position.

“Pretty pussy, fucking hell,” He mumbled to himself, placing one hand on your hips to tilt your ass up and his other hand was pointing the tip of his dick to your puffy folds, red with abuse of his tongue and sloppy wet.

“Fuck me already,” you said with a wiggle of your hips and a gasp leaving your lips the second the words fell from your mouth. Jungkook didn’t hesitate to push his cock in, focusing solely on the tip as he watched you take that breath. He kept pushing in, taking your expression as a sign that you didn’t mind the sudden intrusion and pushed in to the hilt, skin touching skin with his cock fully sheathed inside you.

“I wanted to go easy on you,” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, hand rubbing your ass cheek possessively, “But if you’re going to be impatient then I will too.”

You weren’t thinking clearly at all. He felt too good. You felt too good. You can’t remember the last time you had a good fuck, usually Minu only cares about himself and to be honest he can’t last for shit. You're a little surprised with yourself and how the last thing you wanted was for Jungkook to go easy on you. He was the release you needed.

Jungkook’s presence loomed behind you and sweat trickled down his taut abs that had you letting out a moan when you watched the way the veins on his v-line led straight to his cock. He didn’t catch the way you looked at him, too focused on the way your dripping pussy sucked him in and refused to let him pull out. You’re tight, more than he expected frankly.

It’s such a shame that your boyfriend has someone like you and he doesn’t please you? A real shame, he thought as he licked his dry lips and pulled out, only letting his tip stretch your entrance and once he caught a good breath, he began to set a pace.

His thrusts were slow at first, hard and well making you let out the prettiest of noises. His nails dug into your thigh, anchoring himself as he fucked you with intent to make a mess of you. Right now you hugged a pillow to your face, trying to blur out your noises and he didn’t like that at all. Don’t be ashamed to feel good with him. That’s what he’s made for.

He bent forward, cock buried in you as he reached for the back of your neck, squeezing slightly until you got the hint and tried to hold your head up. You pushed your hands into the mattress, unable to fully got on your knees with the position Jungkook had your legs in but your back was flexible. You fucked back into him while turning to look at him and being met with a wet kiss that had you whining. Your arm came around his neck from behind and he moved back, dragging you with him until his hands were pushing your hips back to sit on his lap, making you grind your ass on him.

“So close baby,” he warned, fucking you open on his thick member.

You couldn’t find words, only moans that tumbled out of your mouth, fucking him with eagerness you hadn’t felt in a long time until you were at your breaking point.

Jungkook didn’t give much warning after that, his hand fell toward your clit and rubbed your wet pussy while he bounced you on his dick and brought you to the edge. You couldn’t process the sudden pleasure and how you screamed his name before almost collapsing on the bed if it wasn’t for his hold. Like he said, he didn’t pull out when he came. He pushed you down his entire length until his orgasm hit and thick cum was spilling into the condom.

“Oh my god,” you sighed, trying to catch your breath as he let you go, inevitably falling face first into his bed. Jungkook was puffing out of breath, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead as he ripped the condom off and stared down at you. Without thinking, his hand came down on you ass, shimmying down once more and trying to get you on your knees so he could get back to work.

“No, I need a second,” You said with a small moan when he angled your ass up and his face a mere inch away from your used cunt.

“I’m just gonna clean you up from the inside,�� he licked his lips hungrily, “Relax.”

And you did. He had you asleep in his arms before he knew it and all he could think about is how long it had been since he had sex that good, wondering what was on your mind and if it was him or not.

When it felt as though your body had finally relaxed to fall asleep, your actions sank into your bones jolting you awake. It was the witching hour when you checked the time on your phone, the blinds were closing out the moon and there was a heavy arm draped across your body that didn’t feel right.

Jungkook stirred in his sleep, nuzzling his hair into your side when you tried to sit up, “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” You told him, not able to whisper as you looked down at him in disbelief. Did you really sleep with him? A stranger. Yes, you knew Jungkook to an extent but at the end of the day he was not your boyfriend, he was not your friend, he was still a stranger to you. You’ll jeopardize your relationship for him?

This wasn’t like you at all. You weren’t the type to cheat, never in your life did that ever cross your mind yet in a blink of an eye that’s what you’ve done. You can’t make any sort of excuse at all. It wasn’t a text or some light flirting. You slept with him, slept with someone who you were not in a relationship with. It was making you sick.

When Jungkook processed what you said, he was snapping himself awake, sitting up and reaching for you, “What are you talking about? Look at the time.”

“I know but I should go, I have to uh…” You struggled to think of a better reason without exposing you for the truth and began to grab your thrown clothes off the ground. It was a humiliating reminder of your actions. With a hitched breath you tried again, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook said your name so calmly, “Relax, it’s fine. Just get back in be—“

You practically ran out the room. You couldn’t think to look back when he called your name out the front door and went straight to your car. The cold had seeped inside and the windshield was lightly frosted over making it hard to leave as quickly as you wanted to escape. You got the courage to check your cellphone and check your notifications. There were a few texts, DMs, and shares from your friend but only one text from your boyfriend.

minu: ig u didn’t want to come over?

minu: goodnight

It was sent an hour ago when you and Jungkook were… yeah.

You cheated. You cheated on a man you’ve been with for three years with someone you barely knew. There was no way to sugarcoat it [not that you could] and it made you sick to your stomach. You couldn’t beg for understanding because how? What reason did you have? That Jungkook was attractive? That he was nice to you and actually wanted to be around you? You don’t know him! You don’t know what kind of guy he is and clearly you don’t even care because if you did you wouldn’t have risked your relationship with him.

What the fuck was wrong with you? You needed to tell Minu right now.

The ring of the call echoed through the silent car as you pressed the phone to your ear, gnawing on your bottom lip. There was a big chance Minu was asleep but you had to say it now. You wouldn’t be able to face him any other time.

“Hello?”

“You’re still awake?” You asked with a small sniffle, sitting up in the driver's seat where Jungkook had once been taking you to his place.

“Yeah, we finished the tournament. Now I’m playing Minecraft,” Minu said, too focused on his game to catch the tone in your voice and how it quivered.

You didn’t say anything as the words caught in your throat. You had to tell him, you know that but he didn’t sound at all worried about what you could’ve possibly been doing. For all he knew you were at home still pissed off he canceled dinner and he would still be playing games.

You felt like crying.

Jungkook had to stop Bam from barking loudly when you stormed out and took even longer to find his own things. He ran after you in shoes with no socks and a zip-up sweater with no shirt underneath. His hair was a mess and he was half asleep but he wanted to go find you. It was cold, late and dangerous out for you. Why on Earth would you leave at this hour?

“I’m probably gonna go to sleep soon though,” Minu finally said.

“Yeah, me too,” You said back, slumping in the seat and closing your eyes. He didn’t care to know what you were doing and though that didn’t excuse why you didn’t tell him, it made you feel better. As twisted as that sounded. Minu was not the type to reach out to you first. He hadn’t been at all worried about where you were or who you were with.

It felt like forever before you were able to move again and the first thing you did was look back at Jungkook’s apartment. You nearly jumped as you watched him standing just outside your car looking dazed and confused. You gathered enough strength to roll the window down and looked at him.

“I just wanted to make sure you got to your car,” He said, not mentioning anything about how he clearly saw you on the phone with someone. He didn’t say anything about the way you suddenly jolted out of bed or the reason why.

He knew why.

“I’ve got to be up early,” Was all you could think to say and he chuckled. He couldn’t believe how you still avoided the mention of your boyfriend but he didn’t mind it.

“Okay,” Jungkook said with a small nod, “I’ll call you?”

No, you needed to tell him no and drive off but instead you just nodded in response. He watched you leave for the night and returned home feeling good compared to you.

In all honesty, after you had finished and were just laying in his arms he had a second of weakness where he let his guilty conscience set in. He thought about the guy you were seeing and how fucked up it was to have you in his bed but it was a short lived feeling. He realized he liked how you felt with him and how he could treat you better and all sympathy left when you fell asleep.

He didn’t care you were with some other guy, he’ll fix that.

Cloud 9.

He felt as though he’d been on cloud 9 the other night. That was the only way he can explain it and it’s all he was able to think over the weekend. Even when you ran off on him it didn’t stop him from feeling this way. He understood it would take time for you to come to terms with your new feelings and the last thing he wanted to do was pressure you any further.

On Saturday he went to the gym with Taehyung but you were nowhere to be seen.

On Sunday was his ‘off’ day and he spent it at home hating himself for never actually getting your phone number. How was he supposed to call you if he never got it? What an idiot.

Monday came and he had been brought down from his cloud of bliss when he didn’t see you first thing in the morning. He expected you to be around like you usually were but you weren’t and though part of him wanted to ask your friends why he decided not to overthink it. He went to work and hoped he’d see you later when he returned.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Namjoon said at one point. Jungkook had been smiling all day, being obnoxious to his hyung and doing everything in his power to remain feeling good. He kept telling himself that he’d run into you later and get everything sorted out.

“I’m in love,” Jungkook said dramatically, only half-joking, “I mean like… maybe too soon to tell but real close? I don’t know.”

Namjoon chuckled, “So it did work out with that girl? Taehyung was complaining to me for days about how rude you were. What happened? Did you guys go out again?”

“No, with the girl from the gym, Y/n,” Jungkook smiled as he leaned against the Ford Focus that Namjoon was tuning up, “We had dinner last week and it went really well.”

“I thought she had a boyfriend,” Namjoon looked up from under the hood.

Jungkook waved his hand as if shaking the thought away, making Namjoon sigh, “Don’t be that kind of guy.”

“Sh, just trust me okay?” Jungkook said as he pushed off the car, “I’m seeing her later.”

You practically crouched behind the front desk at work as you read over your schedule. You had one last client today and then you were free to bedrot like you’ve done for the last couple days. Thankfully your boyfriend didn’t care to reach out to you —he was too busy with his friends to notice something was off—and you were allowed to be alone with your thoughts.

Your guilty conscience was eating you from the inside but more so because you’ve realized what a terrible person you are. For some reason what happened with Jungkook had felt like the end of the world. Minu would somehow know immediately that another man touched you and do something about it. You weren’t sure what was worse.

Your boyfriend finding out about your infidelity immediately or going on with his usual act of ignoring you too much to notice you did something wrong.

The angel on your shoulder has been begging you to confess to someone but the devil whispered not to. If he hasn’t caught on… he never would. You can continue on like normal and just avoid Jungkook, focus on your boyfriend and become a good doting partner.

“Hey Tae, Jungkook,” Eunbi said in her usual chirpy manner and you felt like disappearing into the floor.

“Hey,” both guys said as they checked in and you could feel Jungkook’s eyes on you. You forced yourself to look at your planner and not up at him but he made it too hard.

“Y/n,” He said, sliding down the front desk till he was directly in front of you, “How are you?”

His question was harmless, he was just a regular who knew you by name. That’s how it appeared anyway but the look he gave you was different.

You gave him one of your best customer service smiles and stood up, “Great, Jungkook. You?”

You didn’t give him time to respond as you turned to Eunbi, “I’m going to go check on the saunas, tell me when my client is here.”

Taehyung looked between the two of you as Jungkook went to follow you. Eunbi barely had time to process what was going on when someone else came to check in and she had to shift her attention. The two went to the locker room where Taehyung finally asked, “What was that? You finally getting the courage?”

“Something like that,” Jungkook said with a shrug, shoving his bag in his locker as he switched shoes and put on a waist belt to work out in. Taehyung couldn’t help but smirk, “I’m still a little pissed you blew me off with those girls the other night but if it was to get lucky with Ms. Trainer, I’ll let it go. Did you? So she doesn’t have a man?”

“I’ll meet you for warm-ups, alright?” He left before Taehyung could respond and headed upstairs.

The sauna rooms were small and mostly empty so it wasn’t hard for him to find you cleaning one up for your next client. He knocked on the door lightly, waiting for you to turn and look at him, “So, I said I was going to call you and like an idiot, I never actually got your number.”

“Jungkook,” You stood straight, looking at him with unnecessary embarrassment, “Um, about the other night… it was a mistake.”

“Really?” He asked, taking a step closer to you, “I thought we really hit it off. I’ve been thinking about you and you don’t know how mad I was at myself that I couldn’t call you or see you until no—“

“I have a boyfriend.”

He stopped walking, standing just a couple inches away from you and it made you realize just how much bigger he was than you. It’s probably why he was able to manhandle you so easily in bed—snap out of it, Y/n.

You expected him to scoff and storm off annoyed or call you some mean names figuring you weren’t worth his time then but instead he laughed. He walked closer, “Is he gonna beat my ass now?”

“What?” Your throat went dry, stepping back when he reached out to touch you.

“I figured a girl like you wouldn’t be single so where is he?” Jungkook looked around for entertainment.

“You knew?”

“I had a feeling,” Jungkook said calmly and for some reason it made you want to relax too but you forced yourself to remain tense with him. He released a sigh, “Well? Where is he? Or have you not told him?”

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came to mind. Was he being serious? Why did it seem like he didn’t care? Maybe he really didn’t. Maybe you were just a one time thing and he couldn’t care less? If that was the case why was he even bothering with you right now?

“I haven’t told him,” You admitted, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I already fucked up and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

“Come on Y/n,” He reached for your hand and you dumbly let him take it, “I’m not dumb. I knew the second you ran out on me something was up but be honest right now. You wanted to spend the night with me, don’t call it a mistake.”

You shook your head in disbelief, “No, I know, but… Jungkook, let’s just forget about it. I’m sure it was nothing serious for you anyway, I’m the one that fucked up.”

“So go tell your boyfriend right now,” Jungkook pointed to the door of the sauna, “Because if you really felt guilty you wouldn’t be bothering to tell me how wrong it was. You’d be telling him.”

Fuck, he was right.

You tried not to pay attention to the way his thumb caressed your knuckles, pulling you into him as he said, “You can say how wrong it was all you want but you wanted to do it. You had all night to tell me you were in a relationship but you didn’t. I have feelings for you and you can’t say you don’t feel anything for me.”

“I don’t, I shouldn’t,” you ran your fingers through your hair anxiously, “This is fucked up.”

“But it happened already, it’s been days and you haven’t told him so why bother now?” Jungkook was speaking to you in his usual calm tone but his hold on your hand was firm, making sure you can’t let go until you were in his open arms. There was a single tear in your eye that he couldn’t help but kiss away and though you flinched at his touch, you didn’t pull back. He smiled softly and hugged you, “We’ll figure this out.”

The two of you didn’t have anything to figure out. You had things to figure out. What you needed to do was push Jungkook away—not give him your phone number so he can be there for you like he claimed.

He texted you that night and the night that followed too. It was hard to avoid him at the gym but he understood enough to not bother you there. That didn’t mean you couldn’t feel his eyes on you anytime you were near but you tried not to focus on it. You had to tell Minu if you wanted things to work out with him.

You’ll tell him tonight. You decided already.

Hoseok had made a comment today about how you’ve been off lately and if he noticed you’re sure Minu caught on too. That’s why after work, you went to visit him.

“Min?” You called him for him as you let yourself into his unlocked apartment holding bags of takeout to have dinner together.

You can hear his shouting from the living room followed by more and walked in to see him and his friends already eating.

“Babe,” Minu said with a mouthful of pizza, “Sit down, you're blocking the TV.”

“What’d you bring?” One of the guys asked, trying to open one of the bags you brought as all motivation to tell him tonight quickly left your body and was replaced with what felt like unrightful annoyance.

You called him earlier to ask if you can come over for dinner and he said yes. You’d told him you wanted to talk about something and he said he’d hear you out. Now you’re here and so are four other guys he calls his friends all trying to eat the food you brought and pretend you weren’t here.

“I'm getting another drink,” Minu said as he got up while the game paused and you followed, “Sorry, I forgot that I planned guys night at my place. What’d you want to tell me?”

“Well I wanted us to be alone,” You said over their loud banter from the living room, “You couldn’t cancel one night with them for your girlfriend?”

How were you supposed to tell him now?

Minu laughed softly, working around you to open the fridge and grab a soda can, “Besides what’s so important they can’t be here? Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

You scoffed, “No I’m not fucking pregnant, Minu. Jeez.”

“Then what is it?”

“Minu! Man hurry up!” One of them called out.

“I’m going!” Minu shouted back, “Come on.”

“I’m going home.”

“Suit yourself.”

You stormed out of the apartment angrily. Stupid, you were so fucking stupid and Minu was the worst. You made a mistake and wanted to tell him because it actually is a big deal and he blows you off, like he always does [!]. It made you want to scream. You cheated on him and he didn’t even care to know.

Once again you found silent comfort in your car as you sat alone deep in thought. You tried owning up to your mistakes but you couldn’t. It wasn’t the time. It made you feel so much worse to think about what Jungkook said.

Why bother telling him now?

Clearly Minu doesn’t care what you do, or at least that’s what you told yourself. You can break up with him and he probably won’t care. It would be for the better if you did but then who would you have? Jungkook? What if he really was just stringing you along as some sort of karma? Maybe the universe thought you were in the wrong being with a guy you didn’t love for three years and was trying to fuck your life up.

It would be the only explanation for why Jungkook knew when to call.

You looked down at your cellphone, his unsaved number on display as he called and despite telling yourself not to, you answered, “Hello?”

“I haven’t heard from you, I’ve even done my part and given you space when I see you, Y/n, it’s getting hard,” Jungkook said as he stood in his bedroom while Namjoon and Taehyun drank in the living room, petting Bam, “I want to see you again.”

“We can’t,” you tried to hide the sniffling you let out, “I have a boyfriend.”

You couldn’t see the way he rolled his eyes and sat straighter, “But you answered my call and I can tell in your voice something’s wrong. Are you home?”

“I’m about to be,” you lied, starting your car to get your attention off of him.

“Have you eaten?” He asked, standing up abruptly. You thought about the food you left at Minu’s and sighed. He picked up on it and couldn’t help but smile, “How about I come over and make you something? I told you I’d be here for you.”

But he can’t be. You can’t let him comfort you. You cheated on Minu with him for fucks sake.

As if your heart was speaking before your head could think it over, you were telling Jungkook that your text him your address and hung up.

Jungkook couldn’t contain the smile on his face as he went to the living room, “You guys can hang out here for as long as you want but I’ve got plans so I gotta go.”

“Where to?” Namjoon asked with furrowed brows but Taehyung answered instead, “We know where.”

“Make sure Bam is in his kennel before you guys go, alright?” Jungkook hurried to change, ignoring Namjoon’s look of judgement.

When he arrived you didn’t say anything as he looked around curiously. It was a small one bedroom apartment but it seemed to hold his interest well. He focused on everything he could from your kitchenware to the dying plants at the window or the bowl of pomegranates on your dining table and the yoga mats rolled up in the corner of your living room.

“Lucky for you, I’m a good cook,” Jungkook said as he went to your kitchen with the bag of groceries he picked up before stopping here. You watched him find his way around your apartment, not bothered at all by your circumstances tonight. He didn’t care at all if you were in a relationship or not.

“What are we doing?” You dumbly asked,’wondering if he’d tell you something about why he dealt with you.

Jungkook looked up with a quirked brow, “About to have dinner?“

He smiled when you rolled your eyes and waited for you to really ask what you wanted to know, “I mean you and I. I know I said you can come over but we both know that it’s wrong.”

His shoulders rose in a shrug, bringing out your cutting board and a kitchen knife, “It doesn’t feel wrong.”

You let out a huff, frustrated with yourself more than anything. Of course he wouldn’t think it’s wrong he’s not the one in a relationship. Still, shouldn’t he feel a little guilty?

“I don’t like how you try and act guilty and like it was all a mistake,” He told you honestly, making you look up, feeling taken back by his statement, “If you really felt as guilty as you’re acting you wouldn’t have let me in. You wouldn’t have answered my calls or been with me that night. Is it hard for you to get that you like me?”

You didn’t want what he said to be so brutal and honest but you needed to hear that. You were trying to sound so pitiful like you’re the sole victim here when you’re not. Sure, Minu treats you like shit but why don’t you just leave him? Why do you sneak around with Jungkook and then acting like you don’t want him around?

He finished making dinner and brought over two plates, sitting next to you silently eating and waiting for you to say something. He felt bad for putting you in a situation like this but if you didn’t want him… you would’ve never fallen for his advances. He clearly treats you so much better than your current boyfriend so why are you acting like it’s a burden to have him around?

“Where did you go earlier?” More specifically, where did you go after work?

“I was with Minu,” You answered, watching how his eyes stared you down for a second before he nodded his head, taking in what you said. Maybe Jungkook was only pretending to not care as much as he did. What kind of person wants someone that someone else already has and how do they not feel an ounce of betrayal or jealousy or possessiveness? You weren’t trying to instigate anything, you just wanted him to be more honest with himself too.

You’ve risked your relationship with a guy you barely know and you’re not even 100% sure about how he feels for you. Was Jungkook using you for entertainment or did he have feelings for you?

“Nice,” Jungkook had lost his appetite and sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest but his attempt to seem casual failed, “What’d you guys do?”

“I shouldn’t tell you,” You leaned against the table when he drew back and it made him eye you suspiciously.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he said, “So how’d you end up with me instead?”

“He has a tendency to prioritize his friends over me and tonight was no different.”

“So you haven’t told him?” He asked, “How long have you two been together?”

He gave you no time between questions, wanting to get to the point of it and it made your feelings of guilt return.

“Three years.”

“Well, if you loved him you’d leave him,” Jungkook said with a shrug that was so indifferent and unbothered that your mouth parted in surprise.

“I was going to tell him tonight, I had it all planned and then at the last minute he invited all his friends and how would I tell him then?” You said and he couldn’t help but smile. You explained yourself but you didn’t really care for what he was saying. He had half pointed out how you can’t possibly love your boyfriend while also telling you to dump him already. You didn’t reject either.

“So I’m your dirty secret then?” He asked in a playful tone, leaning forward again and mirroring the way you rested your chin in your palm and observed him. Even if you wanted to act like he didn’t get to you, he knows he did. You like him and he’s not backing down until he has you all to himself, “If that’s the case, will you let me spend the night?”

“Desperate,” you pointed at him and sighed, getting up to gather the fished and wash up, “Shameless and…”

“Can treat you better? I know, say what you want but I’m very self aware,” Jungkook ended your sentence and followed after you, “Just one movie then and I’ll leave, how about that?”

You granted him at least that and let him lay with you in your living room trying to find something to watch. Neither of you were interested in watching a movie but it was something you wouldn’t admit. You wanted Jungkook around even if you knew you shouldn’t.

“How’d you meet?” Jungkook asked, pulling your legs on his lap. A part of you wondered if he was going to ask you all kinds of questions tonight since it’s the first you’ve seen each other and been around long enough for the topic to be brought up. You’ve done a lot of avoiding and now there’s no way around it—which is good, right?

“Through a mutual friend. We were friends for a while before he asked me out,” You opened up to him so easily it drove you wild. Why were you so willing to be after telling yourself you wouldn’t be able to get too close to anyone aside from Minu?

“And you guys still don’t live together? It’s been three years,” he said, trying to read your expression when he ran a soothing hand along your leg, itching to reach for your waist and pull you onto his lap. He missed being this close.

“It’s complicated, clearly,” You said with a scoff, hiding your face behind your hands as you scooted to lay down.

“Clearly,” Jungkook couldn’t help but smile, “Come here.”

“Jungkook…” You looked at him but he was reaching for your arms to make you sit up. You let him drag you onto him.

“What?” He asked feigning naivety and doing such a poor job at it when his hands found your hips and positioned you to straddle his lap, “Don’t tell me it’s wrong.”

You won’t. It was obvious it was wrong and admitting that over again wouldn’t make you suddenly push him away and that made it all worse.

“Are you usually this persistent?”

“When there’s something I really want,” Jungkook said in a whisper now, lips brushing against your neck.

“This is such a bad idea,” You whispered back, tilting your head to the side, exposing more of your neck to him anyway. He placed a soft kiss, “Shh, just stop thinking about it and kiss me, yeah?”

“That’s not good,” You whined, hand cupping his chin and making him look up to kiss you, “Fuck.”

He kissed you with a need you haven’t felt from anyone else in a while. His hands circled around your waist, taking their time traveling across your hips and settling comfortably on your butt. With a firm hold, he pressed your body into his more and you kissed him harder.

“I’m hungry,” He said between kisses, tongue peeking out lazy and he watched how your lips covered it in nasty kisses that had him guiding you right over where he needed you the most. His body reacted instantly to the thought of you and as embarrassing as it was to admit, he’s been turned on since you decided to wear those little black shorts you like to wear when you work out.

You smiled, pulling back with a tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, “We just ate.”

“Mm,” Jungkook hummed, head dropping with disappointment and you ran your fingers through his hair, unsure what he was thinking. His big hand began to roam along your butt, fingers hooking around where your hips met your thighs and felt the crease from your sitting position with tenderness. You looked down when he caressed your thighs, sliding his hands up to tease your pelvis while managing to avoid your heat. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t beginning to feel aroused. You knew what he was implying and though it excited you, you wanted something else.

You slid off his lap with your hands on his thighs, “How about I treat you to something this time?”

His face lit up instantly, smiling giddily, “I can work with that.”

You were in the wrong and you knew that but after a while it didn’t seem to bother you as much. Jungkook made you feel wanted and it made you weak to him. The obvious thing to do would be to dump Minu so you don’t keep betraying him but every time you thought about it you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do it.

You became one of those girls who cheats on their boyfriend and Jungkook was so readily available. It felt like you were using him too but he didn’t even care—or well it felt like he didn’t.

When you’d see him at work he’d keep things brief in front of everyone but you’d feel his eyes on you anytime he was around. He tried not to bother you all the time but would happily accept your calls everytime you rang for him. He was enabling your terrible behavior with a smile on his face and it was the damndest thing.

“You’re distracting me,” He said a few nights later when he passed you on the staircase. You hesitated a second, looking up at him as you headed down and your eyebrows raised, “How? I was with a client.”

If anything now that you’ve seen him, you’re the one left distracted. Sweat marked his hairline and his cheeks were rosy from whatever warmup he’s just done and he was breathing heavily, chest rising and lowering with each breath.

“Yeah and there’s mirrors all over,” Jungkook smirked when he had your attention, “I can get a good view of you wherever I’m at.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, annoyed but stupidly charmed and began to walk back down, “Don’t be a creep.”

“Can I see you tonight?” He asked in a lower voice, looking down both ends of the stairs to see if anyone was around.

“Maybe,” You told him playfully, “If I’m not busy.”

Before he left, he pushed his bottom lip out giving you a sad and dramatic pout and nodded his head. You rolled your eyes with a smile and headed to the front desk to clock out.

It’s not that you didn’t want to see him too but you had to be smart here. You can’t just spend all your time with Jungkook because that would raise questions. Besides, Ara and Eunbi were coming over to watch the latest episode of Single’s Inferno.

You had really thought Jungkook would be okay with not seeing you tonight but it appears that wasn’t really the case.

jungkook: not even for a little bit? :(

you: I have ppl over

jungkook: mmmmmmmmmm

jungkook: after?

You typed back ‘maybe’ and set your phone down, trying to ignore it so you could spend time with the girls. You wanted to enjoy some time by yourself and act happy and normal like everything should be.

When your friends left and you debated calling him or not, you received a call from your boyfriend.

“Y/n?” Someone said on the other end that had you furrowing your brows, “It’s Rowoon, I’m with Minu and we were having some drinks after work an—“

“Is that Y/n?” You could hear Minu ask before some rustling was heard and he was talking now, “Babe, what are you doing? Can you come pick me up?”

“No way you’re drunk, it’s a Tuesday,” You said with a sigh, happy you were alone when you got his call, “Where are you?”

So it was a good thing you never told Jungkook to come over. It just sucked that you spent the night getting scolded for telling your boyfriend not to drink so much and for not sleeping with him lately. It was a night wasted in arguments when you could’ve been with someone who wanted to be around you.

“Remember Hyejin?” Taehyung asked him randomly a couple nights later, “She started seeing someone, probably got tired waiting for your attention.”

Jungkook shrugged, “Good for her.”

“What are you doing tonight?” He asked him.

“I’m gonna see Y/n,” Jungkook told Taehyunf honestly as he packed his things into his sports bag, “We’re making dinner and watching a movie.”

It’s been just a few days since he last had seen you but to him it felt too long. Time goes by extremely slow when you’re not around and as much as he likes to act unaffected with your current situation [that’s how he’s started to view your relationship], its starting to get to him. He just needs things to speed up already.

“Look at you, someone’s handsome late-night call,” Taehyung teased, not caring much about his friend’s choices. He knew Jungkook was wrong for seeing someone in a relationship but that didn’t change his friendship with him. Jungkook isn’t the one in the relationship and Taehyung isn’t the one being lied to so what does it have to do with him?

“I prefer the term, ‘Evening call’ instead,” Jungkook said in a joking manner. The oldest released a scoff as he swung his backpack onto his shoulder and began walking out the locker room first, “No shame.”

Jungkook just smiled and shrugged his shoulders, following his friend out. He knew your schedule had been free for the evening and left home a while ago so he didn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone else at the front desk.

“I really am shameless, aren’t I?” He asked once the two were outside, “Does that make me a terrible person?”

“It makes you a stupid one, what are you gonna do when she gets caught? You’re just here to ruin her relationship for fun?” Taehyung asked curiously.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jungkook told him, “Have you ever seen something that you knew you just had to have? Anything, anyone?“

“Aish, you’re crazy,” Taehyung said with a laugh, “Just be careful what you get yourself into.”

“Yes, hyung, I promise,” Jungkook said, smiling as he got into his black truck, “I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

Jungkook knew what he was doing was morally wrong and it was probably a shame to know he was that kind of guy but he really did not care. From the moment he’d seen you he knew he had to have you. It wasn’t just the way you looked, it was about your almost shy glances that would catch his attention. The way you’d carry yourself when talking to others and how you walked with a little sway in your hips. Knowing you had a boyfriend had simply been a bump in the road and nothing more to him.

He had begun plotting on you since he realized he’d get to see you so often and he was not a patient man. He wasn’t going to wait for you to suddenly be single so he can have his chance, he planned on taking it and that’s what he did.

On days where he’s actually lucky, he wakes up with you at his side. He skips his morning workout when you stay in with him and he can imagine what it’d be like to see you all the time. Just that alone made his morals slip away so easily—that’s how he likes to think of it. It makes answering his friend’s judgments easier than acting bothered by the way things actually were.

Of course he’d prefer to have you all the time instead of just when you’re available but that wasn’t an option at the moment. He’s waited for you to get past the guilt and hoped you’d come to your senses and get the courage to leave your piece of shit boyfriend. Yes, Jungkook is greedy, makes bad decisions when it comes to who he chooses to involve himself with but who can blame him?

Those late night conversations where you listen to whatever he tells you about himself and he does the same for you made him a lot more… mushy than he cared to admit. Past girlfriends were fun while they lasted but he can’t remember feeling this… fluttery for them. It just didn’t compare and that’s why it’s such a pity he had to share your attention.

“What about this weekend?” He asked with a hand in your hair, massaging your temples nearly bringing you to sleep.

“Can’t,” you answered in a sluggish tone, snuggling into his naked chest, “I’m going to something with Eunbi. She met a guy.”

“Mm,” Jungkook didn’t care but asked for your sake, “Really? Do you know him?“

“No, I guess he’s a little bit older,” You told him, “She told me his name but I forgot.”

“And that’s on Saturday? What about Sunday?” He tried again.

“You know Sunday’s are when I see Minu,” You released a sigh, sliding off his arm a little and feeling him pull you back again.

“But all you guys will do is stay in and eat leftover pizza or something,” Jungkook said with a hint of annoyance.

“I like pizza,” You smiled, sensing his light jealous tone that amused you more than it should. It was like willingly playing with fire. Dangling a match over dry leaves and waiting for it to catch. As far as you’ve known, Jungkook is a very tame guy but there’s this spark in his eyes that shows a mischievous side—like the kind that joked about your boyfriend fighting him.

“I can get us pizza,” Jungkook said with a roll of his eyes trying to get you to relax against him more, “Baby, if that’s all you’re with him for then goddamn, why are you still with him?”

“Jungkook,” You said with a whine, hand on his chest as you pushed off him, “Don’t ask me such difficult questions.”

“Don’t think too hard, I’m just saying, I’d be a much better time on a lazy Sunday,” Jungkook forced a smile, pulling himself up on the pillows a little more when you sat up facing him.

You placed a manicured finger on his toned stomach, “You’re bad for me.”

“Oh, am I?” He chuckled, arm behind his head against the headboard, “I should be saying that about you. You want me but you’re with him, how shameless.”

You covered your ears instantly, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to tune him out but he just smiled and sat up, “It’s true, no need for theatrics.”

“Shh,” You groaned, unable to help the smile, “You’ll make me realize I’m a terrible person and put a stop to this right now.”

“You think I’ll let you?” He reached for you, arms around your waist until you were leaning against his front, “It’s going to take a lot to get rid of me now. You’ve already made the mistake of getting in bed with me tonight, I might just keep you here until the weekend starts and ends. Then he’ll really wonder who you’re with all the time. Or maybe I’ll tell him myself.”

You couldn’t help but laugh when he turned you over so your back hit the sheets and he hovered over you, throwing your bare legs around his waist, “Are you threatening me? Trying to use blackmail?”

“You think it’ll work?” He pressed his body into yours, feeling the way your figure fit against his so well. It was no wonder there was chemistry.

“What a terrible, awful guy to seduce someone in a relationship.”

“Mm,” Jungkook looked down at the curve of your lips and the softness in your cheeks with admiration. He nodded his head in agreement and felt your arms circle his neck anyway, “Try not to be so easily swooned.”

He waited to hear your annoyed scoff, laughing softly into your neck when he hugged you, pulling the sheets over both of your bodies, “Now go wash up because if I go with you we’re not leaving my apartment at all.”

He let you go with a displeased groan, hand touching down your back and watched you practically run to his bathroom and take some clothes off the dresser with you.

“Who is she seeing again?”

You looked at Minu with an irritated smile, trying to be happy about the fact he was joining you tonight. Despite how much Eunbi and Minu despise each other, she invited him too in hopes that he wouldn’t pick a fight with you about tonight.

Usually, when you and your boyfriend decide to go out with your friends you have a tendency to drift away from each other. He’d go with his friends and you’d go with yours. Very rarely did you two stick together but it seemed like tonight that was your only option.

“Jin,” You told him for the fourth time since you got to the packed bar, “He’s somewhere over there.”

He followed the lazy wave of your hand in the direction of Eunbi and stared off. Minu wasn’t usually shy or antisocial but of course he’s forced himself to tag along where he knows no one but you and now is pissed off about it.

“Let’s get one more drink and go home,” Minu said, making you glare up at him.

“I’m not leaving, we just got here,” You told him, “If you want to leave go ahead.”

“You don’t even know anyone here,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “You just want to get drunk. We can drink in my apartment, let’s go.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you tried to weigh out your options. If you leave, Eunbi might pop myget a little upset but she’ll get over it easily. She’s with her new man and is surely more worried about that. If you choose to stay, there’s a high chance you won’t hear the end of it. Minu won’t stop bitching until you leave and you’ll probably argue over something stupid. Ashamed to be defeated, you decided to compromise with him. “Fifteen more minutes and then we can leave.”

As surprising as it might seem, Jungkook had plans to spend his Saturday night with Bam couch rotting just at the thought that you’d be out having fun without him. Lately he’s realized he only has fun when he’s with you and when you’re not around he feels it more intensely.

He had no plans of stepping out of his apartment but when he got a call from one of his good friend’s asking what he was up to tonight, he just had to tag along. Seokjin wasn’t the type to go out anymore so it was a surprise to them all, especially announcing he was kind of seeing someone and when Jungkook asked for the name… well, it wasn’t hard for him to connect the dots.

You couldn’t remember the name of the guy Eunbi was seeing and it all worked out so easily. It’s times like this that Jungkook seriously thinks the universe wants something stronger to happen between you. If it didn’t, there’s no way you’d be connected this way too.

Admittedly, he arrived late because he went to pick up Namjoon but it didn’t seem like he’d missed anything more than a few rounds of drinks. He wasn’t here to drink anyway.

“So you know each other? I don’t know why I didn’t think to ask,” Jin asked him and Eunbi when she finally spotted them. Jungkook nodded with a polite smile, not sure what else he could do. He’s already losing hope when he couldn’t immediately see you right there next to her. Didn’t you come along just for her? Where were you?

“Y/n is here too! You know the trainer?” Eunbi had said to which he pretended to be surprised by the news and looked around, “She’s somewhere with her boyfriend. I’m sure she’ll come back around.”

Boyfriend? You brought your boyfriend and dint care to tell him? Maybe he’s being unreasonable considering he’s just the one you’re having an affair with but doesn’t he deserve at least a little knowledge? You’re usually more honest with him than the man you’ve been with for three years a so what’s your deal? Won’t you see Minu tomorrow? Why does he get to see you both Saturday and Sunday’s now?

“In the meantime, let’s drink,” Jin said to his group of friends, leading them toward the bar and Jungkook followed behind with Namjoon. He felt his eyes fall on him but he didn’t do anything, too stuck on why your boyfriend was here and what would happen when you see each other.

“So Y/n’s here too, just a coincidence, right?” Namjoon asked with a scowl, “I was wondering why you suddenly changed your mind about going out tonight.”

“Jin called and asked what I was doing, possibly seeing Y/n would just be a nice surprise,” Jungkook’s tone was as mischievous as the smile he forced on his face, “Come on hyung, I said I’d pay for the first round.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Namjoon said with a sigh, unable to hide the amusement of seeing how persistent Jungkook was. How… caught up he was with you. It was beginning to be entertaining despite if it was wrong or not.

Jungkook tried paying attention to his own friends but it didn’t take him long to find you on the other end of the bar. You stood next to a somewhat tall guy with a familiar face and his arm around your waist. You were too far for him to hear what the two of you were talking about to the group of guys you were now with but he could easily read your expression.

Even with a smile on your face it was obvious you didn’t care much about what any of them were talking about. Your boyfriend was the one doing most of the talking, happy and acting sweet with you which was the complete opposite of how you described him. There was a chance you were exaggerating how awful he was to Jungkook but he didn’t think that was likely. He can tell that whatever display of affection you were showing each other wasn’t real. There was no need for it to upset him but it did. When you’re with Jungkook he knows it's because you want to be. He never has to force you to smile or open up to him, you just do. Right now everything you do seems like an act and he’s not just saying that because he’s jealous.

“We might head to another bar soon, I don’t know I guess it depends how everyone is feeling. There’s a lot of us,” Jin said, looking around at the group that gathered. On one hand he had his own friends, Jungkook and Namjoon, Eunbi and her friends. It would be hard to have everyone talk so he had to bounce around. Right now he would like to take a break and talk with just Jungkook and Namjoon, “So what’s up with you guys?”

“Me, nothing much just working at the shop, how about you, Jungkook? Does Jin know you’re seeing someone?” Namjoon said with a smug expression that had Jungkook glaring at him. He just smirked, a laugh threatening to slip as he watched Jungkook think of a response.

“You’re dating someone? You dog, once you got back from the army you kept going on about not jumping into a relationship and look at you now. A few months out and you’ve already gotten a girl,” Jin teased, “Why didn’t you bring her out tonight?”

“I’m sure she’s somewhere,” Namjoon said with a clear throat making Jungkook nudge his arm. Jin looked at the two of them and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, I need a shot.”

“I’m gonna go with him, are you coming or … ?” Namjoon asked him, question dying on his tongue when he followed Jungkook’s line of sight. His tongue poked against his cheek trying not to tense his jaw but it was obvious he saw something he didn’t like.

You still haven't noticed Jungkook watching as you let Minu press a kiss to your lips. It didn’t even matter to him that you slightly pulled back, he was annoyed enough just by watching it happen. It must have been some parting kiss because you tugged Minu’s arm off your waist and began walking away. Jungkook didn’t think twice about going after you.

“Eunbi,” You had to shout over the loud music once you found your friend, “I’m going to the restroom.”

“Okay!” She shouted back, smiling giddily and drunk so you began to walk away when she tugged you back, “Oh! We might go somewhere else, I think Jin is asking his friends. Did you know Jungkook is here?!”

“Jungkook?” Your brows furrowed looking at her with a confused expression. Play it cool, you thought.

“Yeah, gym Jungkook. Apparently he’s friends with Jin,” Eunbi said looking around before she said, “Anyways, I’ll text you if we do go.”

“Okay… Minu might want to uh—“ You blinked in thought, looking around anxiously, “Tae-oh came and one of his other friends so he might want to stay.”

You need to make sure you don’t run into Jungkook. “I’ll be back.”

You weren’t too familiar with the club you were at tonight but that didn’t stop you going off on your own. Minu was busy with his friends and Eunbi was with Jin. Plus, you needed a moment to yourself so you can wrap your mind around what your friend just said.

Jungkook lost you for a second but found you again when you turned a corner. The hall light was a deep green that casted unnatural shadows where people should be. The music was muffled and there was security at the front of the hall but they didn’t seem to be paying attention too much. He gave them one last look to make sure they weren’t giving him to much focus and before he knew it, he was pushing the door for the restroom open.

You leaned against the stall door, biting your nail anxiously as you debated texting Jungkook or not. You wanted to know if he was really here.

“Y/n.”

Your heart sank down your chest, when he said, “It’s me.”

Something was telling you not to open the door. Thankfully this restroom was a maze to get to so it didn’t have much traffic because there’s no way he would’ve been able to just walk in. You shut your eyes in thought, hand reaching for the handle to unlock it and the second you did, he came in.

“What are you doing here?” You rushed to ask when he pushed you back into a stall, hands cupping your face as he didn’t think twice to press his lips to yours in a heated, well-awaited kiss. You ignored the moral conscience telling you to push him away—it wasn’t the right time or place to be doing anything like this but you couldn’t help it. Your arms circled around his neck, making him dip his head lower and angle to the side to deepen the kiss. Your back hit the stall wall making you squeal in surprise but the sound was muffled with his tongue.

“Wait,” You sighed, putting your hand on his chest to try and put space between you, “Koo-“

”Just a little more,” He whispered, lips trailing down toward your jaw, threatening to suck on the skin and create a love bite but this time you pushed him back with more force.

“How’d you know I was here?” You asked, wiping the smeared lip gloss off your lips while Jungkook just locked it off his own. His shoulders rose in a shrug, “Apparently we know the same people.”

He pretended like he hadn’t figured that out earlier and you didn’t tell him how Eunbi just let you know too. Still, you didn’t think he’d actually come looking for you. You don’t know if he’s seen Minu but you’d prefer if they don’t run into each other at all. Thankfully, Minu doesn’t know anything about Jungkook [why would he?], but you can't remember if Jungkook knows how to spot Minu.

“I’m here with—“ “I know,” Jungkook cut you off almost bitterly, looking down at you with a dark gaze that had you awfully aware of how small the stall was when there were two people in it. The music from outside was nearly turned out completely ad it felt like everyone else was on a different planet than you but you knew Minu would wonder where you were soon. If not him, his friends would ask him where you were. Just before you could tell him, you needed to go back out, there was a knock on the restroom door. It was a public place and if someone was looking to use it, they wouldn’t have knocked…

You bit your lip nervously, waiting to see if they’d knock again but this time they spoke, “Y/n?”

You looked at each other with mixed expressions as the truth hit you. Minu was the one trying to get you to come out. You pushed past Jungkook to get the door open but he wouldn’t budge, ‘Jungkook,” you huffed, getting him to move aside so you can leave but he was right behind you.

Your boyfriend knocked again, this time sounding more impatient and you turned to Jungkook, “Can I just text you once I’m gone?”

His brows furrowed, “What? Ju tell him righ—“ “Please,” You begged and with a sigh, he nodded his head. You gave yourself a quick look to make sure you didn’t look bad and immediately sighed when you spotted the red bruise Jungkook put on your neck, using your hair to cover it, you opened the door wide enough for you to slip out.

”What took you so long?” Minu asked, standing right at the door and trying to stare in but you tried blocking it.

“I was fixing my makeup,” You lied, trying to get him to walk away, “What’s up?”

”I heard you talking to someone,” He pointed at the closed door and you prayed Jungkook wouldn’t decide to come out now. “I was fixing my makeup,” You said once more but it was obvious Minu didn’t believe you. Usually he’s clueless about anything that has to deal with you so it was strange how adamant he was to stick around.

‘It still looks like shit,” He muttered under his breath, half tempted to swing the door open and see for himself. He wasn’t as dumb as you thought he was. You’ve been gone for a while and he swears he heard a guy’s voice just now. Plus, you were acting strangely, “Where’s your bag?”

Shit…

Jungkook stood with his ear pressed to the door and looked into the stall you once were. Thinking quickly he grabbed the mini bag just as Minu said, “Go get it.”

You squeezed your eyes shut with worry, bracing yourself to go back in while still making sure Jungkook wasn’t seen but your efforts were useless. Minu looked in far enough to watch a tattooed hand pass you your bag. Someone was hiding there.

Your breath caught in your throat when you went back out, noticing how close Minu was to you now and it told you everything you needed to know. He was onto you and the last thing you needed was him to storm in and confront Jungkook while all your friends are out there waiting. How stupid could you be? You should’ve never answered Jungkook when he stood outside.

“Let’s go,” His tone was sharp and unusual/ it was obvious he was mad but he was also too calm for your liking and that almost scared you more. Usually he doesn’t bite back from telling you how he feels. Yes, at times he can be too dismissive but when it comes to how he feels, he never holds back. That’s why it’s strange for him to not say anything.

“Min—“ You tried to call for him but he was already a few steps ahead of you, wa;Kim out of the hall and back to the crowded bar. He barely gave you time to react when he took your hand in his and forced a smile on his face as he told his friends the two of you were calling it a night. He made some excuse about you drinking too much and when you tried looking for Eunbi, he didn’t let you go and dragged you to the car.

He refused to speak to you for the first couple minutes in the car, your leg bounced with anxiety and you bit your nails nervously waiting for him to speak up.

