#Apollo knot

[gogmstuff]

More pre-Victorian 1830s (from top to bottom) -

ca. 1830 Evening or wedding dress (location ?). From tumblr.com/andrayblue 1080X1350.

1831 Marquise Chasseloup-Laubat (probably Marie Augustine Antoinette Le Boucher des Fontaines) by Joseph-Désiré Court (Musée des Beaux-Arts de Rouen - Rouen, Normandie, France). From their Web site' enlarged by half 845X1181.

1830-1832 María Cristina de Borbón, Queen of Spain by José de Madrazo y Aguado (Prado). From their Web site 1280X1745.

1832 Marie Franziska von Freytag by ? (Salzburg Museum  - Salzburg, Salzburgland, Austria). From tumblr.com/history-of-fashion 766X963.

1832 Amalie Klein by Friedrich von Amerling (Österreichische Galerie Belvedere - Wien, Austria). From tumblr.com/history-of-fashion; fixed spots & cracks throughout w Pshop 2893X3508.

1835 Illustration from La Mode by Paul Gavarni. From tumblr.com/clove-pinks 1650X2048.

1836 Marriage Portrait of Charlotte de Rothschild by Moritz Daniel Oppenheim (Israel Museum - Jerusalem, Jerusalem District, Israel). From Google Art Project.

Lady with Pink Sash by Camille Joseph Etienne Roqueplan (Sotheby's - 29Jan22 auction Lot 703) 1583X2000.

[clove-pinks]

Women's coiffures for evening dress in Paul Gavarni's Journal des gens du Monde, 1834. Art by Gavarni (Rijksmuseum).

Apollo knot

(F)

Period: 1824–1838.

False hair plaited into a loop or loops and wired to stand above the head; for evening and some day hair styles.

— Valerie Cumming, The Dictionary of Fashion History (second edition)

The satirical magazine Le Charivari also depicted the Apollo knot in this 1832 cartoon detail by Honoré Daumier (Met Museum).

"The Mayeux knot, known as Apollo." I've found some references to hairstyles by Mayeux, but I'm not sure if this was a real person or a caricature persona.

[fishingknotsfast]

Fishing 101 - YouTube

[ma1dita]

trouble always finds me

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 1.7k 

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where he could tell you were trouble from the day he met you. Luke’s perspective on trouble & how they first met! think trouble’s origin story (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

warnings: none, fluff? Mr. D being a clueless dad lol also guys they’re 14 here

a/n: welcome back to the trouble!verse hehe i was inspired by Mr. D being a bit of a jerk to Percy so that the kid doesn’t off himself. Similar concept but with Luke after he first gets to camp— another version for why trouble!reader calls him angelface coming soon

(posted 1/19/24, erm unedited and not beta’d so forgive me in advance)

—

You were always trouble, Luke knew that from the day he met you. 

Walking into Camp Half-Blood, worn out and weary after days of trying to not become harpy food, his arm was slung protectively over Annabeth’s shoulder as they were led onto the campgrounds. So many pity-filled eyes were focused on them after hearing what happened to Thalia, but the camp seemed promising, filled with other demigods who can resonate with what they’ve experienced. Luke thought it was too good to be true, but anything’s better in comparison to the streets they came from. You, however, looked at them in interest from afar, a playful expression on a pretty face watching their every move like him and Annie were shiny new toys to play with.

He was so sure something was off with you. 

Had to be, from the deranged glimmer in your eye that would appear when something bad would happen at Camp. He’d seen it in action a couple of times before you set your sights on him— setting off fireworks during capture the flag, replacing salt with sugar in the kitchens, cutting Mr. D’s hair in his sleep; all of this causing campers and staff alike to run amok and figure out who to penalize. Each time he’d find you enjoying how it all played out, excitement brimming on the cusp of revealing yourself as the culprit as he watched you bite your tongue. But as a mischievous kid himself, he wondered why you hid it. You preferred to orchestrate the show, to make a spectacle for your personal entertainment, and with a smile too soft to be considered guilty, you were a convincing actress. 

The other campers in 11 told him you’d been unclaimed for half a year now, keeping to yourself and making a safe haven within the busy cabin. You were a klutz to say the least, bringing chaos to Camp Half-Blood with a cool disposition, and you hardly seemed interested the one time Luke tried to say hi as he took the bunk next to yours. 

So why the hell wouldn’t you lay off of him?

At first it was small, shoulder bumps and raised eyebrows whenever he piped up in a conversation. That, he could deal with. Luke’s a tough guy, having gone through more than a typical 14-year old would. 

But then it just got annoying.

Glitter in his shampoo, his laundry load dyed purple, and shoelaces knotted together to make him stumble— things meant to be more of an inconvenience rather than an actual problem. Luke wasn’t sure what to make of it, or what to tell you. No one wants to be the new kid creating trouble, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

Maybe you were a Hermes kid like him, but of that, Luke wasn’t so easily convinced—months of living in 11 would mean you’d learn all of the tricks of the trade, so it couldn’t automatically mean that you were related (a part of him also hoped you weren’t be half-siblings, or else the fact he couldn’t stop thinking of you would be slightly awkward). Perhaps a child of Apollo? When you weren’t being difficult, he’s seen you sprinkled in sunlight, usually humming a tune under your breath. Yesterday it was a song from the Sound of Music, and though he only remembers bits of a memory from a movie night with his mom years ago, he put his combat gear on slower just to hear you finish the song. 

Whatever you were, it was bound to be troublesome.

—

At this point in life, Luke hasn’t had many comforts while on the run. To him there’s no such thing as action without reason, without meaning.  Five years of running and not looking back makes this son of Hermes realize that he hasn’t had a chance to take a breath until he got here. It’s hard to let down your guard when you’re always supposed to be keeping watch.

He wriggles under his covers trying to relax himself before bed, purple socks sticking out of the scrappy hand-me-down blanket, and he hears a small giggle from the bed next to his. Luke shifts his weight onto his side, eyes darting to your direction in the quiet of the dark cabin.

“Nice socks.”

He blinks. Were you talking to him? His toes wiggle playfully, prompting more of your melodious laughter as he chews at his lip before he responds.

“Guess I’m getting used to them.”

“You’re getting used to a lot of things around here. That’s good,” you whisper, and thinks he can see you concocting something sinister in that brain of yours—he’s on the edge of the mattress hanging onto your every word as he realizes this is the most you’ve spoken to him.

“You did this. Why?” he says, more of a statement than a question. Why would you go out of your way for someone like him?

“Are you mad about it? Luke, right?” you mutter, a calm expression on your face shrouded in moonlight, and for a second he wonders if you actually don’t know his name until he notices the upwards quirk of your lip. 

Luke catches himself then, and the realization hits him like a blow to the chest— he’s not angry at all. If anything, he hasn’t had the time to feel anything negative with the antics you’ve been pulling. You’ve proven to be quite the distraction to his circumstances, and he can’t remember the last time he’s thought about Thalia or his mom since he got here. The melancholy falls on his countenance like a better-fitting blanket than the one he has on, and your words pull him from his thoughts before they can suffocate him again.

“Sorry about your sister. I lost someone right before I got here too. My mom.” 

This, he can tell, is not acting. Your eyes flicker to a polaroid strapped in the space underneath the top bunk above your head, two blurry figures huddled together in a memory.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what to say. In the silence that follows, he swallows audibly. Everyone’s been worried about Annabeth, including himself that he hadn’t even thought of his own emotions being on display for everyone to see. Luke never thought you of all people would notice.

You shrug, “S’not your fault. I know when people are acting though. If you know I’m the one who’s been starting shit, why haven’t you told anyone?”

Luke almost laughs at that, a rough exhale leaving his lungs as he watches your hands clutch your quilt.

“It’s pretty entertaining, I guess. You’re annoying, but I don’t mind it. Kept my mind off of things.”

He watches you smile in the shadows now, and it shines—all lips, teeth, and sheer mirth that makes his chest feel a little lighter. A real smile from you, one that doesn’t hide your true intentions.

“I’m glad. Mine too.” 

The next thing you do confuses him further, but from what he’s gathered you’re always full of surprises. You chuck your quilt across the space between your bunks, and the end of it smacks him in the face as he grunts.

“Here. Keep it,” you chuckle a bit loudly, the both of you hearing a Shhhhh… from somewhere in the dark cabin.

“What… Why? Are we friends now?” Luke mumbles jokingly, inhaling the soft scent of berries and fresh linen. His purple laundry load smelled like this too.

“No.”

“Then why are you giving me your stuff?” he says, but still curls up underneath the handmade quilt stitched from memories of a past life, of motherly love and gentle hands. He doesn’t have anything like this, so he settles into this feeling of comfort instead, even if it wasn’t his memory to hold. You go quiet at the sight of him, eyes fluttering and chin tucked into the pink and purple fabric, and he looks as soft as a normal 14 year old boy should.