“I can’t believe you’d fucking embarrass me like that,” Was the first thing he said after five agonizing minutes in dead silence. “In front of my friends? In front of your friends? What were you thinking?”

So does he know? You can't exactly tell since he’s not yelling at you over it yet.

“I’m out here looking like an idiot trying to find you and you’re being a slut with another guy. Are you stupid? How am I gonna face my friends? I just don’t get why you’d do this to me. I treat you so well, I love you so much and you were willing to risk what we have for some random guy?” It took you a second to understand what he was mad about. Was it just that he caught you with someone? Was it that you did it somewhere where his friends were also? Did he feel like you weren't grateful for whatever imaginary things he’s done for you? He has a right to be upset but what reason was he going to use and why were his friends brought up into everything?

It was time for you to just be honest, or as much as he’d let you be anyway, “He’s not just some… I’m sorry, okay? I’m stupid and shameless and I know there’s not anything I can say right now to fix what I fucked up.”

All Minu could do in response is scoff and shake his head. He went back to not speaking to you and you decided it’d be better to just wait until he was ready. He’s being too calm but you rather have him like that than yelling in your face in a moving car. You were sur[rised when he still chose to take you back to his place like originally planned but you understood why. He probably wanted you to speak up now, “Minu…”

“No, Y/n, I can’t even look at you right now. Why would you do that to me? After three years, you just… you try and throw it all away, why? I don’t even care who that guy is, all I want to know is why you’d do that,” Minu said, finally being more open to talking but you can tell he was barely holding his anger at bay.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, following him toward his bedroom as he began to rip off his jacket.

“Yes you do so can you just be honest with me for once and say it,” Minusaid and that’s when you started to feel a little confused. You were always honest with him, if anything this was the first time you’ve ever lied to him but it’s obvious why. You wanted to see other people behind his back but still have him around. You even tried telling him immediately the first night but couldn't bring yourself to tell him after how he acted that night. When you asked to have dinner so you can try again, he brushed you off, so what did he mean ‘be honest for once’?

“I don’t know,” You said again, “I just… he’s not like you. I don’t have to beg him for attention or fight with him about every little thing.”

You knew it was the wrong thing to say after you said but it was too late to take it back. He heard you clearly and whipped back to look at you, “So it’s my fault then?”

Shaking your head no, you tried to deny it, “That’s not what I’m saying—“

He stood near his desk, arm swinging across the top until a sack of old books fell to the floor along with a picture of you he had on his laptop. You didn’t bother to jump as you get a sense of familiarity. This is the guy you knew, this was your boyfriend—the one who gets mad and starts throwing things. It’s been a while since you’ve last seen him like this but hats because you’ve been avoiding him. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “Well I’m sorry we fight Y/n, all couples do. I didn’t realize that wasn’t fucking normal. I’m sorry that I’m busy and can’t pay every second of attention that you deserve. You want a guy like that? He’s what you want? I can’t give you what you want so you go to the next person that does? I could’ve slept with someone else since you won’t have sex with me anymore. You should’ve let me know and then we both could’ve been assholes.”

You sat on his bed, ;eating him keep going because you couldn’t think of anything else to say. You didn’t want to fight for forgiveness or beg him to take you back because clearly.

Once he stopped pacing back and forth, you tried again to speak, “I’m not saying what I did was right but I think it’s crazy that suddenly you’re this perfect boyfriend that didn’t deserve anything bad but what you’re saying is not true. You seriously think things were good between us?”

Minu had the decency and awareness to shake his head, “No but I was trying. I’ve been trying, that’s why I came with you tonigh—“

You stood up, feeling your patience run thin as you looked at your boyfriend, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t sit here and talk in circles with you like we always do about who treats who worse and who puts in more effort than the other. Neither one of us have been good to each other but I’m taking full blame for betraying you, if you want to break—“

“Are you stupid? I don’t want to break up!” He yelled, “I want you to sound like you mean it when you apologize. What are you even thinking? You think that guy gives a fuck about you? You want to end it with me so you can go be with him?” Minu asked, standing directly in front of you now, pushing on your shoulder, “You seriously think he’s what you want? After everything we’ve been through? You’re so ungrateful.”

“Hello? You can’t hear me or something? I said, you’re ungrateful,” he pushed you one last time, “Now that you found something better you want to leave me behind? No.”

“No?” You looked at him with disbelief. He didn’t want to break up. Not to mention he thinks you’re ungrateful. He thinks he does so much for you and it’s actually insane. “I’m ungrateful? I literally do everything for you and have you ever even noticed?”

“Don’t start Y/n,” he shook his head, “Stop trying to turn this o—“

“I’m not!” You told him angrily, “I said I was sorry, I don’t know what else you want me to do! It happened, I fucked yo and you still want to be together. Why? Just so you can hold it against me and keep being the way you are?”

“The way I am? I’m so sick and tired of your bullshit. You think you’re so much better than me at everything. You hate my friends, you hate that I don’t make as much as you do. You hate me.”

You sighed, “I d-don’t hate you. I just… I can’t anymore, do you know how hard it is to be with someone you don’t… I don't know… you don’t feel the same for? A—and I did it all wrong, if I knew I felt this way I should’ve just ended it sooner—“

“With who? With me? Why? Why can’t we just work through it? Do you really want to start over with someone else?” He looked at you with hatred in his eyes and it pissed him off. This is not how it’s supposed to be between you two. You both knew early on you were together because it felt… well, no, it didn’t feel right… but it felt comfortable? You didn’t ask much of each other and never did anything to move forward but he thought it was alright. Sure, he might’ve gotten lazy at times but what did he do that was so wrong you’d try and find comfort in someone else?

“I don’t,” You admitted with a sigh, “But I don’t want to be with you anymore. Call me selfish, clearly I am but I don’t want to be with you and have you constantly remind me how I messed up. I don’t want to keep putting up with the same routine because to be honest… I’m tired too. I’m tired of feeling less important than everything else in your life, Min. Hell, on days I really wanted you around you were too busy playing Minecraft. How do you think that made me feel? Like I said, I’m not making excuses I just… I don’t want to keep pretending to be happy with you.”

Minu didn’t say anything and you wondered how much he actually bothered to listen to. You just wanted him to understand there was no going back to before. He wouldn’t be happy. “You walked in on me with someone else and you couldn’t think of anything worse than embarrassing yourself in front of your friends.”

He scoffed, not denying what you said but not agreeing. It wasn’t like that exactly; he doesn’t think. His friends knew you well, they knew your relationship well and sure they also knew you fought but Minu doesn’t pretend for them… he’s not insecure like that… It’s just, well, he wants them to think he’s in a happy relationship because it makes it look like he has his shit together. You were always perfect for making him look good so of course he didn’t want them to see him out of character. It took him a second to realize there were a few tears in your eyes and it disgusted him—something he could finally admit, “Stop crying. You fucked everything up.”

Fine. You’ll take it. If he wants to yell at you more and just let it all out you’ll let him as long as it all just stops. If there be a point where it stops and you can be done. Your silence annoyed him more than your crying did and he couldn’t look at you anymore. You wanted to be done with him, fine, he doesn’t care, “Get out then.”

Your best option would’ve been to call a cab and wait at the front of the building but the thought of being anywhere near him had you walking into the night with tears down your face.

Jungkook prepared for this, alright? He wasn’t just some crazy guy who thinks everything would work out just fine. He knew you being in a relationship made things hard but maybe he didn’t plan ahead enough. He was too impatient to wait and he got with you as fast as he could. It was that easy, so why is it now… now that your boyfriend knows about him… why haven’t you called him back?

It’s been days and you haven’t responded to his texts or calls. He just wants to make sure you’re fine so why won’t you talk to him? It was beginning to bother him a little.

“Namjoon told me about what happened the other night,” Taehyung said as they found a spot to park for the gym. A mischievous smile appeared on his face, “Was he better looking than you?”

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief at his friend’s question. The guy was no competition at all so why are you bothering to ignore him instead? He can’t understand. Taehyung raised a curious brow as he watched his best friend just leave the truck without him. Sensitive topic, he wondered, following him into the gym.

“Is Y/n here?” Jungkook asked immediately. Hoseok was alone at the front for once and he didn’t care to get to know him at all. It’s been a few days since what happened over the weekend and hasn’t been able to see you. He has seen you at the gym but you’re out close enough or ever alone for him to approach you. It felt like you were avoiding him but why would you? What has he done wrong?

”I think she finished early today,” Hoseok said with a shrug. He’s been alone for a few hours now since Eunbi left with you and he’s got no clue what’s going on with you and Minu. Hosek’s gotten some of the story but not all of it. All he knows at the moment is that the two of you aren’t dating. Eunbi’s been trying to fish more out of you but he doesn’t know if she’s succeeded. It was a little strange that one of the regulars was asking for you. Jungkook doesn’t like one of your usual clients so why was he asking for you? Before Hoseok could even think to ask why, Jungkook as turning to his friend with a tense expression and stormed back out. Taehyung stood there confused, knowing exactly where Jungkook would go but kind of wishing he wouldn’t. He could’ve done more to keep him from leaving but was it worth it?

All the years he’s known Jungkook, he’s never kept himself from going after what he wants and he’s been more stuck on you more than anything at the moment. He doesn’t remember the last time he found him caught up on someone like this, or has gone as far as to ruin someone’s relationship but he’s done nothing aside from standing back and watching it all unfold.

You walked around the shop mindlessly, not looking at anything specific and barely listening to whatever comforting words Eunbi was trying to tell you. It didn’t work but you didn’t have the heart to tell her that.

“I mean, I feel like you both knew you were barely keeping the relationship going,” She tried saying. It didn’t help that you haven’t been fully honest with her either but at this point you don’t care. Yes, its being selfish but you didn’t end another person reminding you how shirt you are for messing with Jungkook. It didn’t help that he’s been trying to reach out to you and the smart idea would be to block him but you just can’t.its even worse toad it you miss him more than your now ex boyfriend.

“Are you going to try that on?” You asked, hoping to change the subject. She wanted you to come shopping with her so you wouldn’t lock yourself at home but right now you would prefer doing that instead. She looked down at the small pile of clothes in her hands and nodded, telling you she was going to the fitting room and left you alone to keep going through the racks. From your back pocket, you felt your phone vibrate and curiously you checked. When Jungkook’s name appeared on screen, you put your phone back away and tried to think about him. That was after the first ring, the second and third were harder to avoid.

“Hello?”

”Hey,” Jungkook let out a breath of fresh air once heard your voice on the other end, “I've been trying to call you…”

”I know, its been a weird lately few days,” You bit your lip in thought, looking toward the fitting room to see if Eunbi would be out soon, “Can I come over late? I think we should talk.”

Part of him wondered why your tone sounded off but he tried to remind himself what happened. Clearly you’re not with your boyfriend anymore and you need someone to talk to. Maybe you’ve realized he’s the only person you can open up to. A small smile adorned his features as he thought about seeing you. It hasn’t even been an entire week before he last saw you and it feels like its been forever. When he got home that evening, he didn’t bother telling Taehyung why he never went back and his friend never questioned it either. He waited around for you, cleaned his place, got dressed up for you and everything but when you knocked on his door, he nearly pulled you into his arms.

”I’ve got something in the oven, you haven’t eaten right?” He asked, letting you follow him inside trying to sound as relaxed as possible even when his heart was racing. You didn’t say anything, letting Bam run up to you to get a pet and you fed into it.

“I ate with Eunbi,” You told him honestly, “And I don’t think i'll stay long, to be honest.”

”Why?” He asked with a raised brow, “I thought you wanted to talk.”

you stood in his living room, still wearing your coat and holding your bag as if you were ready to leave any second and he didn’t like that. Were you planning on leaving already? You just got here, he’s barely had a chance to see you. You looked at him once he came back from the kitchen, turning off the oven since his dinner plans were cancelled and feeling annoyed by it. “What happened the other night..”

He let out a sigh, feeling a sense of deja vu to the time he found you in the saunas, “It’s fine.”

”It’s not, I’m serious this time,” You said, trying to sound firm but you knew Jungkook wouldn’t care. He’d find a way to disarm your hostility and get you in his arms again. Jungkook couldn’t help but scoff, “You haven’t ended it with him?”

“I did,” You said, “But obviously that doesn’t make everything alright. I still did something wrong and i hurt him—“

”And? You didn’t care when you and I were in bed together or when you would leave him to go see me,” Jungkook asked, stepping closer to you, “If he didn’t catch us when would you have told him? if you’re done with him i don’t get why you’re still playing hard to get.”

“You think I’m playing hard to get?” You asked, taken by surprise, “That’s crazy.”

“Well how else can you explain why you’re trying to push me away now?” He asked, getting closer and this time you backed away. With a small roll of your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest and too him, “Why do you think?”

“Because its not fun for you anymore? Did it finally hit you how wrong it was because we’ve been doing this for how long now? Stop acting surprised that shit didn’t end well, you were sleeping with a whole other man knowing you had a boyfriend. Plus he treated you like shit,” Jungkook felt the need to remind you and it was getting hard to ignore his condescending tone. You didn’t expect him to baby you or tell you you’ve done nothing wrong but it wasn’t entirely your fault. He’s the one who kept going after you even when he knew you were in a relationship.

When you didn’t respond, he looked down at you closely, “Are you guys going to try and get back together?”

“No.”

”But you want to?” He asked, pushing for a response you didn’t want to give him. At this point you didn’t think he deserved to know either. The only reason why you’re trying to end things with him is because its too hard to ignore how wrong it was for you to involve yourself with him in the first place.

“No, but i also don’t think that means I should be with you,” You finally confessed. He didn’t say anything for a minute, staring down at you with an expression you couldn’t read. Usually, when Minu got quiet in the middle of a disagreement that meant he was going to get more aggressive. It usually involves throwing something or hitting furniture but Jungkook wasn’t doing any of that. Maybe he realized you weren't worth the fight and it kind of hurt you but he would be right. You weren't worth fussing over anymore, you think.

Plus, how likely would a relationship with Jungkook work? The way it started was built on disloyalty, what did he expect? Sure, he probably felt used but what else can you do? Nothing you say could change if he felt that way.

“I should go,” You tried to say, ignoring the scoff he let out. It’s obvious he was mad which was strange considering you’ve never been in a situation where Jungkook has to be mad at you but that’s whats happening right now.

His jaw tense with irritation, watching as you looked toward the door, getting ready to leave. That was it for you apparently. You said what you had to say and now you’re done with him. You’re trying to throw him away and clean your hands of all wrongdoings. This entire time he kept telling himself that he was different, that you really would realize he’s better and not think twice about choosing him but that isn’t the case at all. You want to rid yourself of both of them and it didn’t sit right with him.

His body moved before he could think about it clearly and grabbed you by your wrist, making you jerk back to him. His nails sunk into the skin making you wince, trying to pull yourself free and it took him a moment to realize he was actually hurting you. He let go of you quickly, shaking his head as if trying to clear his head and put some space between you. You looked at him with shock, trying to soothe the pain, “I’ll call you?”

It was probably not the best thing to say but you dumbly said it. He did seem to relax when you said but you weren't sure if he fully believed you or not. Maybe he was just happy you weren't mad about the way he just grabbed you suddenly.

He felt frozen in place, even after you left. It was a new feeling for him, this sense of being thrown away.

To be honest, this is not how he expected things to turn out. Yes, he knew he was getting into a big mess if he went for you knowing you had a boyfriend but at the moment he didn’t care—he still didn’t. He just thought that once he’d have you, you’d see that you don’t need another guy to waste your time. He tried waiting patiently for you to break up with that guy and after a while maybe he couldn’t take it anymore.

It was seeing you at the bar with your so-called boyfriend pretending to be happy that pushed him over the edge. Why did he have to see you being kissed by someone else? He’s the one you run to at night so was he second to you? He knows your ex did you wrong many times but what about you? How good of a girlfriend were you when you were fucking Jungkook behind his back?

Since you’ve lost your boyfriend you want to pretend nothing ever happened with Jungkook and that really does annoy him. Did you push away so you can hopefully get Minu back? Is that what this is? He refuses to believe you’re done with him just cause. There has to be a reason and he doesn’t want to hear that it was a mistake. If it was a mistake it wouldn’t have gone on for so long.

Fuck, right now he sort of hates you. Is that bad? He swears he wants you, he loves you and wants you to only think about him but you’re so stupidly selfish. You knew how he felt about you and you used that against him in some way. He was your dirty secret and in the moment it was fine but now that he’s alone it pisses him off.

The smart thing to do would be to move on. If he just puts what happened with you aside then he can move on. Maybe he’ll find someone he feels for him the way he does for them. Maybe he’ll take some time to himself. Who knows, all he has to do is stop thinking about you but it was so damn hard.

All Jungkook wanted to do was talk to you but he wasn’t allowing himself to. It’s been a couple days since you showed up on his doorstep and it’s taking everything in him to not reach out to you. You said your piece the other night and he should just respect it. That’s what he keeps saying in his head every time he catches a glimpse of you at the gym or when his finger hovers over your contact in his phone.

At that point his friends caught on to the fact that this bothered him more than he could admit. Namjoon would catch him anxiously checking his phone at work or getting irritated much easier. Taehyung couldn’t hold a conversation anymore without Jungkook sounding bored. He wasn’t interested in anything and he looked tired all the time.

“Just one drink Kook,” Taehyung said as the two packed their things in the locker room.

“No thanks,” Jungkook slammed his locker shut, slinging his bag over his shoulder and walking out. Today you were at the front desk looking over something on one of the computers and it hurt him to know you wouldn’t look up at him once.

He didn’t bother acknowledging Eunbi when she said goodbye and Taehyung felt lowered after you without a word. As Jungkook’s friend, he feels the need to be on his side. Clearly he knew all along that Jungkook was messing around with you and that it was wrong but it’s not all Jungkook’s fault. It’s mainly yours, he thinks, and if anything he’s annoyed you have his friend worked up. He doesn’t care talking to you until Jungkook is over his shitty mood and this could all blow over.

“Is it just me or do they just not talk anymore?” Eunbi asked absentmindedly, leaning back against the counter as she stared after the two, “It’s weird, Jin said he’s good friends with them so you think they’d be nicer to me in case we run into each other, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed quietly, looking out the large windows of the gym front and watching them leave. You felt your chest tighten when you locked eyes with Jungkook, turning to look back at you and catching you staring. Eunbi narrowed her eyes as you shifted your head to look down, pretending to be focused on your schedule book. When she looked at Jungkook he was getting into his truck.

“So you still haven’t talked with Minu?” Eunbi asked curiously, “I mean good, I didn’t think the two of you would ever actually break up but clearly it needed to happen. You know what we need, a girls night out where you can just let loose and not worry about him getting mad at you.”

“I don’t think so,” You said with a smile. She frowned, glancing away in thought, “Honestly, I thought you’d be more relieved to be single but lately you’ve been so quiet about it. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” You let out a sigh, “There’s not really anything to say. We’re not together anymore.”

“Hm,” Eunbi sounded dissatisfied but it’s all you could think of. The last thing you wanted was for your friends to be more involved in your clusterfuck of a life.

When you got home that night you had an odd sense of being watched. It wasn’t strong but uncomfortable at least. You couldn’t even explain it properly but it made you feel uneasy. It sort of opened your eyes to how vulnerable you’ve become. You got so used to Minu’s cold demeanor with you that nights alone weren’t a problem. Then Jungkook came along and every time he’d be at your side. Did you love him? Was it more than just you trying to find comfort in someone else? It was crazy to think you missed Jungkook more than the guy you dated for three years.

He thought about trying to talk to you but couldn’t bring himself to knock on your door. Instead he found himself calling Taehyung and taking him up on his offer earlier.

All he could think about though is how he could get you back. He worried you were still talking to your ex and that’s why you pushed him away. He wondered if you’d ever look at him again or if you’ll wait till his back is turned. You were still the only thing on his mind when he drank the feelings away.

“Alright, I gotta get going or I’m gonna be late.”

The shop was nearly empty when Namjoon decided to leave Jungkook to work alone tonight. He had plans and all Jungkook had for the night was crawling into bed and going to sleep. He cancelled his evening gym session with Taehyung in favor of working longer and avoiding you. He doesn’t want to but it’s for the best. You’re making it hard for him not to go find you. He wants to be patient and bide his time but how much longer will it take?

All he could think about as he worked alone past the sun setting was what you were doing. Who were you with? Who were you talking to or thinking about? Was he on your mind at all? You can't seriously avoid him for that much longer, right?

Some song played loudly through the speaker set aside, he nearly missed the sound of the doorbell chiming. Since business is extremely slow at this time of night, he usually just cleans up and tries to figure out what he has to do the next day. He didn’t at all expect anyone to make their way into the shop at this hour. The irony, however, of how things really worked. It took him a second to really notice who was standing in front of him with an impatient smile. “You’re open, right?”

“What can I do for you?” Jungkook stood at the desk in the lobby, looking at the guy with a blank expression. The guy got distracted by something on his phone so when he spoke next, he didn’t look up to talk. It gave Jungkook an opportunity to get a good look at him. It was the same face, same height he’s seen in pictures. His voice sounded the same from the phone calls and the other night. Was this really who thinks it is? No, there’s just no way this is a coincidence.

“An oil change,” He said plainly, pressing the phone to his ear and looking back at Jungkook.

“Alright,” his jaw tended created a small bulge in his cheek as he tried to ignore the guy’s tone, “Model and year?”

“Hey, you called? Sorry, I had to run errand after work,” The guy suddenly said on the phone and this time he couldn’t resist rolling his eyes.

Between whatever he said on the phone, he filled in Jungkook’s questions so that the paperwork could be filed.

“Sign your name and date and I’ll get started,” Jungkook told him, sliding the clipboard across the counter and watching him do as told.

“How long will it take?” He asked, Jungkook read the name he put and felt his breath hitch. Choi Minu.

“Half hour?” Jungkook looked up, gave him a polite smile and made his way out of the lobby so he can go to the garage and see what car was parked outside its door.

This piece of shit car lines up with the kind of guy who drives it. Muttered curse words slipped from his lips as he got to work. Would it be terrible of him to admit how much he hates the guy? Technically speaking, he never did anything to Jungkook. He is the one who put himself in a situation where he had to deal with Mimi’s type. The stuck up, shitty, insecure man who takes out his problems on his girlfriend—or at least that’s how Jungkook sees him. He was rude as fuck at the counter and he was rude that night he caught you. It sounds unreasonable to an extent sure, but Jungkook thinks he got what he deserved with you.

If he treated you better then Jungkook wouldn’t have had to step up.

He hated this guy. Hated him.

All these thoughts ran through his head as he laid under the car with a flashlight to his side trying to get the oil emptied out. His eyes wandered over other familiar mechanics and grimaced at the dust collected around everything. His wrench made a sound every time they touched metal and he wondered how often you were driven around in this car. You complained once about how Minu always asked to borrow your car so clearly you didn’t get in it as much. Plus, Jungkook’s truck was so spacious and you loved it when he drove you around, even said it yourself so he can’t imagine you being comfortable with Minu and the shit he had to offer you.

Curiously he looked to the wheels on either side of his head, an idea in his head that was half tempted to try if he was a little less… aware of what could happen. He’s never been the kind of guy to pull off such risks. Without meaning to, he tapped against the master cylinder and shook the thought away, trying to focus on the oil change.

“We’ve been having problems for a while but it’s not like us to not be together, yknow?” Minu said with a strained voice as he spoke on the phone still. Jungkook walked in, unnoticed, and pretended to ignore the conversation. In reality his heart was racing, wondering if he was hearing something about you.

“You know how Y/n gets, Rowoon, when she’s in her mood she doesn’t want anything talking to her. I promise we’re fine,” Minu walked toward the front desk, clueless to his surroundings, “How much?”

When he finally spoke to Jungkook, he was pulling his wallet out to pay. He told him the price and managed to say, “Cash only,” before he tried handing him a credit card.

Minu rolled his eyes and flipped the other of his wallet to grab cash, all while still on the phone, “Alright, imma let you go. Are we still on for Saturday? Yeah, see you then.”

With a sigh, Minu was relieved to see he had enough on him. Usually paying with a card isn’t a problem so it was strange that they only accepted cash but he didn’t question it. He just wants to go home and get on a game.

He extended his hand out with the money, looking at the mechanic finally before looking down at his hand when he took the cash. His body stiffened, “Nice tattoos. Where do you go?”

“A shop somewhere around here,” Jungkook with a shrug, rolling the sleeve of his shirt up, a small smirk stretching his lips as he watched Minu’s gaze harden.

Where could he have seen this exact pattern of tattoos? Surely they weren’t so common but they seemed so oddly familiar. Minu nodded his head, getting a better look at Jungkook. He’s never met him before but he swears he’s seen those tattoos somewhere before.

“You’re all set to go,” Jungkook said, clutching the clipboard with Minu’s forms to his abdomen, “Drive safe.”

Minu nodded, taking his keys and turning his back on him. As he passed by the communications board on the wall, he found a few business flyers and he couldn’t help but concentrate on a familiar business card. It was for a gym somewhat far from here and Minu knew then something was up. The gym you worked at wasn’t popular enough to be here and how it would get promo over here? He looked back at the mechanic who had the audacity to wave him goodbye, a real smile on his face as he watched him leave.

Once he was alone in the shop, his hands trembled with discomfort, hearing the engine come to life and Minu drove off without a care. Never in his life has he had to restrain himself from putting his hands on another. It was from how arrogant Minu was as and how confident he was that everything was going to be alright. That’s how he is, just think of how he pretended the two of you were wildly in love in front of his friends. How he refused to confront Jungkook the night it all happened. Jungkook had been just a door away yet Minu was a coward and took you home instead. The guy was a joke.

He grabbed his cellphone and went into his boss’s private office looking for a wired telephone. He pulled up your contact and dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Y/n, it’s me—before you hang up, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Jungkook rushed, “I know I only made things worse in your relationship and never really cared to know how you really felt. I have feelings for you and I don’t think they’ll go away that fast but if you never want to talk to me again I get it. I just had to hear you one last time.”

His words were rushed and almost incoherent but you were able to get the gist of what he was saying. Was this his goodbye though? He just apologized and told you he had feelings for you all while also making it seem like you’ll never speak to each other again. That’s what you wanted though, right? You wanted space from him, so why did it bother you that he was making it sound like he was done with you too?

“What are you doing right now?” You asked him curiously, trying not to think about everything he just said. You needed to hear him say this in person.

He looked around the empty shop, “At work but I’ll be off soon.”

“Can you come over?”

Just like that, his miserable mood after seeing your ex boyfriend at his work. He had been anxious to talk to you after Minu left and it brought a smile to his face knowing you wanted to see him. It’s stupid how weak he was for you. You push him away and he waits for you to pull him back in. You keep him a secret but crave his attention at the same time.

“Jungkook?” He heard your voice call his name from the front or the apartment. He took his shoes off and put them at the door, hanging his jacket where he usually does and headed down the familiar hallway.

“Sorry it took me a while, I had to close by myself tonight,” Jungkook cleared his throat, finding you in your bedroom, seemingly changed into casual clothes, “Did my call bother you?”

“Sort of,” you crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him when he got closer. Seeing you do that made him stop; looking down at you with a confused expression.

“I don’t get you,” You admitted, feeling his hands on your forearm, trying to get yourself to open up to him, “At first I thought you just wanted to mess around and that you didn’t actually care about me, yknow? Then when I told you I had a boyfriend you talked to me so… bluntly and tried to write it off like some sort of joke but then we spent more time together and I wanted it to work between us.”

He wanted to tell you that it was working between you but he had your arms open and was able to move closer. “I know I’m being unfair because I was the one in the wrong to begin with but I don’t like how you sounded on the phone—like you were done with me or something.”

His lips turned downward in a small pout, “I thought that’s what you wanted to hear. You were avoiding me and ignoring my calls, it hurt.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so dumb,” you tried to turn away from him but he held you closely, “I’m so fucked up, Jungkook and I don’t have anyone to talk to right now because all my friends think Minu and I broke up because he was the problem and not me and I’m not bold enough to tell them I cheated an—“

“Shh,” he tucked hair behind your ears, “Didn’t I say I would be here for you? You’re not dumb, we made a mistake.”

It was strange yet comforting to hear him say that after telling you over and over again how it was never a mistake. You let him hug you and even brought your arms around him too, relaxing into his hold.

“I’m sorry,” You said again, this time with your voice shaking and closing your eyes to stop you from crying. It’s your own fault you’re so close to spiraling out of control and you refuse to let anyone else know. Eunbi would look at you differently, Ara wouldn’t want you around anymore and Hoseok… well, who knows. You messed around with someone at your workplace and ruined your relationship all in one go. It’s a lot to face and Jungkook shouldn’t be comforting you because you’ve been very tense with him too but he seems to be the only one who ever makes you feel better.

“It’s the weekend, right? How about we just spend it together and we’ll do whatever you want baby,” Jungkook pulled away, “Yeah?”

Your brows furrowed, wondering why he wasn’t more upset with you after everything but you nodded your head. You’ve never spent a full weekend with him before and right now it’s all you want to do, “I want to see Bam.”

He smiled warmly, “Do you want to come to my place instead?”

Something about the way the light of the moon peeked through the blinds and how the arm around your waist held you possessively made waking up feel like deja vu. Of course at this point you’ve spent the night in Jungkook’s bed many times but it reminded you specifically of the first. How confused and shocked you were to see him asleep beside you. Once again, you've found yourself with him between dusk and dawn trying to figure out what you were doing.

You looked at the nightstand to your side and reached for your cell phone. The sleeping body next to yours seemed to move closer, trying to pull you back down and you tried to be quiet as you took your phone and looked at it.

“Baby, do you know what time it is?” Jungkook groaned in his sleep. It didn’t take him any time to adjust to being with you again and it was truly mind boggling to know that. It’s like he really was just waiting around for you to want him back.

“I know but I have to go to the bathroom,” You told him, shaking his arm off and getting out of bed. He didn’t question it when you locked yourself in the bathroom and finally paid attention to everything on your phone.

Six missed calls.

This many missed calls from an unknown number was alarming and you felt the need to figure out what was going on. It wasn barely three in the morning, what could have happened from now and the moment you got in bed with Jungkook?

“Y/n, it’s me Rowoon,” A guy said through the phone the second the call went through, “I’ve been trying to contact you all night.”

Your brows furrowed, why would Minu’s best friend be calling you?

“Look, I know you guys aren’t together right now but he needs you right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, whispering so Jungkook wouldn’t hear.

“I’m at the hospital, Mimi’s been in an accident,” Rowoon told you and you froze. What was he trying to say? Was Minu involved? “Minu’s in critical condition a nd I’ve been with his parents since we found out. I guess someone found him somewhere off the interstate when they saw his car was completely demolished. Everyone’s still trying to figure out what happened and it’s been hours, I’ve been trying to reach you—“

A light knock made you jump in surprise, remembering Jungkook was out waiting for you.

“Okay, give me a second, I’ll uh… which hospital?” You looked at your reflection in the mirror trying to take your hair.

“Y/n,” Jungkook knocked again, trying to get the door open, “It’s so late.”

“I have to go,” You swung the door open, surprised by how close he was and walked around him to start getting your things. Yes, this definitely felt similar to your first night with him.

“At this hour? No, come on I thought we were spending the day together,” Jungkook said, following after you in just a pair of sweats and not caring about it at all, “Where are you going?”

Do you tell him the truth? How would he react? Just last night you were talking things over with him and trying to see if this could work and now you’re leaving him for Minu. Of course there's a reason behind it but does Jungkook need to know? He watched you get dressed in yesterday’s clothes and scratched the back of his neck, confused.

“Can I tell you when I come back?” You asked, heading out of his bedroom with your things.

“You left your car at your place so don’t you have to tell me if I’m taking you somewhere?” He asked, tone even and calm.

Shit.

“I’ll get an Uber or something, let me figure out what’s going on before I bring you into this,” You told him, knowing what you said would only urge Jungkook to keep pressing you. He’s not the type to just let things go you’ve learned.

“Is this about Minu?” Jungkook asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “You’re done with him.”

A sigh left your lips, shaking your head, “It’s not like that, I am done with him bu—“

“Then why are you trying to bail on me for him right now?” Somehow and you’re not sure how it happened, but he was standing in front of the door keeping you from leaving. It didn’t feel intimidating but he was making it hard for you to just leave like you normally do, “He’s going to be fine.”

He said it somewhat bitterly, looking away from you for a second and you nearly missed the way his jaw clenched. His words comforted you for a short moment before you began to think it over.

Minu probably will be fine, he’s strong and has people supporting him. Even if you cheated that doesn’t mean you lost all feelings for the guy. He’ll always be part of you in some way, a reminder or a memory. He’s going to be fine, possibly, but what does Jungkook know? Did everyone around you hear the news before you could?

“How can you be so sure?” You asked, wanting to see how much he knew about the accident.

Jungkook smiled, relaxing his face as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I mean… you know… he’s a grown man and the two of you are over. What do you need to go see him for? He’ll be fine.”

“Jungkook, he was in an accident,” You finally said, hoping he’d just drop it and let you go.

He released a huff, irritated and barely holding it together as he pinched between his forehead, “And he’s still alive so why are you rushing out at this hour?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying, clearly the car accident wasn’t that bad if he’s still breathing,” His annoyed tone only became more noticeable when he got closer, hands suddenly holding your face, brushing hair back and trying to smile, “So relax and just stay with me like you promised, okay?”

You blinked in realization, trying to take a tentative step back but he kept you out where you were, “Car accident?”

“I heard a little of your phone call,” Jungkook said with a shrug but you were pushing him off. “I’m going to the hospital.”

“Y/n—“ The door slammed shut as you snuck away from his hands and he was grasping at air. With another sigh, he went to Bam’s bed, asking if he wanted to go on the balcony for air and acting like nothing happened.

You barely made it downstairs when your phone began buzzing to life with another phone call. You answered without question, “I’m on my way now, is there anything I should bring?”

“No, I just wanted to tell you what authorities are saying,” Rowoon said standing outside his best friend’s hospital room, “At first they thought he might’ve been drinking because it was late but tests came back negative. They had a mechanic check out the car just now and I guess something was wrong with his brakes.”

Minu’s brakes? He’s had problems with them before but you remember paying nearly a thousand dollars to fix it for him so what was wrong with them this time?

“Do you know where he went after work?”

“I remember calling him and he said he had some errands to run, he’d been talking about getting an oil change and going to pick up some parcels from the lockers but I don’t know if he did that last night,” Rowoon told you through the phone, “The lockers he usually goes to are south but I guess he was coming from the north side of the interstate when he wrecked. It was probably close to 10pm when it happened.”

You live north but Minu always lived further from you. What was he doing on the north side, getting an oil change? Wouldn’t whoever was working on the oil change notice his brake lines?

“Okay, uh, I’ll be there as soon as I can, I'm not home so I need to get some things, I’ll call you,” You cleared your throat, looking at Jungkook’s large truck and the familiar decal of the auto shop he worked at.

Before you knew it, you found yourself turning right back around and going back to Jungkook. You didn’t bother knocking as you let yourself in and found him relaxed in his living room, “What time did you get off work last night?”

“I thought you wanted to go see your piece of shit ex,” he couldn’t hide his annoyance even if he tried. The short minutes you were gone he’d managed to upset himself with the thought of you going to see Minu and how he possibly made it worse for himself. You’re worried about Minu, which is not what he wanted at all. He needs to stop acting so impulsively because it bites him in the ass. For all he knows, he could be pushing you back with your ex. Although annoyed, he couldn’t help but answer your question anyway, “You know what time I got off, I came over right after.”

When he called it was about 9:40pm, the shop is usually open until 10 since it’s one of the only places running so late some nights they’re busy and some nights they’re slow. There’s no way Minu would’ve found himself there, right?

Sure, he works late at the office sometimes and he waits till last minute to do things and if he’s in dire need of an oil change and can’t wait for the next day; there’s a chance he’ll go to whatever shop is open late but there’s no way.

When you talked on the phone with Jungkook he wasn’t doing anything, saying he was ready to close but the shop isn’t too far from the interstate going south and if Minu were to be going home from the shop, that’s about a forty minute drive. You had to be overthinking things.

A smile stretched across his face as he looked at you, “Change your mind and want me to drive?”

“Why’d you call me last night?” You asked suddenly and he felt the urge to laugh. Since you had left just moments ago he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep again and now you’re questioning him about the dumbest of things.

“Because I wanted to talk to you,” Jungkook answered without missing a beat, “You look freaked out, come here.”

“Jungkook, just tell me right now, did you run into Minu last night?” You asked. You weren’t trying to sound so accusative but you just had to know so you can have peace of mind. There’s just no way the man you had an affair with would do something to your former partner.

It’s so cliche, so vindictive, bizarre, shameless.

But then again Jungkook is nothing but — and he’s proven that to you since the moment he found out you were taken. You’ve been shameless with him but that doesn’t mean he’d go as far as to hurt someone? Sure, there’s been times you think he’s too intense or too caught up on you but he’s also such a playful flirt that it throws you off. Was there a side to Jungkook you didn’t know about? A side that hurts others and has no remorse? He’s always blunt which you know, but he’s been so abrasive about Minu. He practically told you to get over it because Minu’s alive but why’d he say it the way he did? Now that you’re thinking it over… he was sort of… apathetic. You’d think he’d have some sort of empathy.

This entire time Jungkook can see the wheels turning in your head. He hated keeping things from you but he can’t tell you everything. There’s things someone does for the person they care for that they just can’t say. He did this for you so you wouldn’t have to worry about Minu tryin to get in the middle of you two again so why are you looking at and questioning him so hard? The best thing he can do right now is keep his cool.

“I can’t remember,” He said, eyes locked with yours as if daring you to ask something else. Will you?

“They said there was a problem with his brakes which is kind of weird because I footed the bill a few months ago to have them fixed,” You told him, walking closer.

He just shrugged, “Whoever fixed them did a shitty job then I guess. Sorry you wasted your money on him.”

“You really didn’t see him? Apparently he was on this side of town an—“

“I don’t remember, fuck I thought you were done. Can we stop talking about him?” He stood up abruptly, arms on your waist and pulling you into him harshly, “I love you, you know that? I’ve never actually said that before but it feels right telling you.”

He waited to hear you say it back but you didn’t.

“You did something, didn’t you?” You gripped his forearms, feeling them tighten so you could pry him off you, “You’re acting weird and it’s weirding me out so just tell me it’s not a coincidence.”

“If I were to do anything it’s because I don’t want you to worry about anyone else anymore,” Jungkook said, locking his arms in place so you couldn’t move. He felt your struggle trying to get his arms off but he gets what’s going on. You’re acting strange and accusing him [of things he clearly did] but it doesn’t look like you’re interested in hearing him out. He doesn’t want to confine you and dim your spark like Minu did, but he wants you to relax and trust that he’ll fix things for you.

“Let me go,” You said, breathing hitching when he began to walk you back toward the living room, “I have to go.”

“No, I don’t think you do. You said that earlier and you still came back so why don’t you just stay?” He let you down into his couch, “Minu’s not going anywhere I’m sure so just stay with me. It’s kind of bothering me that you’re still giving him any attention.”

“It was you, you did something to him,” You tried getting back to but with no effort needed, he had you sitting again, this time with his hands on the back of the couch trapping you. Your hand pushed at his chest trying to find room around him to get yourself out but he gripped your hand roughly and yanked it over your head, “Look, I did you a favor. I was just thinking about you and what would be easier for us.”

Jungkook hovered over you, keeping you from moving and dug his knee in the space between your legs while his hands held yours over your head. His hair fell over his face now but it didn’t obscure his vision of you. You tried kicking your legs up but it did nothing and you felt like screaming with frustration.

“You could’ve gotten him killed,” You spat back feeling the urge to laugh bitterly, “And for what?”

“For you,” Jungkook leaned down so he was more eye level with you, “I remember the first time I’d seen you, you barely looked at me, y'know. I tried getting over it because, really, it wasn’t anything serious at all but then I started going to the gym more often and every time I’d see you I’d just… well, I thought you were pretty.”

“I knew you had a boyfriend before you even said anything,” He admitted watching your expression change to realization, “And I was a little nervous about pursuing you still but you made it so damn easy, Y/n.”

You looked away from him, disgusted with yourself and shook your head as if it’d change things, “You didn’t know anything about me.”

“So? I knew that I liked you and that you were with someone you didn’t care abo—“

“That’s not true!” You tried to argue, stiffening when he cupped your face with his hand. His touch suddenly felt cold and uncomfortable against your skin. You attempted to shake him off, “I actually loved Minu, I s-still do and I’m going to go see him and he’s going to take me back, I know he will because he’s said it and I’m never going to see you again because you’re a crazy stalker freak.”

A laugh sounded through the room and the fingers cupping your chin tightened around your jaw making you wince, “You can’t love someone you don’t even fucking like. Give me a break, Y/n I’ve had to listen to you for weeks tell me how you don’t like him, you can be mad at me all you want but that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t care about him. He’s in some hospital room fighting for his life, probably asking where the girl he’s loved for years is and you had a chance to go. I gave you a chance to walk out my door but what did you do? You came back, love.”

“Shut up,” you fought against his hold, feeling him get closer and closer to you and it was freaking you out. Just hours ago you welcomed his warmth and how he felt against you but right now it was making you sick to your stomach. He’s acting differently and he’s being strangely aggressive and telling you things you don’t want to hear and admitting things that are wrong. He’s done something to hurt someone you once held a lot of love for and he doesn’t care.

“Why? You don’t like the truth,” his forehead pressing into yours to keep you from looking away from him and he could practically feel the tear slip from your eye and into his skin, “You wasted three years with him just to not be by his side when he needs you the most.”

“You’re not letting me—“ A strangled whine left your lips as he forced his mouth into yours. You fought against his hold on your wrists, pushing back into the couch to get further away from him. Your refusal to kiss him back hurt him more than your fight against his grip did, “I told you I’d be there for you and figure it out so why are you being so mean to me right now? You weren’t supposed to care about what happens to him now. You hate him, I know you do so please stop pushing away from me.”

You blinked nervously, looking around him and searching his face for what he was thinking. His grip on your wrists was tight by the way his fingers trembled everytime he took a breath. He had you fully caged underneath him and there was no way for you to get him to ease up. You had to think. Of course you’ve never been in a situation like this and despite the many times Minu got aggressive he never did anything more than shove you away. He never made you feel restricted like this with nowhere to move. Part of you wanted to freeze up but then the other part of you wanted to run. Jungkook has always been sweet [right?], so why is he acting crazy?

He was becoming unpredictable and an unpredictable man is a scary one.

Jungkook felt your wrists go limp and you released a sigh, trying to keep yourself calm and it gave him an ounce of hope. Sure, he could’ve gone a better way about things to keep you from leaving but he had to be sure you didn’t leave. There was no point in continuing to pretend he didn’t know Minu or how he got hurt. He went too far, he knows, but it’s a little too late to regret that, right? If he lets you go you’ll leave him and who knows, probably tell authorities. It’s be hard to prove it was him unless you spoke up. It’ll be written off as an accident and Minu will be fine so there’s no need for you to go anywhere. It’s not like he put his hands on the guy… so what? You’ll come to realize it was so bad, right?

When you looked up at him he couldn’t find the disgust in your eyes from earlier and that made him happy. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, feeling the salt of your tears and checking to see how you’d react to him this time. You didn’t flinch away and he took it as a good sign. Unable to stop himself, he tried kissing you again. Your breath hitched, giving him a delayed response as you tried to kiss him back. Something was wrong with him deep inside and it made you want to be as far from him as you could. You didn’t want to kiss him but it’s been a lie you’ve told yourself since you met him. The truth is you like kissing Jungkook and being around him but he makes things too complicated for you.

His lips were soft, as usual, and the hand he had cupping your face was sliding toward your neck, disappearing into your hair and trying to get you to lean your head back so he can deepen the kiss. Just as he began to relax and melt against your touch, you bit.

Your teeth dug into his bottom lip, hooking onto the lip ring and pulling hard enough for him to jump back. The second he stumbled off you, you finished giving him a shove and sprinted toward the front door.

“Aish,” he held his hand to his lip, feeling liquid trickle onto his fingers. You nearly tore his lip off using his piercing and with an annoyed grunt, he spit out, looking down the open front door. You’re starting to piss him off.

You sprinted down the hall, feeling around the pockets in your gym shorts for your phone but felt nothing. Did it slip out when you were fighting for him? You refused to look back and see if he was coming after you or not so you ran down the stairs.

The sun wasn’t even out yet and most places around weren’t open yet. You needed to get ahold of someone, anyone. You were in little clothes with no identification on you and no way to pay for a cab fee. Did you seriously drop your phone? If you’re lucky, there’s some street vendor getting ready to start their morning or maybe someone walking their pet. It’s not completely dead.

“Excuse me,” You shouted from across the street, trying to get the attention of some old person walking toward the bus stop. You ran across the empty street and got her attention, “I’m sorry, c-can I borrow your phone? I lost mine and I need to make a call.”

She handed you an old model and stared at you confused as you tried to dial someone. The police would be the best thing but maybe you were more stupid than you thought. Something was stopping you from doing it. What if you were overreacting? What if this was all in your imagination or maybe you escalated the situation without knowing it?

“Did you cut your lip?” The woman asked, pointing at the blood trickling down your chin, “Have you been in an accident?”

You wiped off Jungkook’s blood and looked back to his building. What if you’re the one who gets in trouble? What if they say you attacked him? You can tell them that whatever happened to Minu was because of Jungkook but that’s only happened a few hours ago and they’re still trying to get him help. Jungkook was with you, it would take a while for them to believe it.

No, not the police. You should call Eunbi or Hobi, yes, that’s better. Your fingers froze over the buttons, shifting nervously as you tried to remember their numbers. Fuck, why can’t you think right now? You pushed the phone back into her hands, “I’m sorry.”

The woman called for you but you were walking away, shaking your head anxiously. It was cold and your brain was hurting. You’re trying to understand what is going on but it feels like you’re blanking. What did Jungkook do? What did you do?

Jungkook ran downstairs, he wore a black hoodie and ball cap and with a wound closure bandage on his lip. He fished his keys out of his pocket and checked the time, 4am.

It took him a while to clean up so there’s a chance you’re long gone but he’s going to find you. You just need to talk it out.

Across the street he found someone sitting at the bus stop and though his truck was just a few yards back, he headed in her direction. “Excuse me, ma’am, I was um… I was wondering if you’ve seen a woman around here?”

She looked at him strangely, eyes catching on his busted lip and he touched it insecurely, “You see, my girlfriend and I just got into a little bit of a disagreement and I’ll admit it’s my fault. I’ve upset her and she left really mad at me. I want to give her space but I at least want to make sure she’s alright. I mean look at the sky, the sun’s not even out yet.”

“You don’t have to tell me where she went but can you at least tell me if you saw someone get in a car or not? She was in shorts and a pink shirt, pretty face and she’s about this tall?” He proceeded to describe you.

“She didn’t get in a car,” Was all the woman said to him. For all she knew it could’ve very been a lover’s quarrel. Jungkook took what little information she gave him and ran back to his truck.

What hospital did Rowoon say again? How far was it? What street were you on? Why can’t you remember? Are you shutting down right now because you can’t. You can’t just let yourself forget everything. You stood at the end of a street trying to read the street sign, jumping when a car passed.

You weren’t crazy enough to ask a stranger for a ride at this point but would Jungkook just let you go? You had a heated argument just now and he’s already proven to be more unhinged than you thought. Maybe it’s best to stay off the main streets. You know this neighborhood well enough, surely you’ll pass by a street you recognize.

You know your bag sat on the couch most likely with your phone and you hated how stupid you were. Not only did you let him drive you to his place last night but you also left all your things when you fled.

Jungkook knew you couldn’t have gotten far without your things, especially if you were on foot so he drove down the streets slowly, looking around every shadow and alleyway. He hated that you were scared and out there. You should’ve just stayed with him. Why are you complicating things? Maybe he should ditch the truck and go on foot like you.

You did a 360 of the street you were on, okay, you can kind of tell where you’re at. What time was it? There was a sliver of orange in the sky, the sun wasn’t out yet but soon it would be. You turned down the corner, stopping abruptly as you stared ahead. You covered your eyes with your hands as the bright led headlights of a familiar black car stood before you.

“Are you lost?” Jungkook asked, stepping toward you cautiously, “You left all your things when you left in such a hurry, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You blinked, “What time is it?”

“A little past five in the morning, come here,” Jungkook called for you but you didn’t move, “Babe, if you want me to take you to go see him I will but please just come with me. You’re acting out of line, I mean look at me. You bit me.”

He pointed at his swollen, bandaged lip and took another step toward you, “Bam is scared and you’ve woken up all the neighbors I’m sure. I know you’re upset because someone you once cared for is hurt but you’re acting paranoid.”

“W-where are my things?” You asked, feeling his hand touch your side.

“At my place, come here, it’s cold,” He pulled you into him and winced at the feel of your trembling body against his. He tightened his arms around you, petting the back of your head and trying to lead you to his running truck.

“I need my things,” you mumbled, letting him help you into his truck And buckle you in. He smiled, kissing your hand gently, “I know, we’ll get them, okay? I told you I’m here for you so relax.”

You nodded your head but he could tell you weren’t fully listening. He locked your door as a precaution and quickly made it to his side. He knocked the hat and hood off his head and shook his hair free. His truck was tinted and hard to see through and the street was dark so he felt more at ease now that you weren’t out on it wandering around.

Honestly, he’s not ashamed to admit how surprisingly easy it was to get you back in his arms. He just needed to find a way to keep you here with him like hes been wanting this whole time.

E N D

::.

NO PART TWO

I got tired mid editing sorry

okok ik yall are probably mad at the ending but listen 😭im tired of damn fic 😔like I feel like realistically shit really would hit the fan so fast and that’s why I rushed the ending

I haven’t posted in five months and I had so much of this complete but the end I’m like ahhhhh

anyway I kno there’s going to be mega y/n haters but remember jk is crazy too 🤓

what do we think tho 🫣ngl I thought he was kinda hot but like such an asshole but also so sweet but also a manipulator

inbox is open for questions about the fic so ask about the characters it’s probs confusing

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @saweetspoiled @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @Sunnikthv @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @jaerisdiction @Watermelonjuice15 @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @brillantdarling

@maryy1300 @annabtsangels @hyunjinswifeee @Bangtans-momma @butterymin @kaiparkerwifes @junggukjeonfreakinwife @tridha345 @ily4jknity @ivygguk @ryuzakiswife @futuristicenemychaos @honeybunnykoo @lesoleile @Eunhee-jk @Aindrila @cherrymoonlightt @parkinglot-nights @llallaaa @crooked-haven @Butterflykpop @sakuragongju @ackward-maknae @investedreader @junggukjeonfreakinwife

[also it’s not that I don’t want yall in my taglist I just quite literally have no room]

#jeon jungkook #jungkook fic #Jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook bts #jungkook one shot #jungkook oneshot #jungkook angst #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #yandere jjk #yandere jungkook smut #shameless

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cbeargyu · 2 months ago

Note

Ever you think about camboy!yeonjun? 🥺

just chillin'

summary: alone on a saturday night, you stumble upon a camboy's stream by pure accident. what begins as innocent curiosity spirals into an irresistible addiction, especially when he seems to notice you among the thousands. and when he reaches out to you personally... you realize that some fantasies are too tempting to leave behind.

pairing: camboy!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to lovers, slight angst (insecurity), heavy tension, slow burn turned fast, eventual public sex (streamed), slight exhibitionism.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), camboy themes, masturbation (m and f), sexting, sextalk, blowjob, vaginal sex, multiple positions, dirty talk, slight choking, spanking, use of sex toys, praise + possessiveness, masking identities (reader wears a mask, yeonjun wears sunglasses) during public stream, emotional insecurity (reader worried about appearance), reader is implied to be inexperienced or shy, mild degradation (very soft, mostly praise kink), slight breeding kink talk, heavy mentions of viewer comments/donations.

wc: 4,6k

notes: baby, thank you so much for this amazing request, i was blushing like crazy thinking about all the ways i could handle the story, wow, not gonna lie, my favorite request ever, bae, yeonjun camboy is such a concept 😭💗

it’s saturday night, and the house is dead quiet.

your parents left earlier for some family dinner party—you had no interest in small talk with distant cousins or watching your dad argue about politics over cheap wine. your brother, predictably, is out with his girlfriend, probably halfway into some movie or already making out in his car. either way, he’s not coming home anytime soon.

you’ve got the whole house to yourself. all night.

at first, it felt nice—freedom. silence. you curled up on the couch, made popcorn, browsed netflix like it was an olympic sport. but after an hour of half-watching three different movies, nothing could hold your attention. not even the romcoms with shirtless leads.

you switched to tiktok. scrolled. scrolled more. a couple thirst traps. a couple puppies. nothing hit.

you huffed and opened your laptop, fingers drifting without purpose. maybe a gameplay stream would help pass time. something soft. chill. maybe even fall asleep to it.

you searched “streamers live now” and clicked a random site link that looked slightly sketchy.

only—it wasn’t for gaming.

the homepage was dark. black background, bright red accents. pulsing icons and neon outlines. bold letters reading “18+ only. enter responsibly.”

you blinked. hesitated. your heart kicked once in your chest.

then curiosity won.

you clicked.

the page opened with a grid of livestream thumbnails. too many skin tones. too many soft moans bleeding through overlapping audio. most thumbnails showed women—arched backs, lace underwear, fingers between thighs. the kind of content you’d only ever dared to peek at by accident.

you licked your bottom lip without realizing. eyes glued to the screen.

and then you saw him.

a stream titled “just chillin’”. the thumbnail was cropped just below the neck, showing a toned chest in a tight black tank top, arms flexed casually as he leaned back in a gamer chair. loose, light-wash jeans slung low on narrow hips, exposing a hint of red boxers.

his username: yawnzzn.

something about it made your fingers freeze.

there weren’t too many viewers inside. only a few hundred, way less than the others. maybe that was better. maybe you wouldn’t get noticed.

you clicked the stream.

your screen went black for a moment—then it loaded.

he was talking already, laughing softly, the kind of voice that scraped low and slow against your ears. the room was mostly dark, lit only by the glow of his monitor and faint neon strips behind his desk. it cast shadows across his collarbones, the slope of his shoulders.

you quickly plugged in your headphones, pulse jumping.

he leaned forward, adjusting something on the desk, and that’s when the camera caught his chin. his mouth.

his lips were plush, pink, and curved into a lazy smirk.

your whole body froze when you heard it:

“huh,” he chuckled. “who’s ‘babygrl87’?”

your username.

your dumb, randomly chosen username.

you nearly slammed your laptop shut, face burning, heart jackhammering inside your chest.

“didn’t think we had new viewers tonight.” his voice dipped lower, teasing. “you shy, babygrl?”

you didn’t answer.

his chat was wild. emojis, donations, constant messages.

“take the tank top off!” “the new girl better tip if she’s gonna stare.” “yo, yawnzzn, we want the show.”

he ignored most of them. or teased them back.

“which one should go first?” he mused aloud. “shirt or pants?”

your thighs pressed together. he wasn’t even doing anything yet, and your body was already betraying you.

then—slowly—he stood up.

his tank top hugged his body in all the right places. tight against his chest, his waist slim. he stretched, letting his arms lift overhead, showing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his jeans. the v-line below his abs? obscene.

you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath.

then he reached down, thumbs hooking into his belt loops.

“you wanna see more?” he asked, looking directly into the camera. it felt like he was looking straight at you.

“say please.”

his viewers spammed please, but you stayed quiet.

and yet—you couldn’t look away.

he unbuttoned his jeans. dragged the zipper down slow. the denim slid off his hips, falling to his ankles with a dull thud.

your breath hitched.

tight red boxers. snug. low. the bulge underneath them? impossible to ignore. thick, heavy-looking. twitching slightly under the fabric.

you pressed your thighs tighter.

he sat back down, shifting slightly, letting one leg rest wide open on either side of the chair. spread just enough to show off the outline pressing against the boxers.

“you guys are fucking filthy,” he muttered with a smirk. “but lucky for you... so am i.”

his hand dipped under the waistband.

not all the way—just enough to tease.

his fingers brushed over himself, then pulled out, gripping through the fabric, pressing against the hardness. you watched the muscles in his arm tense.

he exhaled softly. deep. like he really needed to touch himself.

you couldn’t stop staring.

his palm moved slow at first, just rubbing the base, then stroking up and down along the outside. the fabric grew darker at the tip. he was leaking already.

you bit your lip hard, your own thighs twitching.

he kept going. breathing heavier. head tilted back, exposing his throat.

“fuck, babygrl,” he groaned suddenly. your eyes widened.

did he just—

“you’re still watching, right?” he said between shallow breaths. “don’t look away. i’m doing this for you.”

he reached into his boxers, finally pulling himself out.

thick. veiny. flushed red at the tip.

he spat into his hand. started stroking—slow at first, then faster.

the slick sound of skin on skin filled your ears through the headphones.

you were hypnotized.

his moans were low and filthy, hips shifting as he fucked into his hand. his tank top bunched up higher on his chest, exposing his abs, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he got closer.

his eyes were heavy-lidded now, lips parted.

“wish i had you here,” he muttered. “wish i could see you... touching yourself too.”

you were. not even sure when your hand slipped under your shorts. but it was there now. fingers rubbing, too fast, too needy.

he got louder.

he leaned forward, panting, fisting himself hard.

“you want it?” he growled. “want me to come for you?”

you gasped. the tension snapped.

you came first.

trembling, breath caught, hand soaked.

he moaned—loud, raw—and came a second after. cum spilling over his knuckles, streaking his abs. he didn’t stop stroking until every last drop was out, breathing like he’d run a mile.

for a second, it was quiet.

only his ragged breath. and yours.

then he talked to the camera again.

“thanks for watching, babygrl.”

you slammed your laptop shut.

you never meant to stay.

at first, it was just curiosity—an accident on a saturday night, when the house was too empty and the silence wrapped too tightly around your neck. you stumbled into his stream, yawnzzn, because it was late, and you were bored, and the thumbnail showed more skin than anything you were brave enough to click before.

you should’ve closed the window. you should’ve gotten up, made tea, gone to bed.

but you didn’t.

you stayed. wide-eyed and still, staring at the boy who leaned back lazily in his gamer chair, the room bathed in the low glow of his monitor, his body relaxed, his fingers moving with casual, devastating confidence over himself.

you didn’t even know his name.

all you had was a username. a voice. a body that looked carved by hands more careful than god’s. long fingers. full pink lips. shoulders wide enough to carry the whole damn world.

you never commented. not once.

you just watched.

he noticed, somehow.

your username would blink into the list of viewers and he’d smile, low and wicked.

“looks like babygrl87’s here,” he’d tease once in a while.

the chat would explode with laughter.

"silent watcher’s back." "she's loyal but shy." "say something, girl!"

but you never did.

you stayed hidden, frozen, cheeks burning, fingers trembling at the sight of him.

and he kept performing for you anyway.

stroking himself slow in the shadows, spreading his legs wide so you could see everything, moaning under his breath, letting his pleasure spill into the microphone until it felt like he was touching you through the screen.

sometimes he'd say things like—

"bet she's watching real close..." "wish she'd tell me what she likes..." "i'll just have to guess, baby."

every time he said "baby," something deep inside you twisted.

you touched yourself to him more times than you could count. memorized every shift of his hips, every flex of his thighs, every low curse that spilled from his throat. his face stayed mostly hidden—just his mouth, his jaw, the curve of his nose—but it didn’t matter.

he had you wrapped around his finger without ever seeing his whole face.

until tonight.

the notification buzzed on your phone and you didn’t hesitate. you flung your laptop open and clicked into his stream before your fingers could even register it.

live now: yawnzzn — "friday chill."

it was late. almost midnight. but it was friday, and you could stay up all you wanted.

the stream loaded—and immediately your breath caught.

yeonjun was different tonight.

he wore a black hoodie, the hood pulled up to shadow most of his face. only the sharp line of his jaw, the tempting curve of his lips, and the glint of an earring peeked out.

his posture was lazier than usual, sprawled low in his chair, legs spread wide.

and—

only two viewers.

just you. and someone who quickly left.

you were alone with him.

your heart pounded so loud you barely heard him speak at first.

“well, look who it is.” he smiled, a little softer this time. “thought you’d come."

you swallowed hard.

he leaned closer to the camera, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“guess it’s just you and me tonight, babygrl.”

your hands shook.

for the first time, you typed something.

hi.

the word looked tiny in the chatbox. pitiful. but yeonjun froze when he saw it.

his mouth parted.

then—

he laughed.

god, the sound was warm. real. his whole body tilted a little, like he couldn’t believe it.

“no way,” he said, eyes shining. “you’re real. you actually talk.”

you bit your lip so hard it hurt.

he grinned wider, teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a second. he looked—happy. excited. like you just made his whole night.

"fuck, i should do something special for you," he mused. "loyal watcher deserves a reward."

you hesitated. then, shaky fingers flying across the keys, you typed:

can i see your face?

for a second, the world stopped.

he leaned back, tapping his chin, pretending to think. then he smirked, eyes glinting under the hood.

"only because it’s you," he said, voice low. "only because you’ve been good."

he reached up, gripping the hood—and slowly pushed it back.

you forgot how to breathe.

he was beautiful.

no. beyond beautiful.

his face was unfair.

sharp, slanted cat-like eyes, framed by thick lashes, glinting dark and dangerous under the soft light. a high nose bridge, cheekbones cut clean enough to bleed on. his mouth, god, that sinful mouth—full and pink, curled into a smirk that promised ruin.

he was the kind of beautiful that wasn’t supposed to be real.

the kind that hurt to look at.

your stomach flipped violently. your whole body flushed hot.

he tilted his head, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, and smiled.

"what do you think, baby?" he teased. "worth the wait?"

you couldn’t even type.

he chuckled, low and raspy.

“i’ll take that silence as a yes.”

he leaned in closer, so close the camera almost fogged.

"don’t disappear on me now," he whispered. "you’re mine tonight."

and you knew—deep in your bones—you’d never escape him.

not now.

not ever.

you should’ve closed the laptop.

you should’ve logged off the moment he smiled at you like that—dangerous and sweet, like he already knew what you tasted like.

but you stayed. frozen in your seat, trembling, helpless.

yeonjun leaned back, dragging his palm down his chest, over his stomach, slow enough to make you whimper.

"you know," he said, voice dropping, "i've been saving something… just for you."

he reached under the desk and pulled out something unexpected—not just a toy, but a miniature torso made of soft, rosy pink silicone, barely the size of his hands.

it was shaped like a woman’s lower half, smooth thighs tapering into the curve of hips, and right between them, the detailed, glistening folds of a pussy. obscene. delicate.

lewd in a way that made your stomach twist. the soft rubber glinted under the light as he turned it in his hand, spreading lube over it like he was preparing you instead.

a thick stream of it spilled out—over his hand, over the soft pink opening of the toy, dripping lewdly.

your breath caught.

he grinned lazily at your silence, clearly enjoying the way you were glued to the screen.

"thought about using it a couple times," he murmured. "but it didn’t feel right without you here."

your thighs pressed together, trying uselessly to ease the heavy, aching heat between them.

your mouth went dry.

he groaned under his breath, squeezing some over his own cock. it was already hard, thick and flushed red at the tip, veiny and heavy between his thighs.

your whole body clenched at the sight of it.

yeonjun caught the way you froze.

he chuckled, low and warm.

"you like watching, don’t you?" he teased, voice velvet-soft. "such a dirty little thing, just sitting there all quiet for me."

you couldn’t even type back. your hands were gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

he slicked himself up slowly, deliberately, hissing as his fingers wrapped around the base.

then he grabbed the toy.

"gonna pretend it’s you," he said, smiling in that way that made your head spin. "gonna fuck you so good, baby."

he eased the tip of his cock into the toy, slow, teasing.

the lube made everything shine under the dim light, making it look so wet, so messy.

a broken moan left his mouth as he pushed deeper.

"fuck..." he whispered, hips twitching. "you'd feel so fucking good around me."

he started moving, thrusting lazily into the toy, one hand gripping it tight, the other braced against his thigh. his head dropped back, lashes fluttering, mouth parting on soft, desperate sounds.

your name fell from his lips like a prayer.

"babygrl," he moaned, hips stuttering. "wish you were here... wish you’d let me hear you."

you pressed your thighs together harder, trembling, burning with need.

he moved faster now, fucking the toy like it was real—like it was you.

the wet sounds were filthy. obscene. echoing through your headphones like he was right there in the room with you.

"bet you’d be so tight," he panted, thrusting harder. "all hot and wet for me… fuck, i’d ruin you."

he gripped the toy tighter, biting down on a groan.

you watched every second—hypnotized, devastated.

watched his hips buck, watched the muscles in his arms flex, watched the way his stomach tensed up when he got close.

he didn’t look away from the camera once.

he fucked that toy like he was making love to you.

slow, deep, passionate.

like you were the only thing he ever wanted.

your chest heaved with every breath, nipples aching, panties soaked beyond salvation.

and when he finally shuddered, spilling hot and thick into the toy, moaning your username again in that wrecked, desperate voice—

you knew you were already ruined.

he slumped back in his chair, panting, hair a mess, lips swollen and wet from how hard he’d been biting them.

and then—

he smiled at you. soft. sweet. devastating.

"thanks for staying with me, baby," he whispered.

the screen went dark a few seconds later, leaving you staring at your own reflection, wrecked and trembling.

alone.

but never lonely again.

you hadn’t gone back.

not because you didn’t want to.

god—you did. more than anything.

but it was too much now.

something had shifted in you after that night. after watching him fuck that toy like it was yours—moaning your username like it was sacred, like he needed you to breathe.

you couldn't stop thinking about it.

the way his hand moved. the way his voice cracked when he came. the way he smiled right before the screen went black.

he ruined you, and he didn’t even know it.

you tried to forget him. muted the notifications. ignored the replays. avoided even opening the app, like a coward. like a girl who couldn’t trust herself not to break down and need again.

because now when you thought about him, it wasn’t just lust—it was hunger.

two weeks passed.

you didn’t watch a single live.

but you did think about him. in the shower. in your bed. in the quiet moments when no one was around. and every time, you pressed your thighs together and tried to chase the ghost of his voice in your head.

you thought you were safe. that this distance would protect you.

until the dm.

at first, you didn’t believe it. you were half-asleep, phone in hand, thumb swiping lazily through random memes—until the little red dot appeared in your inbox.

no one ever messaged you. even though you were kind of known in his chat, everyone respected the line. no dms. no creepiness. everything stayed inside the stream.

but this—this was different.

you opened it slowly, heart thudding.

yawnzzn [11:32 PM]: been kinda sad u haven’t joined the lives lately :( miss seeing ur name pop up every night.

your heart stopped.

it was him.

he messaged you first.

and now everything inside you was heat and panic and that same damn ache he always left behind.

you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, your whole body on fire from just one line.

he missed you.

he noticed you.

and worst of all—he cared.

you stared at the screen for what felt like an hour.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, mind racing, heart hammering. he’d messaged you. yeonjun—yawnzzn. the boy you’d been secretly watching for months, who moaned your username like a lover, who made you cum more times than you could admit.

and now he was in your inbox. waiting.

you breathed in, deep and shaky. then finally, you typed. slowly. carefully.

you [11:46 PM]: i’m sorry i disappeared… i’ve just been feeling a little overwhelmed lately.

your chest felt tight when you hit send.

you almost didn’t expect him to answer right away—but less than a minute later, the typing bubble popped up.

yawnzzn [11:47 PM]: overwhelmed? like… because of me?

your face burned.

fuck.

you should’ve lied.

but maybe it was the way he asked it—gentle, teasing, soft.

you hesitated for a second, then typed again. a little braver.

you [11:49 PM]: yeah. i think watching you became… a little too much for me.

you hit send before you could regret it.

then added one more line.

you [11:49 PM]: you make me feel things i don’t know how to deal with.

there was a long pause.

long enough to make your stomach twist. long enough for you to want to unsend everything and run.

but then:

yawnzzn [11:53 PM]: …fuck. that’s probably the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

your breath hitched.

yawnzzn [11:54 PM]: i thought maybe i was imagining it. the way you looked at me. how you never talked but always stayed until the end. i always felt like… you were watching differently.

you swallowed hard, heart in your throat.

yawnzzn [11:54 PM]: can i ask what it is exactly i make you feel?

his words lingered on your screen, sweet and dangerous.

you could lie.

or you could tell the truth, even if it made your skin burn and your thighs clench and your whole body betray you.

you told him.

typed it all out, trembling fingers and flushed skin—how much he turned you on. how just watching him made you ache. how you’d touched yourself to the sound of his voice so many times it scared you.

he didn’t tease you.

he just replied:

yawnzzn [12:02 AM]: you don’t know how long i’ve wanted to hear that from you.

the next night, he asked if he could call you. just for a second. just to hear your voice.

you hesitated. but then said yes.

the screen lit up with his face—hoodie on, smile soft, and it was dark in his room.

you couldn’t show your face right away.

your camera stayed off while you whispered hello.

you expected him to sound different. more confident. more teasing.

but he didn’t.

he sounded gentle. nervous. warm.

“can i see you?” he asked softly. “just a glimpse?”

your heart pounded as you turned your camera on. you were in a hoodie. no makeup. hair a mess. you hated the way your stomach twisted.

but he smiled.

really smiled.

“wow,” he whispered. “you’re… so much prettier than anything i ever imagined.”

you only lasted five minutes before you panicked and hung up, stammering out an apology.

he didn’t push you.

he just texted:

yawnzzn [12:28 AM]: you looked beautiful. thank you for letting me see you.

the days after that were soft. messy. hot.

late-night texting turned into slow, sticky sexting.

he’d ask if you were touching yourself. you’d ask what he was wearing. sometimes, he’d send you voice notes, low and breathy, moaning your username until you were whimpering into your pillow.

eventually, he asked to see you again. in person this time.

you said yes.

but something about it scared you—the way your heart twisted at the idea of being real to him. what if you weren’t enough?

and then, the idea.

he texted you in the middle of the night:

yawnzzn [1:03 AM]: what if we did a stream together? i could blur your face. or you could wear a mask. sunglasses. anything. i just want them to see that i’m finally fucking the one person i actually wanted.

your heart stopped.

you said no, at first. embarrassed. shy. it felt too raw, too exposing.

but that night, in the dark, with your hand between your thighs and his voice playing in your head, you imagined it.

imagined being on his lap. riding him in front of the same camera that once made you weak. imagined hearing him moan your name into your neck while the whole world watched.

you texted him at 2:11 AM.

you [2:11 AM]: i’ll do it. but only if i wear a mask.

his room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of his monitor and a red led strip that cast everything in that deep, sinful color. your silhouette, perched on your knees between his thighs, looked unreal—masked, trembling, mouth parted in anticipation. he was already hard, the thick outline of his cock pressing against his grey sweats, and the stream had barely started.

yeonjun leaned back in his chair, lazy smirk on his lips as he brushed a thumb across your cheekbone.

“they’ve been begging for this,” he murmured low, his mic catching every syllable. “but they don’t get you. i do.”

your fingers tugged at the waistband of his sweats, dragging them down with teasing slowness. the chat was explodingalready—hearts, donation pings, horny messages flying too fast to read.

his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and leaking, and you didn’t waste time—your lips wrapped around the head while he hissed through clenched teeth.

“fuck—yes, baby. just like that,” he moaned, voice rough and trembling.

you bobbed your head slowly at first, tongue circling the tip, making sure to be loud about it—each wet suck and messy slurp caught by the mic, echoing through the stream like the soundtrack to a dream. he groaned and held your hair back, letting everyone see the way your lips stretched around his cock, eyes glossy behind the lace mask.

“look at her,” he murmured, gaze flicking to the camera. “taking it so good, like a perfect little slut. you’re so fucking pretty like this, baby.”

you moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs twitch. spit dripped down your chin as you took him deeper, and he let out a breathless chuckle.

“they wish they were me,” he said, licking his lips. “but only i get to feel this mouth. only i get to fuck it raw.”

you choked a little when he gently thrust into your throat, but you didn’t stop—you loved it. you loved knowing thousands were watching you drool and gag around him, craving something they could never have.

he pulled you up by your arms, lips crashing onto yours in a messy kiss. his cock was wet between your bodies, twitching, desperate.

“get on my lap,” he growled, voice thick with need.

you straddled him, one hand guiding him to your entrance as you slowly, so slowly, sank down.

the stretch was unreal, every inch of him filling you up, and you both moaned into each other’s mouths.

“oh my god,” you gasped, hips rolling instinctively.

he grunted. “fuck, baby… fuck, you’re tight—been dreaming about this cunt since the first time i saw your name in my chat.”

your hands clung to his shoulders, bouncing gently on his cock as he held your waist and thrust up, hard and deep.

“yeah? you like showing them what they can’t touch?” he panted. “you like knowing they’re all jerking off to you being mine?”

you nodded, dazed, flushed all over.

“say it,” he growled, slapping your ass.

“i’m yours,” you whimpered. “all yours, yeonjun…”

“that’s fucking right.”

he adjusted the camera angle, making sure it caught your pussy swallowing his cock over and over as you rode him in a rhythm that made your thighs shake.

“fuck, baby, i can see how wet you are,” he groaned. “dripping down my balls—look at this mess. they’re fucking jealous, huh?”

you moaned loud, thighs burning, your mask slipping slightly but you didn’t care—you were too far gone.

he dragged you up, twisted your body so your back was against his chest, legs spread wide as he pistoned up into you.

your head dropped back onto his shoulder, a string of helpless cries leaving your lips.

he reached down, thumb circling your clit fast and tight.

“you gonna cum like this?” he panted in your ear. “with all of them watching? gonna cream on my cock while the world sees who really owns this little pussy?”

your body jerked, climax rushing over you in a tidal wave of heat and noise, clenching hard around him as he grunted and chased his own.

then he flipped you over onto the desk, bending you forward, ass up for the camera.

“still not done,” he murmured, slipping back in. “they’re gonna watch me fill you up.”

he fucked you hard, fast, raw. each thrust loud and wet, your body shaking, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

“so tight, baby—gonna cum so deep—gonna knock you the fuck up on stream, yeah?”

“yes, yes, please—cum in me, yeonjun—fuck, i want it—”

he groaned, shuddering, cock pulsing deep inside as he came, buried to the hilt.

and right before he reached over to end the stream, he leaned in, kissing your masked cheek.

“mine,” he whispered.

then the screen went black.

but your moans still echoed in the dark.

922 notes · View notes

hanquokkasjeekies · 26 days ago

Text

[how they react to you being angry/horny] - bang chan

stray kids scenarios/headcanons

bf!bangchan x f!reader word count: 0.5k genre: (almost) smut, established relationship warnings: mentions of masturbation and implied sex ⋆ slight dom/sub dynamics ⋆ soft!dom!bangchan

ot8 list

~ ~ ~

late

“you took your time didn’t you, chris?” it comes out as more of a statement than a question, making it clear you’re mad– very mad.

“come here, babe” chan’s tone is tender as he opens his arms for you.

your feet try to step towards chan, but you manage to hold back. your entire body is telling you to fall into his arms and just forget everything– but then you remember that you’re mad at him… or at least trying to be.

“i know it’s not like you to get this upset over me being a little late, so… what's wrong?”

he’s reading you so easily.

chan can always tell when something is up with you and usually you find it sweet but today it's almost annoying.

you walk over to him as he closes the front door. you do your best to glare at him while reaching up and hitting the door right beside his head.

“what’s wrong is that you messaged me over an hour ago, saying you’d be home from practice soon.”

chan sighs, but inside he's a little nervous since he's never seen you this upset. “traffic was really bad– and i needed to buy a few things…”

“and those things were more important than me? you didn’t even think to tell me you’d take so long?” tears are welling in your eyes and your voice is starting to sound desperate. “i took a nap in your bed… then i got all worked up– but you weren't there, so i- i played with myself like you always do for me; but– it just wasn’t enough…” you’re tugging on his shirt with your head pressed into his chest and you know you sound silly but you can't help it. “i-i just…”, you mumble against his warmth, “i think i missed you.”

seeing you in such a mess– all because you’re needy for him– chan can’t help getting a little smug. he strokes your head and pulls you closer into him.

“so you couldn’t cum because it wasn’t me?”

you nod, embarrassed at how simply he put it.

“aw, you don’t have to worry anymore, kay? i’m here now, and once you stop crying i'll let you choose.”

“hmm?” you look up at him, confused. “choose what?”

“choose between my fingers and my tongue… or would you rather my dick?”

you blush, but you’re already drooling at the thought; melting under his soft tongue, being fucked dumb by his thick, heavy cock or those long, pretty fingers that can reach all the places yours can’t…

“what do you think, hmm? how do you want to cum first for me?” chan’s voice is soft as he wipes your tears away.

the aching between your legs is driving you insane but you manage to answer his question. “um, fingers– your fingers, please”

“of course, baby, anything for you”

ot8 list

#skz smut #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz #skz scenarios #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #skz fic #bang chan skz #bangchan stray kids #bangchan scenario #bangchan smut #bangchan skz #bang chan #dom!bang chan

1K notes · View notes

natlovesls2 · 7 months ago

Text

Never Really Over

Lando Norris x Sainz! Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: 18+ MDNI, one bed trope/ forced proximity but barely, slight fake dating, alcohol mentioned/ used, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, small amounts of angst, minimal swearing, talks of marriage and children, please let me know if I missed any

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 3.8k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: You and Lando had broken up though decided it was best that no one knew. Max and Kelly's wedding forces you to come together, making it hard to disguise your true feelings. What can possibly go wrong?

.ೃ࿐request: found here

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚

It was difficult being an open book while simultaneously attempting to hide your break up from not only your brother, but anyone who had been invested in seeing the relationship prosper. More often than not you found yourself having to make up answers to questions pertaining to the subject or switch the topic all together. And even if the news of the breakup did somehow come out, you weren’t sure how you’d explain the situation that led to it. The memories of that night were hazy to say the least.

You could faintly remember the fuzzy feeling of alcohol and the buzz of music around you that night. There was no doubt that you had been out at some party or club, as you often found yourself at one. Though everything beyond that felt like a badly painted watercolor portrait; the colors, or events in this case, bleeding together into a cruel image of that night.

“What are you saying?” he asked, voice cracking as he searched your face for an answer. The words coming from your mouth slurred but determined.

“I’m not an idiot, Lando. What else would you be doing when you go out to celebrate your wins for races I didn't attend?”

“You think I’m cheating on you? This is what this whole thing is about?” his voice raised with slight anger.

“Yeah,” you raised your voice back at him. You wanted to blame the sudden burst of jealousy completely on the alcohol, but you knew that would be a lie, there had always been an insecure pit in your stomach that had only been growing since you began dating. “You’re an attractive, famous athlete. It would be weird if you weren’t.”

“What's the point of being in a relationship if you can’t trust me?”

“The door is wide open, Lando. No one is holding you here by force,” you hadn’t meant those words, but they couldn’t be taken back.

“Is that what you want? You want to break up?” you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, let alone answer his question. “Fine,” he whispered, running a hand over his face, pacing around the hotel room, “Alright.”

The only memory that seemed to feel concrete and not muddled by all the drinks of the night prior, was the moment you woke up the following day. The sloppily written note on a receipt from some club letting you know that he had left per your request. And even though he didn’t explicitly say things were over, it wasn’t difficult to understand what the note was implying. Beside the fact that you two no longer interacted as a couple, everything else seemed normal, especially to those who didn’t pry beyond surface level. It was for good reason that you two did this; Carlos would have taken your side regardless of the situation, and you didn’t want to be the root cause of a possible falling out. Maybe that's why you didn’t blame Max and Kelly when they told you that you would be sharing a room with Lando for their wedding.

You had somehow arrived before Lando, taking that time to unpack and mentally prepare to be in such an intimate space with him after such a long time apart. Things were definitely going to be awkward; you were certain you would have to tell everyone the truth about the status of your relationship. It was becoming increasingly clear to you that lying to everyone hadn’t been the best idea. But telling the truth now, when it had been months of lying, was certain to dampen the vibe of the next few days and put a rift between everyone involved. So as Lando walked into the room you couldn't stop yourself from blurting out your disapproval.

“We can’t possibly tell them the truth– it would ruin everything, and I refuse to ruin Max and Kelly’s wedding week.”

He stared blankly at you, shutting the door and placing his suitcase beside it, “Jesus, could you give a man a few seconds. I’ve just barely walked through the door.” You ran a nervous hand through your hair, pacing across the expanse of the room. How could he look so calm about this, you envied how well he played things off. No matter how much things truly affected him, he always had to have an obnoxious nonchalant air to him. “You’re making me dizzy,” he let out a slight chuckle that made your eye twitch.

“I’m sorry for being the only one concerned over this, Lando.”

“More like paranoid. Relax, there's nothing to be concerned about,” he said with a light shrug, throwing himself onto the only bed. It stuck out like a sore thumb, a reminder of how difficult it would be to ignore him over the next couple of days.

“What are we going to do about that?” you asked, nodding towards the bed a tense expression plastered on your usually calm face.

“We’re adults, sharing a bed isn’t a big deal, right?”

“Not a big deal at all,” you agreed, letting out a shaky breath attempting to calm your nerves. He nodded, giving you an awkward smile– the only sign of the emotions he was hiding behind his mask. For a moment you were sure he was just as concerned as you were, if not more.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

Rehearsal dinners, a momentous event for any wedding. Sure, the actual wedding ceremony and reception are consequential, but the rehearsal dinner sets the tone for those two. Landos presence alone hand you high strung, now add the high stake of this fake commitment you both had. The clamminess of your hands increased tenfold as you sat beside him, occasionally giving a small smile as Lando conversed with those around you. The conversations around you seemed to fade as you focused on the napkin in front of you. Its stark whiteness against the deep colors of the tableware around it making it stand out. It almost felt like the napkin was taunting you, as if saying, “You’re not fooling anyone, you two stand out as much as I do in this sea of real couples.”

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks you from across the table, face etched into a mix of concern and suspicion. Your silence throughout this whole ordeal becoming a clear indicator that something was wrong.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you're okay,” he repeated, eyes glancing between you and Lando.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you responded with a shaky smile.

Carlos' eyes narrowed at you, clearly not buying your answer, he seemed to want to say more but hesitated. Lando quickly intercepted the conversation moving on to a topic he could easily control.

“How much do you want to bet that Max will cry tomorrow?” Lando asked, a playful smirk making its way onto his face, “I say he starts crying as soon as he gets ready for the ceremony.”

“I bet you’ll cry more at your wedding,” Carlos says smiling at you and Lando, it's clear he's fond of the idea of a wedding between his sister and close friend.

“Yeah, probably, but we have a few more years until we even start worrying about that,” Lando placed a hand behind your chair, his fingers gently grazing the exposed skin of your back.

“You didn’t deny the idea of a wedding, does that mean you plan to marry my sister?”

“Let's slow down, mate. I'm not going to deny or admit anything,” Lando let out a laugh, tracing soft shapes onto your shoulder. For once his words and actions didn’t feel forced, as if this were second nature to him. It was almost impossible to tell if he was being truthful in his response or if it was all part of the act. You stared at the half empty glass of wine in front of you, hands moving on their own accord to bring the glass to your lips allowing you to nearly down it all in one go. You were going to need a lot more to drink if you were going to sell the act.

Maybe you had underestimated how much you had to drink or perhaps everything was becoming too hard to control. You felt Landos arm wrap around your waist as he guided you back to your shared room, whispering about something you had done though you didn’t catch what he said and you could hardly remember the rest of the dinner.

“You’re a lightweight,” Lando sighed as he sat you at the edge of the bed, kneeling down to unstrap your heels. His touch against your bare ankle felt nothing short of electric, something so intense and mind numbing.

“I’ve missed you,” you drunkenly admit, running your foot against his chest.

His grip on your ankle tightens in an attempt to hinder your movement, “hm,” he hums out as a response, impulsively lifting your leg up to press a small kiss to the inside of your ankle. The familiar pressure of his lips against your skin erupts your skin in goosebumps.

“We’re more in love than ever before,” you say, giving Lando one of the most sincere smiles he's seen from you in a while, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly as you talked to Kelly, “Right, Lando?”

“Absolutely madly in love,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. He hadn't expected you to move and plant your lips against his in a sloppy drunk kiss, drawing laughs from those around you.

His lips continue to travel up your calf, his eyes trained on your face to catch any glimpse of change in your expression. He pushes you down against the bed, hovering over you, “You’re drunk,” he lets out a sigh, resting his head in the crook of our neck.

“And?”

“We shouldn’t do this while you're drunk– I refuse to do this while you're drunk,” Lando whispers, unsure if he's trying to convince you or himself, “I don’t want you to regret this when you're sober, and it's just wrong.”

You grab his face, pulling him away from his hiding spot in your neck. You stare at him for a while before bringing his face closer to your own, gently meeting your lips in a surprisingly fluid kiss.

Lando quickly pulls away, standing from his spot on top of you, “No, not while you’re… like that,” he rubs a hand on his face, gesturing frustratedly at you. He grabs a pillow and a sheet from the bed, laying on the decently sized couch in the room deciding it would be better to sleep away from you– considering the state you were in.

The blinding light coming from the window awoke you the following morning, your pulsating headache the only reminder of the night before. Lando was already awake, still laying on the couch typing away on his phone. He seemed to feel your gaze on him, “How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting up to get a better look at you, his voice filled with slight concern.

“I’ve felt better, can’t remember shit,” you admit, placing a hand on your forehead as if it would do anything to calm the pulsing headache.

“That's probably for the better,” he stares at you longingly, it's clear that he does remember whatever happened at the rehearsal dinner and your shared room, “we should begin getting ready, we can’t be late to Max and Kellys big day.” You wanted to press him for answers, force him to reveal the source of his distant attitude, but decided against it. Things couldn’t get more tense between you, especially not tonight.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

The wedding ceremony had been beautiful, Max had indeed cried almost as soon as Kelly began to make her way towards him. And even now as they sat together at the wedding reception you could catch the hint of a happy tear poke its way out of his eyes.

You felt Landos hand slip around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. He had remained by your side since the wedding ceremony, refusing to leave you for even a second. His actions felt less forced than they had previously felt. And as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear bits and pieces of the day prior began to escape the floodgates of your mind.

You let out a small giggle as Lando whispered into your ear, “stop it, you’re not acting like yourself. They’ll catch on,” his breath tickling you.

“I just love you so much,” you whispered back, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, giggling to yourself like a child. You’d never been big on PDA but in your drunken state you couldn’t seem to keep your hands and lips off of Lando.

“You too are adorable, as in love as when you first started dating– perhaps even more in love,” Alexandra said from beside Charles, smiling between you and Lando.

“Our love has definitely grown. We’re going to get married and have kids,” you leaned into Landos touch, your smile widening at Alexandra's words.

“Okay, you've had way too much to drink– I think it's time to go to bed. We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Lando announced to the table, shaking his head with a nervous laugh.

“Oh we’re sure you're gonna go to bed,” Daniel teased, causing the table to erupt in laughter.

“Hey, you okay?” Lando asked, concern written all over his face, his eyes dancing across your face.

“Yeah.”

“You spaced out, didn’t even react to what I said.”

“What did you say?” you asked, finally snapping out of the memory of the night prior.

He stared at you, his face still overtaken with concern, “I said, we sold the lie pretty good…” he whispered. If you didn’t know better you'd think he was upset, upset that it was all a show. For a moment he frowned, quickly smiling again, “Lets go dance,” he grabbed your hand, dragging you to the dance floor.

Lando placed his hands on your hips, pulling you close to him, moving you both to the rhythm of the song. He smiled tenderly at you, and everything began to blur into a confusing mess. You weren’t sure what was real and what was a lie fabricated to convince everyone that you were still madly in love. He played the role of loving boyfriend so well that you were beginning to fall for the charade too, you were starting to believe that he still loved you and had never stopped.

Your head found its way to his chest, resting there as if it were its official home. The both of you continued to silently sway to the music. The world around you seemed to disappear, almost as if you were the only ones that mattered at that moment. It was confusing how you felt so connected to him yet so far.

Lando rested his shin atop your head for a moment. He straightened out his back, bringing your dancing to a halt, hand reaching to grasp your chin so that you were staring at him. “Please tell me you’re not faking it,” he whispered, his eyes desperately searching yours, “tell you still love me. That you’ve meant every fleeting touch, every stolen glance, every kiss you’ve given me this weekend… please.”

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or his words that made the room around you spin, forcing you to grasp onto the jacket of his suit to stabilize yourself. The music you were dancing to just a moment ago now a murmured buzz in your ear. You wanted to be truthful, to admit that you had never stopped loving him and possibly never would. The look of desperation on his face urging you to confess your soul to him. “Of course I love you” you finally said aloud for the first time in months, relief instantly flooding his face.

Lando cupped your cheek, gently caressing it, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Neither of you had been faking anything, that much was clear as his lips found their place on top of your own. It was gentle, not rushed but relaxed, as if you had until the end of times to relish in each other's presence. He pulled away after a while, letting your lips hover– barely touching, breathing in each other's shaky breaths. “Do you think they’d notice if we left?” he asked, looking around the reception.

“No, everyone is focused on Max and Kelly.”

“Good,” he said, slightly out of breath as he led you towards the exit. You silently thanked Max and Kelly for choosing to have their wedding close to where you were all staying.

It didn't take you long to get back to your room, instantly finding each other in a heated kiss. Bodies pressing against one another as you desperately tried to get closer, almost as if you wanted to become one.

“Take this off,” Lando mumbled against your neck as he pulled at the zipper of your dress in a pitiful attempt to help you get undressed. You let the fabric pool on the floor, kicking off your heels, leaving you exposed to his hunger filled eyes.

“It's not fair that I’m completely naked you’re not,” you complained as he guided you towards the bed, gently pushing you onto it when the back of your knees hit the edge.

He tossed his suit jacket aside, his fingers attempting to quickly and smoothly unbutton his shirt, “better?” he asked as he was left shirtless.

You sat up for a moment, your hands working to rid him of his trousers, smiling and resting back on the bed when you finally succeeded, “Much better.”

Lando pressed himself against you, placing kisses down your neck, “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, your hands tangling themselves into his hair as you pulled him up for a kiss. It was much more rushed than the previous kisses had been, his teeth clashing against your own, your tongues pressing against one another. His hands ran up and down the expanse of your body before finding their new home atop your breasts, each one kneading at them.

You wrapped your hand around his wrist, pulling his hand down towards your pussy, gasping at his thumb rubbed against your clit. He pulled away from your lips, leaving you out of breath, kissing down your body. "Please,” you whispered as he positioned himself between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your thighs. Running his tongue up your slit, wrapping his lips on to your sensitive nub. Lando continued to switch between lapping at your cunt and sucking at your clit– teasing your entrance with his middle finger, slowly pushing it in. Encouraged by your moans and the wet squelching sound coming from between your thighs, he sped up his actions, swallowing at you like a starved man. You pushed against his head, back arching off the bed as your first orgasm of the night washed over you.

Lando pulled away, smiling up at you, “still know how to get you off,” he said smugly, pressing a quick kiss to your thigh.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you urged him, pulling him back up, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“But teasing you is so fun.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping your legs around him, quickly switching your position so that you were on top of him. “Don’t make me regret this,” you spat on your hand, taking his hard cock in your hand giving it a teasing jerk.

“Please don’t” he grunted, your finger running against his slit. Your brows drawn together in concentration as you lined him up to your entrance, letting out a shaky breath as sank down onto him. You took a moment to adjust to having him inside you, resting your hand against his chest to steady yourself as you lifted your hips and brought them back down. You let out a shaky breath as you began to ride him, guiding his hands up to your breasts and they bounced with your movement. You had forgotten how full it felt to have him within you– clenching around his cock as he sucked at one of your breasts, rolling the other nipple between his fingers.