“It’s getting boring in here. Gonna have to change it up soon, I think,” you mumble, turning away and shutting your eyes before he can say anything else.

—

The next day, you get caught putting a month’s supply of bubble bath into the lake, but Luke’s convinced you did it on purpose. All of camp is standing on the shore, watching you wave at them from a river tube as Chiron and Mr. D yell at you in exasperation—finally revealing yourself as the troublemaker they’ve been searching for.

“Get on the beach this instant, young lady! You have no idea how much trouble you’ve put us through!” Mr. D’s voice echoes across the lake, his immortal form almost filtering through his frustration before you laugh in his face, unthreatened by the Olympian.

“Good thing I get it from you. Hello, dad!”

Jaws drop as everyone turns to look at Mr. D, the realization hitting his face as he points at you, his brain moving a mile a minute. Though you resemble your mother, your actions are all him. You revel in the grand reaction, looking up to see a purple thyrsus surrounded by grape leaves float over your head.

“Nice outfit, kid. I don’t think purple is your color. She do that to you too?” Mr. D notes Luke’s wine colored cargos and socks clashing against the harsh orange of his shirt as he pushes past him, scratching his head at the idea of another kid. Poor guy said two was the limit in a lifetime and he gets a grinning teenage girl who dares him to do something about it. He hasn’t raised a lot of girls….

“I don’t know. I guess trouble always seems to find me,” Luke laughs lightly, watching kids of all ages jump into the bubbly lake water happily. The glowing ember of his eyes are relaxed for the first time in a while— an inviting flame catching your own as you stare at him from across the sudsy water. Trouble, he thinks, a smile settling onto his face—how fitting.

He’s spent a lot of time running. But perhaps this time, he’s finding reasons to want to stay.

—

"After all, we are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal." - Sylvia Plath

Ask to be added to the general/luke taglist! 

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

[inlovewithregencyera]

My Fair Lady: Early Romantic Era Hairs

♫♫♫♫ (sorry I now feel the feminine urge to include a Regency song in everything, ignore me but it sounds better as you read.)

Alright, I made these Early Romantic Era (1820-1910) hairstyles and decided why not release them. They are named after characters in my sims story, Isabella, Selina, Aurelia, and Susan (3 of which have not been introduced yet). You can look at their aesthetics if you want here. There are no 1820s hairstyles so I saw it fit to make some for my story. I say these are 1820s Hairstyles but these can work from about 1817-1827. The two without the Apollo knots can work for as early as 1815. The two with the Apollo knots can work as early as 1817.

I have snatched pieces of hair from @the-melancholy-maiden and @buzzardly28, credit to them for amazing pieces of hair I can work with.

BGC, with all EA natural swatches.

Here are some different angles of them in my game:

I love these sims they're so cute.

Below are pictures of hairstyles from this era which I used as inspiration to make them.

DOWNLOAD

[winniethewife]

Got one inside the pants, the other on your- (Marc Spector x F!reader)

Prompt: Dirty Talk

A/N; Happy Valentine’s day <3

Warning: Smut under the cut, Fingering, PinV, Unprotected sex, Good Girl, Babygirl, other petnames, choking

Words: 579

Marc already had his fingers deep inside her as he leaned her over the back of the couch, his mouth attached to her neck, her pants pulled down past her hips, his other hand palming his bulge as he fucks her with his fingers. He had just come home and needed her the second he saw her. He growls lowly into her skin as she moans. His thumb making circles on her clit as he moved her fingers in and out of her.

“Fuck baby, wet for me already?” His voice tickled her earlobe as he spoke to her, his voice dripping with desire. “That’s it babygirl, let me take care of you. Let me fuck you with just my fingers, then my cock, Fuck you sound so pretty. Keep moaning like that for me…good girl, that’s my good fucking girl.” She can’t help it, she loves it when he gets all needy for her, when he needs her so bad he can’t even be bothered to make it all the way inside the door before she’s bent over the nearest piece of furniture as he says all those horribly wonderful things. He pulls out his hand, licking her slick from that hand while using the other to pull his cock from his jeans, Not even bothering to pull his pants all the way off in desperation to get to her.

“M-Marc…” She whimpers his name as he looks into her eyes, he takes his fingers from his mouth and puts them against her lips, a single look telling her exactly what to do. She opens her mouth taking his fingers in her mouth and sucking on them. He smiles.

“Good girl.” He growls before thrusting into her, letting himself bottom out inside her, letting her adjust around him. He hisses softly. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking tight, Just like that. Mgh. Yes… that’s it. Fuck. I’m gonna fuck you so good you aren’t gonna walk right for days. Fuck you so hard that you feel me inside you until morning. Right baby? Yeah, You love this cock, Need this cock. My cock, My girl.” He starts to move, at first a slow but steady pace, all the way out, all the way back in, again and again, but its only a moment before he’s rutting into her like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.  She moans on this fingers, Her nails digging into the couch, she feels the knot of pleasure wound tight in her lower stomach. She was so close, she ever so slightly bites down on his fingers. He groans as he fucks her harder and faster seeking his own release in her tight walls. He moves his hand from her mouth to around her neck, putting just enough pressure on her neck to delay the blood to her brain, and restrict her breathing slightly “Fuck baby you feel so damn good, Fuck I’m gonna fill you up baby. Ngh. Yes, fuck yes. That’s it baby cum with me baby, cum with me…there there there there…Fuck” Marc kept whispering every filthy idea that came up in his mind as he coated her insides with his spend, releasing the pressure on her neck as she clamped down on him, gasping for air as her body shakes with pleasure. He starts kissing her softly, the marks on her neck truning a deeper red as he gently kisses her, muttering into her.

“Such a good fucking girl…My girl…Mine”

Bingo Masterlist

Tag: @moonknight-events @juneknight @spacecowboyhotch @burymesanti @silver-night-m @justafandomgvrl

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

Midnighter and Apollo: The World's Finest Couple tied the knot and formally adopted their daughter in issue #29 of The Authority, making them the first same-sex marriage in a mainstream comic. DC's New52 retcon of their marriage has since been put to rights when they renewed their vows in DC Pride 2023.

Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy: Ever since the episode Harley&Ivy in Batman The Animated Series, this couple has been a fan favourite long before they were together in canon. Now, they appear in every Pride anthology, and most of DC's romance anthologies. Together, they had the first same-sex kiss on the cover of a superhero comic.

Tim Drake and Bernard Dowd: Fans have long had theories about all members of the BatFamily, but Tim Drake is the first of them to officially come out as queer, when he began dating former school friend and Bat enthusiast, Bernard Dowd. They were recently featured sharing the first kiss between two men on a superhero comic cover.

[eyelessfaces]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

llewyn davis x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: lingerie

warnings: none :)

word count: 0.6k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

You crossed your arms as you leaned your side against the wall, watching and listening to Llewyn babbling and complaining about his shitty, never ending day as he plopped down onto your couch.

"I was waiting for you" you declared cutting him off, joining him in front of the couch as he fumbled with his pants pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and tucking one between his lips.

"I know, sorry angel." he apologized looking up at you, lighting the stick, taking a drag. "I got in an argument with Mel and then I had to stop by the Gorfeins to give back a book Lillian lent me but things dragged out, you know how she can never stop talking when she starts"  

You chuckled and sent him an empathetic look, your hand brushing the side of his cheek.

"I think I got exactly what you need to cheer you up" you declared with a playful tone, and he looked at you curiously as he pulled the cigarette back to his mouth, mindlessly taking another drag as you fiddled with the knot of your robe. 

"Really? Awesome because that's not all that was shitty today" he scoffed, smoke coming out from his mouth as he ran a hand over his face. "I almost tripped on a dog's leash, and the owner was so fucking rude about it. Old lady, scolding me when it was her dog that almost killed me. On top of that I had to hurry to get to the studio only to learn once I got there that the session got canceled, which means I'm not getting royalties, and I never needed them more than right now–" 

His mouth slightly gaped when he realized he was met with the sight of you standing in front of him, only dressed with white lace lingerie, your robe falling down on the floor. 

How he didn’t even register you opening your robe he didn’t know, but he now felt dumb for running his mouth and daring to complain when you were in front of him looking like that.

"Oh" 

He eyed you up and down, not tearing his gaze from you when he leaned to the side table next to the couch to put his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Fuck” he chuckled, speechless. “You look…” he started, mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. "Fuck"

You chuckled at his loss of words, heat creeping up your cheeks. 

"Can I?" he asked, pointing at you. You nodded and he placed his hands at the back of your thighs, looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

He couldn’t even talk, too hypnotized by the way you looked.

His fingers felt cold against your bare skin, raising goosebumps in their trail as his hands roamed along your body, settling at your hips as he toyed with the fabric of your underwear.

He exhaled and pressed his forehead against your stomach, his curls tickling your skin.

"Does this make up for your shitty day?" you asked, your hand resting in his curls.

"Shit, more than that." he muttered under his breath as he left a kiss over your stomach, his hands shifting to rest over your ass. He looked back up at you, a loving glint in his eyes. "You look beautiful honey, but you're gonna get cold"

"Mh?" you hummed, taking a step back from him. "Better help me warm up then." you teased, a sly smirk over your face as you walked towards the bedroom, watching as he bit down onto his bottom lip before getting up and chasing after you.

—

as always please reblog and tell me your thoughts it helps a lot!!

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @campingwiththecharmings @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @spxctorsslxt

+ @flightlessangelwings

[gogmstuff]

1832 Mathilde, Comtesse Clary-Aldringen by Peter Emmanuel Thomas (Louvre (?)). From bijoux-malmaison-compiegne.fr/html/13/collection/img/zoom/ch_26.jpg 695X888 @72 954kp.

[nanamikentoseyebags]

Addicted to your light

He hopes you know his whole world is now reflected in his heavenly blue eyes. Look closer, it's you. Always has been.

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

content: fluff, suggestive themes, use of blindfold, basically satoru and reader's first time together, nothing explicit though

a/n: i got affected by @rossithepixie fic where satoru puts his blindfold on you. here he finds another use for it 🥴 a special thank you to @vagabond-umlaut who read it first 💛

The day gives way to night, as the thick veil of the darkness blankets the walls of the room. The only sources of light in the guise of the young pale moon curiously peering in through the not completely closed curtains, and the small, quaint lamps on the oak bedside tables reveal the mysteries of two stained hearts that try to find their way home. In the subdued, soft lighting two silhouettes sit opposite each other on the king-sized bed. And in the complete silence that reigns here, one can hear their ragged breathing, the hot waves of air leaving their parted lips.

The whole space’s palpably electrified with eager anticipation mingled with infinite tenderness and an overwhelming desire. The threatening mixture that swallows them both not leaving a single chance to escape this sweet torture. And it seems that every atom of their being is transformed into a vibrating movement, fused with an unknown craving that fills their heated bodies.

Your clothes are long forgotten somewhere, discarded on the floor on the way to the bedroom, ready to become a tomorrow’s reminder of this very night. Sitting there on the soft walnut colored silk bedsheets wearing nothing but your underwear, you don't feel any cold; rather, your whole skin seems to be set ablaze, with the heat running through your entire body and waking up all the butterflies that have been sleeping peacefully in your stomach. And he doesn’t even touch you yet.

Satoru looks pretty calm, too calm for your liking. Behind this habitual grin you can’t even discern whether he feels at least a bit as anxious or giddy as you. So your gaze shifts to his torso, causing you to swallow hard, as your eyes flick from his broad chest adorned with crescent scars to his defined abs. The lack of clothes gives you a perfect opportunity to admire his sturdy figure without any shame. Illuminated by the soft yellow light, his snow-white skin takes on a golden hue, like a bronze-carved Apollo, who only smiles softly, as if knowing how breathtaking the sight of him can be. You cannot see his eyes, like treasure sought by pirates hidden behind a black satin blindfold, but you can sense his intense gaze moving slowly along all of your curves, tracing all of your skin, not stopping for a second.

And so you give in, jump in with both feet, unable to languish in anticipation and delay the moment any longer, you move closer, your slightly trembling hands gently reaching for him.

"May I?" a quiet plea comes out of your lips in a whisper, your fingers gently touching the velvet skin of his cheek, slowly moving to his blindfold. Satoru nods weakly, swallowing, feeling your hands gently, as if it might hurt him, untie the knot, and slowly pull the skin-cooling material off his heavenly blue eyes.

You see the stars. He still hasn't touched you yet, but you could swear you see them when your gazes meet. It feels like finding yourself in outer space with no protection and no way to take that much needed breath, hanging weightless, surrounded by celestial bodies and running out of air. Yet you can’t help but marvel the beauty before you, knowing goddamn well that this starry blanket might be your last memory. And you would agree to do it again, just to feel the sense of lightness once more, just to get lost in his light, just to see the world centered in him and hidden behind these two orbits.

He sees the sun. He still hasn’t touched you yet, but he could swear he feels its burning touch when your gazes meet. It feels like floating above the ground not the way he used to do but lifting to the unpreceded heights, striving to reach the biggest star, sense its warm embrace and get lost in its heat, knowing goddamn well that its gentle hold might be the last thing he’ll ever feel. And he would do it again, like Icarus flying up too fast and too close, letting you scorch his wings, letting you take away his strength, only to bask in your presence, only to have a chance to marvel your blinding beauty a little longer, only to make sure you know that his whole world is centered around you and can now be seen in the reflection of his two orbits.

“You’re so beautiful…” he exhales quietly either not fully trusting his voice or in fear of scaring the moment off. His hand flies up to gently tuck your hair behind your ear, a light touch leaving a barely perceptible trace on the curve of your neck. With his fingertips he feels the myriad of goosebumps covering your flawless skin in an instant, and he cannot believe it’s him who does this to you. He lets out a shaky breath, realizing how every inch of his body is shivering at the sensation of the satin fabric you're slowly sliding down his neck. Satoru thanks all the gods above that it's you who's doing this to him. Though no one else ever could.

“Close your eyes,” he commands in a low voice, leaning closer, his hot breath dancing across your skin. You obey pliantly, your heart flutters at his words as he suddenly takes advantage of the situation. Satoru’s delicate hand finds its place on the back of your neck, making you lift your head just a little bit.  With your eyes shut you feel him leaving a small peck on your temple, then softly kissing your closed eyelids and traveling down to your desperately waiting to be kissed and already slightly parted mouth. Gojo makes sure he left the proclamation of his love with the softest brush of his lips on every millimeter of your face while his thumb gently caresses your jawline. He pulls back for a moment, trying to capture in his mind how divinely beautiful you are in the moonlight before drawing you into a deep yet full of fondness and promises kiss. And your worlds collide the moment your lips meet. And if the big bang that started it all for someone seems like a controversial theory, it has now become an absolute and irrefutable truth for the both of you, as it’s just claimed the new beginning. With him being so painfully soft and his lips molding just right against yours and his feather-light touches, treating you like you’re made of the daintiest porcelain, you feel like falling apart right here and right now. With you being so painfully gentle and your fingers tangling in his snow-white hair, treating him like he’s worth of this universal tenderness, he feels like falling apart right here and right now.

Satoru pulls away slightly, a string of saliva still connecting your swollen lips. You don't dare to open your eyes, feeling the thin fabric slowly slip from your fingers. He gently kisses the corner of your lips, unable to resist, before you feel the pleasant coolness of satin on your eyelids. His fingers gently, with apparent skill, fasten his blindfold around your head.

“Relax for me,” he whispers noticing the way your breath hitches and your chest heaves frantically, “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” his thumb stroking the pinkish apple of your cheek.

“I wanna see you…” you say under your breath, covering his hand with yours.

“You will,” he murmurs and takes your hand in his, kissing your fingers, “but for now, I want you to feel it, okay?” is more of a statement said in a saccharine tone, yet you utter a quiet “okay” surrendering completely to his captivity. His arms encircle your waist before gently lowering you onto the cushioned bed.

“I want you to feel all the love I have for you,” he repeats breathlessly, his fingertips grazing your hips, still unable to believe that you let him touch you, let him kiss your perfect skin, let him get lost in you.

And he’ll spend the whole night showing you how pure and overpowering his love for is, how addicted to your light is, and he is not afraid to burn in doing so.

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💛

tags: @rossithepixie @pastelle-rabbit @solanaearth @a-nuisance-called-sam @nanamiiss @4sat0ruu @pupkashi @gennysuga

[itsmoonpeaches]

Title: Storge

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial

Word count: 1,004

Rating: G

Summary: As the quest concludes and the war ends, Poseidon is left with the truth and the realization that Percy means more to him than he knew.

Also available on ao3.

Camp Half-Blood celebrated. The night sky bloomed with multicolored fireworks. And amid the cacophony, the gods discovered the truth.

At Zeus’s command, Athena had called for a meeting with the whole council to end the war between him and Poseidon. But now Olympus shuddered with war’s echoes once again.

“So much for a swift and crushing victory, eh dad?” sneered Ares. He leaned back on his throne, the ancient stone pressed against the back of his leather trench coat.

“Silence,” Zeus ordered with a scowl. Thunder rumbled above them. “Your role in this has not been forgotten.” His irises swirled with storm clouds. He propped himself up, resting his arms on the circular marble table that the Olympians sat around. “We must decide what to do with Luke Castellan.”

Poseidon watched the proceedings with feigned indifference. He clenched his fists beneath the table and felt the leftover prickle of electricity dance across his fingertips. Even for a god as prominent as he, stopping Zeus’s Master Bolt with his bare hands was a harrowing experience. It was not often that gods held onto another’s symbol of power.  