Your pace faltered as you lost yourself in the pleasure, letting out loud gasps as Lando began to thrust up to meet your movements. He wrapped his hand around your hips, bringing them down harder to meet his thrusts. Landos pace increased as your nails dug into his chest, rhythm becoming sloppy as he felt his orgasm approach. “I should probably pull out,” he rasped but made no attempt to do so.

“It's okay, I'm on birth control,” you breathed out.

“Shit,” he stilled your movements, spilling inside of you, his fingers finding their way back to your clit in an attempt to pull another orgasm from you. Your head fell into the crook of his neck as you came for a second time. The room around you spinning slightly as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone?” he asked breathlessly, voice still shaky.

“Definitely.”

“Should we go back?”

“No,” you respond, lifting yourself off of Lando to lay beside him. You had no desire to redress and mingle at the reception after what had happened. You couldn't trust your feet to carry you for the rest of the night, especially when you still felt the dizzying effects of sex.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

They had noticed your absence, and they teased you relentlessly about it the few days after the wedding. You had reconciled with Lando, your relationship going back to the way it was before the stupid argument. And with that reconciliation came the confession, in which you confessed to everyone that you had briefly broken up. Although the break up had been entirely your fault, upon hearing the confession Carlos glared at Lando– muttering not so empty threats to him about not hurting you. You were certain he would have strangled Lando if you hadn’t reconciled.

You smiled up at Lando as you lounged in the living room, resting your head back onto his chest. He placed a lingering kiss on the stop of your head, wrapping his arms around you. This had been your reality since Max and Kellys wedding, pure bliss. You couldn’t experience and explore for one another every waking moment.

“I could stay like this forever,” Lando whispered into your hair, his grip around you tightening as if he were scared to lose you again. Or as if he thought this were a dream and you'd vanish at any moment with the simple sound of an alarm. But you were real and you weren’t going to lose one another again, you wouldn't allow that.

“Me too,” you whispered back, “I love you.”

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚

*ੈ✩‧₊˚Note: feel free to request something, Beware: I am slow at posting and have a lot of drafts that are yet to be posted. I'm like running on 4 hours of sleep and celsius, so I apologize for the grammar and spelling mistakes. I didn't do this request justice but I tried (I swear)

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promisingyounglady · 1 year ago

Text

accident. | JP x Reader

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.

WC: 3.6k

WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst

A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.

He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.

Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.

Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.

He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.

Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.

Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.

“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”

“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.

“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”

Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.

Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.

“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.

She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.

“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.

“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.

“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.

Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.

Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.

“Fucking hell.”

You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.

Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.

Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.

“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.

Javier was supposed to pick you up too.

But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself

You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.

Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.

What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.

You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.

You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.

You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.

—

Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.

When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.

Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.

The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.

Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”

Thwack.

An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.

“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.

Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.

“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.

Thwack. Thwack.

The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.

“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”

You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.

Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.

He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”

The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.

You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.

“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.

“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”

“Mi-”

“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.

Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.

You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.

“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.

“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.

You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”

Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.

You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”

The words pierce through Javier’s heart.

Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.

“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."

Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.

A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.

“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.

“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.

A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.

Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.

“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.

“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.

You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.

You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.

But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.

Now it was your turn to fuck things up.

Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.

Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.

You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.

You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.

“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.

Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.

“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.

That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.

“Javi, I’ll go get the-“

“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.

You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.

“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.

Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.

You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.

”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.

Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.

“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.

You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.

He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.

“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.

“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.

“Answer me, mama”

A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.

”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.

Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.

“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.

Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.

“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.

You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.

”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.

”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”

You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.

“Yes, Javier” you repeated.

He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.

It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.

You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.

“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.

“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.

You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.

“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.

“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.

“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.

“I know.” He says back gruffly.

Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.

“Merida”

You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.

”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.

Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.

You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.

Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.

“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.

Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.

You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.

It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.

Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.

“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.

He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.

He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.

“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.

You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.

Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.

You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.

“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.

You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”

You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”

You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.

You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.

Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.

4K notes · View notes

marsdql · 8 days ago

Text

his to keep. — p.sh [박성훈]

synopsis ៸ You always felt out of place—a life shaped by others, a future you never chose. Escape was your only dream, until even that was stolen from you. Then you met him, a stranger who looked like he'd actually listened. At first, his presence felt like fate. He offered freedom, a way out—but it came with a price. You followed him, hoping for escape. Instead, you found a different kind of cage. One you walked into willingly, only to realize too late: freedom was never the plan. You weren’t saved—you were claimed.

genre ៸ angst, scenes with slight smut, captivity, psychological thriller, stalker au, slow burn but i lowk rushed it..┊

wordcount ៸ 11k (for now?)┊

content warning ៸ sexually explicit content, manipulation, stalking, desperation, mental health issues, heavy guilt tripping, dumbification, isolation, fingering, slight praising, parental emotional abuse, kinda implied sex? (It’s not extreme), intimacy daydreaming, self blame, mentions of religion, obsession, bipolar reader and sunghoon, prob alot more so read at your own risk!┊

not proofread AT ALL ៸ ┊Ⳋ᧙ taglist: @nithxhoon @emmacyc @hoonprksung @cloud-lyy @s3ungh4nsgf @strxwbloody @ttulixia @whateverhoon @felireads @heesunghooney @va1entinaa @slvrnm @love4hee @semi-wife @azzy02 @sungbyhoonie @lilyofthevalley69 @itsmesofia @tnafzi @kristynaaah @jngwnlvs @girlwholovekpop ┊ this is not the full fic im js so stuck on what to do and i feel like it flopped so bad so give me ur feedback in the reqs… (REPOST FROM LAST NIGHT CUZ I FORGOT SOME WARNINGS hehe )

You realized something when you were 14—your life felt completely purposeless. Well, at least to you.

Your parents immigrated from another country, believing it would give you a better future—a better education. They thought being born and raised here would make life easier for you.

But in your opinion? That was the worst decision any parent could ever make.

Your closest cousins weren't even nearby. Your entire family lived across the world while you were stuck in a city built for nothing but work. This country was built for work—nothing else.

There was hardly anything to do; all you saw were fast food restaurants and endless rows of factories and corporate buildings.

You’d expect the yearly family trips to your hometown would solve your endless homesickness, but no—it was even worse. You never felt like you belonged there—only finally getting along with your relatives on the last days before your departure.

Growing up, everything was a routine; there was no life here. ‘Wake up. Go to school. Come back. Do more work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.’ That was your life. To make it better—your city barely had any activities or sports programs, the only ones available being for kids of ages 2-3. It was safe to say your life really was boring; all you could do was stay on your phone and wait for the time to pass by itself.

By the time you turned 16, you promised yourself that you’d leave the country the second you graduated high school—to get yourself into a good university in another country, somewhere that isn’t so boring or mentally draining, and enjoy life somewhere else—despite the fact you would’ve already wasted your teenage years.

Of course, your parents disapproved.

“But Mom! I’ve been talking to you about this since junior year—what do you mean I can’t go?! They literally accepted me!” You protested as you sat across from both your parents in the living room after checking your emails and looking over all the feedback you received from the universities you tried for.

“And? The school 15 minutes away from us accepted you as well.“ She replied, her words firm as her eyes wandered around the room, looking at everything—except you. She knew you only sent an application to that one because she forced you to—but she was determined to keep you here, isolated in this hellfire.

Your father remained quiet—like he always did. All he ever did was be quiet. He’d usually go upstairs the second things between you and your mother escalated—but this time, he was the one who helped the tension rise.

“You’re not going anywhere; we raised you here, and you’re going to stay here. You spent all your years getting the best grades in this country, and you’re just going to let it go like that? You can wait until you finish your education—then, do whatever you want—you can even leave off the face of the Earth for all that I care.”

Your mother tried holding back her smirk—amused that her husband finally spoke back to you for once in your life. Out of all times, he had to speak up now? Your father knew you best—he knew how much you wanted to leave because of how trapped you felt in this city, yet now it turns out that he’s the one who just ruined all your chances.

You sacrificed your teenage years over the past four years so you could enjoy your 20s—but now it looks like you’ll be wasting those too.

And just like that, you’re back to the life you were given by your parents. You sit in the last lecture of the day—thinking about anything but the homework your professor just provided. A part of you wanted to give up—to follow the path your parents gave you. They’re only doing it because they want what's best for you, right?

You were always hyper-aware—always knew what was happening, what was right for you, and what wasn’t. You were never naive, never blind to the truth. And you hated that about yourself. You’d daydream about innocence, about not knowing the things you learned too young. It made you sick, the way you were always informed, always a step ahead. It wasn’t wisdom—it felt like a curse. You felt as if you lacked femininity.

You sat there, surrounded by voices that never reached you and desks filled with people who never saw you. The teacher nagged, the clock ticked, and you sat in your seat like your skin wasn’t too tight and your chest wasn’t caving in. You kept thinking—maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe someday you’ll feel like you belong, like this cycle was worth repeating. But deep down, you always knew the truth. This city isn’t home—it never was. This life isn’t yours. And you’re just a placeholder in a world that never waited for you to catch up; life was too fast but too draining for you to run after it.

You couldn’t do anything about the way you were living; you knew you had to accept it and live your life the way it is. Your mother always told you, “If I can make sacrifices, you can too; don’t cry over spilt milk.” And maybe that’s where it started, where the milk wasn’t only spilt but also curdled, spoiled way long before it hit the floor—like the kind of love that looks warm but turns out to be burning when you try to hold it.

They did it all for you—gave up everything, their lives, their hopes, just so you could come here and learn. And the older you got, the more you understood that they were right. You couldn’t complain anymore. What was there to say when their sacrifices hung over you like a weight you could never shake off? They made it all for you, so now you have to live with it. You tried—god, you tried—to pick up the spilt milk, to filter out the rotten taste, to make it something you could swallow. But it never worked. It was always the same—stale, bitter, and forever tasting like something you could never undo.

The class ended, your thoughts still stuck to your skin as you walked to the train station. You analyzed everyone there waiting. Everyone was doing their own thing, some giggling with their friends while others scrolled through their phones—piano music flooding the subway as the train got closer and closer.

You recognized some faces in which they didn’t recognize you; it was crazy to think how they all had different lives now. They no longer knew what you had for breakfast today, and you didn’t know their newest favorite color.

You hopped onto the bus, hoping to find a seat, the reason for your stop being one of the last. When you were little, you were scared of sitting next to anyone on public transport—but now, you’d sit next to a bum if it meant being able to sit. Life wasn’t as important to you anymore for you to wonder who you’re sitting next to.

“You’ve been mumbling to yourself for a while now, huh?”

Said the man you hadn’t even realized was next to you.

“Huh?” You replied, your brain still foggy from how deep in thought you were.

“I said, ‘You’ve been talking to yourself for a long time.” He repeated, his face blank, not a single thought painted on his pale face.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was talking out loud, I guess.” You unapologetically muttered, uninterested in continuing the conversation after your apology.

“Hey, I wasn’t asking for an apology; it’s okay. Looks like you’ve woken up on the wrong side of the bed today, aye?” He joked, his foot lightly tapping under the seat in front of him.

You furrowed your brows—if only he knew that your entire bed was flipped over—you’ve been waking up on the wrong side of your bed for years now. You stayed silent, your face facing the front of the train but still being able to spot him stare at you from the corner of your eyes.

A few moments later, he nudged you to move because it was his stop. Before he approached the exit door, he whispered something near your ear. “You’re waiting for someone to care, but you’ll find that it’s you who needs to start.”

You didn’t respond to the man. You barely nodded; you simply watched him leave the train, your eyes stuck to the window. You could see him more clearly now—he was tall, not too tall, but tall. His body was as pale as his face, and his frame was oddly slim. He was wearing a surprisingly formal suit for being in a rusted train. His glasses hung loosely off the bridge of his nose.

Your chest suddenly ached in that too familiar way. It was as if your heart was filled with your tears—leaking through all the cracks. A tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another. Until you were crying—not sobbing, nor gasping for air, just silent crying because you knew that he was right–if you really wanted to enjoy this life, you had to make yourself like it.

The days passed quicker than you expected; every day you’d find yourself in a different environment—not to study, not to find new people, but to complain about your life. Hopefully changing places will ease your hatred for this town, maybe make you enjoy complaining in a different space—which it never did.

You just got dropped off at the local library, books in your hands, cell phone in one pocket, and your last ounce of motivation in the other. You told your mother that you were going to study for your exams four months in advance–when in reality, you were just going to waste your time writing about all your weird fantasies about running away from home with a young gentleman.

You never had a proper love life. You tried to get yourself out there at the start of highschool but gave up after realizing what all boys wanted–‘gross!’ you thought to yourself. Despite that, you still constantly wished for someone to be there for you, someone to hold you, to baby you, to feel like you belonged to someone.

There was no point of trying in any of your studies—it’s not like you wanted to do them here anyway. You spend your days writing about the future. All your sheets are filled with concerning doodles that only consisted of random words you thought and heard of during the class, ‘to-do’ lists that you never followed, your name written 1000 times on a single paper and most importantly, pathetic things like ‘should I buy a dog or cat when I move to—’.

You rambled about everything except your studies, you were never like this—not until you found out you’d be stuck here, not until you were molded—not by force, but expectation of who your parents wanted you to be. You knew deep down that you acted like this in hopes for your parents to suffer—to see that you can’t be their smart girl if she’s in a place she hates. When in reality, the only person you injured was yourself and your future.

“Life doesn’t always come your way, if you keep hating it then it won’t ever change—god y/n, I pray for the man who’ll take you.” Your mother would always tell you, completely convinced that taking care of someone as naive and stubborn as you was an unbearable experience.

You continued your nonsense in your journal, by now you’ve purchased at least 50 journals in your lifetime–each one only getting half way filled before deciding to throw it out. Suddenly, to your surprise, you spot something from the corner of your eye. It wasn't the faces you saw everyday on campus, nor the librarian that’s been working here for the past 15 years, but a familiarly tall silhouette.

It was him–again.

You scanned the man's face as his eyes scanned over books in an empty ‘True Crime’ section. To your surprise, he quickly lifted his face and blankly stared at you, his eyes filled with no emotion just like the first time you saw him. You jumped back to your book, hoping he hadn’t remembered you–to which you quickly realised that he did.

He slowly approached himself towards you–and for once, you found your heart beating rapidly, your thoughts melting with each other as you thought of what he wanted to tell you. Your eyes glued back to your journal, pretending to scribble onto the rant-filled paper.

“ What's this, hm?” He said, ready to mock the scene in front of him. He grabbed your journal from the table and—“Diary? ‘Reasons I should live in–’”

“Give it back—what the heck!” You whisper—yelled as you attempted to retrieve your “diary” without making a commotion in the silent library. “What are you doing? Who are you?” You continued to let anything come out of your mouth in fear that he’d realised how scared you were of him talking to you.

But it was too obvious—I mean, he obviously knew. He knew that you knew who he was. It was written all over his face—for once. He had a smirk up to his ears, it was scary. You could feel your pupils shaking as you tried to hold contact with his eyes.

He wasn’t ugly, but his expression was terrifying. His eyes were slightly squinted, the smirk carved permanently into his face. His skin stayed pale, and his height made you nearly break your neck trying to look up at him while sitting down.

You snatched back your journal, clutching it like it held every sin you committed in this world, like every secret you never meant to share.

“Who are you?” You asked again—this time, not out of fear, but desperation.

He leaned down, just enough to be at eye level with you. “Don’t act like you don’t remember me, it’s written all over your face.”

Your eyes widened, not because of the fact that he did in fact remember you and knew that you did too—but because of his boldness that you would’ve never expected from such a cold-looking figure.

You stared at him, always quick with a response—but in that moment, words failed you, caught and silenced deep in your throat.

You tried blinking away the fear—which only added to it. The odd man silently walked away from you—and for some reason, you couldn’t rip your eyes off of him. The farther he got, the more your eyes tried following him. It’s like you couldn’t get yourself to look away, you wanted to know who he was, where he was going, what he wanted from you.

The thought of him was what kept you up at night. The only thing you knew about him is his appearance, no more. You didn’t know why he said those things to you on the train, nor why he suddenly came up to you at the library—just to leave without doing anything except attempting to read whatever you were writing on your book that day.

For the longest time, you’ve been thinking about such weird thoughts—this adding to it. You recall the stop he dropped off when you were on the train. It was on the western, more old-fashioned side of town. A town where you could be lost in a field with no escape. You thought about him for a while, maybe it was a coincidence and he just wanted to scare you, maybe it was all in your head from all the odd things you’ve been recently fantasising about.

You already lived in a boring city—might as-well let it be spooky and boring, right?

You suddenly felt a weird amount of comfort with the interaction. ‘it’s been a while’ you thought to yourself in shame as you reached down to your sleep shorts.

Your days felt endless yet you couldn’t remember experiencing any of them. It’s been a week since you saw that man.

Part of you wanted to see him again, to get the courage to talk to him. Not because you were really attracted to him, of course. That’s what you said to yourself, again. You had no idea why you got so obsessed with him despite how sensitive you’d be if it were someone else saying the harsh words he told you on the train that day. Maybe because you forgot the feeling of love, not only to love—but of being loved.

But this wasn’t love, this was obsession. Filled with lust and the idea you created of him in your fantasies based off of the two interactions—and the two others you created—with him, your dream man.

Late nights never went well with you, this night being another one of them. You find yourself sitting on a pile of rocks across the lake near your school. Of course your city didn’t have a beach, nor at least a nice sunset to go with your solo hangout. You did this often, sitting by the lake and watching the subtle movements of the water created by the wind.

Instead of doing any of your school work, you spent your time thinking about things you shouldn’t, right here, on the ground you were at currently.

But you weren’t always like this. You did once like school—or at least the idea of it. You did try hard in school, when you had planned your life to death. You knew what you wanted:

Graduate high school. Move to a country you fancy. Get your career together and maybe move to another country when you’re done. Get married. Move back to your hometown when you grow too old to function, die on the land of your ancestors and hope for the people of the land to visit your grave and pray for you.

All of a sudden, you heard footsteps, loud ones.

Nobody ever comes here this late.

“No. No, no. No..” you muttered to yourself, panicking. “I promise god, I’ll pray—just let me off this once, I can’t die in a muddy lake. Maybe from a plane crash, or at least in the woods but not this…”

The sound of large footsteps just kept getting louder and louder as the creature got closer to you.

“Do you ever stop talking to yourself?”

Euh?

“Oh.” You slowly removed your hands from your face, in disbelief.

Unfortunately, you could remember that voice from the few times you heard it.

“Get up.” He said, firmly. You stood up awkwardly, your back still facing him. He was quick to wrap a jacket around you. You flinched a bit at the sudden contact when his fingertips brushed against your shoulders, you wondered what he was doing here—again—near you.

Before you have the chance to face him and ask the question, he beats you to it—“what are you doing here in the dark, isn’t it too late for you to be out in the cold?”.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t feeling a bit offended by his question. Was he mocking you? “Too late for you.” What did that mean? Is he calling you too young? Not independent enough? Was it because you were a woman?

You quickly turn around and reply back, unable to hide the anger that was slowly starting to rise in your voice, “Who are you? What do you want from me and why do I keep seeing you?”. You stumbled a bit on your words as you tried to fit all your questions about this man before he disappears like he always does.

He didn’t respond, you tried squinting your eyes to see his facial expression in the dark—but nothing was clear—or maybe it was that his facial expression was completely blank.

The cold clung to your skin like it had grown into it. Your clothes were damp from the lake’s air, the moisture seeping into your bones, making your limbs feel heavier with each passing minute. When he grabbed your hand—his touch warmer than the wind biting your fingertips—it wasn’t the shock of it that startled you. It was how natural it felt. As if you’d held that hand before in a dream you couldn’t remember, in a life you didn’t live.

You didn’t fight it.

You should’ve, but you didn’t.

He didn’t speak again. Not when he walked you out of the place, not when your shoes squelched in the wet soil and fake sand from the government, not even when you passed by the rusted gates leading out of the lake area. His jacket hung around your shoulders like a protective shell, and the warmth in it wasn’t his—it was yours now, stolen without permission.

You both stood silently at the bus stop for a while, until you looked at the time and remembered the trains were almost done running.

“I… I should get back before the trains stop,” you finally muttered, your voice so low you weren’t sure if it came out at all. Your offended-mad tone completely fading away into a shy one.

“You’re not going home like that,” he replied quickly, decisively. “You’re still wet. It’s freezing, and you’re trembling.”

You didn’t know what answer you were supposed to give to that. Yes, he was right, but since when did strangers get to tell you what to do?

He stepped a bit closer, and though your first instinct was to recoil, you didn’t. You couldn’t. He towered over you, and yet something about his presence didn’t press you down. It surrounded you. Made you feel small, yes—but safe, even in the dark. Maybe that was the most dangerous part of all.

“I know this sounds weird,” he added, “but just… come here.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He opened his arms, slowly, like he was offering—not demanding. You stood still for a moment, unsure of what exactly was happening. But your heart beat louder than your thoughts, and something inside you collapsed quietly. Your body moved on its own.

You stepped into him, into the circle of his arms, and let yourself be held.

And for once, you didn’t have to beg your thoughts to be quiet—they just… were. The hug silenced them.

The sound of passing cars, the cold flicking at your skin, the wind playing with the loose strands of your hair—it all blurred away in his arms. You leaned into his chest, your ear pressed against his coat. His heartbeat was calm. Too calm. It made you feel ridiculous for how your own heart was racing like a trapped bird.

“What would your parents think if they saw you like this?” he said quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself.

Your stomach tightened.

“I… don’t know,” you mumbled. “I don’t think they’d be very proud.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then, “Tell them you’re at a friend’s house.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your brows furrowed. “What?”

“Text them. Tell them you’re sleeping over at a friend’s place. Stay with me for a bit. Just to warm up. Then I’ll drop you back.”

He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like you didn’t grow up being told not to trust people. Like he wasn’t a stranger with too many unanswered questions clinging to him.

“I… I can’t just go with you,” you whispered, pulling away more. “I don’t even know your name.”

He stared at you for a second, then turned, walking a few steps toward the approaching train. “Then don’t think of it like going with a stranger. Think of it like taking a break from yourself.”

You stood frozen, the weight of his words hitting places you didn’t even know were exposed.

You didn’t reply. You didn’t move. You just stood there.

The train came, doors opening with their usual mechanical sigh. He walked in without looking back, but he didn’t go far. He stopped at the nearest seat, turned halfway to you, and waited.

You told yourself: No.

You whispered it in your head: No, I’m not doing this. I’m going home.

But your feet stepped forward.

The warmth of the train wrapped around you like a blanket you hadn’t asked for. Your fingers clenched. You kept your eyes low as you sat beside him. Your body didn’t tremble, but your thoughts did.

You stared at your phone. The screen glowed too bright. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

This is insane.

This is not what people do.

You typed: Sleeping at Samira’s house. Love you. And hit send.

The silence was thick.

You tried to stay alert—force your body to stay upright. But you’d been tired for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years.

The city lights blurred past the windows.

You rested your head against the cold glass.

Just a break. That’s what he said. Just for tonight. Just until I feel better. Just until I figure out how to leave.

The warmth of the train felt unreal. Too bright. Too sharp. You sat beside him, your body curled slightly from the chill in your limbs. He didn’t speak, just took out a spare towel—yes, a real towel—from his backpack and tossed it onto your lap like he’d done it before, like he expected this.

“Why… Do you have this?” you asked softly, the towel already soaking up the cold from your clothes.

“I always have towels in my bag. You never know when someone’s going to sit near a lake and decide to fall asleep with wet hair.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

You turned your head slowly toward him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look smug. He just looked forward, out the window, like everything was ordinary.

The silence between you both wasn’t awkward. It was thick. Too heavy to cut. Your thoughts danced again, back to what you were doing. Back to why. This wasn’t safe. It wasn’t rational. Your parents would be horrified. Hell, you were horrified.

And yet, when the train reached the station—the one where you first saw him leave that night on the train weeks ago—you stepped out after him, your feet like anchors on a sinking ship.

You expected a neighborhood. A house. Lights. Something.

But there was nothing. Just a long strip of concrete, and at the end of it, a car.

Black. Sleek. Empty of sound.

You hesitated. “This… this is where you live?”

He laughed softly. “No. This is just where I park.”

He opened the passenger side for you, the small light above the seat flickering to life. You didn’t move.

He tilted his head. “You’re safe. You can say no. You always could.”

That stung. Because you knew it was true. You could say no–but you didn’t.

You stepped in.

The door shut softly behind you. The inside of the car was warm—not just heated, but cozy. Blankets in the back. More towels stacked near the seat. Snacks. A charger. A phone mount.

It was like he lived here.

He didn’t start the car immediately. Just looked at you for a second. “Seatbelt.”

You clicked it in. You didn’t want to talk. You couldn’t. Every part of your body was trembling, not from fear—but from confusion.

He drove quietly. The streets are blurred by streaks of amber light. The radio played something soft—piano again. Always piano.

The towel warmed up against your thighs. Your hair was still damp, stuck to your cheeks. You felt the warmth from the vents sink into your skin, making you realize just how cold you had really been.

And then, for reasons you couldn’t explain, you started to cry.

Not hard. Not loud. Just… quiet, steady tears that slipped down your cheeks like they had a life of their own.

You didn’t want him to notice, but of course he did.

He reached into the glove compartment and handed you a small packet of tissues without a word.

That somehow made you cry harder.

You didn’t know when it happened—but somewhere along the drive, your eyes grew too heavy to fight. Your muscles relaxed, your mind finally dimmed. The last thing you remembered before sleep took you was the way he reached back and gently tugged a blanket from the backseat to drape over your lap.

It was soft. Too soft. It didn’t belong in a car.

Not a blanket like that—stitched with tiny patterns, smelling faintly like lavender and dryer sheets. It felt like something out of a childhood memory, not the backseat of a man’s vehicle.

Your fingers curled into it without thinking. It was warm, and that was dangerous. You weren’t supposed to feel this safe. You weren’t supposed to want to stay.

He didn’t say anything, just kept driving. The piano from the radio faded into something ambient—barely there, like silence that hummed.

You let your head tip toward the window again.

Then it started: the heaviness in your limbs. The kind that doesn’t come from sleep, but from somewhere deeper. Your breath slowed. Your eyelids fluttered. You knew you shouldn’t fall asleep. You knew it. But the blanket was too soft. The car was too warm. His presence was too quiet.

your body didnt ask for permission, it just..shut down.

You didn’t feel yourself being carried. Or moved. No footsteps. No doors.

Just blackness—thick and unbothered. A softness beneath your back. A whisper of fabric against your cheek. The distant hum of a room too still.

Gentle, but enough to wake you. You wake to the soft tumble of light through sheer curtains. Your chest tightens in confusion as your fingers brush unfamiliar fabric—white lace, delicate, too pristine. You sit up—the plush pillows swirl around you. Whose bed am I in?

Waves of dizziness hit. Your hair was braided—neat and tidy—is pulled loose from the night side-table, threads falling down like ghosts of what happened. You refuse its tightness. The braid comes undone, cascading around your shoulders in unruly waves. Your fingers shake; the air feels thick as if secrets are vibrating in it.

The room is immaculate—silent but for the faint hum of the city far below. Every surface gleams, untouched by mess or life. Too clean to be human. A smell of fresh linens, soft electronics, and a scent you can’t place but feel stirred by. It unnerves you deeper than the fear already knotting your stomach.

The door opens. He steps in: grey sweats, plain white T-shirt—casual, entirely unlike the suited man from before. The contrast is jarring: here is him, familiar but broken. The same pale frame; the glassed silhouette; his presence always towering yet somehow hollow. Your heart twists with the weight of recognition.

You stir enough to slide sideways—too weak to stand. Your hand touches the edge of the mattress, sliding almost to the ground, but he’s there. His arm wraps around your waist; his hand supports the small of your back. You cling to him, blinking away the world.

“Don’t… I’m dizzy,” you murmur.

He lifts you gently to a sitting position. His hand stays near your rib cage, steadying you.

“Let it out,” he whispers, voice soft and trembling. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Tears begin—at first tiny beads at the corner of your eyes, then wetness rolling down. You try to swallow the sobs, but your throat refuses. If you cried this much around your parents, they’d be yelling at you right now, reminding you that you’re known as “the daughter with a frown permanently plastered on her face.” The bed dips as he leans in, supporting your weight and smelling of clean fabric and something like… relief? Guilt?

“Why…” you choke out between shudders, hot tears trailing. “What do you want from me?”

He releases a breath so gentle it might be your own. “I know you,” he finally says, expression blank yet somehow imploring. “I know you, more than you know yourself.”

“What?” You whisper, voice raw. “We’ve only met twice.”

He brushes a tear from your cheek. “I’ve been watching. Not like a stranger—you’re not invisible to me.”

You shrink back. “That sounds… stalkerish.”

He nods, glancing to the window at the city tick-tocking down below. “I know. But you’re so muted. So afraid of relationships, afraid of trusting. I see in you everything you don’t see in yourself.”

Your legs tremble; you wrap them beneath you. You pull at the lace, self-conscious. “I… I don’t know why I’m still crying.”

“Because there’s more inside you than what you live,” he says softly. “And you’ve never been shown it, but trust me, I see it all.”

“How… How is this helping me?” You sniff, lifting your chin. “You don’t know me. Why do you care?”

His eyes flick down to his lap as if searching for words. “I do know you now,” he says, voice low. “You’re hurting. You’ve made this life smaller than you are.”

You shake your head. “Life… my parents, this city… I’m trapped. You dont know anything about me.”

He meets your gaze. “I know it all, I really do, I know you. What if you could go anywhere? What if you could live anywhere, study anywhere, love… you can do all that. But you need someone to guide you. Someone like me.”

You stiffen; your chest constricts. “Why you?”

“I’m offering you more than this life. I’m offering you a choice.”

Your walls shake. You curl deeper into the pillow, scanning the vast room again. You see—in the corner—a grand piano, silent. A desk with travel brochures. A suitcase half open, clothes laid out. It’s not a set: it’s a promise. Or a trap.

Tears come again. But this time they’re soaked with rage and relief and fear. You whisper, “Promise.”

He nods. “Go anywhere. Leave tomorrow if you want. I’ll put everything in place. A plane ticket, a place to live. Friends to talk to.”

You sit so still you might be a statue, broken open on its pedestal. Hunched as if aching to crawl inward but also to leap outward.

“How do I know you’re not just another expectation? Another sacrifice like my parents’?”

He reaches up, brushing your hair back behind your ear, careful yet tender. “Because I want you to be free—from their sacrifice and mine. And I can’t do it alone.”

Silence stretches. Bangkok, New York, Rome—your dreams flicker, teased by his quiet confession. The city hums far below, but here in this penthouse, you feel the pulse of your own heartbeat again.

“What’s your name?” you murmur.

He hesitates, looks stunned. “I’m… Sunghoon.”

Your heart stutters. Recognition blooms. After all this time. Sung Hoon.

He watches you, waiting.

You shift. “…Okay.”

He exhales a soft tremor. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

The room is dim, lit only by the gold flicker of a lamp tucked in the far corner. The walls hum with silence. The kind that makes you realize how long it’s been since you heard anything else—no traffic, no hallway voices, not even the buzz of your own ringtone.

You don’t know where your phone is.

You haven’t asked. You haven’t even thought about it.

That alone should terrify you.

But it doesn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

It’s been days… maybe more. You’ve stopped counting.

He feeds you, gently—sometimes even sits beside you, watching as if making sure you finish every bite. Not in a forceful way, not exactly. But in a way that leaves no space for skipping meals. His voice stays soft, like velvet against your nerves, lulling, unshakably calm. He lets you sleep in his bed. Alone.

You never used to sleep through the night.

Now you don’t even dream.

And you don’t ask why either.

A necklace rests against your collarbone, cold and delicate. You woke up with it one morning, clasped perfectly around your neck, like it had always been there. Angel wings, silver. Small, dainty. Too intimate to be a gift… too quiet to be a warning.

You should’ve woken up when he put it on. You know you should have. You always do when there's a slight noise or movement in the room.

You didn’t. You just woke up in the morning, saw it, accepted it.

Now, he steps into the room again. The door creaks the way it always does. It’s night—again. Maybe it always is. Maybe that’s just when he chooses to appear.

He’s wearing what he’s been wearing almost every time lately: grey sweats, white plain t-shirt. No cologne, no jewelry, no pretense. Just soft fabric and bare feet on marble floors.

He sees you and smiles like you belong here.

“Hey, angel,” he says.

You flinch at the name. Not because you’re scared of it. But because you’re starting to like it. And you hate that. He’s been calling you names since forever–and he just keeps adding. It started with Sweetheart, then baby, now angel.

“Hi,” you answer, quietly.

He walks over, no urgency in his steps, no hesitation. He sits at the edge of the bed like it’s his, like you’re his. Not in a way that screams ownership—just quiet confidence, like he already knows the answer to a question you haven’t asked.

He notices your fingers absently grazing the necklace.

“You never asked where that came from,” he says, voice low.

Your throat tightens. “I… figured it was from you.”

“Mhm, It was,” he confirms. “Put it on while you were sleeping.”

You blink. “I’m a light sleeper.”

“Not here, you’re not.”

The room feels smaller. Like the walls lean in a little every time he speaks. You believed his words, youre not a light sleeper here, you barely even dream here.

“I don’t get it,” you whisper. “Why are you doing this? Why—me?” You ask for the millionth time, it's like you never understand what he means when he gives you an answer.

He tilts his head like he’s looking at something breakable. “Because I know what you are. What you need.”

“But you don’t know me,” you murmur.

“I know what the world did to you,how it treated you,” he replies. “I know how hard it is to keep running from it. To keep pretending you’re not tired of it. You’re safe here. You’ve never had that before.”

You shake your head, but your voice betrays you. “You don’t know what I’ve had.”

“I know what you haven’t had,” he counters softly. “Someone to slow you down. Someone who actually watches. Who listens. Who takes care of you.”

“You—” Your voice falters. You want to say he took you. That this is all wrong. That you need to leave. But the words feel far away, blurry. Like you buried them somewhere days ago and forgot to mark the spot.

Instead, your voice breaks into a whisper: “I don’t even remember how I got here.”

He nods, as if he expected that. “Sometimes, that’s a good thing.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

He leans forward, careful not to touch. “Do you feel scared right now?”

You hesitate.

Do you?

You should.

But the bed is soft. The light is warm. The air smells like clean linen and something vaguely sweet. There’s no lock on the door—at least, not one you’ve seen. You’ve been alone in this room. But you never tried to leave. Not once.

“I don’t know,” you finally say.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to know anything right now. You just have to be here, with me, angel.”

And that’s the terrifying part.

You are. You’re still here.

And you don’t know if it’s because you’re trapped—or because part of you doesn’t want to leave anymore.

The room is silent, drenched in a soft lamplight. It’s night again—the hour when the shadows seem thickest. Its like a loop, you only recall the memories of the morning and night time--nothing else. He sets a mug of steaming tea on the bedside table, the scent a sharp mix of herbs and bitterness. “For your cold,” he murmurs, voice low and firm, “even if you say you don’t feel it.”

The tea glimmers in the dim light. He always brings it at night, everyday, without a doubt. Always tells you the lake’s chill brought on a sickness. But tonight… Tonight you know the truth. It’s disgusting—it tastes like dried leaves soaked in bitter water.

You lift the mug, knowing what will happen if you refuse. His expression shifts—gentle calm snapping into tension. He demands you drink. You nod, too tired to argue, too afraid to defy him.

But tonight, something flickers inside you. A spark. You bring the mug to your lips, let only a tiny sip slip in. You swallow hard—gulping fierce, fierce enough to convince him. The rest sits in your mouth, pooling thick. When he looks away, you tilt your head slightly, pushing it down your throat. You try to replicate the fake swallow—sharp inhale, throat tightening—until it drips down your chin.

He’s watching you, voice low, “You did it?”

You nod, voice cracking with effort. “Yes.”

He smiles—an expression so small, so predatory, it makes your blood run cold. “Good angel.” His voice is almost tender as he reaches to wipe the spill from your chin.

Later, under the wide duvet, you lie as far from him as you can—the invisible line in the middle of the bed. It feels like a trap, a boundary you’re both painfully aware of. Sleep should come easily; instead, memories swirl like restless currents.

You remember the nights you stayed out (sometimes under lamplight, sometimes over your textbooks) trying to study for exams, threading through anxiety and exhaustion—knowing that even if you slept early, you’d wake up still aching for more time. That feeling of dread, pinned to your chest like a stone—that’s what the bed’s reminding you of.

You watch him breathe—light, steady. You think he’s asleep. Even the blanket’s untouched on his side. No phone on the nightstand. No cozy ritual of drifting off. You hear only his quiet inhalations.

So you pretend to sleep too—closing your eyes, still. Your breath matches his. You try to make yourself look at home, harmless. Maybe if you pretend long enough, he’ll doze again.

But you can’t sleep. Your skin feels sticky, uncomfortable, as if every pore is burning. You shift under the duvet and slip out of bed quietly, careful not to make even the slightest rustle.

The apartment hallways are unlit, clean, controlled. You wander, every footstep echoing slightly—too loud. You pass heavily furnished rooms: the kitchen, the sitting area, all immaculate and organized. A scent of antiseptic lingers somewhere in the air.

Then… a door. Slightly ajar. You push it open with trembling fingers.

Inside is a cabinet—neat, pristine. Rows and rows of pill bottles. Thousands of them, lined up in order, labels facing front. Vitamins, antibiotics, sedatives, who knows what else. A lullaby of possibility, of poison.

Panic swells. You stare—hands curled at your sides. You feel so small.

Suddenly, the air shifts. He’s there—door closed behind him. His eyes are wide, fixed. Not sleepy anymore. They look… focused. Piercing.

He watches you. You feel the lies in your chest, bubbling up.

“I… I wasn’t sleeping,” you whisper. “I—I felt off. I tried to find the tea to make myself more… comfortable.”

He steps forward—the room feels smaller. “You didn’t drink it tonight,” he says softly. He knows.

Your throat closes. You lift your hands in a silent surrender.

He steps closer, scanning your face. “You lied.”

You tremble. No strength left. You’re overwhelmed by guilt, humiliation, and fear.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. “I—I couldn’t drink it.”

He watches you. The silence is long enough to suffocate you.

Then, with a nod, he turns back to the pills. “Good,” he says quietly. “You let me know.”

You’re not sure why relief washes over you. Maybe because it broke the illusion. You’re not trapped… yet not free. You realize, in that moment, the trust he’s still fostering is slipping away.

Days have passed. You haven’t touched the tea since that night. Not once. You sense that Sunghoon knows—every subtle look, every shift in tone. You also realize he doesn’t seem to mind. Not anymore.

You feel… more awake now. No longer the naive, drifting girl you were almost completely drifting into, you were the same y/n that was always aware of everything again. It’s reminding you how much you long for life beyond his walls. Your parents taught you your entire life to avoid strangers, it feels weird to think you’re with a stranger right now and don’t feel anything. You imagined it to be a horror-movie type of scary, but it feels normal—almost as if you’ve known him already.

One afternoon, the walls feel too tight. You stand in front of the door, heart pounding with determination. You twist the handle—locked. You jiggle it—locked. Your breath quickens as you notice each lock, deadbolt, chain, tightly engaged. Panic surges through your veins. You press your back against the door to steady yourself. The apartment, once comforting, now feels like a gilded cage.

Your pulse races. Your palms sweat. Fear & clarity mix inside you, aching to break free. Sunghoon told you the whole point of him taking you was to let you free, so why were you locked here?

Suddenly, behind you—click. The door opens. Sunghoon steps in, face calm, but his eyes are charged.

“Where are you going?” he asks, voice cool.

“…I wanted fresh air,” you whisper, voice trembling between fear and resolve.

He steps through the doorway, blocking you from stepping out. His gaze sharpens. His hand hovers near your wrist.

“Fresh air?” he repeats. “You don’t need to leave.”

“I—my family…” you choke out. “I just want to see them. I could come back.”

He laughs softly—mocking, but carefully measured. “Your family?” His smile is soft but cruel. “Who? Those people who don’t care about you? You have no family. Do you think they’ve been caring for you like I have?”

You hear tears in your own voice as you say, “I just… want fresh air.”

He breathes out—soft. He reaches forward and gently pulls you into his arms, easing you away from the door. He holds you, rocking you just enough to hush your tension. You feel the warmth of his chest, the rhythm of his steady breath.

“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I am your family.”

You let the tears fall softly—quiet sobs at first, then heavy. You hug him back, desperate for comfort. A part of you wonders if this is relief or defeat.

A few moments later, he guides you to a dresser—selects a white silk dress, smooth and simple. Without a word, he helps you change, guiding your arms through its delicate sleeves, adjusting it so it hugs your form. The fabric is cool, whisper-soft against your skin.

He moves beside you as if reading your thoughts. “Come with me,” he says in that soft tone you remember. But now, it carries a command.

You step out, pressing the silk against your legs. He holds your hand. It’s warm and firm. You wonder if you could let go, but something in your chest still aches for his presence, even as it trembles with fear.

The elevator hums, descends, opens onto the hall. And then—finally—you step outside into the world again.

The sun is muted, the afternoon breeze tender on your skin, bright and real. You follow him into a nearby park. You’re aware of walking people—families laughing, dogs running free, children on swings. It’s a sensation you didn’t remember missing until it’s in front of you.

He leads you to a bench shaded by an old oak. He keeps hold of your hand, thumb gently stroking your knuckles. You breathe more deeply than you have in ages.

He watches you. “See? You’re okay,” he says softly.

You nod, the tears still roaming your cheeks. The breeze stirs the silk around your ankles. You rest your head against his shoulder for a moment. You feel safe—terrifyingly safe.

The world doesn’t feel as clear, but you feel alive again.

Whether it means healing—or walking toward a different kind of cage—you can’t tell yet. But you can remember feeling the sun and breeze again. And maybe that is enough, for now.

The air wrapped around you both as you walked slowly. You pointed at the ice cream cart nearby, eyes hopeful.

“Can we get some ice cream?” you asked softly.

Sunghoon’s hand gripped yours tighter, almost painfully, silently shutting you down.

Then his phone buzzed, sharp and sudden. He pulled it out, pressing it to his ear.

“Yeah?” His voice was clipped but steady.

A voice from the other end spoke quickly. “Where are you? We’re waiting.”

“I told you, I’m busy right now.” Sunghoon’s tone hardened.

“We planned this,” the voice argued softly. “Just hang out for a bit.”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. “I said I can’t talk. Not now.”

There was a pause, tension tightening the silence.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Tell them I’ll be at the usual place in twenty.”

The call ended abruptly.

He looked down at you, eyes sharper now. “My friends are coming. You don’t speak unless I say so.”

You nodded, your throat tight.

Minutes later, three men approached through the shadows of the park.

One stepped forward confidently, tall and lean with a sharp smile.

“Sunghoon! Long time no see,” he said, clapping Sunghoon on the shoulder.

Another leaned casually against a lamppost, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Hey man, looks like you’ve got company,” he said, nodding toward you.

The third, quieter but watchful, adjusted his jacket and gave you a curious glance.

Sunghoon’s arm stayed protectively around you.

One of the men looked at you directly, amused.

“So, who are you?” he asked, voice low but friendly.

You murmured, “Hi.”

The tall one smiled warmly. “I’m Heeseung,” he said, extending a hand. “Good to meet you.”

The casual one stepped forward, grinning. “Jake.”

The quieter one nodded. “And I’m Jay.”

You shook their hands, still unsure, but their easy manner made your heart slow a bit.

Suddenly, you looked back at the ice cream cart, longing bubbling up again.

“Can we please get some ice cream?” you whispered to Sunghoon.

He shook his head firmly. “No.”

Jake laughed, stepping closer. “Hey, just let her go. What’s the harm?”

Sunghoon hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll go with her.”

But Heeseung stopped him with a raised hand, smirking.

“Wait. Let her go alone,” Heeseung said, voice playful but serious. “We need to talk.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened but he stepped back, watching you with sharp eyes.

You took a shaky step toward the glowing ice cream stand, your chest tight with a mix of fear and hope. You ran.

Not just away from the locked doors, the suffocating walls, or the silent nights that swallowed your breath—but from him. From Sunghoon.

The city blurred beneath your frantic steps, the cold night air sharp against your skin, biting through the thin fabric of the silk dress he dressed you in. Each street light flickered like a warning, each shadow seemed to reach for you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

You forgot how long it was since you last felt that icy grip tightened around your wrist, since you felt trapped beneath his watchful eyes. You didn’t know where you were going; all you knew was that you had to get away. To breathe. To think. To find yourself again.

But with every step away from him, a strange emptiness grew inside you. It gnawed at your chest, pulling at your mind like a relentless tide. You realized then—with bitter clarity—that you missed him.

Not Sunghoon, the cold man who controlled you, but the feeling—the terrifying, twisted comfort of someone watching over you, of someone telling you what to do, what to wear, when to eat, when to sleep.

You had become obsessed with that feeling. You craved the care—even if it came wrapped in chains.

You tried to fill the void with distractions: wandering through crowded streets, watching strangers pass by with their easy laughter, visiting cafés to drown yourself in the buzz of life you’d forgotten. But nothing could replace that dangerous warmth.

You searched for him.

You asked around, pieced together whispers from acquaintances and shadowy corners, followed vague leads and silent clues until finally, late one rainy evening, you found him.

He was standing outside a dimly lit building, the rain slicking his hair against his forehead, eyes sharp and cold.

The moment he saw you, his expression twisted—not with relief or joy, but with something harsher, darker.

“Where the hell have you been?” His voice was low, shaking with anger. “Do you think you can just walk away? You’re mine, and you don’t get to decide.”

You shrank back under his gaze, tears prickling your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I was scared. I just… I needed to breathe.”

He scoffed, stepping closer, the storm around you both forgotten. “You’re pathetic. Always running away, always stupid. You don’t deserve kindness.”

You collapsed to your knees, sobbing openly now. “Please, I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.”