Across from him, Hermes twitched. His face shuttered.

“He is lost to us,” answered Athena with the authoritative tone he always recognized. She looked like that girl who went on the quest with Perseus except she was taller with narrower, more angular features. She had the same dark curls, but never wore her hair down. It was slicked back into a tight knot and accentuated her calculating gray eyes. “He eludes us with the power of his sword, and that puts him under Kronos’s protection. It is inadvisable to deduce where the portals will take him with so little information.”

Zeus frowned.

Athena clicked her tongue. “We must decide what to do with the other one…Poseidon’s spawn. Perseus Jackson.”

Poseidon straightened. The quake inside his chest threatened to release the force he held back. Long Island’s shores were bombarded with waves. “Enough,” he growled. He unclenched his fists. His trident crackled in its sheath attached to his throne.

The council quieted. Athena narrowed her eyes.

Zeus grunted, folding his arms as he glared. “I will not renege on the prize I have awarded the boy if he does not cause a disturbance,” he said. “I refuse to be indebted to a half-blood.” He lifted the Master Bolt. Its energy reverberated from the floors to the Corinthian columns that enclosed them. “He has returned what is mine. For now, we watch him.”

Poseidon thought to relax, but that was before Apollo with his sunny grin and even sunnier disposition, decided to interrupt.

“My Oracle spoke,” Apollo started with a singsong tune that grated on Poseidon’s nerves. “This may be the Prophecy. We must prepare soon.”

Poseidon sucked in a steadying breath. A new squall formed near Australia’s Shipwreck Coast.

Artemis rolled her eyes. “Not everything needs to be said in haiku, brother,” she admonished. The silver in her hair gleamed like the moon.

Poseidon sighed. The tension in his shoulders never lessened. “Perseus is not yet sixteen,” he said. “Leave him be.”

“We will get nothing done talking in circles. I have duties to attend to,” Zeus added. He nodded to Athena. “Finish this.”

The meeting adjourned. The gods flashed away, vanishing to tend to their domains. But Poseidon lingered. He had not moved. He stared at a pearl he rolled in his palm.

“Do you ever dream about mom?”

His son’s voice rushed into his head like an endless current. Perseus’s eyes were so much like his own, so much more than he had imagined. Poseidon had not answered his question. He had not forgotten.

He clutched the pearl tight and stood, trident in hand.

“He is your weakness, the boy.” Someone disrupted the silence.

Poseidon turned.

Athena observed him from the pathway that led to the rest of Olympus’s sprawling city. “If you are not careful, he will become a liability to you.”

He inclined his head. “What's this?” he asked with a sardonic smirk. “The goddess of wisdom and battle strategy giving me advice?”

“It is simply an observation.”

“An observation I do not crave.”

Athena scoffed. “You surrendered for him,” she replied. “You lost the war for that boy. He is nothing more than a blip in our eternity. What will happen in the future when there is more at stake? What will you choose, your son or the Fifth Age?”

He parted his lips, but no answer came. Athena departed down the path. He was alone.

He walked to the edge of the council room, intent on watching what remained of the fireworks below. Even from here, he could see them. If he concentrated, he could hear the laughter of the demigods and smell their offerings scraped into the bonfire. Most of them did not know what had transpired yet.

He only wished Perseus was spared betrayal.

The hearth that occupied the edge of the room snapped. Out of the warmth appeared the form of a little girl in drab robes.  

“Hestia,” he said with a slight bow. “I am sorry to disturb you. I will soon depart.”

“You are lost,” she remarked. She always sounded so much younger than she was. “You are thinking of him…of your family.”

“You are my family,” he countered.

She smiled and offered her right hand. “Take my hand.”

With caution, he took it.

As soon as they touched, images flooded his mind. He saw Sally Jackson. She pressed her forehead to their son’s. The sunlight dappled the rivulets of her hair and brightened Perseus’s blue eyes.

He saw Perseus in his cabin at camp, running his fingers along the water in the fountain, a pensive look on his face. On his neck, he wore a new bead on the necklace Chiron had given him. Painted against black was a delicate sea-green trident.

When Poseidon remembered himself, Hestia was gone. The visions tucked away inside him.

“Yes,” he whispered into nothing. “I do dream of you.”

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 16th of December, 2023

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 16th of December, 2023

Question: Does King Charles know that Meghan's pregnancies were fake?

As I was shuffling the cards, the energy of this reading came out as 'don't bother me, go away, I don't want to think about it", so if Charles does know about the fake pregnancies, then he does not want to deal with the situation.

Interpretation: King Charles is very unhappy about this.

Card One: The Sun, reversed.

The Sun in reverse is a card of unhappiness, and unhappy energy is pouring off this card. I feel a knot in my stomach when I pick up the card. King Charles is very, very unhappy about this situation. He doesn't want to take action and he wishes it would just go away by itself or be fixed by itself.

Sun is a homophone for 'son', and the reason for King Charles's unhappiness is Harry. The god on the card is Apollo, the favourite and favoured son of Zeus. This tells me that Harry is the favoured son of King Charles, his golden boy, and that King Charles can not bear to see his son "in reverse", i.e. dragged down from his perch as the golden prince.

If the truth about the pregnancies is revealed, then Harry will face legal consequences for attempting to interfere in the line of succession, consequences that King Charles can't make go away, and he does not want that to happen. He wants to protect Harry, to shield him from his fall from grace, and he can't do that if the truth about the pregnancies comes out.

The Sun is our source of light, and in the reverse, that light is dimmed and falls into darkness. Light reveals the truth about things. King Charles does not want the truth revealed. He wants it to stay in the darkness of the Sun reversed, at least until he knows he can rescue Harry from the consequences of his actions.

The Sun in reverse is also the card of pessimism. King Charles is not confident about his ability to protect Harry this time, and he is not optimistic about the outcome of this situation, so he just keeps on being very unhappy about it and putting off dealing with it for as long as possible.

Upright, the Sun is one of the best possible cards you can have in a reading. In the reverse, it is a very bad omen for the rest of this reading.

The Rider Waite Sun card has a child on it, so the Sun card is also a card of children. In the reverse, the Sun card says quite clearly, no children, and coming as the first card of the reading it tells me that yes, King Charles knows that the pregnancy/s were faked and there are no legitimate children.

Card Two: The Ten of Swords, reversed

Upright, this is a card of complete despair, betrayal, and hitting rock bottom. That is the initial energy of this card. King Charles feels betrayed and hurt by Harry's actions. He thinks that Harry can go no lower than being involved in these fake pregnancies and all that they stand for (betrayal of the Line of Succession and hence the country etc).

Immediately, the energy flips to one that is raising a person up from their betrayal, of rehabilitating their reputation. It is an energy of excuses (he didn't mean it) and help (what can I do to save Harry from this situation). King Charles is looking for a way to redeem Harry.

On the card, the person on the ground is protected by the goddess Athena, the same goddess who appears alone on the Ace of Swords (new strategies) and on the Justice card. Swords is a suit of legal matters (among other things), and the image of Athena on all these cards tells me that King Charles has been looking at legal ways to rescue Harry from the consequences of interfering with the line of succession. The Ten of Swords in reverse tells me that he failed. There is nothing that King Charles can do to protect Harry from the legal consequences of his actions (the monarch is not allowed to override the law AFAIK).

Card Three: The Seven of Pentacles, reversed

The Seven of Pentacles is the card of assessing your efforts and the return for your labours. Was the effort worth it, what do you continue and what do you weed out. It is also my card of dodgy sex acts and betraying your King.

In the reverse, this card is about work that does not pay off, efforts that fail, impatience, procrastination, and a lack of reward for whatever work you do.

Harry took part in dodgy sex acts - the fake pregnancies - that betrayed his King, the monarchy, and his country. King Charles is now looking for a way to get Harry out of this situation. This card tells me that King Charles's efforts are not going to work. They will end in failure. Either Harry can not be redeemed, or if King Charles does manage, somehow, to partially redeem him, the effort will not be worth it. This card also tells me how King Charles is dealing with the situation - he is procrastinating and putting off dealing with it.

Card Four: The Devil

Note: I was prompted to draw this card after I had laid out the original reading, which is why it is over to one side in the layout.

This card has Meghan's energy. It is a card of lies, deceit, and obsessions. In this reading the energy is of lies and deceit.

The energy of this card is that King Charles wants to blame this all on Meghan. Just like he floated the idea that Harry had nothing to do with the book EndGame, he wants to use Harry's known stupidity and obsession with Meghan to say that Harry knew nothing about the fake pregnancy/s, it was all Meghan's doing, and his darling boy was mislead and hoodwinked by the wicked woman he married. King Charles knows that the public do not like Meghan and he wants to use that to get his son out of the consequences for interfering in the line of succession. Unfortunately, Harry's own words about the pregnancies and births in Spare and his public presentation of his son to the world (either live or a doll, whatever you believe) as his child, mean that he is in this up to his neck. No PR spin by King Charles can remove Harry's own words about the birth/s of his children (I can't remember if he talked about one or both births in Spare).

So King Charles is stuck, making deals with the devil (Meghan and his son), until he figures out a way to blame this all on Meghan and rescue Harry from the consequences of his actions. This card also tells me that King Charles is quite prepared to lie if it means that Harry gets off the consequences of his actions.

Underlying Energy: The Wheel of Fortune, reversed.

This situation is going to drag down both Harry and King Charles and the monarchy. Both of their positions and reputations are going to decline because of the fake pregnancies - Harry for being one of the two people involved in them and King Charles for not dealing with the situation as soon as he knew about it.

King Charles gave the Prince and Princess titles to Archie and Lili, recognising them as legitimate members of the line of succession, and if he did that while knowing the pregnancies were fake then nothing will save him from the public disapproval of his actions.

Conclusion:

King Charles does know about the fake pregnancies, and the situation makes him very unhappy. He wants to rescue Harry and protect him from the legal consequences of Harry's actions in interfering with the line of succession, but he can not find any legal way of doing this. If he does find a way, the result will not be worth the effort he put into it and he will not get the reward that he wants (Harry as an untarnished Prince of the Realm).

If King Charles could find a way to blame this all on Meghan, he would. If he could blame it all on someone else, I believe the news about the fake pregnancies would be released with all the blame being out on Meghan/another person. As King Charles can't do this, he is putting off dealing with the situation and just letting it sit there, making him more and more unhappy, while he keeps the news from coming out until he has a way of rescuing Harry from the situation.

This situation is going to tarnish both Harry and King Charles's reputation. Both of them are going to see the Wheel of Fortune turn against them when the news is released (another reason King Charles wants to keep it quiet). The situation may very well damage the reputation of the monarchy as well.

[jikjinz]

Hard thoughts abt treasure.. How about face sitting with sub!yoshi🐯 Look at his nose it must be awesome to ride it😋

FACE SITTING WITH YOSHI IS LIKE… SITTING ON THE OLYMPIAN THRONE.

his face feels so good under you, almost as if it was made for you to sit on it. he’s lapping all your sweet juices up like a thirsty animal in heat.

he’s at your mercy, happy with his place beneath you, and happy to fulfill your desires

everything you say is his command: faster? he’ll tongue-fuck you into oblivion; slower? he’ll take his time; don’t stop? he’ll keep on being a good boy

every moan, whimper, or any sound falling from past your lips is like a divine melody; you’re his muse and he’s your apollo.

FACE SITTING WITH YOSHI IS… RELIEVING.

you can use his face however you want, you can suffocate him with your thighs, he doesn’t care; all he cares about is to make you feel good

every time you come back to him in a bad mood, he already prepares himself to be your seat

usually, he’s taking his time with eating that divine meal; thanks to that, you forget about everything else, no matter what was stressing you

it goes both sides, though.

you are his stress relief; when you see him in a bad mood, all you need to do is offer your pussy and he’ll cry in excitement

FACE SITTING WITH YOSHI… FEELS LIKE A LONG-AWAITED PROPHECY COMING TRUE.

no matter the circumstances, he’ll always make sure to take you to the olympian mountain with his tongue and fingers

it’s like his face was destined to serve as your seat; your pussy fitting his mouth perfectly, and his nose nuzzling right into your clit

he won’t let you get up if you still didn’t cum on his face; you are his savior and he’s there to please and preach you like the goddess you are.

he knows you are his only one; like a match made in stars… or your strings tied together with a tight knot

| treasure mlist | main mlist |

@ jikjinz // @ zarazmnie-cos 2024; do NOT repost or translate !!

[nickgoesinsane]

Apollo being that switch that's more lean towards power bottom but Ares is that bratty bottom that easily crumbles as soon as the reader puts him in his place.

Apollo’s as pretty as he is bossy. He’s climbing you like a tree the second you’re alone, pressing his mouth against yours almost desperately. He knots his fingers into your hair, nipping at your lips and sucking on your tongue. He orders you to take him to bed, to fuck him fast and hard until he can’t walk anymore. Loves to bounce on your lap, gripping your shoulders and moaning shamelessly as you shove him down on your fat cock.

Ares is stoic in the face of the world, but melts into your embrace. He’s moaning breathily and chasing after your kisses, all but clinging to you. His eyes are glossy and bleary with pleasure as you press his knees to his chest, drilling your cock into his hole. He cries out with every thrust, helplessly fisting the sheets at the delicious burn of your rough demeanor. Comes with a choked off scream when you latch onto the meat of his shoulder with your teeth.

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

I made this post and then wrote this little snippet :3

enjoy.

---

Apollo cocked his head like an intrigued wolf. Half his consciousness watched Electra as she hurried her little brother away, anxiously glancing over her shoulder as they ran down the halls.

"How old is he?" He suddenly asked.

Hermes blinked, glancing askance at him. "Who?"

"The boy," Apollo's invisible eye watched as the boy tugged on his sister's hand, mouth moving as if imploring her to come with him. "Orestes."

His brother shrugged.  "Ten? Twelve? I'm not sure."

Older than the war, for sure. Hadn't he been a mere babe when Iphigenia was sacrificed? Ten, at the very least. Most likely eleven.

Apollo turned his whole attention to Orestes as a servant woman gently took his hand, respectfully dipping her head to Electra, and drew him away - away from his home, from his bloodlusted mother.

From his sister.

He continued to watch. Electra retreated back into the palace, sneaking through the servant's quarters. Orestes kept looking back, brows furrowed with confusion and eyes tearing up when the realization she wasn't coming back hit him.

The servant attempted to comfort him, scooping the now-crying boy into her arms and running faster, but he struggled and began screaming for Electra.

Orestes. A young boy forcible exiled from what was rightfully his. Separated from his sister - from his family - because of the actions of a vengeful queen.

The scene echoed one Apollo was intimately familiar with. Though, with a few notable differences.

Still. The similarities were there. Perhaps not a deadringer for his own young life but...it was there.

Apollo crossed his arms and felt the tightly-wound knot in his chest soften - not loosen, or even untie itself, but...soften.

He's always had a soft spot for children. Even if he had killed a few himself.

Orestes, however, would not be one of those unlucky boys. No, Apollo could sense he would play a major role on day - he would be the reckoning of Clytemnestra and Aegisthus.

And, perhaps, of the House of Atreus's curse.

"You're plotting something," Hermes's voice drew part of his attention away. His brother's lips were quirked and his arms rested on his caduceus. "What're you up to?"

Apollo glanced back at Orestes and the maid as they struggled through the woods.

"Just some spring cleaning," He lightly replied. "Give me...about a decade, and that particular mess," Apollo inclined his head towards the palace of Argos, where Clytemnestra prowled around, looking for her young son now far from her bloody grasp. "Will be gone."

Hermes's eyes widened. "That's a tall order, Apollo," he dubiously said. "No one in the House of Atreus has escaped that curse."

Apollo hummed. "Menelaus did. Why not Orestes?"

His brother's eyes brightened with understanding. "You're going to have Orestes break the curse?" He laughed disbelievingly. "How? He'll still be killing his own mother. The curse will continue."

Apollo merely hummed for an answer.

True, matricide would continue the curse. But he'll find a way to rid the world of it. It had plagued it for far too long, and he would know!

He was the god of plagues, for Fates' sake! If he had to clean up this mess himself, he will.

...And if Cassandra's soul would find peace with the deaths of her murderers...even better.

Still keeping a sliver of his consciousness on Orestes, Apollo sought out the room where the bloody murders had transpired.

It was a ghastly scene. Agamemnon's body was sprawled on the floor, tunic and cloak ripped and dripping with drying blood. His eyes were vacant and unseeing - irrevocably dead.

But Apollo paid him no mind. His eyes were drawn to the second slumped figure, dark red hair spilled over the ground, dark enough to be mistaken for the blood that crested her chest. Her eyes were closed, the deep, mysterious blue that had twinkled with curiosity forever deprived of their spark. Her deep tan was stained with both her own and Agamemnon's blood, as was her purple peplos, torn and dirtied.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Cassandra.

[angelguk]

→ pu$$y fairy — a jeongguk scenario 03

member: jeon jungkook

word count: 11.3k

genre: smut + college!au + jeongguk and oc are in a weird fwbs without the friendship part just the benefits except jaykay lowkey has feelings + virginity au

warnings: virgin!oc / oral sex (fem & male receiving) / 34+35 (miss grande influence) / mentions of drug usage / jk is essentially losing his mind (you'll see) / angst / emotions are real but everybody in this fic is incapable of acknowledging them / hit and run!!!

soundtracks: how can i forget you girl, 87dance + killing me, omar apollo + night moves, michi + in your body, ¿Téo? + open up, mack keane & esta + tsunami, suzuki saint + give me a kiss, lolo zouai + take care of you, charlotte day wilson

PARTS — ONE // TWO // THREE (you are reading)

a/n: you could read this as a separate one-shot but where's the fun in that?🤔 also highly suggest you listen to the soundtracks!