He raised his hand, but instead of striking, he gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his cold, unforgiving eyes. “You’ve gone mad. You’re broken. And every time you slip, I have to bring you back. Like a foolish girl who doesn’t know any better. Now get up, you're embarassing not only me--but yourself as well. Have some self respect, dumb girl."

That night, he dragged you back to his apartment. The silence between you was heavy, thick with unspoken punishments.

As the hours dragged on, loneliness wrapped itself around your chest like a vise. Your hands trembled with desperate need, aching for some kind of release. You always felt an extreme sense of guilt when doing these things at home, wondering what your parents would think of you, what god would say. It always ended up in you feeling no pleasure and instead the urge to vomit. But each time, you were desperate, your desires taking over you. So quietly, you reached down to soothe yourself—hoping for comfort this time, for a sliver of relief.

But the door creaked open.

He stood there, eyes dark and burning. “Sinful,” he whispered, voice laced with contempt. “You think you can do this without me? If you're willing to sin then at least let someone help you feel good.”

He crossed the room, cold hands taking yours, guiding you through something painful and raw—his presence both terrifying and addictive.

When it was over, he pulled away sharply, eyes blazing with fury. “You made me do this. You're disgusting” His voice cracked with bitter shame. “You sinned. You made me sin too. Are you not ashamed of yourself? Do you not fear the one above you?”

You didnt say anything, you couldnt. All you could do was curl into the corner of the bed, trembling, tears streaming down your face. The weight of his words crushed you, heavier than any chain.

You lay there, crying yourself to sleep—alone, broken, trapped in a world where love and pain blurred until you couldn’t tell them apart.

The night air was sharp, stinging your skin like it wanted to peel you out of it.

You sat by the window, legs tucked to your chest, bare feet freezing against the marble floor. You hadn’t spoken to Sunghoon in two days. Not since you came back from your escape and sinned like your parents hadnt raised you.

He hadn’t said a word either—only watched. Like a shadow pinned to the walls, he followed you silently, eyes unreadable, jaw clenched like he was holding back something brutal.

You hated the silence. You hated him. You hated how much you still needed him to speak.

When he finally did, it wasn’t gentle.

“You like running away,” he said flatly. “You like being a mess, don’t you?”

You didn’t turn. “I didn’t run. I walked.”

His voice lowered into a growl. “Same thing. You leave, I find you. You cry, I pick you up. It’s like a cycle with you, isn’t it?”

You looked down at your arms. They were covered in goosebumps, not just from the cold. “Why did you bring me back?”

“Because I’m stupid,” he snapped. “Because you won’t stop making me care.” Your chest caved slightly. “I didn’t ask you to. Matter of fact, I didnt ask for any of this. You lied to me completely.”

He laughed. Harsh. Bitter. “You never ask. You just exist. So fucking soft and breakable, always looking like you need saving. But you don’t get it, do you? You’re the reason I’m like this.”

You blinked slowly. “What does that mean?”

“It means every time I even think about touching you, I regret it. Every time I look at you, I remember I’m not supposed to want someone like you. You make me sin, and you don’t even know it.”

He walked forward—dangerous and slow—like regret was the only thing keeping him from setting fire to the room. You wanted to back away. You didn’t.

He stood in front of you, the space between your bodies filled with every word you hadn’t dared to say.

“I try to stay away from you,” he whispered. “But every time I close my eyes, I see you. Every time you cry, it makes me want to destroy everything. Makes me want to see you cry more.”

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to. Because the moment his hands grabbed your waist, you let him.

He kissed you like he hated you. Like it was your fault he was starving. Your fault he was breaking. His teeth scraped your neck like a warning—like this wasn’t supposed to happen again. But it did.

You let him tear the silk dress from your body. You let his hands bruise your skin, his mouth crush your breath. He took you against the window—the city lights spilling behind you both like silent witnesses. You clawed at his back like you could pull sanity out of him. But all you got was more of his chaos.

He didn’t ask if it was okay.

You didn’t say no.

After, you lay on the floor, skin burning from the cold tile, your body aching in ways you couldn’t name.

He stood above you, shirt half-buttoned, face unreadable.

“You make me into something I hate,” he muttered, staring down at his hands. “You ruin me every time I touch you.”

Your lip trembled. “Then don’t touch me.”

“But you let me,” he snapped. “You always let me. That’s the problem. You act like you’re this fragile thing, but really? You pull me under like it’s your goddamn mission.”

Your voice broke. “So I deserve this?”

He leaned down—eyes filled with something ugly. “I don’t know. But I’m not the only villain here. I didn’t kidnap you. You agreed to come with me.”

You didn’t sleep that night. Again.

You sat in the bathroom, wrapped in one of the many towels he owned, knees pulled to your chest. You stared at the floor for hours. At your legs. Your arms. Your reflection. The bite marks on your collarbone. The bruises all over your skin.

And then, without warning, you remembered your mother.

Her voice, always sharp like broken glass.

“Why do you always act like you’re the victim?”

You were nine. You had just come home with a scraped knee from falling on the playground.

“Crying won’t fix it,” she snapped. “Get up. You’re embarrassing me.”

You were fourteen when she told you you were selfish for wanting to move to another city.

fifthteen when she told you you had no right to be tired—because she was the one who sacrificed everything.

Sixteen when she slapped you for saying you didn’t want to study medicine.

Your father never said anything. He just turned the TV up louder.

And maybe that’s where it started. Where love became obedience. Where being hurt felt normal. Where silence felt safe.

Where your voice disappeared.

You stared at the bathroom mirror until the reflection blurred. You pressed your palm against the foggy glass, whispering to yourself—

“You didn’t deserve that.”

But the mirror didn’t believe you. Neither did you.

The next morning, Sunghoon made you breakfast.

Just toast. One egg. Coffee. Like nothing happened.

You sat across from him, not touching the food. Just watching.

He didn’t apologize. Of course he didn’t. Instead, he said: “Your mom called your phone again. Six missed calls.”

Your heart froze.

“What did she say?”

“I didn’t pick up.”

“Why not?”

He looked at you with that same dead calm. “Because she doesn’t deserve to talk to you.”

You hesitated. “Maybe I should call her.”

“Why?” he asked. “So she can tell you you’re a burden again? You’re not going back there. You’re not theirs anymore.”

You stared down at the cold egg. “Then whose am I?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

Because you already knew the answer. Even if it wasn’t what you want.

The rain had started before either of you noticed.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his shirts, the hem brushing your bare thighs. He hadn’t spoken to you all morning—not after the toast, not the coffee, not after the way you didn’t eat a single bite of it.

He just watched. Like he always did.

You hated that he always looked at you like you were already gone. Like he was memorizing your damage in case he needed to carry it when you couldn’t.

You turned your head slowly, voice barely above a breath.

“Why do you keep me here?”

Sunghoon blinked once. Then twice.

“Because the world doesn’t know how to hold you.”

That was it. The match.

You climbed into his lap without saying anything—your breath sharp, your chest raw from how long you’d been holding yourself still. He didn’t ask what you were doing.

Because he already knew. No matter how much you hated him. You never left. Sure he locked a few doors and a few windows, but it was easy to escape Sunghoon, you couldve when you ran away the last time, but you didn't. Instead you went looking back for him.

You kissed him first. You don’t know why you kissed him, but you did. You were desperate to feel something, even if you had o other option but to do it with someone who took you away.

It was messy. Wet. You clutched the sides of his neck like you wanted to crawl inside his skin, like you needed to taste something ugly just to prove you were still alive. He grabbed your waist like it was a reflex—like he’d been starving, and you were the meal he swore he wouldn’t touch again.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft.

It was angry.

Angry at yourself for needing this.

Angry at him for giving it to you.

He laid you down, the shirt yanked over your head, his mouth finding the parts of you he never asked permission to memorize. His fingers bruised into your hips, his mouth burned into your throat.

You let it happen.

You let it all happen.

Because if it wasn’t him—if it wasn’t this—then what did you even have left?

Your limbs gave out before your voice did.

You collapsed onto him, breathing like your lungs were splintered. Your heart thudded so loud it echoed in your ears. You didn’t even realize you were crying until your tears soaked into his skin.

You didn’t say anything. Just pressed your face into his chest, shaking silently as the aftershocks rolled through you.

Sunghoon didn’t move.

He wrapped his arms around you so tightly it felt like you were being stitched back together with thread that might not hold.

“You’re okay,” he whispered into your hair. “You’re okay, you’re okay…”

You weren’t.

You weren’t okay at all.

And that’s what made it worse.

Because the second he said it—you wanted it to be true. You wanted to believe that maybe this time, someone meant it.

And that’s when you panicked.

You pulled away from him with force, scrambling back to the edge of the bed like you’d just realized you were drowning and he was the one holding your head under.

“Don’t—” you gasped, trying to catch your breath. “Don’t hold me like that. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

His expression didn’t change. Not right away. Just a slow blink. Like he knew this was coming. Like he’d been bracing for the storm.

“You can’t do that,” you snapped, voice cracking. “You can’t—screw me, and then act like you care. You don’t get to make me feel safe and then leave me to rot in your silence. You don’t get to hold me like—like—”

“Like I mean it?” he asked, voice low.

You screamed.

Actually screamed.

You didn’t even realize your hands were shaking until you threw the glass of water sitting on the bedside table. It shattered against the wall like a warning.

“I hate you,” you gasped, sobbing now, “I hate you for making me need you. I should’ve never come back.”

He moved.

Fast.

Quicker than you expected.

In two long strides, he was in front of you—pulling you into him so suddenly you couldn’t even resist. His arms clamped around your back like iron.

You fought it. You pushed and shoved and clawed at his chest.

“Let go—let me GO!”

But he didn’t.

He just buried his face into your neck, holding you tighter.

“I won’t.”

Your fists pounded against him.

“You’re insane!”

“I know.”

“I want to leave!”

“Then leave. But not like this.”

You froze. Your arms hung in the air, trembling. Your sobs cracked out of you like thunder—loud and helpless.

He didn’t move.

He just held you.

And finally, you collapsed into him—again. This time not out of lust. Not out of grief. Just exhaustion.

So, so tired of feeling everything.

So tired of pretending you didn’t need someone to catch you when you fell.

His hands moved slowly now—up and down your back. His mouth pressed to your temple.

“I’m not always like this,” he murmured. “I just… I don’t know."

You pulled back just enough to see his face. It wasn’t cold anymore.

It was shattered.

and for the first time, he looked like the one who needed saving. His eyes, usually so calculating, were wide with something you couldn’t quite place. His hand shook as it hovered near you, as if he was about to say something—something that might change everything. But just as he opened his mouth, a deafening bang echoed through the room.

His eyes snapped to the door, his whole body stiffening, and once again, for the first time, he looked genuinely afraid.

You barely had time to process it before he whispered, voice breaking, “I never meant—”

Bang.

"Don't you dare move," he hissed.

The door wasn’t just open anymore—someone was coming through it.

Sunghoon’w eyes snapped to the figure at the threshold. And in that moment, you saw him crack.

He grabbed you again, pulling you behind him like a shield and—

… tbc

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justevelynnnn · 1 month ago

Text

Just helping a friend

Summary: Rex had offered to “help” you out after you broke up with Mark. So, now you’re at his door at 2am.

Pairing: Rex Splode x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MDNI🔞, Smut, oral (male receiving), PiV, cûmshot mentioned, profanity

A/N: This is my first Rex fic. We love Rex over here. He’s so cocky I love it. I also need him carnally.

Anyways, the reader is implied to be part of the guardians and has powers but it’s not specified what kind so go crazy. Also, Mark kinda sucks in this universe.

(Part 2 here)

You didn’t know why the fuck you were here.

This was just so stupid.

You broke up with Mark a month ago and you were having dick withdrawals a week in.

Rex noticed when he saw you looking stressed one day and joked about “helping you”, but you just told him to piss off. Called him a man whore and to get out of your face.

He laughed and just told you that you knew where to find him.

Whatever.

Right?

Okay, then why were you here? Knocking at his door at fucking 2am? In a long tshirt with no panties on?

You couldn’t even answer when he opened the door and you really couldn’t say anything when he stood there smirking either. Hell, you wanted to slap him and run off, but who were you kidding. At this point, a dick is a dick.

“So……” He started. You could tell he wanted you to admit you needed him.

You weren’t gonna beg.

He looked half asleep, hair down which was a rare slight in itself, and loose pjs that just consisted of a shirt and shorts. The hair being down though almost made your heart skip a beat.

“So, nothing. Let me in.” You muttered, but he didn’t move.

“Nuh-uh! Tell me why you’re here baby.” He teased while he crossed his arms and leaned close to your face. You just wanted to slap him. So, so bad.

“Rex. Let me make this clear. I’m not gonna beg you, and you should be happy i’m even considering this shit. Don’t make me change my mind.”

He scoffed and stepped aside. “Fine. But don’t forget you came to me.”

You walked in his room as he closed the door and immediately took notice of all the empty soda cans, dirty clothes and posters of half naked women on his walls. And then the smell of weed hit your nose. You knew robot would freak if he saw the state of this room and almost giggled.

“Um, your room sucks.” You say dryly. You wanted to avoid jumping to the point on why you were here, but you could tell you wouldn’t be able to stall for long with how he was looking at you.

“Wanna know what else sucks?”

You almost didn’t answer. But out of curiosity…

“What.”

“That mouth in a minute.” He smiled a shit eating grin. Your heart fluttered but you ignored it.

“Die.” You spat and immediately pretended to get ready to leave but he stopped you.

“Okay, okay…I’m sorry. Dick move…wrong kind of dick move anyways.”

“Stop with the jokes Rex. Are you gonna be serious about this is or not?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

You stood by his bed and looked around once more. You wondered if it would really be worth it. You prayed it wouldn’t cause Rex to get the wrong idea too. You guys were just friends. Just friends…

“So…you probably know why i’m here…”

“For a dick appointment.” He said smiling again.

You rolled your eyes.

“This means nothing. I swear it Rex.” You pointed at him to make a point and tried to look stern, but, god, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to hurry up and satisfy this itch inside you.

He didn’t say anything for a minute but just kept smiling.

“Rex!”

“I know, geez. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Well, swear it then. Or you don’t get this. I don’t care, I know you’ve been trying to fuck me since forever.” You sighed. That last part was a fib. You didn’t know that but it sure felt like it sometimes.

“I swear I won’t tell anyone. And, i know it doesn’t mean shit when we’re done.” He dramatically expressed, hand on his heart and all.

“Just sex?”

“Yup.”

“Okay….” You sighed.

Now this is the awkward part…getting to the sex.

“Soooo…”

“This was your idea, dude.” You crossed your arms and looked at the ground. Looking into his eyes were impossible now.

He shifted towards you, but you still refused to look at him. Once in front of you he put a hand on your shoulder so you could kneel in front of him and suddenly a strong hand lifted your head and you were looking into his eyes once more. They looked different oddly enough. Already clouded with lust. Who was this?

“I think we should put this pretty mouth to work first…”, he mumbled softly. His gazed shifted towards your lips as a finger slipped inside and honestly who were you not to suck it? At this point why not?

It was hard to ignore his growing bulge especially when it was right in front of your face. It was harder not to palm it through his loose pj shorts.

You started sucking his finger eagerly as you looked into his eyes. The more you rubbed his clothed cock, and the more he bit his lip and groaned.

He pulled his finger out of your mouth slowly, and you let a “pop” sound out. He didn’t take his eyes off of you while he moved to pull his shorts and boxers down simultaneously. His gazed shifted towards on you was heavy as you proceeded to yank off your shirt to reveal you bare chest to him. Really it was all of you that was bare since it was the only thing you had on. He groaned.

He stroked himself slowly to the sight. “Fuck.”

“You like what you see?” You teased cupping your breasts.

“Are you kidding me? When wouldn’t I?”

You giggle as you leaned forward to wrap a hand around him. He fits in your hand almost perfectly, nice and thick. A prominent vein runs up the side beautifully and his flushed tip is already oozing with pre.

“I hate how pretty your dick is.” You whined before licking the underside slowly. Then you licked and teased his tip a bit earning you a delicious, deep moan. Rex never responded to this but a hand held the back of your head as you started to suck gently. You wasted no time blowing him just to hear him more.

If you knew this is the only way to shut Rex up you would’ve suck him off ages ago.

You started to deep throat him over time while you rubbed in his thighs. Your jaw was starting to ache after a while and your throat was tired. He was big enough to hit the back of your throat each time.

You looked up at him a few times and each time he was looking right back at you. Face reddened, but his eyes filled with hunger and desire. He watched you intensely as you tried to give him the best head ever. He watched as spit dripped from your chin and how your pretty eyes watered.

This ordeal didn’t last long. He started to damn near face fuck you as he got closer to finishing, and you had to pull away. You felt him twitching in your mouth and after being with Mark you knew it meant he was going to finish very, very soon.

“Hey, I did not agree to swallowing cum tonight.” You blinked at him. He just groaned, most likely out of frustration, but said nothing.

You got on the bed and you both moved silently. You noted Rex’s lack of immature jokes and jabs since starting this. His new serious persona almost gave you butterflies. You’re were so used to him just cracking jokes, but now…now he’s so focused on you. All of you. The way you moved. The way each curve of your body was on you.

His bed creaks as he gets on top of you. A quick wet kiss is pressed against your neck then another on your collarbone. He kissed you like you were fragile. Big hands hold you in place on each side of your hips.

“You ready?” He asked huskily.

You felt heat rush to your face as you realized what you were about to do. His warm body caged you in and his half lidded eyes anchored down on the soft messed up sheets on his bed. He truly was eyeing you down like you were some goddess. Something divine. He made you feel seen in a way Mark never did and it was weird. You didn’t even like Rex, hell he annoyed the fuck out of you.

But something about him now…

You just nodded and wrapped your arms around him. You felt him probe against you and you mentally prepared yourself though your head still swam. You felt as he inched in slowly. A sigh left both of your lips. Fuck, you needed this.

He gave you a second to get used to him and his size. It’s been a minute. 5 weeks and 3 days to be exact. You couldn’t stop looking at him though. While the eye contact felt intense there was something about him that was different and you couldn’t pin point what. Not yet anyway.

He started moving again a minute or so later after you gave him the go ahead. His hips immediately found a good rhythm as he thrusted into you at a deep but steady pace. You were already a mess. You felt every inch of him once he bottomed out and it felt like heaven. Moans escaped your lips over and over with each slam of his hips. This was a fucking a girl would fantasize over.

You back was arching minutes in, forcing your chest to press against his. Both of you were sweaty and aching but driven by pleasure. His pants and quiet whines fill your ears, making your pussy clench around him. Swears come out and your name falls from his lips like hushed prayers. The sound of him sliding in and out of you only get slicker, wetter, as time went on. It almost wasn’t enough. You didn’t just want him in you, you wanted him in your soul. But that was something you’d take to your grave.

He suddenly pulls out of you flips you over so you were on your hands and knees now, a hand pushing on your back so your ass arched in the air. You whined as a finger teased you.

“Beg.” A quiet, deep voiced command. You bit your lip. You hated how he sounded and how bad it turned you on. How one word made your thighs tremble and your hole clench around nothing.

“Pl-please, Rex.” You whined softly, eyes flicked over his toned body. “Please, please fuck me. Take me. I need it. I need you. Rex…”

A growl. Almost animalistic.

This just couldn’t be Rex anymore.

Regardless, he’s satisfied with your begging and pushes in. It’s even better than went he went in the first time. The new angle has you open mouth moaning. You started getting too loud, breaking an unspoken rule between you two since obviously others were in the building and could hear, so he pushed your face into the pillow. And fuck, did it reck of him. A slight hint of musk, ash, weed, and axe body spray.

His hands, still on the sides of your hips, grip tighter. He was close.

This thrusts were sloppier and he was chanting your name a million times. He kept saying how good your pussy was, how he loved the way your ass moved when it met him. Other murmurs of loving this….you? You probably heard that last part wrong. Head in a pillow and all. But who cared what he said as long as he didn’t stop. You never expected him to fuck this good. Never.

Your orgasm has been creeping up on you. Slowly, like the way a predator stalks prey. And just like when it catches the pray, sudden and quick, that’s exactly how you came. You let out a muffled loud whine from the pillow to warn him and he encouraged you to “cum all over his big, fat cock”.

You weren’t going to argue.

You shook hard and clenched him harder. You body locked. You haven’t came this good and ages. Rex continued to fuck into you but more sloppily. Your body was still shaking from the aftermath when you felt him twitch inside of you. Part of you prayed he didn’t finish inside.

“Fuck, fuck—please, fuck, ahh~” He breathed.

Quickly, he pulled out of you and you felt multiple hot spurts of him meet your back and ass. It was all over you. He came with another growl followed by obscene swearing.

“Holy shit.”

You fell on the bed after all was done. You just couldn’t hold yourself up anymore.

Finally, after you both caught your breath, he wiped you down with some piece of clothing. Probably a shirt. You lifted your head from your pillow to see it was fucking yours.

Okay, the mood was killed.

“Rex-” you whined tiredly.

“What?” Rex smirked still almost hungry. “You won’t be needing it anymore tonight anyways…”

You wanted to ask what the hell that meant, but you were still catching your breath. Your heart still was beating frantically from the height of what just happened.

He finally laid down with you as you rolled on your back, still processing the fact you just fucked Rex. Because you needed dick that bad. And of top of it all, you enjoyed it like crazy.

“Soooo…am I good or what? Better than Mark? Hmm?” Rex said in his usual playful tone. He laid a hand on yours gently. You didn’t know what it meant, what it could mean now.

“Ugh, shut up.” You gave him a weak laugh, wincing a bit from soreness as you sat up a bit. He laughed back. It was warm. Full of something you couldn’t explain.

You guys sat in silence for a bit. Still naked and clammy. Rex was notably still half hard and you wondered how he wasn’t tired yet. You wondered what this meant for him, sure it was silly because he probably didn’t care, but what if he did? What if you did? There were looks he gave you that did not say “Hey, I’m just fucking you as a favor”. No. It said something deeper. Something he was probably too scared to say, and something you were definitely even more scared to hear.

The drama if you two got together. Especially, this close after breaking up with Mark. The idea of it…it genuinely almost made you sick.

But you noticed how he’d look at you sometimes. When you looked down because Mark bailed on another date, he lifted your spirits with his usual jokes and had that look in his eye when you finally laughed. Or when you got hurt to the point of ending up in the hospital. He was there, by your bed, with that look again. Something soft. Something yearning. Desire. When Mark left, he was there. Always there.

So, when he jokingly pitched the idea of “a dick appointment” to you after you broke up with Mark part of you wanted to throw up. He said it would mean nothing, no strings attached. Just a friend helping a friend. Heh, yeah..

You looked at him quietly in the dim room. And, you finally really looked at him.

He looked at you the same. The smirk was gone. His expression unreadable.

A seed was planted tonight and you were terrified of what it will bloom into.

#rex splode #rex sloan #rex splode x reader #rex splode x you #rex splode smut #rex splode invincible #invincible smut #invincible fanfic #invincible imagine #invincible x reader #invincible #invincible x you

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yeyinde · 1 year ago

Text

dangle on the leash | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

The flimsy sarcophagus housing all his wants, his desires, cracks open when Price announces that his missus is pregnant. Ghost cocks his head in consideration. Intentionally knocking you up is amoral. Probably illegal. Somehow, even more dastardly when the reason for it is simply selfishness. Want. Greed. Hunger. But he's a rabid dog burning with the urge to bite. No one should really be surprised when he finally decides to sink his teeth into you. Unfortunately, that hail mary Price sent into the aether never reached you.

(your bird is too big for a cage— —but maybe a collar would do.)

this is a babytrapping fic lmao but please read the tags carefully. a companion piece to this (Price + babytrapping).

DEAD DOVE. SMUT. 18+

HARD WARNINGS—coercion. dependency. intentional alienation. unsafe, unprotected sex. this very much toes the line of noncon (that is still very dubcon even when consent is given) in many ways, notably: somnophilia, and condom/contraceptive tampering. intrusive, violent thoughts. mentions of violence. manipulation; slight gaslighting. implied kidnapping. references to past abuse (Ghost), brief mention of drugging/threats of drugging (ambiguous as to if it was ever followed through on or not, mostly just Ghost's internal monologue unfiltered). ADDITIONAL TAGS—smut. rough sex. unsafe sex. dom!Ghost. mean, obsessive, unhinged!Ghost. spit kink. dacryphilia.

he's feral, but he's yours. too bad for you, no one is really sure if that's a good thing or not.

One of the things Price often tells new recruits is to shove their old life into a box.

“There's home,” he huffs, fingers twitching as if he's subconsciously flexing around the hilt of a lit cigar. “And then there's work. Whatever box you decide to put this, or your family, your personal life, into is your choice. But for fuck’s sake. Keep them separate.”

Most of the new recruits are fresh off selection, shaded sickly chartreuse, and take his words as a literal gospel. Work, this; home, them. They don't start to unravel the second part of his gruff speech until much later. Until they can't wash the blood from their hands, and the scent of their mum’s eucalyptus hand soap is nauseating. Unfamiliar. When being in civvies feels like wearing skin that doesn't fit, and everyone around you is alien, foreign. They don't know. They'll never know.

It's only when they find themselves gazing at the clock on the wall of their family home, counting down the minutes until their mandatory leave is over do they realise that home is the barracks.

That's something Ghost has always understood. Maybe it was because his home life was already in ruins, tatters. Beer soaking into the knock-off Persian rug a cousin nicked from a flea market when he was nine. No fine china in the cupboards because it'll end up in shards on the floor. Plastic plates and forks and cups. Always. Howling in his head. Screaming from down the hall in his mum's room. His bedroom door creaking open at night. The anger, the curdling fear (shameful—be a man; punch him back, hit him before he hits you, you useless prick—), of not knowing whether or not it was his dad, high as hell and itching for a fight after busting their mum’s lip wide open, or Tommy sneaking into his bed at night because his is soaked in piss and he can’t sleep when they scream at each other like this.

(Funny that, he always found; neither of them could ever sleep when it was silent, either.)

Blood on the linoleum. Trying to eat burnt toast and overcooked beans with a busted lip and a twinge in his jaw—

(Fractured, they'll say later, years later, during his mandatory medical checkup when he's first recruited. Healed all wrong. Son, didn't anyone take you to hospital?)

He understands the separation between home and work—even if the former lost all relevancy nearly a decade ago. Back when he buried them all. Was buried himself—

What Ghost never really understood was the box.

Shove it into a box.

When he asks over cheap whisky somewhere in Siberia, Price tightens his fingers around his glass before bringing it up to his head. His index finger juts out. He knocks the tip of that bruised, scabbed knuckle against his temple. Once, thrice. Levels Simon with a pointed look he both can’t understand and somehow knows all too well.

“Up here."

“Paid nearly fifty quid for that,” he grouses, shaking his head. “Think I've been ripped-off, Price.”

Price scoffs, places the glass down with a hollow thud. “Don't be a fuckin’ muppet, Simon—” his real name makes his shoulders tense. Around the barracks, they know him only as the Ghost. “You put it away somewhere. Hide it. I don't fuckin’ know. But if it keeps you goin’, keeps you sane, and doesn't become a mess I gotta clean up, well—”

The implication is stark. Heavy.

Price was always good at chiselling through layers of accumulated indifference to get to the madness within, but considering Ghost’s past and his mile-long rap sheet, the warning digging into his words like a dull blade isn't unwarranted.

Old dogs, he'd called the pair of them when they first met. There was a sharp keenness in his eye when he lifted his hand, waved his cigar toward the tangled mess of scar tissue crisscrossing his face (made with a dull, rusted knife, one that gouged out deep pocks of skin, ugly fuck, looks like the badlands, don't he? like a postcard from the Grand Canyon, sweetheart. not so cute anymore, are ya, pretty boy—), and said, “well, you're fuckin’ rabid, ain't you? Better put a muzzle on that before it becomes a problem, mm.”

His problem, specifically.

And Ghost gets it. Thinks Price might understand that particular brand of madness—despite growing up on literal opposite sides of the track, his Manchester to the others Liverpool; poverty and prestige—if only just. Because Price seems to be able to curb those baser impulses in a way Ghost hadn't yet mastered (and won't for quite some time yet). He's put together. Sort of. Respected. Normal.

The men in the barracks don't look at him and flinch.

But he sees the way the man's eyes linger in the crowd, shrewd and careless, before falling on the pretty bartender in the back. The one with roses in her eyes and a smile full of dandelions. Soft, like butterscotch. It's here when they darken. When he reaches, almost angrily, for his whisky. Pats his chest with a heavy fist searching for his cigar.

She's a sweet thing, he reckons. All pretty and trusting. Birds like her make his head itch—

“Don't even think about it, Simon,” Price grumbles, and it feels like territorial posturing, a challenge he almost raises to meet with his chin, if only to make Price fluster, but it's hollow. Empty. He denies himself, too. The prick.

“How'd you do it?” He asks, and doesn't specify. Doesn't think he needs to.

When Price swallows, it looks like a grimace. “Years of practice.”

He considers the weight of it, his eyes straying back to the woman behind the bar. She's tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wrist delicate like bone china, the kind they could never afford, and for a moment, the intrusive thoughts, the ones he gets sometimes about wanting to tear things to bloody pieces, rears—

It's stamped down in a swig of flat lager You stupid fuckin’ mutt, Price would say tomorrow morning, shaking his head. You always think with your prick?

Simon cranks his head sharply to the side instead. The resounding crack seems to echo through the empty pub.

Price just shakes his head. “Christ. No one ever house break you, yet?”

“Yeah, they did,” he rasps, staring at the bartender who gazes back at him now. Skittish, unsure. Not so sweet after all. She looks away, cowed. Her hands tremble. He leans back, and hums. “And now I piss outside, like a good ‘ol boy.” “Ain't nothin’ good about you, Simon. Fuckin' Christ—”

And he's not wrong.

The Ghost has a reputation of being a cold-hearted bastard. A Frankensteinian beast cobbled together with spare parts robbed from a jailhouse graveyard. Worst of the worst. An arm from a mass murder. The leg from a spree killer. Heart a patchwork mess of ichor and sulphur. Sutured together with barbed wire.

It's all sort of macabre. Rather trite, too.

The rumour mill in the barracks is insatiable.

But sometimes, he wakes up and he's still buried. Still dead. Dirt in his throat, lodged in his nose. He breathes in and feels pebbles scraping his lungs. Feels worms in his ears. Maggots in his head.

They crawl through his grey matter. Leeches burrowing into his thoughts, sucking the good in him dry.

Or, whatever's left of it, anyway.

He thinks with his teeth because it's easier that way. Cold, calculative instinct. Just barely boxed into a neat package slapped on the desk of Price's higher-ups.

A good man, they say, and turn him loose on the streets. One of the best we have, as he breaks jaws, and tears through jugulars. A force to be reckoned with.

They hand him a gun, a rifle, when the bloodied footprints leading back to camp become too much of a hassle to clean. Shoot from a distance. He takes to it like the bulk of metal was made for his scarred hands. Scythe to a Reaper.

It feels like bloodletting. Draining him of his anger, his fury, until a cold, gnarled indifference curls in the basin left behind. Icy, frigid. Down to the bone.

Sometimes, he doesn't remember what it felt like to be warm, even buried under a thick balaclava and layers of military fatigues.

Frankenstein’s monster. Patched together from the rotten remains of horrible men.

And as he stares in the mirror at the patchwork ruins of his face, his body, he wonders if there's some truth to it, after all. He's pretty sure if someone cracked his skull open—again—they’d find rot. Tumulus. Infested with maggots and worms. Cobwebs behind his eyes. In his nose. His brain perfectly preserved: a zombified tombstone. And oh, how it hungers.

Wants.

But in a box it goes. One shaped like a coffin. Placed pretty in the back of his broken head.

He stares in the mirror and thinks he sees something moving under his eye. Wriggling around. The temptation to claw it out rears, but the shredded tissue on his thighs reminds him of what happens when he listens to that insidious hiss in the back of his head (some amalgamation of his old man, and that bastard—) and goes searching for gold in bone marrow.

He huffs. Fingers curling around the porcelain. His head is rotten. Putrefied. He can feel the decomposing sludge press against his temples. It grows teeth sharp like a razor blade and hacks away at jaundiced bone. Ghost lifts his hand, digs his fingers into his temple. Down boy—

(Simon doesn't even want to consider what his heart must look like, then.)

Cold-hearted, sure—

But he likes sweet things.

The kind that will undoubtedly give him cavities. A spillover, perhaps, when candy bars were too expensive, and the only dessert he was given was a toffee by the neighbour when she wasn't moaning to his old man about all the shit he and Tommy got up to.

(Bruises came afterwards, the colour of liquorice. Sour cherries.)

Unfortunately for him, sweet things don't like him much—a shame, really. Simon has always had a sweet tooth.

His rough edges are too sharp for their liking, and Simon's—

Intense. Like a dog with a bone, he doesn't know when to let go. When to unhinge his jaw from the morsel between his teeth. He bites hard. Shakes his head. Tears into the things he wants until it's bloodied meat pinched in his incisors.

And so, they keep their distance. Like they can smell the rot on him. The funeral dirt. The stench of an unearthed sarcophagi.

Sometimes, though, the wiley ones will inch closer, looking to get messed up badly by a bad man, and it makes something inside his head howl when he turns them down. Following Price’s creed. Can't give in to the pretty ones, he'd said. Nothin’ but trouble.

Trouble, like a pair of shackles. A noose. Trouble, like gentle, clean hands and fragile bones. Fine china. Fine powder. The marshmallow soft kind of trouble that will melt in the acid that leaks from his pores. Aqua regia. Attacking anything that gets close.

(Breakable, is what Price means. Pretty chew toys that are beyond repair once he's finished with them.

He must think Ghost is some sort of psychopath—)

But still. He stays away. It's easier on base, in safe houses, too far out from the general public to have to worry about doe eyes and soft touches. He doesn't need it, anyway—

Then comes you.

And the forfeiture of his self-control.

You're trouble of a different kind.

Trouble, like the end of a sledgehammer. Trouble, like the grill of a car. The barrel of a gun.

In the shape of a battering ram, one strong enough to dislodge the madness in the back of his head. Where the corrosive acid should ruin you, eat you alive, it doesn't. Not with your tantalum skin.

But oh, do you pack a punch—

At first, you think he's homeless.

Some scruffed-up man sleeping on a park bench outside of your apartment.

In another life, he might have been. He isn't a stranger to bad habits, and had the military not been his only choice in life for some semblance of good (laughable, considering what he does for a living), he could see the threads of his life leading him here. Drugs. Manchester is good for it, this he knows all too well. Especially the shithole neighbourhood he's from.

He doesn't clue into this, though, until you glance at him, warily, and then shuffle into the cafè he’s holed outside of, the place where his current target gorges himself on steeped tea and crumpets.

(Price's dry text sits, open, on his burner phone: and don't fuck this up—)

It feels a bit like an omen. Made worse when you meet his gaze through the glass, and—

Well. Shit.

The impact is a collision. Hitting a pole at top speed. Metal bent around concrete.

His teeth ache (so, so bad—).

You emerge from the small building a few minutes later—the faded eggshell with chocolate trim is nauseatingly sweet against your pastel yellow raincoat—holding a takeaway bag, and balancing a tray of coffees in your hand.

He tenses. It's instinctual. There's nothing about you that's an immediate threat to his person—unless you plan on adding to his scars with the tip of your umbrella, the scalding coffee in your hand—but it's odd, isn’t it? No one approaches him. Not unless they have a reason to.

And no one, in his experience, ever has a good one.

“Hi,” you chirp, disarmingly sweet, as you come to stand in front of him. His jaw aches. Even sprawled across a bench, you're barely looking down at him. Sticky, cold fingers tap a strange rhythm down his spine. “I, um, hope this isn't weird, but I saw you sitting here, and—well. I got this—”

You wiggle the bag. He smells something greasy. A breakfast sandwich, he's sure.

It's an unusual assassination attempt. Price will be livid.

“What for?” He rumbles, sitting up in the seat. The shift of his bulk seems to make you nervous. You take a step back, and he fights the urge to follow. To back you into a corner. No escape.

You regain your footing, even if the smile on your face wobbles. Weakens under his flat stare. Some people can smell the rot on him.

He wonders if you can, too.

(Pity that. You're a pretty bird, ain't you?)

And the way you take him in lacks a distinct thrum of hesitation, fear that’s normally there. It occurs to him, then, that you see him as just another man. Just another person.

(“deader than a doorknob, this one. such a goddamn waste, boss. he was a fun one, wasn’t he? should we burn ‘em?”

nah. bury him out back—)

It's laughable, really. A joke. He has the urge to crack one—sick and awful enough to make that little smile on your face wilt. Wither away. Almost does, too, but it get tangled in his throat when he feels the weight of your stare on him.

The easy sweep of your eyes is barely discrete, but it's clinical. Pitying. But the softened edges of that empathy dissolve as your pretty head adds up all the numbers on him, coming to a standstill. Your eyes linger on his wrist. The gold of his wristwatch peeks out beneath the black sleeve of his hoodie. An intricate web of complex timekeeping that only he's privy to. A little luxury he picked up in Italy when the cash he'd been given was getting too tiresome to carry around.

Dead men, after all, don't need bank accounts.

And then—

You fluster. “Sorry, I just thought—”

It clicks, then. The pity. The soft words. The goddamn coffee—

His gums itch. He has the sudden urge to be mean about it. Pick you apart in this street until nothing but embarrassment and humiliation remains.

“That I was homeless? ‘nd you brought me, what? A coffee? ‘ow sweet of you. Some breakfast, too. Well, aren't you a lovely girl?”

You are embarrassed. It blisters across your expression. Has your hands trembling around the cardboard tray, spilling droplets of coffee down the side. Your head is bowed, cowed in shame. It reminds him of that bartender some years prior. Pulling away when the bad dog growls—

But there's a thin sheen of intrigue in your eyes, burrowing holes into the shoes in front of you; a tangled knot of want coiling in the heat of your embarrassment over this blunder. Over offending him.

Well—

That's new.

Some get off on it. On humiliation. Specifically, of the public variety. He didn't take you as the type. The way you twist, squirming in place, is odd, though. It doesn't fit as well as he originally thought. No. It's not the public shame, but—

Him.

Ah.

Sweet, sweet girl.

(So naïve.)

He reckons he could get you to do just about anything to make it up to him. You would, too. You're soft enough to be submissive, to bow your head in contrition, but there's a flicker of defiance in the jut of your chin when you lift your head.

This is a blunder and you're sweetly embarrassed, sure, but it isn't enough to break you.

And now Simon just wants to ruin you. Teach you a lesson about bad, vile men—

(Something you'd welcome with open arms, wouldn't you?)

“Didn’t know Manchester was so charitable,” he rasps. His throat is dry. Parched. He reaches for the coffee—black, with extra creamer and sugar on the side, tucked neatly in a little bag; fuckin’ hell. Ain't you just adorable—and places it on the spot beside him. “I’ll be takin’ this. Will need it for later.”

You look like you want to protest. Fight back. His hackles rise, ready for it—eager. Something anticipatory, dark, bleeds through the moulted mess of his head. Sickly. Terrible. He thinks about what you'd look like sprawled under him, shaking and begging for more, for him to stop—

Fuck. Birds usually make his head itch, but you make his fucking skin crawl.

In the end, you just huff. Roll your eyes. He wants to chew them out of your head. Pop them between his teeth. He bet you'd taste divine.

You walk away from him before he can. You don't look back once.

Pity, he thinks. Someone's gonna snatch you clean off the streets like that—

Hours later, he sends Price a text message with the coordinates for where to pick up the package Ghost left.

He considers it a blessing when the man sends him back, good job, now get a pint from me as a little reward. Can't say I don't treat my team well.

A reward, huh?

Well. With your stature in comparison to his own, Ghost easily can see you being considered a pint.

So, he follows you home, and tallies this one as being on Price.

It's easy. Too easy. He slips deftly behind you, tucked away from view, and masks his footsteps under the echo of yours until he's standing in the shadows outside of your house. This, too, feels like a blessing. It's a duplex. He waits for one of the lights to flicker on, and—

The window brightens. Room number two.

He hums, and palms his pockets for the pack of smokes he nicked off the man. Needing something to take the edge off. To quell the urge to bite.

It's even easier to engineer meetings. Random run-ins. All blamed on happenstance, chance. Of course. This towering mountain of a man with his thick manc twang—the sort of gallows humour that can only be found in the blue-collar streets of Salford from the nasty old men squatting on the corners—must have better things to do than stalk you. Surely. You're not special enough to be hunted, right?

Still. You're a touch wary of him. Distrustful. You keep your distance—six inches for Jesus Christ, aren’t you a peach?—and try to skirt the line between neutrally polite to the strange man loitering outside of the shops you frequent (your schedule burned to his memory, naturally) and that fascinating skittish intrigue from before. All simmering heat. Blunt want. The kind wrapped up in silk threads.

It's interesting to watch it play out when he steps closer and all those long-forgotten instincts in the back of your head flare up. The shaky step you take back. The inward frown of confusion when you're not sure why your body craves space, acting almost on its own. And then the sweet defiance that breaks over you. The intentional step closer. The feigned warmth in your tone as you talk to him.

It's easy to pocket the uglier aspects of his personality. The coldness. The indifference. The flat, droll insincerity that leaks into his tone. All of it shelved, locked away, and he's not sure if Price would be happy that he listened to what he said, followed his example, or furious that he's bastardising it to lure this pretty fish in.

)The latter, undoubtedly. But Simon gets a sick kick from it all.)

Especially when it brings you closer to him. Thaws you as you rationalise his reaction during the first meeting, gears spinning. Kicking up excuses.

Anyone would be angry, offended. It's natural. He's alright now—

It makes you look at him differently as you forcefully fight the urge to flee.

Silly bird.

Wary eyes rake over his massive bulk. Brows furrow at the series of black medical masks he wears in public. Always. That, in addition to the heavy black of his wardrobe—black jacket, black hoodie, black leather gloves—sometimes makes you glance at him with a touch of worry. Fear. Probably wondering if you brought home a delinquent.

But it changes when he rolls up his sleeves one day after you've been moaning about your broken beach cruiser (the, I don't know, chain—or something—keeps catching—), and crouches down to fix it.

There's a hitch in your breath. A distinct swallow. A guilty tinge of something shy, deliciously so, shading your eyes ruby-red when you look down at him.

And ah—

Sweet little treat snagged on the line. Ain't he a lucky lad?

It's all the better when you do the work for him. Reeling yourself in, practically throwing yourself in his cooler when you ask about his tattoos, carefully—considerately—nudging the topic away from his ugly scars.

He guts you clean as he tells you he's in the military. Top secret, pet. Don't ask because I'd hate to ‘ave to hurt a pretty face like yours—

You preen under it. Pet. Pretty. You don't even notice when he slides his knife over your scales, dices you up on his chopping board.

You're the picture of sweetness when he unkinks the chain in your bike, and sets it straight. All happiness. Smiles. Appreciative glances. You flutter your pretty eyes at him as you say—

“Thank you—”

You're waiting for a name. His belly rumbles. He could eat, he thinks, and licks his teeth.

“Simon. Simon Riley.”

The risk-reward ratio is balanced when you breathe it out between plump lips, chasing the end of it with your tongue. He wants to eat it out of your mouth. Swallow it down.

You touch his arm, hand warm, soft. “If there's anything I can do to pay you back—”

He takes you out for a kebab later on. Nudges you out of the way when you open your wallet to pay. Draft girl. Naïve, too, because he can feel the heat in your cheeks from where he stands, reaching over to snatch the bag from the man with a grunt.

You must think him quite the gentleman. So trusting.

Doesn't matter. He lets it take root. Especially when you shyly invite him back to yours to eat.

He makes a feast of it, and fucks you on your mint green chaisse after he's finished.

(Not on birth control, you say, and hand him a box of condoms, suddenly shy. It's unopened. He hums, and burns that to memory.)

He keeps his distance—an easy feat when he's halfway around the world, and you're stuck in the gloom of Manchester.

It's purposeful, of course. He made a promise to Price not to give him a reason to worry, but fuck—

You're proving hard to quit. He's never had anyone cuff him upside the head on his bullshit. Not anymore, anyway. Not as the Ghost. He likes the thrill of it, of this chase.

You don't let him steamroll you when he's in a mood to fight. You punch back, hitting him right in the mess of his guts, and fuck. Fuck. He's a little bit obsessed with it. With you. This wily little fish that acts so shy when he's got three fingers buried in your cunt, but rides him after like you're starving for it. Clawing at his chest. Scratching his arms. It's raw. Primal. He wants to break you—this fiery little kitten that bites his fingers until they bleed, and then purrs in his lap as he drives a pickaxe through your head, shredding logic into pieces. Rummaging around until he nicks the optic nerve that lets you see red.

You’re everywhere. In everything. In the back of his head, under the howling that hadn't stopped since you trailed your finger down the jagged topography of his bare chest, digging your nail into the crude x across his heart, and whispered, soft and sweet: you're all kinds of fucked up, aren't you?

A bludgeon to his self-control—

He resists. Has to. Is mean about it, too. Doesn't tell you where he's going (it's need to know), or what he's doing (would ‘ave to bash your pretty ‘ead in if I told you), but keeps you strung on the line (keep thinkin’ about that pretty cunt of yours; can't wait to come ‘ome and ‘ave you sit on my ugly mug—).

It's dangerous, this game of his. Thrilling for all the wrong reasons.

But he’s a good mutt. Good—

Until the text.

The one you send to him when you're out with friends. A picture. You're in a pub somewhere in Moss Side, a drink in hand. A gaggle of nobodies crowded around you. It makes sense, he supposes. There's that old idiom—you’ll trap more flies with honey—and he doesn't know anyone nearly as sweet as you.

His sweet girl.

(you fuckin’ mutt—)

Ghost stares at you for a moment, teeth aching. The little ensemble—a crop top and jeans—is a vision, he reckons. But it's spoiled when he catches more eyes on you than pointed at the camera. Practically spilling out of your top, aren't you?

He breathes heavily through his nose. Tastes guncotton in his throat.