“Wait! Someone’s in here—oh—Hi!”

If Jeongguk wasn’t in desperate need of the bathroom he would have turned on his heels and fled right there and then. Instead, the door swings into the tiled wall with a thud that resounds in his chest and the two of you just stare at each other, suspended in time like stars fixed in the hold of the universe. His heart twists itself into a strange knot when you tilt your head, hands fumbling back onto the sink to steady yourself. You’re clearly as drunk as him—maybe even more—and Jeongguk can’t help the way he tips forward, a hand outstretched to help you up.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to barge in like that,” he says. His palms feel too warm when they land on your skin. There’s a lot of it too. A skimpy baby blue skirt and deep cut top don’t really have the ability to cover much. 

You giggle and something dormant in the base of Jeongguk’s brain bursts into flames. The heat worsens when your gaze slots into his, the grin on your lips effervescent. 

“It’s fine,” you slur. “I was done anyway.” You must not see the way his eyes are wide, pupils dark with reminiscent of liquor yet still greedily drinking you in, because you fall into his arms with an ease that’s unsettling. He lets you lean against him, ginger as he aids your legs upright. Your hands fumble for the fabric of his shirt, crystal adorned acrylics clinging tight. 

“Are you okay?” He’s drunk enough for this to be somewhat of a challenge, although not one he can’t handle. But, when your head lolls against his chest, the flush on your cheeks suspicious, soberness hits him with a sharpness that feels violent. “Should I get someone for you? Do you need to throw up?”

“Don’t.” There’s a fingertip pressing on his lips. The responding jolt in his spine nearly sends him keeling over. “Don’t mention that. I’m perfectly fine, I just need to find my friends.” You’re peeling yourself off him before Jeongguk can protest, moving towards the door with a speed that doesn’t correlate to your inebriation. “I’m fine, I promise!” You tack on, almost like you can hear his objection before the words have even formed on his tongue. “I’ll see you! Bye!”

Then you’re gone, sweeped up by the ebullient sounds of the party outside. It's a sight that feels far too familiar for this liking. You’re courteous enough to shut the door behind you, leaving him stuck on the image of your ass in that tight skirt and his own unexpectedly dangerous thoughts. It takes him a good minute to recover, blinking away the haziness in his vision underneath the hard bright lights of the bathroom.

Why was he here again? His bladder responds immediately, sending a reminder that has him staggering towards the toilet. Except he has to pause there for a moment longer, palms resting against the cold tiles as he wills his dick into submission. Peeing while drunk was already a difficult task. Peeing while hard and drunk? He’s not in the mood to entertain impossible missions. 

Except, his mind is clearly in the mood to entertain you. You and that stupid skirt. You and all your stupid skirts. He thinks about them with a frequency that feels criminal. It doesn’t help that you keep adding new ones to your collection. The onset of summer must have fuelled your addiction because he’s spied three new ones in the weeks he’s spotted you around campus. The floral tangerine one is a current favourite, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the lilac one you had on last time. Or the blue one that’s stuck on your body at this very moment. There are things about him that he’s only finding out through the abrupt and crazed moments he’s shared with you. It leaves the bones in his body feeling strange, something he tries to correct as he washes his hands in the sink for the third time.

It’s also a poor attempt to calm the thumping in his heart. But that, like everything seemingly does around you, fails miserably. 

Even with your limited contact, he’s starting to piece together his scattered emotions. The outcome is frankly terrifying, as demonstrated mere moments ago. The sight of your smile alone made the sun rise in his chest and set in his gut. Like there was a universe inside of him determined to orbit around you.  You must either have a spell on him or something because even after you’d practically abandoned him he was still stuck in place. 

The memory of that leaves a sour taste on his tongue. It tastes just like the drink Mingyu hands to him when he melts back into the crowd, trying so hard to keep his neck from careening around in search of you. Maybe his face is more of an open book than he thought because his friend is leaning in, vaguely concerned by the crease in his brow.

“You good?” It’s a miracle he can hear him over the blaring of Taehyung’s speakers. There’s already a steady throb forming underneath his skull. He just nods in response, still incapable of stringing words together. Mingyu stares at him hard, before motioning towards the patio doors with a subtle pat of his pockets. They break through the throngs of people together. Jeongguk still feels on edge, but he’s not sure whether it’s the music or the people or the fact that you’re somewhere in his vicinity. 

The night air subdues it, cooling his clammy skin. Mingyu digs his lighter out as Jeongguk attempts to wrangle his head out of the clouds and back down to earth. They don’t speak, silently exchanging the joint between them. He’s grateful for the repose, the smoke in his lungs spreading an ease through his tense limbs. It’s only a fleeting feeling though, as Jeongguk takes the moment to shuffle between the thoughts consuming his head because even in the muted silence of the night they’re still demanding to be heard.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, you know you can tell me, right?” Mingyu’s voice cuts through the spiral in his mind, guiding him right into the arms of sanity. He bites his tongue before the words spill out, trying to navigate the mess in his mind appropriately.

“Y/N is here.” That’s what he settles on. The sentence sits between him, accompanied by the harsh drag Mingyu takes on the joint. It’s followed by a contemplative noise and then his friend says something that yanks his eyes to him.

“So?”

“What do you mean, so?” Jeongguk questions, eyebrows raised in bewilderment. 

“I mean,” Mingyu returns with a cloud of smoke. “So? She’s here, what does that have to do with anything?”

Jeongguk huffs in response, fixing his gaze back into the midnight shrouded backyard. “It doesn’t have to do with anything.”

“Were you planning on seeing her later? Or?” Despite knowing his friend very well, Mingyu is completely oblivious to the tautness in Jeongguk’s shoulders.

“No,” Jeongguk says. Which, if he’s being honest is partially the problem here. You hadn’t texted him in ages—since the last time you saw each other actually. It rubs him the wrong way, the nonchalance you have towards him considering your arrangement. It doesn’t help that you’re dressed like that. There’s too many questions bouncing around his skull and he doesn’t like the potential answers to any of them because if he considers your current circumstances, they likely don’t factor him in at all. 

“So, everything’s okay then?” 

“No.” The word escapes his throat before he can tie it up and suffocate it to death. The silence that follows makes Jeongguk consider returning back to the comfort of his room and pretend this conversation never happened. 

“Jeon…,” Mingyu starts, gently nudging his arm. “Is this about what you mentioned last time?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He despises that he simultaneously knows and doesn’t know what’s going on his mind concerning you. Hates it as much as he likes it. “Pass it over.”

Mingyu obliges, his hazy eyes suddenly as clear as the skies above. “I thought you guys sorted your situation out. She came over and left, right? Just sex. Nothing else involved, right?”

He can’t help but snort at that. He knows what he means by that. Except Jeongguk had conveniently left out what he’d asked you moments before you’d skittered out of his room. He couldn’t admit that to anyone just yet, not even Mingyu. It’s worse considering how you’d responded to that tiny display of his emotions. 

“No,” Jeongguk returns. “Nothing else.”

“So what exactly is the issue, huh?” Jeongguk feels the exasperation in Mingyu’s voice in his own body. 

“It’s not really an issue. I just… There’s something about her—about this—that’s confusing me.” He watches the grey tendrils of smoke part from his lips melt into the air, wishing their ease of motion applied to the complications in his heart.

“So, stop seeing her,” Mingyu offers, like it’s that easy. Except that it isn’t that easy because Jeongguk stays up staring at the ceiling thinking about the way you felt under him and the way you would feel on top of him. You’d left his pillows covered in a sillage of bittersweet cherry and jasmine and now he has a strange desire to smell if off your skin instead. When his hands wander past the band of his underwear the memory of your mouth feeds the heat that swallows him alive. He wishes he could just wipe you clean from his mind, but you’re stuck there, as stubborn as a dark red wine stain.

“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk returns, tongue pressed against the flesh of his cheek.

“It is,” Mingyu objects. “If you need me to talk to her, I will. You don’t have to do something you don’t want to do.”

“No—no—it’s not—I don’t—I want to do this,” Jeongguk interjects. The wind sweeps away parts of his sentence, like it knows he’s not being entirely honest in his desires. “I’m okay with this, I want h—I want this. Don’t stress about it. If I want to stop, I’ll talk to her myself.”