Ghost commits every face to memory, and then calls you.

You're drunk. Too drunk to remember it tomorrow. Stuck in a pub on what's supposedly a bad part of town. Chatting away about going to your friend’s house. He gets the address, and something sour twits in his stomach. Shit council houses.

“That safe?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. He's already chubbed up in his slacks at the slur in your voice. “And dressed like that? Didn't take you for a slag—”

It makes you sputter on the line. “I'm—I’m not—”

You're so quick to placate him. So hasty to make him happy. Please don't be angry with me, Simon. I'm just having some fun—

The claws and fangs are tucked away when you're drunk. He shoves the information in the cache, eyes burning. Head aching. He's feverish. Hot under the collar.

Odd considering he's dead—

“Sounds like you will be.”

“It's not like that—”

“‘ow would you know? Might meet a nice fellow. Might take him home.”

“I don’t—I wouldn't—”

The sniffle makes him throb. Fuck. “Yeah? Well, ain't none of my business, I reckon—”

“It is.”

“Oh? How's tha’?”

“I—I like you, Simon—” he can taste your embarrassment through the phone. He didn't even need to bring you flowers and you're already boxing him into monogamy, confessing to him. So sweet. So tender. If he were a better man, he might have told you to sober up. To talk about this tomorrow.

Too bad for you, he isn't. And what’s worse is that he’s a loyal bastard, too.

But that's later, and right now—

He's halfway across the world, and you're vulnerable. In the den of hungry mutts.

It’s charr in his throat. Anger in his veins. “You like me? An’ you go out dressed like that?”

“There's nothing wrong with how I'm dressed—”

He sucks his teeth. “Dunno ‘bout tha’, pet. You look like you're achin’ to get fucked.”

You take a shuddering breath. “I just want you—”

“Yeah?” It's a growl. His cock spits prespend in his trousers. “Then be my good girl. Go home and wait for me.”

It's quiet on the line. He catches the hitch in your throat, the sharp exhale, like you can't really be sure if he's serious or not. He says nothing. Waits.

Where there would have been a fight—fists and teeth and snarling words—you quieten in the silence. Docile. Submissive. It's in you, he knows. He saw the glimpses back when you first met, when he'd bent down and fixed the bike he broke. All it needs is a little—

“Jus’ worried about my sweet girl, is all.”

And you relent.

Corrosive oil spills out of the necrosed holes in his head. It curls over his thoughts, liquid sin. He takes himself in his hand, blood pulsing in his veins, white-hot, damning, and bares his teeth at the urge to come to you, to push you down on the floor, and mount you like a snarling beast—

“Good girl,” he growls when you tell him you'll call a taxi, that you'll go home and have some wine with your friend instead.

Friend. Friends.

He'll have to do something about that.

(The thing about deprivation is that it bleeds into a vicious sense of possession when it's finally obtained. Greed. His wants have wants, have wants—

A perfect ouroboros. One you feed into almost destructively.)

Because the thing is—

Simon wants to tie you to his bed. Keep you locked up in the safe house he has in Manchester. Chained, shackled. A prisoner with him as your iron guard.

It isn't just fantasy, either.

The flies that congregate around you are an annoying, incessant buzzing in his ears. Remora clinging to the biggest fish.

But they're easy to scatter when he waves his hand.

(Waves off. Threatens with bodily harm, with physical aggression—

Same thing.)

The sting in his knuckles and the blood on his shoes are worth it in the end when your tantalum skin cracks. An aggregate of beautiful lines, pretty in their fragility, their brokenness. He wedges his fingers between the splints, widening the chasm to pet at the sticky-soft centre hiding beneath all that rough rock. Sweet girl. Hard candy enclosing taffy-softness.

His coos melt you to the consistency of mercury. Liquid silver pebbles along your lash line, spilling over in a dizzying display of raw vulnerability.

It makes every predatory instinct inside of him bristle. Locking onto the sweet lines of crystalline sadness that run down your cheeks. It has his heart racing. Eager, anticipatory. The thrill of the chase, of running you down into the ground until you're fine powder under him.

And it’s there, it's in his arms—the maw of a beast—where you seek comfort, lamenting the loss of your friends, your coworkers. No one wants to hang out with you anymore. They don't return your calls or answer your texts.

What did I do? You sniffle, throat bared. Belly turned up.

Flooded with tears. The lachrymal face that peers up at him makes his teeth ache. He rolls his head back, feels himself thicken in his pants.

Simon loves it when you cry.

“Fuck ‘em,” he rasps, words sticking to his dry throat. “If they can't see what a catch you are, then they don't even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

It makes you cry harder, makes you mumble into his chest about how lucky you are to have someone like him. Someone who cares.

His breath hitches. Warm floods his veins, fever-hot.

“Thank you, Simon—”

And then you, smooth silver and wickedly sweet, cradle him in your palms as if you could hold all the broken pieces of him together.

He thinks it's cute.

Doesn't really have the heart to tell you it's a lost cause.

“Anytime, pet.”

And you're perfect, too.

You take this mangy mutt into your house, and let it eat your food, sleep in your bed. You let him fuck you stupid, and listen so prettily when he convinces you to let him spoil you. Let him pay your rent, your bills. Let Simon dote on you the only way he knows how—mercilessly possessive, and a touch cruel, mean—but you roll over, showing your belly. Submissive and sweet.

It's even better when you try to lash out at him with a collar in the shape of his teeth branding your neck, spitting and hissing like a feral cat who doesn't know yet that's claws have been clipped. Only to then curl up in his lap, purring as he strokes your fur, and carves out a place for himself in your life.

He wants to sink his teeth into you, and you think he's a big dog. Undomesticated. One who comes and goes as he pleases. A stray. A mutt.

It's said fondly. Full of love—

His mouth is full of cavities. His teeth ache. His gums bleed.

(do you know he's rabid? that the faded name on his dog tags once read cujo—)

Everything about you makes that sludge flood behind his eyes, pounding rotten fists against his temple. take, take, take; mine, mine—

The howling doesn't stop. It tells him to press you into the mattress and fuck you stupid. Tie you to the bedposts and never let you go—

He throws fists in the dark, trying to hit the madness in his head. Ends up with bloody knuckles and laughter in his ears.

(a voice of reason says, your bird is too big for a cage—)

He clings to it.

You're warm beside him. Burning hot. He syphons it from your veins when you're asleep, pulling you close just to feel something on his skin other than dirt. Other than blood.

It's easy to pretend he's fine with these little nips. Leaving teeth marks in your neck. Bloody rings snaking up your thighs.

He wraps one hand around both of your wrists, holds them high above your head, and tells himself it's enough. Shackled by him, under him, as he takes you apart, pulling at your sense of independence like the gnarled fingers of winter bringing defoliation to summer's bloom, but even with this, all of it, he still aches. Still wants. Needs—

Stupid fuckin’ mutt.

Then you bring his hands up to your throat, letting him wrap his bearish paws around your delicate neck, and he knows these little bites will never satiate the hunger in his guts.

He wakes up the next morning feeling warm. Full. Edges softened, if only just, by the sticky sweetness of your breath ghosting over his chest.

Simon curls his arm around you, holding tight. He won't let go. Won't—

Hide it. Put it away.

Ghost does neither of those things. He buries it, instead.

But in doing so, you find cracks in the foundation. Ones that are just big enough for your willfulness to slip through. To hand him back the cash he gave with a scoff, and a, i work, too, you know? i don't need your money, Simon. that's not why i’m with you—

(All he hears is, I don't need you.)

And then you send him a text. I'm going out with friends from work tonight. We're going drinking. I'll talk to you tomorrow!

In the zombified remains of his head, a new howling starts. The hisses tell him you're pulling away, running from him—

It's a big world out there. It'll eat you whole—

Like Tommy.

The thing about want is that sometimes it grows teeth, hands. Claws. Without a body of its own, it tends to mould itself after its maker because that's all it knows how to do: devour, consume. Yearn.

He shouldn't be too surprised to find that this need of his has dug itself out of the grave he buried it in.

(he did, too—)

The flimsy sarcophagus cracks open when Price announces that his missus is pregnant.

The howling in the back of his head stops abruptly. The pulsing ache in his temple abates. It's heavy, this weight. This absolute, utter emptiness—

No. It's not hollow. The chasm isn't drained, it's—

(In the silence, something growls. Feral. Possessed.)

—full. Perfect equilibrium. All of the patchwork parts of himself, the ones that don't quite fit, suddenly find synergy.

Communion.

Ghost cocks his head in consideration.

(your bird is too big for a cage—

—but maybe a collar would do.)

—after all, could you ever leave him with his name etched into your womb—

In leaving the key under the mat for him to come and go as he pleases, you've left yourself vulnerable. But—

Not anymore.

He has a safehouse he'll take you to. You'll let him, too, because it'll be the best choice for you. The three of you.

He's never entertained any ideas of family, not when the closest approximation he has is drenched in gun oil and smells of smoke from artillery fire, but the howling in his head quietens at the idea of it. He can't shackle you to the bed—stupid fucking mutt—but he can tie you down all the same. Make you his. Wholly. Always.

And the thing is—despite a pickaxe making figure-eights out of his grey matter; lead poisoning and rust giving him these sour, awful thoughts about locking you up in his house, leaving you a needy mess, dependent only on him—Simon supposes he knows right from wrong.

Intentionally knocking you up is amoral. Probably illegal. Somehow, even more dastardly when the reason for it is simply selfishness. Want. Greed. Hunger.

But in carving himself a place in your life, he failed to realise that the walls behind him closed in. No way out. And so, his only option is to go forward. To keep moving.

He'll be crucified for this, but that's fine.

He doesn't intend for you to find out, anyway. It'll be an accident. He came home early, and found you drunk. Drank with you. Your drunken idiocy merged, creating a terrible, noxious cocktail of awful, bad choices. Permanent ones. Irreversible.

(You're so sweet, so docile when you're drunk—)

It'll be easy to convince you. To play the part of a stoic man suddenly in turmoil. You'll offer to get rid of it, a suggestion that he'll flinch at—a cornered dog, a hand raising in the air. You'll whimper. Shake in his arms as you tentatively smooth over the wrinkles in his brow, murmuring out your options in a stilted breath.

You'll be a Riley before the end of your term. It's only proper, he'll mutter, stiff and uncomfortable, and you'll melt. Liquid tantalum in his palm. The fruits of his labour laid bare, seeping from the corners of his mouth. Tucked tight between his teeth. Mercury he can swallow down, keep in the bracket of his rotten ribs. Safekeeping from this world that just takes. Devours.

But not if he eats you first.

The mere notion alone serves as an anchor, locking him to the seafloor. The tumult in his head calmed at the promise of owning. Biting to claim. To have. Greedy for it. For you, and the strange sense of quiet your proximity brings him. The warmth, too.

He's a rabid dog. This he knows—has known—for quite some time. Indisputable. It pools in his mouth. Liquid sin. Makes him ache for just a sip. Unquenchable, though, because he's wary of water. Hydrophobia, but only for how it washes his efforts away. Cleanses.

The urge inside of him to bite, to infect, quietens when he gets closer to you.

(a rabid mutt licking at the window you're on the opposite side of, dreaming of just a taste—)

A byproduct of that maddening virus in his veins, the one he must have picked up six feet in the ground. Bite, bitebite—

—and give you a collar in the shape of his teeth.

He finds you in bed. A bottle of wine on the end table beside you, courtesy of your friend. The one lingering remora he couldn't snap at—one who sends you messages about how you are being manipulated. Taken advantage of. Fuck that loser, the latest one says when he picks up your phone, scrolling through the dwindling conversations housed within. Just him now, and them.

It preaches about empowerment. About how you shouldn't let a man pay your bills (textbook manipulation. he's putting you in a position of dependency. making you feel obligated to stay. it's all on Google, babes. like, fucking get a clue!!!!), or how it's moving so quickly (maybe you should come stay with me in Durham for a bit, hun. get away for a weekend. i worry about ya, is all). He hums, thumbing through the old chats.

You told her to fuck off about the manipulation, but it came after a lot of, oh, yeah. well, he's just. you know. he's different, and you haven't declined the invitation. i’ll think about it, is what you write.

It simmers under his skin. That independence he plans on stomping out under his heel. With his kin.

(sick, sick sick, wrong—)

It's desperation, this. Clawing at the walls—the dirt—until his nails are torn off his fingers. Until his skin splits, peels. Broken under rock and rubble. That animalistic need for air. To breathe. Basic training tells him not to save the person drowning unless he's sure they won't kill him in their struggle to live. But what's he supposed to do when that person is his rotting body, sinking down to unfathomable depths? When all he has is you to cling to—

Damnation built by his own hands.

You'll die together, he reckons, and tosses your phone on the hamper in the corner of the room.

Ghost can't remember the last time someone made him feel anything at all other than impartiality. Indifference. Casual apathy.

Price is the exception to this on the grounds of being consanguineous to him.

And you—

An outlier.

One he intends on sinking as deep as he can with. Anchored, maybe, by this little plan that beats and pulses in the back of his head. That clogs his throat with a want so thick, he can already taste the brine from the ocean. Water in his nose. Down his esophagus—

Better than dirt, he supposes. And it spurns him forward.

You're malleable like this. Tensile. He bends you easily with just a touch until you're flat on your back, a pillow shoved beneath your tailbone, and stripped. The loose shirt you wear to sleep is hiked up under your neck. Panties are pulled off until your sweet, bare cunt is revealed to him. All pretty and soft, and his. Untouched, he notes, and gives an appreciative stroke over your clit with his thumb.

It was something you were whining about the other day, panting in his ear as if he wasn't a continent away. Pleading with him on the phone to please, please let you come.

Simon likes the way you cling to him when it's been a while since something has wrecked you as thoroughly as his cock. When your spoiled pussy was neglected for a few days, weeks, and starved for attention. You were so sweet to him then, cooing in his ear how good you've been, how much you want him and only him, need him. Begging so prettily for it.

He's almost sad to spoil himself in your cunt when you can't weep for it. Can't bully him closer. Try to claw his eyes out. That delicious push-pull where you hiss at him for pulling away, but whine when he gets too close.

Sad, but—

Not enough to stop himself.

You're not wet enough for him to slide inside unprepared—his cock too big, something that makes his bones tremble—and he rectifies it by leaning down, letting saliva pool between his teeth and lips. He holds it there for a moment as he spreads your folds apart with his thumb and forefinger.

And then he spits on your bare cunt.

It hits your clit, the thick glob siding down your slit. He reaches between your thighs, pawing at you. Slides his fingers through the slick mess he made, teases around your tight rim.

Simon usually likes to take his time with you. Lapping at your pussy for hours until you're a weeping, snot-nosed mess whining in the sheets. Spoiled rotten. Begging him to fuck you already, Simon, you can't take it anymore—

He's mean. Cruel. Edges you for hours until your legs shake, trembling around his ears. He never lets you reach that peak—doesn’t let you come until he's buried inside of you.

Coming on his tongue, his fingers, is rarely a privilege you ever earn. Too much of a spitfire, a spiteful little kitten, to give in and do what he demands. So he keeps you on the precipice until he's ready to fuck you, ignoring your bribes, your bargains. Simon doesn't give in even when you beg, when you relent and tell him you'll finally be good.

You never are.

Spoiled, he always huffs. Down to the fuckin’ bone.

Like now. Pulling away from him. Him, the only person in your life who stuck around. A little bullying (bones breaking, splintering under his fists; the wet, hot smear of blood on his hands, skulls smacking against the pavement—an’ if you tell anyone, he cracks his battered fists and it sounds like a snarl, a gunshot, your parents will be cryin’ over an empty grave—) shooed the gnats away. He took a more clandestine approach to others. Birds that kept circling you tight. Protective, shrill. They made his head ache, but—

(don't want to start nothin’, but i don't want to be alone wit’ ‘er. tried to kiss me, is all. ain't like that, pet—)

It was a test. And they all failed. All but him.

Yet—

come to Durham.

i’ll think about it.

Ungrateful. It's his fault, though. Simon doted on you too much, cosseted by his affection, when he should have clipped your wings from the beginning.

Ah, well—

Lesson learned.

You're wet enough now. He pushes in two fingers, scissoring them apart. You'd be yowling at him, kicking up a fuss if you'd been awake. But you're not. It thrums through him. Thick, heady. He likes you like this—probably more than he should. The heat simmering in his veins bubbles. Pops. Sap on charring wood. It clogs his throat with his smoke until it burns, a dry forest fire.

He needs you. Needs to be in you. He's tired of waiting. Impatience burrows into him like a maelstrom.

Simon adjusts his hold on your leg, fingers curling behind your kneecap. Steadying himself. His fingers slip out of your cunt with a sloppy squelch that ghosts across his spine. Anticipatory. A touch anxious. He wants you. Wants you bad—

He takes himself in his hand, and slides the weeping tip over your slit. Taps it once, thrice on your clit. And then guides it to your centre. Your warmth bleeds into him. Eager, he shuffles forward. Feeds you his cock. Eyes drilling into the place where his head slips in, swallowed by your sloppy, wet hole. The glands make you stretch around him. Rim pulled taut.

The sight alone must have been crafted by some Luciferian dream, dangled before him in the shade of nirvana.

take a bite, it urges. and then take more—

Like this, passed out with your legs hitched over his shoulders, drooling into the pillow unawares, you're just a doll.

Made for him, and—

“Fuckin’ hell—” He presses into you—cock splitting tight, warm heat—and tries not to lose himself to the sensation of being bare, raw, inside of you.

—“A perfect fit.”

It's always been condoms. You're not on birth control. Ink blots in his eyes. He goes a little feral with it. Instincts unleashed. Unfettered.

Simon bullies his fat cock into you until his hips tap the back of your thighs, buried as deep as he can go. It's molten heat cocooning him—a warm embrace. For the first time, ever, he thinks he understands the meaning of home. Sliding home, in particular.

(Welcome home. Home. Home. He'll make a house out of your body. Sleep inside the brackets of your thighs, head pillowed on your chest—)

As good as you feel around him—slick, wet, and tight—and as much as he wants to saviour the sight of you, passed out on the pillow, cunt split by his cock, he has a goal, a mission, to see through.

His hand falls, slick and tacky, to your lower belly. Palm pressing against the subtle bulge in your abdomen, the outline of his cock. You always whine and hiss that he's too big for you. That you can't take him to the root.

Hurts, you complain, hand against your naval. Fingers knotting over the place that aches.

He presses his fingers there instead, feeling himself under your skin. Changing your anatomy to make room for him to fit—

It lights him in fire. Spurns him on. He bucks into you, pace sloppy, clumsy. Selfish. He's unrelenting as he splits you apart, drilling the full length of himself into your supine body, supple flesh relaxed under him, practically melting into the sheets.

The thread keeping his resolve, his self-control, sprung up tight begins to quiver. Each piston into you has delicate fingers drumming across the strings of a harpsichord. It reverberates through him, echoing in the stifling, suffocating, silence of the bedroom, overtaking it. Clouding it with the musk of his desire, his devotion to you, to this dream blooming in the prison of his mind.

Everything narrows into a needlepoint.

There's just your burning flesh beneath him, softer than it's ever been; pillowy. Welcoming. And the sounds of him fucking into you—lewd squelches, slick and wet; the sound of his cock finding home in the basin of your spread thighs; his heavy breaths, his groans and growls that seem to rattle the bed. The noise breaks, an incomplete requiem of sin in his head, and he loses himself in the lulling notes, dragged under in the bestial beat of taking what his—

A sudden noise shatters through the room. Beneath him, you stir, gasping wetly. The sound mangled in your throat.

There's confusion in your sleepy, hazy gaze when you peer up at him, lashes clumping together. You moan, whimpering, as you struggle to latch on to the threads of cognisance that he's content to fuck out of you. Your hand lifts, falls to his wrist still pressed against your lower belly. The grip is lax, loose. You’re not pushing him away, but clinging to him. Centring yourself.

It makes his blood thicken. Has him burning red-hot.

“Wha’s a’matter, pet?” He taunts, grinding his cock into you hard enough to make your dazed eyes water. Your hand tightens around him, holding steady. “Don't like it? Not fuckin’ you hard enough?”

“Simon—”

His name tapers off into a keen when he angles hips, and starts pistoning into you with a mean, merciless fury. The desperate noises that spill, unhindered, from your slack mouth is the perfect accompaniment to the lewd sound of him fucking your sopping cunt; the piece he was missing when this started. His requiem, complete.

It's a serrated blade to his self-control, already frayed and threadbare as it is. The pressure makes it snap.

“C'mon, sweet thing. Thought you wanted this?”

There's a place in hell just for him. It's sealed when you blink your tired, sleepy eyes up at him, mind a slurry of lingering somnolence and the heady alcohol on your breath, and offer a shuddering whimper. Always so soft for him, so agreeable when you’re drunk.

“So’ry, Simon—”

You can barely string words together. Poor, pitiful you—vulnerable under him. Breakable. Malleable. Anyone else could have tricked you into this same position when he was away. Got you beneath them like this, compliant and unawares, and took what belongs to him.

(The only thing in this destitute existence he claims for himself—)

Not anymore. Not ever again.

It's almost callous when he grinds into you. Hateful. Brutish. Furious. And dazed as you are, you barely even flinch at the snarls that spill, unfettered, from the back of his throat. The low groans of him making promises with devils unknown; constructing shackles from brass, iron.

Entrenching his future in motion, cupped protectively between the parentheses your thighs make around his hips. It's almost a vicious sort of poetry, one laid bare in the odious ruins of that broken thing he calls a heart. Etched into his rotten pericardium. Necrosed devotion. He'll see it through—however noxious, and putrid, you might find the miasmal stench of it spun tight in his web.

It's for your own good.

And as if you agree, you answer him in perfect euphony, moaning sweetly as you tilt your hips up for more.

Ghost groans low in his throat, bestial and spinning rapidly out of his control. He feels everything spinning, slipping; the trudge to the finish line narrows into a pinprink. He needs something to cling to, to hold on to with broken hands—

The only purchase he finds is in your demise.

His hand lifts, shaking yours loose. He reaches up, fingers dig into your chin, forcing your pouty mouth open. You blink at him, sluggish, but he catches the thin gossamer of awareness spooling thin cobwebs over darkened crevasses, covering the canyons in your eyes with cognisance. It makes him leer.

“Stick your tongue out, pretty girl,” he rasps, words sticking together, muffled under the mask. Crushed aggregate stone under the weight of his own desire. “Tha’s it. Open up nice and wide—”

He lets spit gather again, pooling on his tongue. It's degrading, you always say. Gross. But you swallow it down like a good girl, anyway. Always. You come at him with fangs and claws, but somehow, you always merge in a perfectly dizzying polyphony.

Ghost spits on your tongue. Lets it land right in the middle of fleshy pink. A sick, twisted pleasure thrums in his veins at the sight.

There's checking the boxes of an established kink, and this. Horrifically proprietary. Ownership that ignites a fire in his marrow, setting him alight from the inside out. Turns bone into blackened char, cinder. He can almost taste it on his tongue.

It's made worse, turned frenzied, when you—sweet, perfect, you—bracket it protectively in the curve of your tongue. Completely dazed, head filled with a heady slurry of somnolence and alcohol, but still aware enough to know, even if only through muscle memory, what you're meant to do when he spits in your mouth.

If anything, you're more obedient like this. Little doll. Coddling it lovingly, this little piece of him that he gives you.

And it might be the madness speaking—these fraying thoughts take on a vitriolic edge, corrosive aqua regia pooling in his throat—but Christ. He's been stabbed in the guts, repeatedly, and it somehow packed less of a punch than this.

He wants, wants—

Family never crossed his mind, was never even on the table or something to be considered, but with you it brims. Blooms in rot. Roots in tenebrous.

He has this insatiable urge to devour you whole so you'll always be with him. The waves of his desire are monstrous. The waters below are rapacious. A gaping maw eager to eat you up—

Pity it’s not an option.

But he’ll make do. Buy a ring tomorrow. Something pretty that matches your eyes. The curve of your smile. Sanctioned ownership. A collar in gemstones and gold, glimmering and shining bright enough that should any light fade from your gaze, it’ll illuminate in the gloom; twilight made in sorrow. The prettiest blues—

Said eyes water. Ghost’s hold on your face relaxes when you give a muffled keen, cheeks bubbling up against the pressure. Tongue still stuck out even as he takes his pleasure from your supine flesh. Suspended in motion, stasis. Such a good girl for him—

He swallows. Tastes poison, rot, on his tongue. “Swallow.”

You're a little sluggish, a little slow, but you follow his command all the same. He knows, then, that it could only ever be you.

No one gets under his skin like this. No one makes him itch, want, crave, as much as you do—

You make a face, twisted up in some amalgamation of pleasure and confusion. It nudges the ruins of his chest and feels almost like a heartbeat when it pulses in his flesh.

“Simon, Simon—”

His name is all you can say, and he's not sure if you're begging for mercy, or muttering it out into the scant air between your heaving breaths like an obsecration, an orison, but he eats it all the same. Bites down on your pleas, your cries, your prayers, and chews them up between fangled teeth. Takes them down into the swirling pits of his belly where they're eaten alive by what grows in the decay.

(belly full of dirt:

he heaves, and heaves, but nothing comes out even though he can taste humus in his throat, feel worms using his organs like a playground—)

“Somethin’ you want, pet?” He taunts, and shifts his hips back just enough to drag a few inches of his cock out of your drenched cunt. A tease—cruel and mean. He’d get lobbed upside the head for this had you been in your right mind. A tap to his temple, shaking the cobwebs loose. He would have bent down, and sunk broken teeth into your jugular. Merging violence with love until bloody knuckles feel like a kiss. “All you ‘ave to do is ask. Use your words, pretty thing—”

You whine, low and drawn out. A lazy whimper in the back of your throat. “Pl’se—”

You can barely speak. Tongue too thick. Sleep too heavy in your veins. Alcohol, too. A lesson, perhaps, for his willful little pet come the morning when you struggle to measure just how deep into his gullet you’ve let yourself fall.

He can’t help rubbing salt into the shallow cuts, if only because he likes the way you pout.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better’n that.”

And damn him—damn you—you do. Your hand curls over his wrist, pulling it close to your mouth where you place a kiss against his palm. Tender. Chaste. Midnight blooms in your eyes, casts shadows under pale moonlight. His breath stutters in his chest when you lean your head back, letting his hand fall to your bared neck.

Your heavy, lidded eyes gaze back at him, cutting through the shade of night that sews the air like satin. Etched in the file silk is threads of trust in stark white. The kind that bleeds for him; hungers. One that aches, always tender like a bruise. The throb of it echoes between mouldering ribs. Booms between his ears.

Ghost doesn’t fall into pieces. Doesn’t shatter. No. Something in the splintered remains shifts. Settles. He wraps his fingers around the thick of your throat, thumb notched tight against your pulse, and he feels complete. Whole. Remade from the ruins.

Your breath hitches. The sound is a gunshot in his ears. He squeezes down, a gentle press. Just enough to make the air spill out of your lungs, to let your eyes water. Lachrymose, eager. It does something to him when you cry. He feels tipped upside down, torn inside out. Left all askew, asunder. He wants to drown in the pebbling river growing against your lashline. Wants to drink it down until it quenches his neverending thirst. Wants, wants—

He feels his name spill from your lips. Brassy and broken, trembling against his palm. A plea—

More.

And he gives it to you.

Simon hitches your ankle on his shoulder. Adjusts the grip he has on your throat. He settles over your body, blanketing you under his bulk. Stygian beast devouring the maiden whole. The thought amuses him even as it knocks the air from his lungs.

He anchors himself into the mattress with his knees, steadying himself, curls his other hand around the iron ring of the headboard. All the while, you look up at him—glossy eyes burning coals in the dark, in the gloom. Wanting, hungry. Mouth held open as if you’re waiting for his scraps—

And then he bucks into you, the leverage giving his thrust a savage edge.

The whines are snuffed out under his palm. Your eyes widen, tears now spilling down your temple, soaking the pillow below your head.

He groans, head rolling back. “Fuckin’ hell—ain’t you a pretty sight?”

Tucked under him, throat swallowed by his palm. Split on his cock, slick and wet. The tears streaming down your face makes him feel wicked, foul; but the spit running down your slackened jaw quells any doubt. The hand on his wrist holds him tight, tighter still, to your flesh.

You want this. His spoiled rotten bird.

So, he gives it to you.

Simon’s almost ruthless when he snaps his hips into yours, cooing viciously into your ear about how you feel, how you look, how you sound—so pretty wrapped around him, under him; his little doll—

“S’where you belong, pet—” guttural words spill, flintlike and savage, from his mangled throat. Reinforced with the hateful way he blugeons his cock into you. Times it perfectly with the firm squeezes against your jugular, never letting you catch your breath. Your eyes roll back, legs trembling. Shaking. But you don’t move, don’t struggle. The hand on his wrist is a shackle, and it makes him smirk, scars pulling up in a gnarled mess of mirth; ugly and mean. “Right where you belong. Ain’t tha’ right?”

He leans down, babbles nonsense into your temple. Promises you the heads of gods, the ichor they bleed. Swears he’ll build a shrine for you in Durham.

But for as mocking as these words he murmurs into your ear are, they’re tremulous. Raw. A current roars beneath; a steady stream, a plea, all full of need: stay, stay staystay—

(please)

He buries his nose into your hairline to stem the ravening ache in his guts, breathes in the heady scent of you—of sex, and wine, and sweat. Drags it into his lungs in harsh, angry gasps to stain his skin with the smell of you. Of him.

It goes right to his head in a heavy rush until he’s dizzy, almost sick, with the swell of it flooding in. An animal, he thinks, drunk on merging pheromones that make him mindless. Unfettered.

It’s as if he’s driven on instinct alone; his frenzied pace ebbs, grows sloppy. The air around him feels thick. Syrupy. Stifling. The balmy breath in his chest is nearly as unbearable as it is addicting. Sickeningly sweet. Still—

His chest expands, taking as much of the potent miasma into his lungs as he can, filling them up, up, until he feels the edges threaten to brust. It’s only then, when ink moults across his vision, that he lifts his head just enough to shove his mouth against yours, a broken snarl ripping free from his throat as he forces the infectious air into your mouth, down to your lungs. Polluting you with the same sickness. The same rot.

Little hiccups tumble past your lips as you swallow it down, taking everything he gives you, and he catches them on his tongue. Plays with them between his teeth, basking in the salty tang of you—brine, loam; peatsalt. Ashes, guncotton. Molasses. He’s not sure if he wants to drown you in him, or crawl into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth that pulses around his tongue like a heartbeat.

Both, maybe. Everything. All of it.

Always—

But he’s chasing pleasure on fumes. Trying to run with broken legs. There’s nothing refined about this. About the way he cudgels the head of his cock into the places that make your mouth twist away from his greedy lips in a silent scream. His weight is crushing you, he’s sure, but you cling to him harder, holding him tighter. Almost afraid to let go. And fuck—the notion alone is a kick to the chest, harsh and heavy. He nearly gags on the litany of broken moans spiling out of his mouth, landing on your tongue.

Driven mad, maybe (or pussy-drunk, and high off of his own poison); but in that madness, he discovers this:

Nirvana exists between your thighs.

Home, too.

(well—

not yet.)

Pleasure fissions down his spine. The paroxysm taking him deeper into the battle-worn depths of his demise until the walls narrow, closing in. Crushing. No escape. But—

He won’t climb out of his hole he dug. Not until he makes a bed from your flesh; shelter out of your bones. He wants to ingrain himself as deep within you as he can, arsenic subsumed down to your marrow. Poisoned with the fill of him, too sick to let go.

(Bone nausea.

A death sentence.)

It metastasises inside of him, filling the barren spaces up until it leaks from his pores.

He wants it: this dream so tantalisingly close.

Simon lifts his hand from your throat, and reaches out, grasps at it with a shaking paw—

All it takes is a few crass, careless swipes of his calloused thumb across your clit, cock angled toward that spot that makes you rake your broken nails down his back, yowling in his ear for more, there, please, Simon, please—

You clench like a vice around him. A pretty bow tied up at the base of his cock. He bows over you, grunts spilling from his chest as he sinks his teeth into your nape, splitting skin btween his teeth. The warm, ozonous tang of your blood flooding his tongue is euphoric, eclipsing his mind in a haze of pleasure that crackles and burns at the base of his spine, spitting smoke up his body and into his skull.

The harsh whine you let out—all prey, all animal; wounded, stuck under his muzzle—has some part of him, basal and inborn, rearing up. Roaring in his ears, ripping talons across the jagged remains of his head.

(mine, mine, mine—)

He answers your scream with a growl, one caught in the smoke clogging his throat. It sounds inhuman when its wrenched out of his mouth—more animal than man: the devastating howl of a forest on fire—but the feel of it vibrating between his teeth is connatural. Innate. It belongs between his incisors; fits like a puzzle piece in his broken muzzle. Unleashed now. Finally free from this ill-fitting cage he housed it, this goddamn box—

Cobbled together from palm ash and brimstone, ichor and salt. Sewed up with copper sutures in the shape of a man for a perfect fit.

Every cell in his body screams that he was made for this. To be over you, in you. Maw filled with your blood. Pussy stuffed full of his cock.

He might not have clawed out of the dirt for you, but this mossy, gnarled lump in his chest beats now only for you. Apodictic. Ironclad. His teeth in your jugular, your life pulsing wetly on his tongue.

It’s his apotheosis. His end.

His hips stutter. White noise in his head. It drowns out the shrill screams, the hisses. Everything is just—static. Pleasure of a silent kind, humming, buzzing, and molten. Ghost buries himself inside of you as deep as he can, until his cock is fit snug against the plug of your womb, and lays his claim by branding it with the potency of his name.

Tidally locked, you’re dragged down the summit with him, tumbling to your demise. Too dazed, too wound tight in his arms, his embrace, to see the jagged rock at the bottom of the hungry chasm thirsting for your blood, you just cling to him. Refusing to let go.

(silly girl—

His pretty little perigee.)

His body aches in ways that cruelly remind him of his age. Joints stiff, stomach quivering. His knuckles sting when he unfurls it from the headboard, skin pink and raw from the tight hold he had around the metal.

It’s made worse when he heaves a harsh breath, and pulls away from you with a long, drawn out groan. He settles back on his haunches, eyes searing into the space between your thighs. Messy with his spend. It dribbles down your slit, your ass, pools on the sheets below.

Your chest shudders, legs splayed out how he left you. He thinks, viciously, of gazelles, and wonders if the blood he feels drying on his mouth looks anything like the muddied mane of a lion after eating its fill.

“Fuckin’ hell—”

He should clean you up, hide his crime, but he burns the image of you into his head (another tattoo over scar tissue), and drops to a heap beside you. The moment his back hits the mattress and all thoughts of moving are erased in silk, in smoke and clover.

Chest heaving, slick with sweat, he feels the thrum of his victory in his veins. The high of the chase abates, and he nearly purrs with contentment. Hangs his pride on a pedestal, and doesn’t think about the absence of any guilt. Doesn’t even entertain the thought, not when victory dries between your thighs. When you roll over with a huff, reaching out for him.

It's as if you're trying to bury yourself inside of him, crawl into the safety of his ribs.

Ghost grunts, feels his sensitive, spent cock give a feeble twitch on his sticky thigh. The idea of you, blissfully unaware, seeking comfort from the man who writ your body with his virile spend, irrevocably changing your life and entwining it so deeply and so messily with his own that to severe either of you from each other is nearly impossible, floods him with satisfaction so deep, euphorically heady, that his chest seems to shudder. Resounding with some amalgamation of a purr, a grow, so utterly primal, that he sounds more beast than man.

His roots run deep within you, now, and every misaligned piece of his patchwork body seems to sag and shiver in an almost perfect parallelism. Congruence ascertained with the cupping of you between its mismatched maw. Shackled in a baleen prison. Nestled, safe and sound, between white teeth.

Ghost pulls you close, holding tight, and hums. As you drool on his shoulder, dripping with his spend, he knows he'll keep you there forever, until you're nothing but bones.

There's a cloud of confusion hanging over you the next morning, a twinge of uncertainty gnarling across the gaps in your memory. The pieces of a puzzle that belong to a different set. He watches you scramble through them, filling in blanks. Oscillating so deliciously between wariness and discontent.

“‘morning,” he greets, as if his spend hasn’t dried on your thigh last night. Tucked up nice and tight against your fertile, unprotected womb. As if he couldn't taste brimstone in the back of his throat when you wince as you walk, achy and battle-worn from the weight of his desire crushing you all night.

“Morning,” it's a sticky rasp in your throat. He wonders if you taste him on your tongue. “When did you get in?”

“Las’ night.”

You nod, but it's absent. Flickering through the timeline of events that aren’t drenched in black, shaded over like a heavy bruise. Your expression is fractured. Raw. Pensive. Something untouchable, unchartable, and yet he reads you as plainly as the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup.

You don’t remember. Don’t know what to make of this chasm, this fissure, that looms, icy and deep, before you. There’s no anger, though. You don’t demand recompense for what he stole, what he took. The lashings he deserves are tucked quietly between your teeth. Hidden under layers of normalcy to prevent yourself from seeing him as is: a beast.

“Well, um. Some homecoming, huh?” You joke, but it's hollow. Flat. Fragile like fine glass. You're digging for more. Rooting around to connect these vague, absent dots that linger, lost in the vacancy of your memory.

He almost purrs.

He wants to chew you up. Spit you in the palm of his hand. Maybe tuck you in his breast pocket, nestled against the lump in his chest—the one those silly enough to dream might call a heart. Keep you there forever. Hidden in the barrel of his loaded gun.

“Bit rowdy.”

It’s horrifically vague, but you cling to the prevacation he proffers to you; a lifeline in the turbulent sea, letting it overwrite the absence, the itching in your skull that must be clanging on the walls, begging for you to run.

“Sorry,” it's sheepish. He knows the ferality in which you sometimes come at him when he's buried deep inside you is something that makes you twinge with embarrassment. Little kitten clawing at the old dog trying to get it to play. Rolling over immediately when it growls. Docile, sickeningly sweet.

But even naive kittens know to watch out for the frothing, foaming maw.

“Did you use a—?”

He dips his chin. “I might ‘ave.”

And you take it as gospel. As truth. Why would Simon have any reason to lie to you about this?

Relief shudders over your shoulders. You relax, inching toward the seat across from him. Gazelle making a home for itself in the lion’s den.

The spell of unease is broken, now, and you quickly fill the chasm with chatter about your day. Your plans. Asking him how he’s been.

You shove at the warning signs until they’re hidden away, and ignore the bones of your brethren scattered around you. All because you trust him.

He aches with the urge to crush it between his teeth.

And he will one day soon, he’s sure, because it’s just as easy to enact his plan as it was to get you to open the door.

It starts with him convincing you to drink with him after dinner. Jus’ a glass. Got this fancy bottle. Reckon we should ‘ave some.

But—

Can’t drink forever—no matter what his dogshit dad thought.

So, he pokes holes in the condoms you hide in the bedside table, a little wary now. A touch fretful about your contraceptives in a way that makes him preen. You have good instincts, but rarely do you listen to them. Your head must be filled with sirens, but it's futile, he supposes. He's already stuffed cotton into your ears.

It only feeds into that gaping chasm that bellows up from the depths that this world is not good for you. That it will tear you into pieces, into shreds. You need him. Need the Ghost to protect you.

Case in point:

You’re needy beneath him, panting and mewling into the sheets as he teases your clit with his thumb. So wet, it almost feels like hot oil on his skin. Syrupy thick.

In your desperation, you cling to him, throat bared. Fragile fine china. Belly up. Vulnerable.

You barely notice when he pulls off the condom, crumpling it up into a ball and shoving it in the pocket of his slacks.. Don’t even react when he shoves his bare, raw cock into you.

You don't even notice.

(or when he slurs in your ear about how badly he wants to knock you up—breed his pretty girl until she’s stuffed full of him, making life with what he offers. salvation in the form of creation. ain’ tha’ a thought? he huffs into your ear, humid mirth curling over your skin. a stain. and the way it unfetters you—tightening around him, gushing slick—he finds his answer, one reinforced in the rolling of your eyes as your common sense, independence, trickle out of your ears and down your slackened jaw—)

And when that fails, he just slips you a sleeping pill. There's always an easier way to the finish line, he finds.

(stupid fuckin’ mutt—)

Nothing bleeds from the cracks he wrought, or slinks from the shadows cast by his machinations until weeks later.

Life just goes back to what it once was—Simon coming and going, letting himself into your home with the door you leave unlocked. You go to work, and chatter aimlessly about this vision you have about a home in the countryside, near the ocean. Saving up—uselessly—for sheep and goats, and the sought-after Highland cows. Chickens and ducks first, you say, and barely notice when his gaze drops, drilling holes into your stomach. Watchful. Leering.

He can almost scent the change on you. Nose pressed to your skin; bloodhound sniffing the ground.

Ghost keeps time in the slow, susurrus drawl of your voice sifting through the cotton in his ears, waiting for those precious decibels to catch on, to tilt up at the end as your eyes skim the calendar he keeps scratching x’s across in red, almost delicate, innocent even though it's from his sanguinary hand. A countdown to something you haven’t yet caught on to.

And it’s all so sweet.

—the waiting game, the subtle changes, the desperate way you cling to normalcy—

Sweet, like the way you carve this life out for yourself, filled with stuffed animals full of idealism. So much so, that it's almost bitter. Acrid. He watches the light glow in your eyes as your plans take shape, moulding putty between your hands, and like a pit viper, he coils in on himself. Frenzied. Fearful—

But only just.

The excitation has run its course. He’s drifting, languid, into his scheme. Content. The notion of you slipping from his fingers is a thought that rarely crosses his mind these days, especially when that house on the prairie grows from an occupant of one to two—

“And, you know… when you're not out saving the world—” your eye roll and air quotes make his lips twitch, tugging at the scar tissue, the acid burns, splashed across his mouth. An ugly fucking Pollock. “—maybe you can come visit.”

“Never fancied myself a rancher,” he drawls, just to watch you squirm. Brow furrowing into a deep ravine as you struggle to make your intentions known without actually giving them sound. Skirting around the issue of wanting him there, of planning a home with him.

(Too much, maybe? Or too soon—?

if only you knew—)

He finds it charming, really.

Still—

“It's just a thought,” you mutter, downcast. He wants to choke on your misery. Your sadness. Drown himself in your anger. Float in your happiness.

Fuckin' Christ—

All this playing daddy in his head has thrown him off his rocker. Made him soft. Sentimental. It's probably why he yields to you. Offers a lazy shrug and another smarmy twitch of his lips.

“Sounds like a plan,” and the way you brighten is a dagger to his chest.

And the thing is. It does. It sounds like a dream, a perfect vision. Just—

Maybe not in the way you'd want.

He's been looking into places unmarred by human hands. Ghost towns, uncharted territories. His home here isn't perfect for it, not like the vast geography of Mexico. The uninhabited wilderness of Canada, places so remote that it's almost untethered to modern civilisation. Islands of forest, mountains, all on their own.

Vast corners and crevasses where someone can disappear and never be found.

But those won't work in tandem with his flighty lifestyle. While he plans on keeping you barefoot and pregnant (common sense in the back of his head screams that he's foul, vile, monstrous—), he will continue to work. Has to, really, to avoid suspicion.

So—

Home it is.

But he gets inspiration from the Highland cows you coo on about and purchases a plot of land in the Western Isles. Gives this whim of his—yours, really—a concrete foundation made of the abstract. The filament provided by his newly christened Sergeant—an overeager mutt that bleeds warning signs from his pores.

(don’t get close, reactive dog. will bite—

the little mutt is a great pyrenees, ain’t he?)

But bless Johnny’s bleedin’ heart, he thought as the man prattled on about this cabin he owns. A place of solitude. Could fire a gun and no one would even peek out the curtains. Beautiful, the way all of Scotland is. The highlands, he breathes in that shade of catholic madness only the dutiful soldiers of god's right-handed wrath can be, is where he keeps his home. A place chiselled from stone, surrounded by wilderness that eats tourists alive.

(he didn’t ask at the time why Johnny was so keen on finding these places scattered around Scotland, ones with little traffic and a nearly negligible amount of souls within the vicinity, but he finds its best not to get too close to mutts crossbred with wolves.)

But Simon is nothing if not devoted, and so.

You’ll get your fantasy ranch in the middle of nowhere. Your highland cows, your billy goats, your chicken, sheep, and ducks. A baby in your arms, too. One that shows its hand the next morning, dashing all your carefully laid plans. These paths of independence of yours run parallel to his whims but never converge. There’s the potential in this for these fraying threads to split, and diverge. Separate.

(But it’s all put to rest at the sound of you heaving in the adjoining washroom. His path eats yours until it’s overtaken. Consumed.

The evasive, unfettered little bird trammelled, caught. Wing-clipped, and all his.)

Any misgivings the part of his gyri not buried under the frothing mess of his polluted grey matter might have is vitiated by the unwavering certitude that, despite his own gains in this, it really is in your best interest.

And maybe it's something that should have come earlier in your relationship—however threadbare that word is in conjunction with the unhinged desire blooming in the pit of his chest; madness masquerading as love or some obsessive, desperate facsimile of it. Maybe a proper man, a better one, might have dug down and fully laid out the reality of intertwining your life with the living dead. That the idea of danger, death, and revenge are all everpresent threats scratching at the walls of this sickeningly sweet fantasy you wrap around yourself.

He’s a dangerous man. A creature of devastation—manmade, bent into, or congenital is yet to be unearthed—which, in itself, brings about a certain lifestyle. One with fewer people around, and always shrouded in secrecy. Friends, family—none of that matters when death curdles gnarled fingers around his jugular.

You’ll get used to it. Eventually. The only other choice is to let you, his now flightless bird, go. Released back into the wild vulnerable and reeking of his stench.

You’ll be devoured before daylight, ripped into pieces—only if they’re feeling generous, that is.

Simon has his own twisted remora. Ones with claws and fangs and a hunger that runs deep. Insatiable. Any scraps that fall from his mouth are devoured before they can touch the sea floor. They’ll crush you in their maw and dangle your mangled body from the gaps between their teeth.