Mingyu hums, carefully considering his friend. The strain on Jeongguk’s face is clear now, hanging off his usually equanimous features in a manner that unnerves him. “If you’re sure about it,” he says. Jeongguk’s nodding in reassurance before he can question him further. He decides not to push it, respecting the clear boundary that’s been set. But he also can’t help his curiosity. The last time Jeongguk got this guarded over his emotions it ended in a dumpster fire that only time could put it. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Jeongguk’s body stills, reliving both a perpetual dream and nightmare in a millisecond. “I don’t know. It’s been awhile.” That’s a blatant lie because he does know. It’s been roughly thirteen days four hours and a handful of minutes since he’s practically scared you off by asking too much. What you’d said still haunts him a little, and he feels so stupid for even momentarily thinking that what he wanted was acceptable. 

“What if I wanted you to stay?”

He’s so stupid.

You had blanched at the question, turning to stare at him like his head had sprouted an extra set of eyes or something. And then you’d giggled, the smile on your lips both heavenly and poisonous, before the sentence you’d uttered in response sent a deadly shot right through his heart.

“Why would you want that?” 

He couldn’t even answer that because, truthfully, he didn’t know why he wanted that. He just knew that he did and he didn’t initially think it was entirely bad either. But your reaction was a clear indication that it was, because you’d just laughed a little more, bright and bubbly before bidding him goodbye with the vague promise of texting him later.

The sick thing was that Jeongguk had waited. He’d waited, practically falling over himself every single time a notification hit his phone. And yet, not a single message from you had appeared. 

Hours had turned into days and days had turned into weeks. Time had left Jeongguk sure you’d washed your hands clean of him. Except, perhaps, you hadn’t given the welcoming way you’d greeted him in the bathroom. You had held onto him like you hadn’t swept his feelings under a rug weeks ago, still granting him that sunshine smile of yours. Maybe you did still want him—albeit not in the way he wants you. Or maybe you were just drunk and happy. It’d be fitting that you were the type to get drunk and start spreading joy like it was your personal mission. That sounded like you. A bright beacon of laughter and joy admis the chaos of drunkenness. Despite his protesting heart, even the suggestion of it coaxes a phantom of a smile on his lips, his cheeks heating up helplessly.

Jeongguk can tell Mingyu’s got another question lined up but the sound of the glass doors sliding open nips that in the bud. Taehyung saunters out, blatantly ignoring the tense silence filling the air.

“What the hell are you lot doing hiding out here?” Taehyung’s arm is a guillotine blade on Jeongguk’s neck, effectively cutting down the pathetic fantasy of you in his head before it can take flight. He grabs the dying joint from his fingertips, ignoring the irritated stare Mingyu shoots in his direction, and twists to beckon at a group of girls that dwandle in his wake. “Come on, I want you guys to meet someone.” Jeongguk doesn’t know who he’s saying it to and he frankly doesn’t care, moving to lean against the metal railing. He doesn’t miss the gaze that hangs on him for a second too long, taking in the owner of it with a slow sweep of his own eyes. He could use this. A reminder of his stance towards feelings and what really mattered to him. A reminder of what your connection was actually about. 

He attempts to ignore how his body leans away when she moves in close, pretty in the moonlight but drenched in the smell of weed and something sickenly sweet. Nothing like your cherry scent. Nothing like you.

A reluctant part of him knows it then, that no matter what he does about it, you’ve done something irreparable to him. The twisted thing is that he doesn’t think he minds it that much if he’s being honest.

↯

You’re never drinking this much again. The fact that your legs are barely functioning is enough of a hazard but being unable to type or even see your phone screen was beyond debilitating. The only thing keeping you upright was the stone steps aside this random house. How far were you even from your place? You’d come with Haein and Kyungmi but they had, according to the barrage of texts you’d received, already gone home. It’s partially your fault that you had been abandoned. You had left to go to the bathroom, after not telling them where you’d gone, and then vanished into the depths of the house hosting you. It’s not your fault you have a thing for locating rooftops when you’re drunk. Said rooftop had also led you into an interesting conversation with a guy you’re sure was on acid because he kept asking you to shrink your head back down to a normal size.

Really, was not your fault that riveting conversation had kept you up there until somebody came knocking with the message that the party was effectively dead. You should have noticed the deafening music coming to a halt but unravelling the secrets of the colour blue felt more pressing during that moment.

While thrilling, that had unfortunately left you stuck in a part of town you’re not that familiar with, the impending dawn slowly breaking through the night clouds and the Uber app open on your phone. Except you don’t think you’re capable of typing in a coherent address. There’s a few people spilling out of the doors behind you, all heavily plastered and loud. For a moment you get lost in the mention of food floating through the air, feet already moving towards the group in hopes of joining them. Then you hear him, the concern in his words like a harsh shot of espresso on your dying system. 

“Y/N? You’re still here?” Your gaze lifts to find Jeongguk staring at you hard. Moonlight swims in the depths of his brown eyes, unveiling his delicate features that are coloured with disconcert. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you return, dismissing his worry with a wave of your hand. “Just need to order an Uber back home,” you pause, tongue sneaking out the corner of your mouth, “And maybe find food.”

He leans in your space, carefully searching your face. “You’re going alone? What happened to your friends?”

“They left,” you say. The words coax an instant reaction on his face before you can even say the reminder of the sentence.

“They left you? Are you serious?” The irritation in his tone takes you aback, your thumb hanging over the confirm ride button as he stares you down.

“By accident,” you amend. “They thought I already went home. It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Jeongguk returns. “I don’t think you should go alone right now. Are you staying far from here?”

“I’m not even sure where I am right now, honestly,” you laugh. Jeongguk does not join you, which kills the sound in your throat instantly. Judging from the way he glances down at your screen where the app waits for confirmation he clearly doesn’t find this funny.

“You don’t recognise this area?” He asks, expectant. Your eyes widen, gaze quickly skipping over your surroundings. It’s all towering grand trees and lavish buildings. Nothing distinct enough to trigger a memory. 

“Nope,” you return, failing to see the importance in his question. Jeongguk’s shoulder sag a little, like you’d popped a balloon inside of him

“My place is like ten minutes away from here,” he says, turning away from you. The surprised noise that falls from your lips is devoured by the comforting chatter of people. Both your eyes settle on a group departing from the house behind you, conversation abruptly put on pause.  You spot Mingyu immediately, who uncharacteristically stills when his gaze drops on Jeongguk. There’s a few girls floating around them. Them meaning Taehyung and two other seniors you recognise but don’t really know by name. Regardless, you send him a cheerful wave, shouting a greeting over the chestnut curls adorning Jeongguk’s head. He returns it with a clipped smile, his eyes never parting from Jeongguk’s face.

You have a feeling they’re having a silent conversation right in front of you. But you’re not sober enough to actually care. 

“How far is your place?” Jeongguk asks again, twisting away from Mingyu to face you. 

“If this is near you, like thirty minutes away.” His eyebrows kiss his hairline, before settling down in resolve that feels cut from stone. “It’s not that far,” you tack on. “I can call an Uber and head home fine.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jeongguk states. Before a comical sound of protest can depart from your lips, Mingyu’s head is hanging over his shoulder, a forbidding presence. The gaze he sets on you is unnerving.

“Jeon,” Mingyu cuts, sending you a brief nod of acknowledgement, “We’re going to Jimin’s right now.” His eyes falter on you for a second too long, almost considering something. The conflict in his eyes is evident. You watch the war in his kind wage with a tight chest. He seems reluctant to say it but eventually his mouth betrays him, “You’re both welcome to join.” 

“I’ll pass.” Jeongguk’s answer apparently unsettles the both of you because you both stare at him through wide uneasy eyes. Mingyu’s gaze eventually turns to you and you realise in the lull of the conversation a response was expected. 

“I need to head home,” you supply, still trying to figure out how to gently rid yourself of Jeongguk. 

Mingyu’s eyebrows virtually relocate to the heavens, his gaze sliding between the two of you sharply. For some reason, your breath is stuck in your throat, unable to break the awkward silence that settles down on you. Jeongguk doesn’t even try, his back permanently facing his best friend. You don’t know what the look Mingyu is giving him means but you’re not sure you like it. 

“Alright,” he says. It sounds resigned, but there’s a faint smile on his lips. You give him a brief smile in return, hoping it’ll ease the tension stuck in the air. “Get home safe, Y/N. I’ll see you later, Jeon.”

He leaves with your sole chance of getting Jeongguk off your hands. It’s obvious he’s determined to get you home because he’s already ordering a ride, gingerly requesting your address. It falls on deaf ears because your eyes are still trailing after Mingyu’s retreating figure, bleary gaze blinking hard.

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” Wide round eyes demand your attention, his face hanging inches away from yours. You take a step away in response, heels stumbling into the rocky pavement in your rush. Your ass slams into the earth a second later, retribution on your tailbone for mindlessness. “Jesus! Are you okay?” The hands you were evading are already out and ready to save.  He seIs upright with a gentleness that further weakens your knees. Or maybe that’s the vodka sneaking up on you. Jeongguk frets like a lover, peering closely at your face, his own contorted as if he’d taken the fall.