You’re not made for the wild. Not anymore. You’re meant to be protected. You—this fragile, delicate thing. He’ll hold you close, keep you secure and safe in a mausoleum of your own making.

This little glass jar domicile.

A billet in the mountains.

He’ll fill it with the finest things—silk linens, fine china; mahogany and teak, pink ivory; a bed of soft, downy feathers, sherpa, Egyptian cotton; (sticks and stones and grass and moss). Buy you whatever you need. Chickens and ducks. Sheep and goats.

They’ll keep you company when he’s away.

(and if that fails, he can always plan playdates for you with whatever dirty secret Johnny’s been keeping tucked away in the woods.)

He draws an x in the empty, white box of the calendar, the tip of his red marker gliding silkily across the glossy surface. Something unfurls in his guts. Blossoms in his bones. There’s an almost indescribable sense of satisfaction—primal and animalistic—that grows from the upturned dirt in his head. Life composted from rot.

Ghost hums to himself when he turns, the sound nearly a purr—bestial as it is, suffocated under sulphur. It reverberates through his chest, trembling across the brackets of his ribs that expand with his deep, heavy inhale—breathing in the sight that greets him like a lover’s kiss

The kebab he ordered lays untouched on the table across from the television—some trashy reality show playing in the background while you tried to eat; a dating show, you’d said when he merely shrugged, having other things on his mind over what to watch while you ate. It all seems to be preserved in time. Frozen in on the exact moment when you’d sniffed the döner kebab he got for you—the same thing you order each time—and then promptly wrenched yourself back, gagging. The sandwich was flung back in the takeaway box before you slapped your hand over your mouth, rushing into the washroom.

If his phone wasn’t in the other room, he might have taken a picture. A little memento to remember this moment. Framed it in iron and perched it on the desk they gave him back in Hereford, the one just down the hall from Price.

(ah, speaking of—he’ll have to send that caustic bastard a fruit basket, or something, won’t he? maybe some pretty flowers for his lady.)

His reverie is shaken when the door to the washroom creaks open slowly, and you emerge through the gap with sweat on your brow, knots across your forehead, and a shaking hand resting over your churning stomach.

Shame, he thinks. He really should have brought his phone—

You lean against the wall, taking in deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself, confusion and worry knitting over you like a thundercloud. It tastes of ozone when he inhales. An approaching storm. In the blue gloom of the living room, illuminated only by the light flooding out from the washroom behind you and the static glow of the television, you look etiolated. A wilting flower.

His budding rose.

He coos. “You alright?”

You glance sideways at the kebab on the table, mouth pinching into a grimace as if to stem the nausea still rippling through you. You stare at it for a long moment, seemingly trying to make sense of the reality sitting in front of you on scratched, old pine; confusion runs laps over the dawn cresting in your eyes. This puzzle is too unfathomable for you to piece together; the keys and slots all askew.

The air around him grows still. Silent. Anticipatory. A tiger crouched low in the tussock. A little fawn roaming too close.

There’s a heaviness in your eyes when they flicker back to the wall where he stands, drilling holes into the x. Something implacable frissons over your threadbare expression, fracturing across sallow cheeks.

The air is electric. It pulses across his bare flesh, irritating scar tissue, acid burns, and scorch marks. His skin prickles at its whisper.

“Feelin’ sick, pet?” He ponders, playing pretend. He’s viciously, deeply amused at the desperate denial splashing across your cheeks. The thin shade of askance that unfurls like the leaves of a flytrap when you look at him. “Mus’t’a been the kebab. Bad meat, I reckon?”

You offer a weak nod in response, pinching your lips tight together. The matter seemingly concluded, brushed aside. Pocketed for later.

And you say nothing else for the rest of the night—gaze unseeing, turned inward; pensive—but he purrs in contentment as if everything was alright, sprawled across the couch with his head pillowed against your churning stomach as if he could hear the whisper of another heartbeat from within.

In the saturated blue light, he catches your eyes listing toward the calendar every so often. Wary. Nervous. He thinks you might say something, might ask, but you don’t. It’s caught on a stilted breath. A harsh swallow.

All you do is bring your hand to his shorn head, and raze the stumps of your clipped claws against his scalp. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soothe the madness from within. Scratching that itch deep inside until it goes away. Gentle hands play pretend and dress up as a panacea. Affection to scrape the illness away.

He thinks you should know better than that, even as he leans into it with a soft exhale, more relaxed than he'd ever been his entire life. Content. Unassailable in his conquest.

Simon has always been more scar tissue than man, and no place is damaged more than the upturned tumulus inside his head.

But oh. How you try—

His sweet, sweet girl.

The look you give him the next evening is, in parts, brumous.

A polynya of dread, worry, guilt, fear that frissons across the deep valleys in your eyes, shaded in plumes of darkness, filled in deliciously with the weight of your beleaguered uncertainty. It yawns out before him, this heavy gloom.

So close he catch the embers in his hand.

“Simon… We should—talk. I, uh—”

You hold up a little rectangle, dismay, misery, etched in the blue tinge spreading across your face. It seems to steal the words from your throat, turn them into ash. What else are you meant to say, he supposes, when you look out at the world now from the gape in his maw?

But there’s a veil of wonderment that hides below the tidal wave; this precious, deadly, undercurrent that rents the air, splits his chest in two.

The happiness, however meagre, thin, it is right now (just a sunken boat on the seafloor), is there. Ripe for salvage, and he sees that it’s handled with care. Cupped between his palms, nurtured by his own conviction to do what’s right, an’—fuck, pet—know this ain’t what we planned, but—

but:

The howling quiets, turns to a low growl, and then a susurrus hum, when you shakily utter the words he was waiting for.

“Yes, Simon—”

You shudder when his fist closes over your wrist, pulling you into his purring chest. Shaking like a prey animal in the jowls of a beast, bested and ensnared. It has a profound, almost predatory, sense of satisfaction curling over his bones. He knows this was the right choice, and is sure, in time, you'll come to realise that, too. You’re in the early stages, he knows. Prodromal. You need to be handled with care to curb the lacrimation, the hyperesthesia.

And there’s no one better than him to guide you through the throes of it. To lead you to the unequivocal end.

He leans down, and whispers in your crown—

“Good girl—”

—and the sound of his voice is gravel encased in sticky, sweet honey. Dark, smokey molasses. The very same cadence as a key sliding inside of a lock; metal grazing metal. Turning—

“If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Tommy.”

Click.

(he gives you that ring he promised when he takes you to the mountains. you smile wide, and tell him it fits like a gyve.)

Simon stops shovelling his want under the cold dirt and starts burying it inside you instead. Makes a domicile from your flesh; a place where he can rest his aching head every night until the howling scraping down fractured bone stops— (paralytic)

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #goddd this is foul #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #cod smut #simon riley smut #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty x reader #ghost cod x reader #in many ways this is a psa on the symptoms of rabies #ghostfics

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100vern · 4 months ago

Text

begging for the next | hjs

we could be lovers in the night // we could be strangers in the light.

✦ pairing: joshua x f. reader ✦ genre: strangers to fwb, secret lovers au; smut, fluff ✦ summary: no one needs to know what you and joshua get up to except the two of you. ✦ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ✦ warnings: joshua is some degree of famous but not explicitly stated to be an idol (choose your own adventure), he is also down very very horrendous, use of pet names for reader (beautiful, baby, angel, etc.), reader wears a dress, one brief mention of hair, swearing, other things i have probably forgotten. i am incapable of writing pure pwp so this got a lot softer than i intended but they're in love so fuck it we ball. ✦ smut warnings: gendered terms for genitalia, a lot of kissing, a handjob, fingers in mouths bc it's me and somehow they always end up there, car sex, unprotected vaginal sex, a lot of cum play idk how that happened sorry, hair pulling, fingering, grinding, mentions of facesitting, oral sex in general, joshua spits in reader's mouth, begging and dirty talk, public sex (in a car), exhibitionism, masturbation, very slight edging, shua gets called a good boy one time, reader on top, joshua carries her and fucks her against a wall, they both get a lil possessive in the heat of the moment but nothing toxic. ✦ wordcount: 5.8k ✦ author's note: idk where this came from. i was listening to "english love affair" by 5sos months ago and was like hm yeah joshua. title is from that song; other lyrics are from "lovers in the night" by seori. thank you to bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for looking this over for me along the way. thank u, love u both. i am far too embarrassed to read my own smut so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own.

Joshua is used to having eyes on him.

Fans, paparazzi, strangers—after a while, it all starts to blend together. Always starts feeling hazy around the edges, like there’s something there, just beyond the fog, just out of his reach.

He doesn’t remember whose idea it was to come to this club. Probably just one of those things: owned by a friend of a friend, discretion implied and assured, top-shelf shit handed out without needing to ask. He’s sequestered behind a velvet rope, feels like a king lording over his subjects, has a hawk-eye view of everything.

Everyone.

Joshua is used to having eyes on him, and he felt yours as soon as he walked in.

Cute, he thinks. He hadn’t been looking to pull, hadn’t wanted to deal with all the conversations and all the aftermath, but sometimes he’s easily persuaded. Intrigued, more like. Most people watch him like they’ve got their eyes closed—shy, hiding away, unsure of what they could possibly offer him that he can’t find in anyone else. But you watch him with eyes wide open. Confident, self-assured, know exactly what you’ve got to offer. All but daring him to find something better.

It’s raining when you drag him outside. When you smirk crooked out of the corner of your mouth, plant your hands in the center of his chest and press him to the building’s exterior, drag a groan out of him when the brick bites into his skin. Joshua kisses you like he’s a little desperate for it. Licks into your mouth and swallows all the sounds you make. Hikes your leg around his waist, digs his thumbs into your hips, presses in close enough to have you rolling your hips against his cock.

Imagines the scandal if he got caught fucking you in public—

He asks, between nips at your neck: “Where do you live, beautiful?”

You answer, with your hand halfway down the front of his jeans: “Not far.”

—and lets the thought of it wash over him, make him a little frenzied and wanting. He moans as he grows harder. Thinks about what you’re gonna feel like around his cock, all hot and tight, dripping wet. Thinks about how breathless and fucked-out you’ll sound when you pant his name into the space between your mouth and his own. Thinks about how hot you’re gonna look when you’re falling apart on his cock, when he’s pumping you full of cum.

“Shit,” he whines, “let’s go, then.”

Halfway to your car he decides he can’t wait. Doesn’t want to. Could barely stumble the couple hundred feet to the parking lot with how hard he is, how overwhelming he finds you. Finds himself making any excuse he can to press in close and inhale your perfume. Finds himself thinking that doing anything that isn’t burying himself inside of you seems absolutely pointless.

And you aren’t helping. Can’t seem to keep your hands off of him—lips on his throat, words in his ear, nails digging into his back, pulling at his belt, untucking his shirt, yanking on his hair. You smile when he hisses at the sting and the only thought that registers is he’s never wanted to ruin anyone so badly.

So he says, “Get in the backseat. I’m fucking you right here, baby,” and follows right behind you, desire licking at his heels.

He laughs low and heated as you push him into the seat, your legs spread wide as you straddle him. He pulls his jeans down just enough for you to fish out his cock and spit on it, hips thrusting when you pump him once, twice, pulling small, breathy whines from him each time you twist your wrist, thumb over the head. Embarrassing, he thinks, how close he is to cumming in his pants like a fucking teenager, so he grabs at one of your hands, stills your motions. Moves it to your mouth, tells you to taste the pre-cum coating your fingers just to buy himself a minute, he just needs a minute, and he decides time is meaningless when he sees your tongue move between your pointer and middle, when you moan at the taste of him.

Nearly loses it entirely when you press those same fingers to his own lips, press them against his own tongue.

“Tastes so good, doesn’t it?” you murmur, and he’s struck, not for the first time tonight, by how beautiful you are. Mesmerized by the rain that still clings to your eyelashes, the droplets that run down your temple. Feels dizzy when his brain finally comes back online and he reaches for the hem of your dress, pushes it up and over your hips.

His hand moves to the space between your thighs, rubs over the thin fabric of your panties. He grins wide and sleazy at the wetness he finds there; pushes his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he slides them to the side and touches you properly. Thumbs small circles over your clit just to hear the way your breath hitches, feel the way your hips cant towards his fingers. Any other time he’d take it slow, drag it out, tell you to beg in his soft, pretty voice,, but he doesn’t have the benefit of time when he’s crammed into the backseat of your car.

Doesn’t have the benefit of much of anything when you lower your bare pussy to his cock. Already overwhelmed by your heat, he doesn’t think he can be held responsible for the guttural, instinctual sound that escapes him, the way his hands move to your hips to keep you in place. The that’s it, that’s it, baby, just like that, could fucking come from this that tumble from his lips as you start moving along his length.

Your scoff is aborted halfway as Joshua lifts his hips to meet yours. “Abso—fuck—absolutely not,” you breathe, kissing along his jawline. “Need you to fuck me.”

He groans at the thought of it. Curses the seat belt digging into his back as he readjusts to move you where he wants you, where he can bury two fingers deep in your cunt and watch, entranced, as your eyes roll back. “Mm, wa-want you to come like this first.”

“Later,” you bargain. “Gotta be quick, don’t want you to get caught.”

Joshua knows you’re right. Knows he’d thought about it earlier, let the fantasy of it dance at the edges of his vision, knows in the realm of fantasy is where that particular thought needs to stay, but he can’t say he isn’t tempted to put on a show for the entire world. Wants everyone to see both of you sweat-slick, panting hard into the thick air of your car, windows fogged. Wants everyone to hear the sounds he’s pulling from you: the breathy whimpers, your pussy squelching around his fingers, skin on skin as he can’t keep his hips against the seat.

He can tell you’re close. Knows if he angled his fingers just a little more you’d be clenching around them, and he wants to see it—god he wants to see it so bad—but he knows you’re right, knows there’ll be plenty of time to have you come undone in every way possible later, later, later, so he reluctantly removes his fingers. Doesn’t have time to consider what to do with them before you’re sucking them into your mouth and all he can do is watch, slack-jawed. Doesn’t have time to think about how it’d feel if it was his cock instead before you’re grabbing it, lining him up, almost crazed at the way your fingers don’t meet around his girth—and then you’re sinking down on him.

Good thing the two of you don’t have time to drag this out, because he’s on the precipice of a truly pathetic performance.

“God, you’re fucking tight, baby, can barely move—”

Your smile is predatory when you throw your head back. “Don’t need you to,” you say, moving your hands to his knees. “I can get myself off just fine.”

You can—that much is obvious. The way you’re rolling your hips is sinful at best and the absolute end of Joshua at worst, but he’ll accept his fate if this is how he’s destined to go out. Would consider it an honor to die like this between your legs, chasing oblivion. Can’t imagine a life where he isn’t buried to the hilt inside your tight heat every single day for the rest of his life. Feels delirious with the need for it, has to reign himself in when he either starts crying or asks for your hand in marriage, and you must see it, must be able to tell how fucked up you’ve got him, because you seem to delight in it, start moving at a pace that has him gripping white-knuckled at the seat, at the fabric of your dress, at your hips, your chest.

“You gonna cum like this?” you say, breath fanning against his skin. He nods, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Embarrassment has his cheeks burning, skin hot to the touch, but shit, it feels good, the way you’re digging at him. Pulling him up on how far gone he is for you.

He needs you to meet him at the edge. Needs more, needs it messier, faster, harder than what you’re able to do in the confines of the car, so he plants his feet, grabs so roughly at your ass he’s sure it’ll bruise. Tries desperately to thrust through the mess between your legs, but you’re so wet he nearly slips out each time, and it drives him insane. Has him nearly feral, mindlessly chasing both his orgasm and your own, and he knows it’s close, feels the lightning beneath his skin.

You’re falling apart on his cock as soon as he circles your clit. Shaking, clenching so hard your pussy feels like a vice, grabbing blindly for anything you can to anchor yourself. You find his hands and twine your fingers together—and he’ll never be able to explain it, that that’s what has him gasping, stilling as he spills inside you, but even as he cums so hard it nearly whites out his vision, he can still feel you there.

Anchoring him.

Something stupid is about to tumble out of his mouth, so he quickly presses it to yours to try and stem the bleeding.

Joshua is used to people wanting things from him.

Autographs. Selfies. His undivided attention, his time, a pull quote for an article. Someone always wants something, and it’s exhausting, you know, having to anticipate that kind of thing—having to determine what someone wants before they pluck up the courage to ask for it, having to decide if he’s in a position to give it to them, having to decide, decide, decide, always a fucking decision to be made.

So it’s no surprise he’s here, barely back in the country an hour before he’s stumbling across the threshold of your front door, hat pulled low, not for anyone else to see. Because here, he’s safe; here, all those pretenses come crashing down around him. Here, he knows what’s expected of him, doesn’t have to guess—only has to take the hand you offer him and follow you up the stairs.

But it’s just… a lot, finally being here. All he could think about while he was gone was you. Kept replaying each memory over and over: the first time he’d come here, after the scene in your car—the way you’d smiled at him, hung up his jacket by the door, asked if he wanted anything to eat or drink, maybe a hot shower. And it had felt so sleazy, the way he’d smiled and said, ‘what, all by myself?’ but it’d worked, and then that was something else to replay. That was something else to remember: the smell of you all over him. Your soap on his skin; your shampoo in his hair.

Thinks he’s replayed that—the softness of it, the care, how nice it’d felt to just exist alongside somebody—more than the rest.

Not that the rest wasn’t worth thinking about. He’d nearly cum in his pants remembering the way you’d pinned his arms above his head and sat on his face—the visual of you from below, hips rolling; the taste of you on his tongue; the way you said his name when you came, breathless and fractured. The way he’d slid into you from behind, nearly mindless from the way your pussy gripped him. The way he’d pressed you flat to the mattress and kissed all the knots in your spine. The way your skin looked after he’d pulled out and came all over the small of your back.

He’s got a similar view now. It hadn’t really been planned, his coming here—he’d been worked up on the flight, sent a Hail Mary text asking if he could come by instead of going home, and it had taken you a bit to respond, to say sure, missed you, so it was understandable that you’d greeted him at the door in a pair of flimsy sleep shorts and a cropped tank. He expected it, but it undoes him nonetheless.

You’re better than this, he chides himself. Has a tremendous amount of guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach because he can’t stop staring, takes that gentlemanly reputation he’s got and sets it ablaze, but he thinks anyone who’d dare to criticize him for it would understand.

On autopilot, he follows you up the stairs to your bedroom. Tries to look at anything other than your ass and fails in milliseconds. Swallows down another serving of guilt and cannot, for the life of him, recall another time he ever felt like this—the foothold you’ve got on him, the way you have him believing he’s capable of being a real person, but so untethered at the same time, like any second now he’ll drift away. Tempted. Desperate. Joshua cannot make a life for himself here, both in your home and within your body, but—

“Sometimes I look at you and I understand why Eve ate that apple.”

You pause, three steps from the landing, and your eyes are soft when you turn to look at him. You’ve never looked at him any other way, with any less tenderness and care. “And how am I meant to take that?” Joshua flusters, misses the next step, and when you reach out a hand to steady him, Joshua laces your fingers together. “Smooth.”

“You know me,” he says, laughing like it’s a joke, when what he really means is, not around you, not within these four walls. “I just meant—”

You grip his hand tighter, pull him closer, dizzy him when you lean in close and murmur, “I know. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

This time is different.

All that typical raw, frenzied need gives way to tenderness. Right there on the landing of your staircase, unable to go another step without you, Joshua lays you down, cradles your head in his hands, and drapes his body over yours. Cages you in like he’s trying to keep you forever, like he has any right to, and he kisses you much the same. Wants your breath to be his. Wants to find any opening you’re willing to give him and crawl inside of it. Wants to make a home out of your body more than he already has.

Presses his lips to your neck. Drags his teeth along the curve of your jaw, rolls his hips against you when your head tilts back and you sigh soft and stuttered. Nips at your skin all the way to the lobe of your ear, where he presses in close, thumbs at the exposed skin covering your hip bones. Whispers, “Is it okay right here, like this?” Skims his hands down, down, down—pulls your skimpy little shorts to the side and finds you bare and waiting. “Oh, you wanted this, didn’t you?”

You squirm. Try to get his fingers where you want them. Huff when he teases and refuses even though the need is just as apparent in him. “Shua,” you whimper.

He clicks his tongue. Feigns disappointment. “Angel.” Speaks every word into your heated skin. “You know you only have to tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You pout. “You’re being so mean to me,” you try. Joshua chuckles, pulls back so he can cock an eyebrow and say oh, really? I’m being mean to you? You nod, sink your bottom teeth into your bottom lip. Dip your hands beneath the fabric of Joshua’s t-shirt and drag your nails down his chest until he whimpers. “You were gone so long. Didn’t you miss me?”

“You know I—you know I did.”

“You did?” Your brows furrow in faux-disbelief, your pout deepens; your hands follow the same path Joshua’s had only moments earlier. You toy with the waistband of his pants and tease your fingertips underneath. “You missed me so much but you won’t even touch me?”

With his free hand, he grabs your chin, forces the pout off your face. Doesn’t miss the way your pupils blow wide before he’s kissing you hard and messy, so intense it feels like the air has been stolen from his lungs. “No,” he says, finally giving you what you want. Circles his thumb over your clit and wants to drown in all the sounds you make—the way you mewl, how you say his name on an exhale, all the words given up on halfway. “I miss you so much I thought about you every second I was gone. Thought I was going crazy with it.” Sinks two fingers into your slick heat. “Thought about the way you felt around me.” You gasp at his words and your pussy clenches, and Joshua hums. Says, “Exactly, baby, just like that.”

He can feel that you’re already close. Has a split-second to decide if he wants to let you come like this before you take the decision away from him. Your deft fingers play at the button of his pants, drag the zipper over the bulge there as he hisses, and then you tilt your head back. Something wicked gleams in your eye. “Spit in my mouth.”

Joshua falters, fucks up his rhythm, but he can’t deny you of anything, so he slips his thumb in your mouth and forces it open. Collects whatever spit he has and watches, enraptured and so close to being out of his mind, as he lets it go, as it pools on your tongue. “Fuck—”

Your smile is dazed, both of you on the verge of delirious, and then it’s gone, replaced by the visual of you licking the length of your palm. Making a show of it. You press two fingers against your tongue and Joshua watches as your eyes glass over. “Tell me what else you thought about,” are the last words you say before you wrap your slick hand around his cock.

“Shit—god, baby, you always make me feel so fucking good.” And you do—you work him over slow just to watch the way his eyes roll back, how his entire body shudders; thumb at his cockhead when he gets carried away and starts thrusting into your tight fist, brainless in the face of what you’re providing and unable to do anything except chase more of it. His hips roll again—one, two more times—and then he’s babbling, nonsense spilling out of his mouth.

Tells you that he thought about your touch and the way you taste. Tells you how he let it consume him and all the nights he spent touching himself to the thought of you. How he’d bring himself to the edge and force himself to stop just before he came and how he’d do it all over again, over and over, until he was breathless and sweat-slick—that when he was in the midst of it, so incoherent and numb from pleasure… that sometimes he’d open his eyes and swear it was you. Swear he could feel your lips ghosting across his skin, your sweet words in his ear, praising him as he came all over his own stomach and trembled with the aftershocks.

With each confession he gets more carried away. Circles his thumb faster on your clit. Slips another finger into you and presses insistently against your g-spot until you’re writhing and frenetic with need, his name sounding like a prayer as it spills from your lips repeatedly, each one blending into the next, a continuous mantra designed to drag him down with you. Joshua has never felt you this wet, soaking his hand, and he knows he isn’t faring any better. Feels how each slide of your fist along his length is easier than the last.

“Fuck, Shua, I’m gonna—”

He presses his lips to your forehead. “Yeah, beautiful, give it to me. Wanna see my angel cum all over me. Fuck, just like that—so fucking beautiful, I missed you so goddamn much. Mm, shit, you’re gonna make me cum too. God, I—”

“On me,” you beg. “Please, wan’ it on me. Please, please, want it so bad—”

He swears as his hips stutter. Feels like his fucking balls are in his stomach as he takes over, uses everything he’d earned from you to jerk himself. Stops you when you move to pull your tank over your tits. “No,” he slurs. He’s so fucking close. “Wanna cum all over your clothes and fucking ruin ‘em. Wanna see you covered in it, in me.”

He sits back on his haunches. Uses his free hand to grab at the meat of your thigh as the force of his orgasm hits and he gives you exactly what you’d asked for. Forces himself to keep his eyes open and watch as his release spills across your pussy, your stomach; as it seeps through the thin fabric of your top. But it’s not—Joshua has never considered himself a greedy man, but it’s not enough, so he keeps fisting his cock. Keeps going until he’s oversensitive and spent and he’s milked himself dry. Until your top is wet and sticky with his release, your nipples just barely visible through the translucent fabric.

He’s breathing hard. Stares down at the mess he’s made of you and tells you you’re a work of art. Drags his fingers through it and can’t decide if he wants to massage it into your skin or press it into your mouth, so he does both. Groans softly when you wrap your swollen lips around his fingers and swallow down the taste of him.

Moves them back to your clit and smirks at the breath you suck in through your teeth—that you’re still so sensitive but don’t dare tell him to stop. “I’m not done with you yet,” he confesses, kissing down the length of your body until he’s eye-level with your cunt. “Is that okay?”

You nod.

His phone sits abandoned on the nightstand.

The text thread is still open and awaiting his reply, but Joshua has long since abandoned it to focus his attention on you. From where he’s parallel on the bed, he can see you in the bathroom: watches as you step out of the shower, no towel, droplets of water running down the length of your body; watches as you only grab one to wrap it around your hair, as you stand naked in front of the mirror and do your skincare. Watches as you slip all of your jewelry back on and the gold glints against your skin.

Watches as your reflection meets his eye.

He feels it immediately, the goosebumps, the way his hair stands on end. Predator watching prey, caught in your web ever since that night at the club, so he sits up straighter, anticipates your next move with bated breath—knows what it does to you to be watched. How powerful you become when you’re no longer weighed down by your inhibitions. How you smirk dirty out of the corner of your mouth and thread your fingers through his hair, pull hard enough to capture his attention. Eyes on me, you purr, but he can never look anywhere else. Wouldn’t want to even if he could. Wants you to always be the last thing he sees.

There’s that same smirk on your face now: provocative and a little roguish, like you know something he doesn’t. All he can do is hold your gaze and wait to be devoured.

“They’re starting to talk, aren’t they?”

Joshua looks for a tell, something that belies your anxiety at finally getting caught out, but if it exists you’ve got it behind lock and key. Instead, you roll your head to the side, run your fingers over the marks he’d left on your neck just this morning, the sun barely above the horizon. He feels his skin grow warm, almost embarrassed as the bright lights of the bathroom highlight all the places he’d sunk his teeth into you, but something furls in his belly that you’d let him do it. That you’d let him possess you.

Feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest as he watches you bend at the waist, as it affords him a glimpse of your pussy; as you lean down and trail your fingers from ankle to thigh, as the expanse of soft, smooth skin pebbles beneath your touch. Watches as you straighten and meet his eye in the mirror again before you raise one leg onto the counter; as you lean forward to grab your lotion and the glimpse of you he’d gotten before returns tenfold. Even from here, he can tell you’re dripping wet; can tell the insides of your thighs are glistening with it.

“That’s who you were texting, right? Your manager?”

He sucks in a harsh breath through clenched teeth. Enraptured once again, unable to look away. Watches as you massage the lotion into your skin—the one he likes the most, the one that always stains his bedsheets the longest. Musk and vanilla. Feels himself growing hard and palms at his cock, unabashed, wanting you to see what you do to him.

Swallows all the whiny little sounds he wants to make and manages to ask, “Does it bother you if they are?”

Whether it’s his question or his tone that piques your attention, you pause, turning to look at him over your shoulder, eyes darkening as you take in the sight of him touching himself. He knows how he looks. Head thrown back, eyes half-lidded, bare chest heaving. How his thick cock looks as it strains against the expensive silk of his shorts. Thinks about all the praise you’ve lavished upon him and knows he’s earned every word of it.

So he gives in. Lets the pleasure wash over him and make him bold as he touches himself with more intention, as he runs two fingers over the seam of his balls, as he tightens his grip and moans, uncaring of who might hear. He registers the dip in the mattress at the same time that familiar lightning starts making its way up his spine. He’s senseless as he chases after it, always a step behind despite wanting more, more, always more; loses himself in the gluttony of his intemperance.

It’s only when he’s on the verge of something truly mind-numbing do you lose your patience—when you straddle his waist and pin his hands at his side. A sob escapes him as his hips thrust uselessly, searching hysterically for friction. Tears prick pathetically at the corner of his eyes, and he knows he needs to look at you, knows you’re expecting it, but every inch of his skin burns with the force and the violence of the orgasm you’d denied him.

You tsk. All condescension as you say, “My poor baby.” All sharp edges when you ask, “Will you be a good boy and keep your hands where they are?”

Despite both of you knowing he’d promise you anything right now, Joshua nods, nearly feverish and rabid with the need to cum. Wants to fill you up until it’s leaking down his shaft. Wants to fuck it back into you with his fingers. Wants you on all fours, back arched so only your hips and ass are in the air, while he eats his load out of you from behind.

Of course, you have ideas of your own.

You trace over the wet spot of his shorts just to watch his cheeks ruddy. Leave bruises on his hips before your fingers move to the waistband, toying with him as you snap the elastic against his skin and relish in the way he whines, how he grasps at the sheets to keep his hands still. Pleas fill his mouth and never make it past his lips, and he’ll beg if he has to, if you make him, but you don’t. Slowly and deliberately, you work his shorts down and off; don’t waste a second before you’re sinking down onto his cock.

Every inch is agonizing, blinding heat. Joshua cries out, both unable and unwilling to censor himself. Doesn’t see the need for it when it feels like every atom in his body is being rearranged, like you’re collecting pieces of him to replace with you, embedding yourself beneath his skin. And he’ll let you—fuck, will he let you; wants to carve out a home for you within his body, wants you ingrained in him forever. Doesn’t ever want to be buried this deeply inside anyone else.

When you kiss him it tastes like devotion. He seals his mouth over yours so it can’t escape, so it has nowhere to go but down into your chest to fill the spaces between each of your ribs. And to hell with listening, he thinks, because he can’t go another second without touching you. One hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling you closer, closer, impossibly closer, keeping you where you are, with your lips on his and your tongue in his mouth; the other digs into the meat of your ass, dimples the skin there, helps guide your cunt along the length of his cock, so soaked every thrust nearly has him slipping out.

He knows every time he hits the spot that makes your vision white out, feels how you clench around him despite the sopping mess between your legs. Slows his pace. Pulls back only far enough to say, “Back and forth, angel. That’s it. Grind that pretty pussy against me and get yourself off—fuck, you feel so good.”

He groans. Feels his grip on reality begin to falter with the noises falling from your lips; all your breathy, fractured whines. “That’s it, that’s it—god, you’re close, aren’t you? Yeah, shit, I can feel it. So fucking dirty, baby, love it when you fuck me like this—”

You come with a sob, body pulling taut, panting his name into what little space exists between you. Joshua swears, tries to fuck you through the aftershocks, but you’re wrapped around him like a vice, cunt so tight he can barely move.

He’s delirious. Always gets lightheaded watching you fall apart: the way your eyes squeeze shut, how dazed they look right after you open them again—how Joshua is always, always the first thing you make sense of when everything comes back into focus. And he’s going to say something stupid, something he can’t take back even if he means it, so he situates the two of you, uses all the strength he can muster to carry you across the room.

In the midst of his self-indulgence he forgot he’d left the door to the balcony open, wanted the sticky July breeze to blow in from the lake, and the wall next to that open door is where he places you. The backs of your knees in the crooks of his elbows; his lips on your neck, tongue tracing over the bruises he’d left. You’ve barely come down from your high before he’s fucking back into you, and he can tell it’s almost too much, that he’s towing a very fine line, so he eases his pace and rolls his hips slow.

Tells you, against the space just beneath your ear, how beautiful you look, how well you take him. “I should fuck you out on that balcony. They should see this,” he murmurs, voice deceivingly soft, all those possessive tendencies flaring in his gut. “All those people out there, they should see how well I fuck you, how you only come for me, only come around this cock.” His words are accentuated with a harsh snap of his hips that has you crying out—a rasping, guttural sound that douses the last threads of his discretion in kerosine and sets them on fire. “Let them hear you,” he urges, words slurring together, “let them know who I belong to.”

It’s faint, but he hears it anyway: “Me. Me, you belong to—shit, to me.”

“That’s fucking right.”

You clench around him again, eyes rolling back, and Joshua knows he’s approaching his own end as his thrusts grow uncoordinated and sloppy. He asks if you can come again and tells you to touch yourself when you nod. Wishes he could see it, but he feels each swipe of your fingers against your clit as your walls flutter around him, and it’s enough to drag you both over the edge.

Once he catches his breath, he drops to his knees in front of you. Places one of your legs over his shoulder and kisses every inch of skin he can reach until he’s once again eye-level with your pussy, each one of his senses overwhelmed—the way your skin feels, the way you smell, the sound of your breath hitching when he flattens his tongue against your cunt and tastes himself, the disbelief and adoration in your eyes as you gaze down at him.

You finally answer the question he forgot he’d asked: “No,” you say, the word coming at the trail end of a blissful sigh, “it doesn’t bother me. Let them—let them talk. I’m not going anywhere.”

Joshua smiles. Bites at the juncture of your thigh just to watch you squirm. “Good, because I wasn’t planning on letting you leave this room.”

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

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frmisnow · 10 months ago

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ONCE AGAIN, MILAN ! - (nsfw)

summary. what happens when you and jungkook find yourselves once again in milan, this time with no business attached — well a hol' lotta sex for sure!

notes. guysss i changed my mind! there will be a fifth chapter because there is something that i want them to do- a refrence to chp. 2 + they need to get lil cheonsa duh?? ✶𝄞 if y'all are currently reading this, i'm probs already on vacation! so it'll take a minute, regardless, i hope everybody enjoys!!

warnings/includes. non idol! ceo! jungkook x f! employee! reader, smut described/implied multiple times!! (morning sex, very slight voyeurism / heavy flirting in a boutique, NASTY dirty talk) , drabble-ish (idk i just want them to be happy), cheonsa mention (we cheered)

the morning had begun in the best way possible. the bright italian sun on your face, the hotel sheets lightly crumpled, well- and jungkook.

jungkook who had woken you up with gentle kisses starting from your face, moving to your shoulder, all the way to your tits. kissed your sore little thighs too, because "they deserved it" after all the things they've gone through - sure.

he made love to you. moaned how beautiful you were along with some other sweet dirty nothings.

it was the kind of sex that made you feel cherished, worshipped even, as if all of his love was burried solely in his tip and he poured all of it into you, when you both came.

after spending what felt like hours wrapped up in each other, you had finally left the bed, your body still tingling from the morning’s activities. the first spot was a cat café, jungkook had read about it somewhere, thinking of you.

you both had spent a few hours in there, sipping on your respective lattes, playing with the little cats while their tiny paws brush against your legs. jungkook had his polaroid camera out at all times, clicking away.

showed the photos to you, told you how cute you looked, how the kitten in your lap looked just like you. how you both should get little cheonsa just like that.

closely after, you both took your time strolling through the streets, hands intertwined, ending with him pushing you into a high-end boutique. you smiled at his eagerness, it wasn't the first time he spend that black card of his on you.

jungkook handed you a dress, that reminded more of a whisper of fabric rather then a real garment, leaving little to the imagination. but you instantly nodded, that's what you liked about being with him; you didn't feel shy, there was no reason to. not with every single thing jungkook has said about your body this far.

the fitting rooms were large, they felt like rooms by themselves. jungkook sat outside patentily, tapping his legs. when you walked out you could clearly see him trying his absolute best not to reach out his hands, his pupils widening ever so slightly, taking a deep breath to compose himself, "turn around, angel, for me."

you did as he said when done, walking over to take a seat on his thigh while his fingers immediately moved to stroke your thighs, mumbling how pretty you were.

the way you were sitting, so close to him, he could make out your pretty panties peeking under the dress. black lace, with little bows he had gifted to you when you visited that lingerie place a few days ago, thinking of you in that store didn't make his growing buldge any better.

and you most certaintly made it even worse by whispering into his ear, how much you needed him and how wet you've been ever since this morning.

he bit his lip, your body was so painfully close and your skirt only rode up, gently pinching your thigh almost as a light warning, "remember where we are"

following you made a little pout, but mumbled a reluctant 'fine' anyway, making your way back into the fitting room.

next stop was a restaurant, you hadn't even noticed that it had gotten late by this time but jungkook took care of it, as always. how he managed to get a reservation at this place, you didn't quite know but you certaintly weren't complaining. he had pulled your leg over his some time ago, running his hands over the skin, the action innoccent in a way caring, like he was so sorry that you had to walk this whole day even though he had spoiled you shamelessly.

his fingers drew patterns and tiny circles over the skin, his face glowing from what was left of the sun through the large windows.

"i'm so happy" you smile, your fingers moving through his hair lightly.

jungkook's lips curl into a soft smile, just like yours, leaning into your touch, "i'm happy too, angel" his voice low and affectionate, "everday"

the evening went exeptionelly well, he talked you stupid about some of the other things he wanted to do, didn't mention business even once.

you both walked back to the hotel, you liked the city at night and had asked him to walk instead of taking a taxi. he didn't let go of your hand, swinging.

he walked back to the hotel with you, holding your hand tightly, it had been your wish to stroll back, you liked the city at night. it all reminded you of that night but it was different this time, it felt good not having wine in your system.

for once you felt like you actually could love jungkook, without alcohol, without your job, any other factor in your way. you could fuck him freely without having to blame the alcohol for it, after.

love is lust. that's why he pounds you into the large matress, tells you how bad you've been, how greedy you were.

he asked questions, dirty ones, you were way to brain fucked to understand dare to say even answer.

asks how much you'd like it, him filling you up everywhere, in the bathrooms, around his apartment, in the elevator, during your shifts at work, how he'd make you walk around feeling full, feeling dripping and sticky under your skirt.

describes how he'd call you into his office just so he could take you nicely on his desk. have you walk out later, nod to all your colleagues, like a good girl.

you barerly hear him and the words make you moan out are vile things that people only say when they are about to come. how you wanted to marry him, have him around you all times, how much you wanted him every minute.

you thought about how small you'd want the wedding to be, you, him and little kitten cheonsa. and you moan again, like a porn star.

and he responds, gripping your hips tighter, "i'd marry you tomorrow if you asked me to, hell i'd make a baby with you right this second if you wanted."

he let out a grunted string of 'please's though you weren't even sure what he was begging you for. your brain felt so incredibly mushy.

few seconds later, he filled you up, making a mess of you. he instantly reached out to touch your chin gently to look at you, "you okay, princess?"

you managed to nod but he shock his head, "words, i need to hear you, angel" it was a soft order, one you couldn't look away from.

so you reassure him that you are happy and so content, he seems to like your words, smiling. lifting you up and maneuvering you on top of him, still inside of you. his fingers trace over your bare back soothingly as he lights a cigarette with his other hand, just like that night.

and you smiled to yourself because you knew. you knew that this time when you woke up, you wouldn't have to leave, you would be able to look at his sleeping smile as long as you wanted. it was a comforting thought.

— cheonsa means angel.

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd , @1-in-abillion , @ahgasegotarmy116 , @copycat-namjesus , @malkaimoon , @geminiml95 , @taiwan0618 , @jungkookfics , @rrosiitas , @stuti2904 , @spiderlilyserendipity , @m00njinnie , @ririkookiemonster , @emptynessclub , @yoongznme , @snow-strawberry , @ttanniett

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yeonzzzn · 1 year ago

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🤍give up heaven: sunghoon

pairing: sunghoon x afab!reader word count: 10.6k

synopsis: when you run into your best friend's ex-boyfriend at your favorite coffee shop thinking it was just a coincidence until seeing him became a daily thing. You can't get him out of your head and start to feel guilty at the very thought of him and things take a turn when he starts making advances towards you.

genre: hockey player!hoon with small mentions of figure skater!hoon, ex-bestfriend bf!hoon, hoon's ex-girlfriend best friend, friends to lovers, slight smut.

warnings: swearing, implied sex, make-out session, fingering, jerking off, verbal fight between reader, the ex, and sunghoon, MINORS DNI. lmk if i've missed anything!

You tried to avert your eyes when you saw him walk into the coffee shop. Pulling the scarf around your neck up higher and turning your face in the opposite direction.

His voice echoed throughout the small shop, ordering his regular drink. Why do you still remember how he liked his coffee?

You slowly glanced up, his back was facing towards you, his hand reaching for his wallet from the back pocket of his blue jeans.

After paying, he stepped back from the counter. You quickly turned your head away again, praying he didn’t see you or would even notice you.

“Y/N?”

Well, shit.

There's no point in hiding now. You slowly lifted your head, seeing the soft smile on his face as he slightly leaned to the side to get a look at your face, “It really is you.”

You awkwardly smile, “Yes, it’s me.”

Get your shit together, Y/N, come on.

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped short when his name was called, “Sunghoon! Your iced coffee is ready!”

“Be right back,” his knuckles tapped on the table, his smile growing.

You carefully watched as he got his coffee and made his way back to your table, pulling the chair across from you out and seating himself.

“How have you been?” he asked excitedly, his long fingers wrapping around his coffee, taking a small sip, “It’s been what? A year?”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around your warm coffee, “I see you still drink iced coffee even during the winter, some things never change huh?”

Sunghoon softly chuckled, his smile just growing brighter and wider, his natural fangs peeking from his lips, “Everyone knows iced coffee is superior,” he leaned his elbows onto the table, “Your hair is longer, it looks good. You look good.”

You smiled, “Thank you, you look really good as well, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon gave you a soft smirk and flexed his arms, “Why thank you! Been working out a lot lately.”

You rolled your eyes and took another sip of your coffee, “You really haven’t changed.”

His laugh was enough to make you laugh as well, the corners of your lips curving upwards no matter how hard you tried to push it down.

It felt like old times.

Speaking about old times…

His smile finally faded, the happy expression he once had was also gone, his face relaxing into a kinda of sad softness.

His voice trembled, “How is uhh…how is she?” his eyes darted to the corner of the table.

Oh…he’s still in love with her.

Your lips thinned into a line, trying to figure out what information was appropriate to give out.

“She’s really good.” it wasn’t a total lie.

Sunghoon nodded, the corner of his lips barely curling, “That’s… um…that’s good then. I’m glad she’s doing well.”

It broke your heart that he couldn’t even say your best friend's name. It must still hurt even after a year.

Sunghoon dated your best friend for almost three years. You remember when the two of you first met him at your college's hockey game.

He bumped into the two of you, spilling his soda all down your best friend's outfit. Oh, man was she pissed. It didn’t take Sunghoon long to convince her to let him make it up to her.

After that, they were inseparable.

Sunghoon was a part of the hockey team, but due to a leg injury, he had to sit out until he was completely healed. But that didn’t stop him from attending every hockey game to support his teammates. He even dragged your best friend along with him. Which eventually led you to tag along as well.

The three of you became that trio that was inseparable. A package deal. If you saw one of us, the other two were sure to be right behind.

Everything was perfect until it wasn’t. Their relationship got toxic. They fought more than normally and on hangout days, either your best friend was missing, or Sunghoon was missing. Nothing felt right and the air between your friend group grew thick. Hard to breathe.

Sunghoon eventually stopped talking to you, and then they broke up. Your best friend stopped hanging around you and slowly stopped speaking to you as well. You figured it was due to the heartbreak, that she just needed her space. You didn’t think it would lead to your friendship slowly becoming nonexistent.

You two weren’t exactly best friends anymore, but after she healed from the breakup, she came back around. It just wasn’t the same as before Sunghoon came into the picture.

You two still barely talk, and barely see each other, but still kept that contact and hung out when you could.

You never understood why she pushed you away, but the heart does crazy things when it’s hurting.

And you haven’t seen Sunghoon since a couple of months before the breakup, until today. A little over a year later.

“Well,” Sunghoon’s voice brought you out of your deep thoughts, “I have to get going, need to catch practice.”

Your eyebrows raised, “You’re playing still?”

Sunghoon’s doctor finally cleared him to get back on the ice after almost a year of being off it, but due to the team setup they had at that time, he wasn’t able to fully rejoin the team again until around the time of the breakup. He was able to practice and attend the games as a sub if needed, but it was enough for him to keep his mind busy for a little bit.

You’ve secretly kept up with the scores of the hockey team, knowing Sunghoon was back on the team officially. But after a while you quit. Clearing Sunghoon from your life completely.

Sunghoon nodded, “Hell yeah I’m still playing, who do you think I am?” he teased, standing up from the table, “But, I am actually not going to hockey practice.”

The surprise must have shown on your face because Sunghoon was giggling like a child at your confusion, “I joined an ice skating team as a figure skater.”

You sat up straighter in your chair, “Since when?!”

“Since…well.” He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, it was all you needed to know.

Being a sub on the hockey team eventually wasn’t enough for Sunghoon to keep his brain busy after the breakup. Until he was officially able to play again, he needed another distraction. Come to find out he loved figure skating as much as hockey, deciding even after being fully back on the hockey team, he kept up with figure skating as well.

You slowly nodded, “I am really glad you’re doing well for yourself, Sunghoon.”

He softly nodded back, “Thank you, Y/N. I have to get going, the ice is calling my name.”

You waved at him as he walked to the entrance, him turning back around as his back touched the doors, “It was nice seeing you!”

You agreed.

—

Your best friend sighed as another customer walked into the smoothie shop, holding up her index finger towards you as she walked away and up to the register, taking the customer's order.

You leaned against the counter, moving the seat back and forth with your hips like a child.

“Okay,” she said, returning to you after the customer's smoothie was made, “What were you telling me?”

“Just that the materials you missed in bio today weren't too hard. I took extra notes for you,” you pulled into your backpack taking out the pretty iced blue folder, “Here they are!” you pulled out the stack of notes you made for her, her taking them and holding them to her chest.

“Thank you SO MUCH YN!!!” she placed the papers in a drawer under the counter, “I could kiss you right now. What would I do without you?”

Probably survive perfectly fine since you had no problem cutting me off after you and Sunghoon broke up.

You shrugged with a smile, “Fail bio.”

She laughed and nodded, “Yeah, probably. But I have you to help keep me in the loop!”

You honestly hated how the two of you could go DAYS sometimes even WEEKS without talking or seeing each other yet she has no problem acting as if nothing ever happened.

But she was all you had, so you played along with her.

You dropped your backpack onto the floor, wondering if telling her the other thing was right or wrong.

You decided to anyway.

“I also saw Sunghoon the other day.”

Her movements slowed and her smile faded, “Is that so?”

You nodded, “We talked for a couple of minutes, but he had to go practice, so it was a short moment.”

You could see the gears were turning in her brain, “Practice? Guess he was able to get back on the team after all. That’s good at least.”

“He actually is figure skating now too, that’s where he was headed.”

Your best friend’s eyes widened, “Wow, I did not see that one coming.”

You agreed, “It was definitely not something I’d expected Park Sunghoon to do, but I guess it kinda suits him.”

Your friend nodded, seeing how deep in thought she was.

You wanted to ask her to speak her mind, but unfortunately, the two of you weren’t that close anymore.

A couple more customers walked in, sending her back away from you.

You stood from the seat, grabbing your things, giving her a smile and wave as you walked out. You only came to give her the notes she missed anyway.

Usually, when she skips out of class she gets the notes from one of the boys she’s secretly messing around with. But every blue moon she asks you.

You guessed it was the only way to keep in contact with you in some way.

—

You quickly stepped into the coffee shop, brushing off the slight snow from your hair, ready to get a sip of your favorite coffee.

The barista noticed you, giving you his famous thumbs-up, “Already on it YN!”

You gave him a thumbs-up back. You were so happy you discovered this place, it became one of your comfort places to be. It’s quiet enough to do homework or read, the coffee is amazing and all the baristas know you and your order. What isn’t there to love?

“Fancy seeing you here again,” you whipped around, seeing Sunghoon sitting in your usual spot, a book in his hands and his iced coffee half empty on the table.

Your brain spasmed, what was he doing here again?

You just nodded, “You’re in my spot.”

Sunghoon shrugged, “I can move?”

Well shit, now you feel bad.

You shook your head, “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind sharing.”

Sunghoon smiled, eyes flickering back down to his book.

The barista called your name, turning your attention back to him, “Thank you, Taehyun.”

His sharky smile warms your heart, “Always,” his eyes darted over to Sunghoon then back to you, “Do you know him?”

You sighed, “Yes, he’s an old friend.”

Taehyun nodded, his tongue sliding into his cheek, “He’s been here every day since the last time you were here.”

You froze, narrowing your eyes, “Honestly?”

Taehyun nodded again, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay and that he wasn’t some creep.”

You smiled softly at him, “No need to worry. He’s harmless.”

Taehyun gave you a half smile, then walked off to finish working.

You sat down in front of Sunghoon, his eyes not leaving the page of his book.

You cleared your throat, taking a sip of your coffee.

Sunghoon glanced up for a second at your throat clearing, “Yes?”

You cupped your hands around your coffee, “What?”

Sunghoon sighed and closed his book, setting it on the table, “You only clear your throat like that when you have something to say.”

Damn, does he remember the small details of you?

“You remember that?”

Sunghoon chuckled, picking up his iced coffee, “YN, I’ve known you for almost, what? five years? You think I’d just forget everything?”

Well, no…just didn’t think you’d care enough to remember. you didn’t date me after all.

All you could do was shrug, “My barista told me you’ve been here every day,”

Sunghoon raised a brow as he sipped on his coffee, finishing it off, “Your barista?”

“Not like that!” you snapped quietly, wishing you could jump over the table and tackle him, “I’m a regular here, Taehyun just happens to be the barista who always takes care of me.”

Sunghoon mouthed out a “wow” and leaned back into the seat, “First name bases too?”

“Sunghoon,” his name falling off your lips felt foreign, mostly since you were speaking to him, “Why are you here every day?”

He thinned out his lips into a line, eyes looking down at his Converse, “Been looking for a good coffee shop to regular, and this one surprised me when I first came in here. You just so happened to be here the day I decided to try it.”

That sounds…completely true. This coffee shop is incredible. You don’t blame him for wanting to become a regular. It was all a coincidence.

You sipped down your coffee, feeling the stare of his eyes, “Yes?”

“So back to Taehyun being your barista,”

You laughed, kicking your leg into his shin, “Stop!”

Sunghoon’s fangs slipped out as he smiled.

—

Sunghoon’s appearance in the coffee shop became more regular, just like he said.

Taehyun knew his order by heart, just like yours, and would always have it ready the moment he saw Sunghoon walk in.

You had to admit, it felt good having him back in your life. It felt like old times when you’d hang out when your best friend was too busy working. You three all used to be so close.

Yet you didn’t have the heart to tell her you were even hanging out with Sunghoon again. It technically wasn’t even hanging out, you two just happened to sit, talk, and drink coffee together at your favorite coffee shop.

Another week has flown by with Sunghoon making his appearance at the shop.

You laughed together over a book you both read, Sunghoon feeling Taehyun’s eyes on you.

You stood up, “I’m heading to the bathroom,”

Sunghoon nodded, his eyes darting to Taehyun, watching him as he watched you walk to the bathroom. A small sigh escaped Taehyun’s lips.

Taehyun then made eye contact with him, and the look he was giving Sunghoon made him clench his fists.

Your return to the table had Sunghoon relaxing, and Taehyun returning to work.

Sunghoon couldn’t take his eyes off you. He felt so at home in your presence. His mind telling him to tell you the truth, that you deserved to know. But the moment you locked eyes with him and the corners of your lips curled into that precious smile, he couldn’t do it.

“What’s up?” you asked, “You’re deep in thought?”

“Ahh…” Sunghoon tried to collect his thoughts, then quickly smiled, settling on the topic change, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you thought about it, “I just have class, why?”

“Come to my hockey practice tomorrow night.”

That invite took you by surprise, “Huh?”

Sunghoon smiled even more, leaning forward on the table, “Come watch my practice tomorrow. Please?”

You tried to find an excuse to get out of it, but nothing came to mind. How could you just show up to your best friend’s ex-boyfriend’s hockey practice?

“The guys would love to see you, I bet.” Sunghoon mentioning his friends only hit you in the heart harder, “Come on, YN, just like old times.”

Without a second thought, you agreed. Not knowing exactly why, but feeling as if it would be okay. It was just hockey practice.

He jumped up from the table, “I have to get to figure skating practice, is your phone number still the same?”

You nodded, heart beating faster at hearing he still had your phone number.

With a jump away from the table and a small skip, he said, “I’ll text you the details!”

—

Sunghoon twirled his hockey stick in hand, eyes darting to each entrance of the stadium.

Heeseung skated past, quickly stopping in front of him, eyes also following each entrance, “Brother, what are you looking at?”

Sunghoon snaps his attention at Heeseung, his mouth open to speak, but no words coming out.

“He’s waiting for YN,” Jay says as he also skates past, skating a circle around them.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, “Dude.”

Jay smirked, “Should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

“Clearly, that’s the last time I tell you anything,” Sunghoon said, sliding his helmet over his head.

Heeseung raised a brow, “Wait you’re speaking to YN again?”

Sunghoon just nodded, “Yeah. We umm, ran into each other at a coffee shop.”

“Yeah, “ran into each other”, we’ll call it that.” Jay teased, leaning forward on his hockey stick.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll kick your stick from you and laugh when you hit the ice,” Sunghoon said with a snarky smile.

“Woah now!” Jay said, holding his hand up, “You’re a figure skater now, can’t be talking like that anymore.”

Sunghoon skated forward, Jay also scooted backward sticking his tongue out.

Heeseung seemed to be the only one who was concerned, “How did the three of you make up?”

Sunghoon awkwardly chuckled, “You mean the two of us…”

Heeseung looked at his friend confused, “You and—“

“No,” Sunghoon quickly shook his head, “We aren’t talking.”

Heeseung just nodded, finally putting the pieces together, “Sorry for assuming that you rekindled with both of them.”

Sunghoon swung his hockey stick around again, “Just YN. And from what I’ve noticed, the two of them aren’t really friends anymore.”

It didn’t take long for Sunghoon to figure it out. The way it used to be, his ex would always talk about you, and you would always talk about his ex. The two of you were inseparable. A package deal. With one you got the other. And the fact that you haven’t once brought her up over the last week that he’s started talking to you again, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she also pushed you away after the breakup.

Heeseung just nodded, “Do you blame them?” Sunghoon just looked at him, not knowing what to say, “YN doesn’t know, does she?”

Sunghoon shook his head, “No, and she won’t.”

“Hoon-“

“I am not ready to tell her,” Sunghoon snapped, “I finally got one of my closest friends back, I don’t want to cross that bridge.”

Heeseung sighed and nodded, “Okay man, just don’t get butt hurt when it backfires at you.”

Sunghoon knew this secret could backfire on him, he wasn’t stupid. But it was worth the risk.

“I’m going to see if she texted me,” he said, “Just in case she said he couldn’t make it.”

Heeseung watched as Sunghoon skated off towards his gym bag.

Dropping his gloves to the ice and carefully stepping off the ice, he sat down on the bench, opened his gym bag, and pulled out his phone, quickly finding your messages and seeing you’ve read his last text.

Sunghoon felt stupid getting his hopes up. What did he think inviting you would do?

I just wanted her back in my life again.

He tossed his phone back in the bag and stepped back onto the ice, pulling his gloves back onto his hands.

I’m so fucking pathetic.

Sunghoon adjusted his gloves, now waiting for practice to start.

Jay whistled at him, causing a glare to shoot from his eyes.

Jay tilted his head up, “Look.”

Sunghoon turned back around, seeing you walking in, your arms wrapped tightly around you.

He couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face, immediately skating in your direction.

“You made it!” he said, sliding his helmet from his head.

You smiled back, nodding, “Sorry that I am a bit late, my class got out later.”

You walked up to the wall Sunghoon was now leaning against, his helmet resting on top of it.

“You showed up, and that’s all that matters,” Sunghoon couldn’t hide how happy it made him that you were here right now.

You nodded again, smiling wide back at him, “It’s cold as balls in here though!”

Sunghoon pointed over to his gym bag, “I have my hockey varsity jacket in my bag, wear it if you get too cold.”

“I am definitely going to wear it,” you shivered, “I forgot how cold it gets in here.”

The memory of the last time he saw you replayed in his mind, it was during a hockey game. His team was a couple of points away from winning. Sunghoon and his ex were too busy fighting off on the side of the bleachers, her stomping away not wanting to finish the conversation. His eyes wandered over to you, the sad look you gave him broke his heart even more. Your heart was also breaking due to watching your closest friends tear each other apart. All Sunghoon could do was shove his hands into his hoodie pocket and walk out of the stadium.

He watched as you walked over to his things, your hands immediately reaching for the jacket and sliding it onto your body.

Oh fuck I am a goner.

Sunghoon loved the way you looked in his jacket. The way it loosely hangs against your body. How cute it made you look. His heart dropped onto the ice.

Your body started warming up a bit more, sliding your hands into his jacket pockets. Your eyes traced the other players on the ice. Jay and Heeseung waving at you. You waved back. Gosh, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw either of them.

You’ve seen them out and about around the college, but not so personally like this. It’s been way too long.

Sunghoon skated back over to his friends and teammates.

“It’s weird seeing her again,” Jay said, watching you sit down, eyes wandering around the stadium, “Mostly seeing her without her twin at her hip. She looks really good though,”

Jay was lucky Sunghoon was in a better mood than earlier, or else he’d be wiping the ice with Jay’s face, “Can we not talk about my ex, please, and she does look good. Eyes off.”

Jay wanted to make a smart remark, but with a quick look at Sunghoon and then you, he decided to leave the teasing off the ice, giving him a nod, “Yeah, sorry man.”

Their coach finally started practice.

It went by in a flash. You waited outside the stadium for Sunghoon, his jacket still wrapped around your body.

“Well, what did you think of our practice?” Sunghoon said, sneaking up on you, and giving you a little jolt.

“It was very interesting, you played well.”

Sunghoon walked closer to you, his hands reaching up to fix the collar of his jacket, his cold fingers brushing against your skin, “My jacket looks really good on you.”

Your heart sank.

Is he…flirting???

“Oh, shoot!” you tried to play it off as if you forgot, wanting to find an excuse for the blush on your face to go away after his comment, reaching to take the jacket off, “Here, I forgot I was still wearing it.”

Sunghoon grabbed your hands and shoved them back at your side, “YN, keep it.”

“But—“

Sunghoon interrupted, “It’s okay! I promise! Just keep it for now, okay? I have another jacket I can wear.”

You nodded, feeling your body getting hot from his hands still touching yours.

Why are you getting so bothered??? You’ve known him for years. Why is every little thing he’s doing affecting you???

“Anyways,” he said, finally letting go of your hands, “We have a game this weekend, you’ll come right?”

You wouldn’t mind going, it could be an excuse to get you out of your apartment for once and not just sit at the coffee shop either.

“Yeah, I’ll come.”

Sunghoon smiled, his eyes darting to the ground to try and hide just how big he was smiling, “I’ll save you a ticket.”

—

You walked into the shop, giving Taehyun a smile and wave. Giving you the normal thumbs up.

You dropped your backpack to the floor at your normal table and slumped down into the seat with a sigh.

“Rough day?” Sunghoon asked, his yellow highlighter moving across his textbook.

You nodded, “I forgot to set my alarms last night, so I woke up late and got to class late. On top of that I had to take double the notes because…” you stopped yourself, not wanting to bring your best friend's name into the mix.

Sunghoon stopped highlighting, he didn’t even have to hear her name to know what you were going to say, his eyes slowly rising to meet yours, “You’re still taking notes for her?”

You just shrugged, “Maybe…”

“YN,” he dropped his highlighter into the textbook, “You need to stop doing that.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Mostly because you knew he was right. She was just using you at this point.

Taehyun interrupted your thoughts by setting your coffee down in front of you, “Tae! I could have gotten it from you.”

His cute sharky smile came out, “Don’t worry about it, I don’t ever get to bring the coffee to you. Plus I needed to get away from behind the counter.”

You smiled up at him, “Thank you.”

Taehyun rested his hand on your shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze, “It’s no problem at all, YN.”

Sunghoon clenched his fists under the table, eyes burning holes into his hand that was touching you.

As Taehyun walked away, he locked eyes with Sunghoon as if to say “Your move now, buddy.”

Oh, I’ll play your game, Taehyun.

“He totally has a crush on you.” Sunghoon spat out.

You softly giggled, “Who? Tae? No,” you giggled again, taking a sip of your coffee, “He’s just a good friend.”

Sunghoon rubbed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes darting back to Taehyun who was now back behind the counter, “I can see it in the way he looks at you.”

You rolled your eyes. He sounds jealous.

You glanced up at him, seeing how he kept his eyes on Taehyun.

Oh, he’s…actually jealous??? No. It couldn’t be. He’s still in love with his ex.

You shook the thoughts from your head, deciding to change the subject, “Are you ready for the game tomorrow?”

Sunghoon’s eyes made their way back to you, his face relaxing and a small smile formed, “Yes, you’re still coming…right?”

You nodded, “I wouldn’t miss it,” you took another sip of your coffee, “Wasn’t able to see you play back then, so I’m excited to see you play now.”

Hearing you say that warmed his heart. Knowing you’ll be in the crowd cheering for him and only him. He had to make sure he was on his ‘a game’ tomorrow.

“Make sure to wear my jacket tomorrow,” Sunghoon gave you a wink, picking his highlighter back up and continuing where he left off.

You giggled, “Why? What will your jacket do? Bring good luck?”

Sunghoon chuckled, stretching the highlighter across the words on the textbook, “It has an S.H. and my last name on the back,” he glanced back up at you, “And you know, yeah, you wearing my jacket will bring good luck. You’ll be my good luck charm.”

Sunghoon took notice of the slight blush on your cheeks, his smile growing more as he looked back to his textbook.

God, she’s so cute.

You tried to slow your heart rate. Why is he making you feel like this?

“It’s getting kinda late,” Sunghoon’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, “Are you hungry? Want to grab a bite to eat? Then I can walk you to your apartment?”

You nodded.

You weren’t sure what these butterflies in your stomach meant, but it made you feel guilty for even having them.

—

It was game day and your nerves were all tied together in a knot.

You took one last look at your outfit in your mirror, fingers twisting in the belt loops of your ripped skinny jeans, pulling them up further above your hips.

Your college’s hockey team t-shirt had a small hole at the bottom of the shirt, which was to be expected. This was an old shirt and you haven’t worn it since the last game you attended…the night Sunghoon pushed you out of his life.

Your black high-top vans looked like they’ve seen better days, but looked good with the outfit.

Grabbing a hair tie from your vanity, you pulled your long hair back, wrapping the tie around it, just to pull it out right after.

You tried different hairstyles, not liking a single one.

Why do I even care how my hair looks?

You settled for a ponytail, deciding it’s what matched the outfit better.

The last final piece was Sunghoon’s jacket, pulling it over your shoulders. You turned around in the mirror, glancing back to see his initials on the back.

“You’ll be my good luck charm.”

You caught yourself smiling at the memory, bringing the hems of the jacket up to your nose, breathing in the smell.

It still smelt like him, even after you’ve had it for the last couple of days. The familiar smell of blackberry and floral filled your senses.

His scent brought you comfort, the knot of nerves unraveling and disappearing.

While the nerves found their way out, other feelings crept their way in.

Your heart raced faster, thinking about the smile on Sunghoon’s face he’d have when he saw you.

The more thoughts of him that flooded your brain, the more guilty you felt.

He’s your best friend’s ex…you can’t be thinking about and getting so giddy over him.

You slapped your hands to your face, hoping it would be enough to kick those feelings out.

Unfortunately, they didn’t.

You sat down at your vanity, pulling open one of the drawers, revealing a photo booth picture strip of yourself, Sunghoon, and your best friend.

You held the fragile paper in your hands, staring at each set of photos one by one. Eyes locking onto Sunghoon.

You didn’t feel this way about him back then, so why now all of a sudden does he have your stomach tied in knots?

His smile in the photos sent your heart racing. The way he was looking at your best friend, you couldn’t help but wish he looked at you like that.

You quickly shoved the photo strip back into the drawer, slamming it shut.

You stood from the chair, grabbed your phone and keys, and walked out of your room.

By the time you showed up at the stadium, the opposing team and Sunghoon’s team lined up on each side of the rink doing their warmups.

Your eyes searched for him, seeing the number 23 skating by quickly, him swinging the hockey stick, sending the puck flying into the goal.

Even though it was just a practice shot, you clapped anyway.

Sunghoon skated back into line, eyes wandering the crowd until he found you. Your smile sends butterflies in his stomach fluttering about.

God, you look so good right now. The way your hair was pulled back, the way your thighs peeked out from the rips of your jeans, and how perfect his jacket looked on you.

Sunghoon never let his ex wear that jacket, it was so special to him, so much that only he wanted to wear it. But it was so different with you.

He gave you a wave, letting you know that he does indeed, know you’re here.

The game finally started, and the butterflies did not calm down one bit. He had to do well in this game. He couldn’t disappoint you.

Heeseung patted his back, “Calm down buddy, you’re our best player. Can’t have you tapping out on us.”

Jay agreed, “This isn’t even the first game of the season, what’s got you so worked up all of a sudden?”

“YN is here,” Niki, one of the only freshmen on the team, teased.

Sunghoon shot the younger one a glare, “Brother, you don’t want to tease me right now.”

Niki smirked, “Man, I know enough about your life and I barely have been on the team.”

Jay slapped Sunghoon’s shoulder, “Just ignore the kid, he’s just a little silly.”

Niki agreed, “Just a little bit.”

Sunghoon waved his teammates off, “I am fine, my nerves have nothing to do with YN being here.”

His friends looked at him with telling faces, they knew he was lying. Knew he was full of shit. But deciding to let it go.

The game went on, each of the teams scoring left and right.

You sat on the edge of your seat, hands clasped together at your chest. There were five minutes left on the clock, your team was only a point ahead.

Your eyes followed Sunghoon on the ice, you could tell by his body language he was stressed. The way he stretched his arms out over his hockey stick behind his neck was enough to tell how absent-minded he was in this moment, the only thing he could focus on was getting one last point. Swinging his stick back down onto the ice, slightly bending over, ready for anything.

Jay passed the puck to Niki, pushing the puck across the rink, Sunghoon positioned himself, screaming for Niki to pass the puck towards him.

Niki passed it quickly to him. Sunghoon grabbed the puck, pushing his feet and legs as quickly as he could against the ice, the only thing on his mind was to keep the puck against the stick.

As he neared the goal, the goalie prepared himself for Sunghoon to make a shot.

Sweat dripped down the side of his face, hands gripping tighter on the stick as he lifted it from the ice and puck.

You stood to your feet, hands hovering over your chest, gripping at the fabric of your shirt.

Sunghoon swung the stick using all the force possible and hit the puck, watching as the black disc flew across the ice.

The world seemed to go in slow motion for Sunghoon, his eyes wide as the anticipation of waiting for the puck to reach the goalie, it sliding gracefully between the goalie's legs, the guy barely missing to stop it.

Sunghoon pivoted, stopping his motion on the ice. His eyes locked onto the puck, confirming it hit the net.

He turned his body towards his teammates, the world around him going back to normal speed. The crowd cheered, and his teammates surrounded him, slapping their hands against his chest, shoulders, and back. The clock hit its final second, the buzzer sounding. The game was over. We won.

We won..!!

Sunghoon started screaming and cheering with his teammates, hands slapping them as they continued to slap him.

You rushed down to the wall, the upper half of your body leaning over it, cupping your hands to your mouth, “Sunghoon!!!”

He didn’t hear you over the screams of his mates and fans. But it felt as if he knew you were waiting for him.

His eyes found you and started pushing past his teammates, sliding his helmet off and handing it and his stick off to Heeseung.

Using what was left of his leg strength, he pushed himself towards you quickly.

He stretched his arms up in the air, shouting, “WE DID IT!!”

You couldn’t stop your smile from falling, not when Sunghoon looked as happy as he did at that moment. His fangs were on full display from how wide he was smiling.

His body crashed against the wall, his gloved hands wrapping around your waist, connecting his torso to yours.

His wet sweaty hair tickled your cheek as he pulled you into a hug. The first hug you’ve received from him since…well the breakup.

You patted his back, leaning your head against his, “You played so well! I am so proud of you!”

You’ve never gotten to tell him how exactly proud of him you were. For all the years you’ve known him, he’s always given his one hundred percent, but because of the past circumstances, you weren’t able to voice how proud you were of him, your best friend wouldn’t have allowed it.

Hearing you tell him how well he did was enough to risk everything. It did something so deep to his heart that he couldn’t hide it anymore.

It’s now or never Park Sunghoon, just do it.

“I told you. I told you that you were my good luck charm,” he whispered in your ear, brushing his cheek against yours as he moved his head up. Brushing his nose against yours softly before moving in, pressing his lips against yours quickly.

So fast that you didn’t have time to process it as his hands left your waist and he was skating backward away from you. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes stayed locked with yours.

Your fingertips touched your lips, your ears blocking out all sound as the rest of your senses focused on the man in front of you.

He kissed you…Oh my god, he kissed you!!!

Sunghoon gave you a wink and said “Meet me by my car!” then turned back around, skating to his teammates, all of them huddling together.

—

He pressed you up against his front door, using your body to completely shut it, his fingers flipping the lock as his tongue invaded your mouth, your brain going fuzzy.

You met him at his car after the game and convinced you to have dinner with him and the team.

You sat beside him in the booth at this fancy diner, his arm was wrapped around your shoulder, his fingers softly rubbing against your arm. Once the food arrived at the table, his arm went from being behind you to his hand resting on your thigh, his fingers sliding between the rips of your jeans, squeezing the plush skin.

His touch was driving you crazy, and with your new emotions towards him, it made his contact with your skin make you hot and bothered.

Sunghoon couldn’t keep his hands off you, and you liked it. Liked the attention he was giving you.

Liked it so much that you didn’t even think twice when he drove right past the street of your apartment building and pulled into his apartment building.

He held both your hands tightly, his smile so bright as he guided you up the stairs to his apartment. Soft laughs leaving his lips at just the thought of being with you.

He was dying to kiss you again. Like properly kiss you.

He wanted to kiss you so bad that the moment you were inside his apartment, his hands and body were pressed against yours, using his weight to push you against his door. Lips connecting to yours as if he were running out of oxygen and your lips were the sole source of air.

His hands moved from your hips, sliding up your torso, fingers grazing against your breasts and up to your neck, hands cupping your jaw.

You kissed him back forcefully, pushing your tongue between his lips, rubbing the muscle against his own, mixing your saliva.

You tasted so sweet to him. He couldn’t get enough.

Sunghoon went to pull away, wanting to attach his lips to your neck, but you weren’t ready for his lips to leave yours.

You caught his bottom lip between your teeth, biting a bit harder than you expected.

Sunghoon hissed out in pleasure, rolling his hips against yours, his clothed hard length pressing at your heat.

You released his lip, his hands taking yours and lifting them above your head, pinning you against the door, his lips attaching themself to your neck, “Keep acting up baby and I just might have to punish you.”

His words sent chills down your spine as he left open mouth kisses on your neck. Your imagination running wild at what these punishments would be, but being too afraid to test his limits.

Sunghoon loved hearing the soft moans escaping your pretty little mouth. It was music to his ears.

He placed his leg right between yours, using it to spread them further apart, giving him more access to press his cock against you.

You were shaking, wanting to completely feel him against you, skin to skin.

“Hoonie,” you whispered in his ear, “Please,”

Sunghoon reached down, cupping the back of your thighs and lifting you up, wrapping your legs around him. His hands sliding to cup your ass, lips finding yours again.

“Say less princess,” he mumbled against your lips as he carried you to his bedroom.

He laid you down gently on his bed, his right hand stayed on your thigh, squeezing it tightly to keep it wrapped around him as his left hand flew to his shirt, fingers working their magic at the buttons.

You became impatient, sending your hands to help undress him.

You slid the fabric off his shoulders and down his arms, your fingers feeling every muscle as they traced down his skin and off his body.

Your eyes took a moment to appreciate his body. You already knew he worked out, but good lord was his toned, buff body beautiful.

Sunghoon kissed you again, his hands sliding his jacket off your body then finding their way under your shirt and up and over your head.

He worked with the button of your jeans as you worked with his.

He slid his jeans and underwear down together, leaving him completely bare to you.

His fingers looped between your jeans and panties, lifting your hips up as he pulled them off your body.

“Fuck, YN,” he moaned out, hands snaking underneath you to unclasp your bra, your breasts falling to their natural place once the material was on the floor. His eyes looked your bare body up and down, before laying his body on top of yours, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair when he kissed you again, your tongues dancing together in perfect rhythm, his hand sliding down your body and stopping at your thigh to pull it back over his waist.

Sunghoon was completely turned on just by the skin-to-skin contact, by just feeling your pretty legs wrapped around him.

He rolled his hips, rubbing his dick against your clit, his hand fumbling at his nightstand drawer for his box of condoms.

You woke up that next morning with the sun shining through his bedroom window.

Sunghoon had his head on your chest still fast asleep.

His arm was wrapped around your waist, the bedsheets were tangled up between yours and his legs. His leg hung out from the sheets and they hung at his hips, his bare back exposed.

Your heart raced at the site in front of you.

Did this actually happen?? I am not dreaming?

Your hand touched his bicep, fingers softly moving up and down his arm.

Sunghoon moved his head up, tucking it in your neck, arm tightening around you. He was still fast asleep.

Guilt washed over you once again. You just had sex with your best friend's ex-boyfriend. She would kill you both if she knew what happened last night.

Did you regret it? Absolutely not. The sex was perfect. Sunghoon is perfect. But that still didn’t stop the thoughts that it shouldn’t have happened.

Would you do it again? Regardless of these thoughts? Also yes.

Your relationship with Sunghoon was different now. You had deep feelings for him. And the fact that he kept inviting you over, inviting you to his practices and games, asking to see you after classes, and randomly showing up at your front door, proved enough to you that it wasn’t about the sex that night, that his feelings also ran deep for you too.

Your coffee shop days were more intimate, instead of sitting across from each other, you’d sit beside each other. Hands locking together as you’d drink your coffees.

He would be waiting outside your apartment door every single morning to drive you to class.

You would cheer him on from the bleachers at every practice, and have dinner with him afterwards.

The sex got more intense the more comfortable you both got. You saw a whole new side of Sunghoon in the bedroom. A side you never thought you’d ever see or even thought about seeing until recently.

He explored every inch of your body, his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. Shoving his fingers in your mouth as he pounded into you from behind. Bruises were left on your hips from how his fingers would grip your skin.

You got more bold too. From being his little submissive princess to a dominant queen. The way you’d jerk your hand up and down his cock sending his head flying back, body shaking from your touch as you straddled him.

Sunghoon became a part of your daily life, just like he was all that time ago.

You showed up to every game wearing his jacket, being that good luck charm you knew you were to him. Everything felt right.

—

Sunghoon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down onto your couch with him, “Babe, cuddle me! I am touch starved!”

You rolled your eyes at him, trying to wiggle your way out of his grip, “We just had sex, yet you’re still touch-starved?”

“Obviously!” he nuzzled his face at the nape of your neck, hands gripping the hem of your shirt, “Let’s have sex again.”

“Hoonie,” you giggled at the feeling of his lips kissing your neck, “You have practice in thirty minutes, you need to get ready soon.”

Sunghoon groaned against your neck, but he knew you were right.

Sunghoon went to propose skipping practice tonight but got distracted by your phone ringing, eyes darting over to it, being the nosey guy that he is, and seeing…his ex’s name on the caller ID.

His smile faded, why would she be calling you?

You sighed at seeing your best friend's name on your phone, finger-hitting the decline.

Calling her your best friend seemed pointless now. Right before things kicked off between you and Sunghoon, she found another boy toy to mess around with, completely ignoring you. You’ve also tried many times to hang out with her, to go by and see her at her job, to invite her over to do homework, to try and just hang with her when Sunghoon was busy, yet all she did was ignore you. So the fact she’s hitting you up now only means she needs something from you. And to say you were exhausted from it would be an understatement.

Maybe it was karma for keeping your relationship with Sunghoon a secret from her. But you also knew you couldn’t tell her. At least not right now.

You felt bad declining the call, deciding to shoot her a quick text saying you were busy in the shower and couldn’t answer the call just for her to reply saying it was fine, but was wanting the notes from class today and then sent a smiley face :)

Sunghoon shook his head, “Please don’t.”

You set your phone down, not responding to her, “Don’t what?” you knew the answer, but tried to play dumb anyways.

“YN, stop playing this game with her, she’s using you.”

You knew it was true, but hearing it come from his mouth didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less.

Sunghoon bit his lips in a way to keep himself calm. He hated that she was doing this to you. He saw firsthand how badly the breakup affected you too. You lost both of your best friends because of it. But the shitty part was you weren’t supposed to lose her, but you did anyway. She was supposed to stay by your side but didn’t.

She abandoned you. Even after she promised him she wouldn’t.

The secrets he wishes he could tell you in hopes of you cutting her off for good, but he couldn’t break that trust with her, even if she deserved it.

The only thing he could do was try and convince you in other ways.

“Baby,” he whispered, “Look at me.”

You did, shifting yourself in his lap to face him.

He tucked your hair behind your ears, “You deserve better than that. I know you love and care for her, and that she’s your best friend, but this friendship is toxic. All it is doing is hurting you.”

You looked away from his chocolate eyes and to the floor, “I know.”

Sunghoon pulled your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look back at him, “I don’t want you to hurt anymore, not just because of her, but because of me too. We both did some damage to you and I have to live with that. I am so fucking lucky you let me come back in your life. And well, I am not saying to completely cut her out of your life,” even though that is what he’s wanting, “but don’t do things like this for her anymore.”

You nodded. He was right. The only reason you kept doing things for her no matter what they were was to keep her in your life. You kept holding onto a rope that was torn a long time ago.

“Promise me,” he asked, holding up his pinky finger, “Please.”

You wrapped your pinky tightly with his, sealing the promise.

—

It was the final game of the season, if the boys win this game they move on to the championship.

Sunghoon stood with you by the wall, his hands trembling in his gloves.

He was nervous, scared even, it was written all over his face.

“Sunghoon,” you saying his name always sounded so beautiful to his ears. He looks over to you, giving a nervous smile, “It’ll be okay. You’re one of the best damn players on this team. The championship is calling your team's name!”

You could only hope your words were reaching him, helping make him feel better.

Which it did. His hand stopped trembling just from your smile. You were his good luck charm after all.

He slid his hand from his glove, cupping the side of your face, “I am the luckiest man alive to have you.”

You leaned into his hand, his thumb rubbing against your skin.

His couch blew the whistle for warm-ups to start.

“Gimme a good luck kiss princess,” he said pulling you closer to him, “It’ll give me strength.”

You giggled against his lips and pouted as he skated away, giving him a thumbs up.

Little did you know, your “best friend” was sitting in the bleachers, watching the entire thing.

The game went in a flash, Sunghoon once again scoring the winning goal.

You jumped from your seat and pressed against the wall, arms stretched out and waiting for Sunghoon to embrace himself into you, his lips crashing against yours in celebration of his win.

You stood at the end of the bleachers, eyes staring off down the hallway that led to the locker rooms, heart racing at wanting to see Sunghoon again, to be able to give him a proper hug for his win.

“OMG! You came to the game too?!”

Your heart sank at her voice, your friend connecting her shoulder to yours as she stood beside you.

Your body tensed, “Y-Yeah, it was their last game so I came to support them.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, her hands flying to Sunghoon’s jacket, “Isn’t this Hoon’s?” She forced you around, seeing his name printed on the back.

She knows she’s got to know.

She hummed again, “Why do you have his jacket, YN?”

You shrugged, leaning back against the bleacher, “I was cold and he offered it to me I guess.”

She crossed her arms, “He never let me borrow it, weird.”

“I was freezing,” you tried to play it off, “You know how cold I can get sometimes.”

She nodded, “That’s true,” her eyes darted down the hallway, “Since when did you and Hoon start hanging out again?”

She definitely knows.

You knew it was a matter of time before she found out, but you didn’t think it would be like this.

You opened your mouth to speak, only for her face to light up with excitement and her hands clapping.

The boys finally were leaving the locker room, “Here come our winners!” she said.

Sunghoon was with Jay, the two of them doing their handshake and walking in separate directions, Sunghoon’s smile fading after looking in your direction.

“OH EM GEE!!!” she squealed, grabbing your hand and rushing you both to meet Sunghoon halfway, “You are such a star Hoonie!”

She wrapped her arms around Sunghoon’s neck, but he was quick to pull her off of him, “What are you doing here?”

You were surprised how calm he was.

“Am I not allowed to come and support you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“You lost that right when we broke up.” he scoffed, “Why are you actually here?”

She pouted, pulling you to her side, “I missed you guys, wanted us to rekindle and be a trio again.”

Sunghoon could smell the bullshit radiating out of her mouth.

Does this bitch think I am stupid?

“Rekindle?” he chuckled, “Rekindle what? Exactly?” oh he was pissed now, “Explain yourself. Now.”

She let go of your arm, taking a step closer to him, “I miss you, Hoon.” She reached to touch his face, but he caught her arm with his hand, shoving it away from him.

“Don’t touch me.”

You didn’t know what to do or what to say, this fight didn’t involve you, it was something they had to settle.

“Hoon,” she begged, “I want you back, please.”

Sunghoon took a step back away from her, “Cut the bullshit.”

She rolled her eyes, “What bullshit?!”

“I am in a relationship,” he spat out, “I am happy.”

A laugh escaped her mouth, a laugh you’ve never heard her do before, “I know, I am not stupid,” she took a step back, wrapping her arms around you, “You’re fucking our sweet YN.”

Sunghoon’s grip on his duffle bag tightened and his jaw locked. What the fuck was she trying to pull here?

She smiled, knowing she got you both where she wanted you to be, “The fact that you’re both quiet speaks volumes, lemme tell ya.”

“What the fuck do you want?” he said through his locked jaw.

“I want to know why,” she pulled a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I want to know why you both betrayed me like this. Why my ex-boyfriend decided it was okay to fuck my best friend, and why my best friend decided it was okay to fuck my ex.”

Oh, she’s going there? Game on.

Sunghoon chuckled, “Best friend? Best friends don't abandon each other!”

“That’s rich coming from you,” she retorted.

“You abandoned her!!” he snapped.

“So did you!!” she snapped back, “You walked away just as much as I did!”

“I walked away because I cared about you! I cared about your feelings! You promised you’d stay by her side, not leave her to fight alone and use her for your own personal gain, that’s not a friendship!”

“Oh, here we go,” she laughed, “It’s always about YN.”

You wanted to speak up, to ask them what that meant, but before you could, Sunghoon was reaching for you.

He’s heard enough. He’s HAD enough. He couldn’t let this conversation continue, not when she might spill everything.

He pulled you to his side, pushing you in the direction towards the exit door, “YN, baby, let’s go.”

“How long did you think you could hide? Hmm?”

Both you and Sunghoon stopped walking.

“I’ve known for a while now,” you turned and faced her, waiting for her to finish, “You think I wouldn’t notice? Wouldn't notice either of your cars at each other's apartments?”

Sunghoon laughed, “So you’re stalking us now? That’s so fucking low.”

“How could I not? Not after I saw the two of you leaving that diner downtown a while ago,”

She’s known since the beginning.

“I thought maybe, at first, you two were just hanging out again. I minded my business. But then I thought, hmm, I should surprise visit YN. And I bet you could imagine my surprise when I pulled up to her apartment and saw your car parked there and her riding your dick on her couch.” your face flushed, embarrassed, “Maybe next time make sure your blinds are closed before fucking in the living room.”

Sunghoon sighed, pulling you closer to him. He felt like shit because of all this happening to you.

“This doesn’t excuse your shitty stalking behavior,” Sunghoon said.

She shrugged, “I only caught you by coincidence at first, the second time surprised me too. The rest I had to ask around campus to find out.”

Sunghoon was getting more pissed by the second, “YN doesn’t deserve this!!”

“You’re so right!” she clapped her hands, “She does deserve better friends, I know. We were so shitty to her. But you know what she also deserves? The truth.”

The…truth?

Sunghoon shook his head, “No, let’s go,” he tried pushing you toward the exit again, he wasn’t ready for you to hear what she was about to say.

You forced Sunghoon off you, taking a few steps back towards her, “What truth do I deserve to know?”

Mostly since Sunghoon seemed so set on me leaving just now.

Your friend smirked, “The truth about the reason why we broke up in the first place.”

Sunghoon snapped her name, “Keep your fucking mouth shut!”

You look back at him, “What is so goddamn secretive?”

Sunghoon sighed, his eyes dropping to the floor.

You looked back at her, “Well??”

“The reason we broke up was because of you.” she crossed her arms over her chest, eyes darting at Sunghoon.

“Because of me?” You couldn’t wrap your head around why, “W-what did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, YN,” Sunghoon finally said.

“Then…why…”

“Because he’s in love with you,” you stood there frozen, “He confessed to me a few months before we broke up on how deeply in love with you he was.” she said snarky, “That he caught feelings for you early on into our relationship, but kept it hidden all those years until he couldn’t. The guilt ate him up. Plus I caught him practically eye fucking you at one of the last parties we all attended together.”

You looked back at Sunghoon, his eyes glossed over. He’s been in love with you the entire time you’ve known him?

“It’s truly sad, isn’t it?” your friend continued, “The night we fought, was me making him promise to never come near you again. Guess it worked for a while.”

“Why would you promise that!” You yelled at him, “Why would you even agree to that?!”

“Because I still cared about her!” Sunghoon shook his head, “I wanted to respect her wishes, I wanted to respect you! You had no feelings towards me whatsoever, and after the last couple shitty months of my relationship with her, I wanted you to heal and find peace with losing me, had I known she would also walk away from you, I would have never let you go.”

“Why did you stay with her as long as you did if you wanted me?” It was a shitty question to ask, but you had to know.

“Because I was already a shitty person for falling in love with my girlfriend’s best friend. I didn’t want to hurt either of you. So I kept my feelings hidden until they eventually overflowed to the point I couldn’t contain it.”

With tears in your eyes, you stomped over to him, fists hitting his chest, “Why would you leave me then?! I needed you!” you cried it all out, releasing the frustration, and he just took it, “Do you know how lonely I was when you left? How terrible I felt watching you walk away that night? I lost part of my soul.”

Sunghoon pulled you to him, “Baby I know and I am so fucking sorry I did that to you.”

You cried into his chest, fingers gripping his shirt. Too many emotions were fighting you at all once. You were the sole reason your best friends broke up, how could you not feel like shit?

You pushed yourself off him, turning back towards your friend, “What is your excuse for leaving me?”

Her facial expression tightened, “How could I have stayed? Every time I looked at you all I could remember was the fact that my boyfriend wanted you, not me.”

Fair enough. But that was also such a shotty excuse.

“Guess our friendship didn’t mean shit to you,” you scoffed, “A boy meant more to you than I did. Meant more than our lifetime of friendship.”

She had nothing to say to that, just thinned her lips in a line, looking away.

“I’ve heard enough,” you softly said, “Take me home, please Sunghoon.”

He nodded, extending out his hand for you to take it, and you did. The two of you walking away.

“Enjoy my seconds, YN.”

Oh, she did not.

Sunghoon beat you to running his mouth, “At least YN pleases me. You should see the mess she makes of me since you want to stalk us so bad.”

You bit the insides of your cheeks to keep from laughing, was their sex life that bad?

Her face turned red you could practically see the smoke coming out of her ears, “Go to hell Sunghoon! It’s where you belong!”

He chuckled, “Gladly, I’d give up every piece of heaven for YN.”

She rolled her eyes, it was always about you. It’s always been you for him.

“Oh and by the way,” Sunghoon added, “I know you cheated on me multiple times with Mark from calculus, way before I confessed my feelings for YN. So us breaking up wasn’t just because of her. Suck a dick.”

Sunghoon wrapped an arm around you, a smirk on his face as you both listened to her yelling more nonsense.

—

He drove you home and walked you into your apartment.

“I really am sorry, YN.” Sunghoon wrapped you into his arms, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You cupped his face, thumbs wiping the tears that fell, “Don’t ever apologize, okay? You were caught in a situation.”

“It’s no excuse,” he took your hands in his, “I love you, I always have. I shouldn’t have walked away.”

You just nodded, standing on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his nose, “I love you, Park Sunghoon. You’re with me now, and that’s all that matters.”

It was true. He was so lucky to have you. To finally have you after waiting for you for so long.

Thank god he decided to try that coffee shop out.

“Was sex with her really that bad?” you asked, a giggle escaping.

He laughed too, “Yeah, never came once.”

“I guess that means I win in that department too since I make such a mess outta you,”

Sunghoon bit his lip, sliding his hands to squeeze your waist, “Keep talking like that and I’ll ruin you.”

You pressed a quick kiss to his lips then escaped his arms, running towards your bedroom, “Can’t ruin me if I make a mess of you first.”

Sunghoon chased after you, his heart pounding at the happiness on your face.

God, he really was the luckiest man alive.

#myiceprince #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #reader x sunghoon #sunghoon smut #enhypen #reader x enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #hockey au #friends to lovers #yeonzzzn writing

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sundrop-writes · 10 months ago

Text

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless.

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless.

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least.

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life.

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long.

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman.

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy.

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them.

That night, you had become his hero.

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections.

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so.

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship.

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature.

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy.

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms.

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack.

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you.

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you.

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway.

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you.

He tried not to act like it.

But on nights like this, it was just so hard.

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade.

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison.

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’.

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade.

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you.

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time.

Again - he was hopeless.

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes.

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin.

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him.

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch.

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.)

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites.

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried.

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it.

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns.

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-”

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet.

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying.

“Y/N, uh-”

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.”

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!”

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him.

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding.

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand.

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically.

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued.

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.”

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen.

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep.

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.”

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place.

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration.

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.”

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench.

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries.

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you.

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter.

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again.

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter.

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead.

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke.

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds.

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly.

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock.

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too.

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste.

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him.

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed.

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.)

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch.

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment.

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual.

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day.

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet.

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.)

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice.

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years?

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers.

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day.

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.”

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out.

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments.

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him.

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration.

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why.

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh.

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?”

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret.

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot.

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies.

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count.

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock.

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt.

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front?

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home.

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him.

…

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged.

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you.

His little secret piece of you.

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis.

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild.

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for.

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle.

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him.

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain.

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game.

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win.

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this.

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real.

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out:

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.”

And what else could he do but obey?

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on.

He was a man of simple, divine tastes.

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric.

“Stiles, please.”

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life.

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers.

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in.

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain.

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work.

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you.

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties.

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask:

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?”

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh.

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.)

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say:

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.”

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm.

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now.

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state.

Though he knew that would never fucking happen.

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though.

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow.

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like.

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone.

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole.

But what would they smell like?

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him.

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination.

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you.

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live.

He could always imagine the other aspects so well.

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness.

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness.

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too.

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you.

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out.

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips.

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.”

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly.

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.”

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer.

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.”

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind.

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it:

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do.

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.”

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy.

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-”

“Cum for me, Stiles.”

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him.

Fuck. He had fucked up.

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition.

…

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean.

The only problem?

Hang to dry.

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition.

…

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early.

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.”

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn.

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today.

Focus, Stiles. Focus.

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why?

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke.

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought.

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole.

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences.

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him.

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find.

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.”

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

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