“I’m fine,” you assure, gingerly shaking him off. Instead, your legs waver again and his grip on you tightens. 

“You’re not,” he returns. “Are you sure you want to go to yours? My place isn’t far from here and I don’t want to leave you alone when you’re like this.”

There’s an objection on your lips but the sudden rush of bile up your throat dissolves it before it can fully form. While you would love to be tucked in your bed, the thirty minute ride with a stranger at the break of dawn was looking more unfeasible with every passing moment.

“How far did you say it was? Ten minutes?” You can do ten minutes, that won’t kill you.

“Basically. It’s a short walk. If you can’t walk, I don’t mind carrying you.” 

That gives you the strength to throw his hands off you. You are perfectly capable of walking regardless of how much alcohol is in your system. “I can walk fine, thank you very much.”

You hear the aggravated huff under his breath even with your back turned away from him. “I never said you couldn’t.”

“You implied it.”

“Are we really going to argue about this?” The questioning curve of his dark eyebrow makes you want to say yes, but when your feet nearly tangle into each other you bite back the words and offer him a defeated shake of your head. “Okay, good. Follow me then.”

He snatches up your hand with ease, as if the act is second nature and not a bizarre turn of events. His warm palm perfectly fits against yours, your hands moulding together as if they were crafted with that intended purpose. Normally, you would have never agreed to go home with a guy—scratch that, you’d never even been in a situation where you even offered the chance to go home with a guy. Your virgin predicament was more restrictive than you’d like to admit. It’s not like guys haven’t tried, you just tend to trample on the garden of opportunity before a bud can even break from the ground. It’s different with Jeongguk though. He’s more of an ongoing free trial. So nothing you do or say amounts to anything. That’s why you feel comfortable trailing after him. That and you already know how to break out of his room if it comes to it.

Two sharp corners later and you’re a bit ashamed you hadn’t recognised the neighbourhood earlier. No wonder Jeongguk had looked at you like that. But in your defence you’d only seen him thrice. And the first time doesn’t even count considering you left (read: jumped out the window) five minutes in. 

He guides you in silence, only murmuring a small ‘Come on, Bambi’ when you struggle to kick your shoes off at the door. His room is exactly how you found it last time; immaculately clean with a collection of water bottles that would offend any earth conscious soul lined against the floor. You spy two new Marvel figurines on his desk, along with a glowing mechanical addition to his monitor set-up. You linger at the edge of his room, observing through lidded eyes as he moves around, snatching two blankets from his (neatly) arranged closet.

“I’ll take the couch, you can sleep here tonight,” he hands you a shirt and dark pair of sweats that you accept silently. Your feet are still unable to move, the unnerving feeling that you’re intruding keeping the bones in your body stuck. “You can change into these and if you need anything, let me know.”

You nod. Apparently the issue with your legs has also infected your mouth.  Jeongguk regards you for a moment, before slowly making his way towards the door. The relief you feel is instant, but it’s swiftly devoured by guilt. Afterall, he’s being very gracious here, and like an idiot you hadn’t even expressed your gratitude. It’s like your brain switches back into your manual mode because your mouth swings open with a request that feels silly even to you.

“Do you have any makeup removers? Or cleansers? Or just soap?” While you don’t mind sleeping with your makeup on, there’s no harm in attempting to wash it off. You doubt Jeongguk has any of that anyway. Except he cocks his head in thought, curls clouding his gaze, before walking back into his room. He swings the door for the bathroom open with a sheepish smile, gesturing to the tiny basket of skincare as your head peers over the threshold. It’s spotless, just like every other space he occupies.

“There’s micellar water, cleansers and moisturisers there. I have extra toothbrushes too, if you need that.” 

“Jesus, how many girls contributed to the creation of this collection?” You murmur, sweeping past him to examine the extensive array of facemasks neatly arranged on the bathroom counter. There’s a cooling pomegranate one that catches your eye, a mental note to pocket it forming in the back of your head immediately. 

You’re too focused on peering through his collection to spot the sudden rose hue that blossoms across Jeongguk’s skin. 

“None? I just like skincare.”

“Hmm,” you return, a small smile spreading across your lips. “Sure.”

He regards you with a funny look as he leans against the door frame, the silver ring on his finger glinting as he toys with it. “What? Men can’t like skincare?”

“Most men use three-in-one everything if they can get away with it,” you reply, popping open the micellar water bottle. “Or nothing at all, actually.”

“Oh, like you’re the expert on men here?” It’s said with a raised eyebrow and muffled scoff, muted but loud in its judgement. 

That halts you in your actions, your gaze slowly rising to stare at Jeongguk and the smile on your lips dropping to the pits of hell. It’s obvious what he’s alluding to with that statement, the big fat virgin branding that seems to hang over your head like a bright green Sims symbol. Perhaps he had expected you to laugh or brush it off, but, like most things you don’t like talking about the status of your (non-existant) sex life was a deep insecurity. His demeanour shifts the second you don’t crack back at him, his spine snapping straight with an apology tumbling past his lips.

“Oh—fuck—I didn’t mea—.”  

You silence it with a quick turn of your head away from him, shifting towards the mirror where the edges and hollows of your face are drowning under light. “Do you have any cotton pads?” Maybe if you scrubbed the mascara hanging off your eyelashes off you wouldn’t feel like crying. 

He retrieves them from the cabinet wordlessly, gingerly placing them in front of you as if you were poised to attack. You accept the offering with a clipped smile, barely looking Jeongguk in the eyes.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Just shout if you need anything.”

You let him leave in silence, and then proceed to scrub your face clean until it’s stinging raw like the heart inside of your chest is. 

↯

Jeongguk hates himself. He’s trying not to be entirely self-depreciating here but the image of your face crumbling at his poor joke keeps replaying underneath his eyelids. Sleep, normally a very easy activity when he’s drunk, seems to be currently evading him. Perhaps it’s retribution for his careless words, or maybe it’s because he can still hear you in his bathroom. The walls of his dorm building were absurdly thin. At first, he had planned to sleep on the couch, but one trip downstairs had revealed Seokjin wiped out on it, limbs spread in each and every direction. And while he respects your privacy he’s not going to risk waking up with an entire fist (or foot) shoved near his mouth. So he’s camping out on the floor of his bedroom, a blanket loose around his waist and a rolled up towel on his makeshift pillow. It’s a pitiful sight, and it’s something you probably realise too when you step out of the bathroom, the white light bathing your figure bleeding into the dark room. You pause at the doorway for a long second, observing him like he’s a puppy that’s been kicked to the curb, before cutting the light with a soft shut of the door behind you.

You tilt your head, just like you did hours ago, and even in the darkness Jeongguk feels his chest flare up. He’s probably caught a deadly disease or something—this strangely feels like dying. 

“Are you serious?” You question, padding towards his bed. His clothes are too big on you, excess fabric swallowing your figure. He’s ashamed of the way his dick twitches against his thigh. 

“What?” He replies, gathering the blankets around his waist. You’re clueless, unaware of how his eyes seem stuck on your movements. The bed dips as you sink into it and a memory violently flashes before Jeongguk’s eyes. He has to blink it away, hurriedly shifting up before his predicament becomes obvious. “Are you uncomfortable? I would sleep downstairs but my roommate is—”

You cut his sentence short with a gentle shake of your head. “You don’t have to. The bed is big enough for both of us. And it’s yours anyway.”

“I know but—”

“But?” Your eyes are really cute when you do that, bright and wide as your eyebrows furrow together in question. “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

Jeongguk can’t help the heat in his face. He doesn’t know how to explain to you that that’s the exact problem with his situation. But, like a dutiful puppy, when you pat the space beside you he gets up and climbs under the sheets. 

“See,” you reply, tucking the comforter under your chin. “That wasn’t hard was it?”

Wrong. Very wrong. You’ve never been more wrong in your life. 

He chokes out a noise of agreement, which turns into an actual choke when your perfume slips over him. Cherries again, but sweeter this time. You must have used his jasmine hair mist spray because it smells vaguely familiar. The two scents combine together well and for a second, the urge to bury his nose in the crook of your neck burns through his body. 

(Is he allowed to do that? Is that too much? What exactly are the lines here?).

Silence emerges as you settle, snuggly wrapping yourself under the sheets while Jeongguk finds his body stuck in stiffness. Eventually, it sounds like you’ve fallen asleep, but when his eyes dare to glance over your gaze is stuck on his ceiling, delicate lashes grazing your cheeks with every languid blink in the dark. His feet move automatically, softly nudging against yours. You twist to face him, eyes shining in the faint glow of the moon. 

“What?”

Your curt tone kills the words in his throat. For a second, he can’t speak, unable to construct a coherent thought while you’re looking at him. But then you sigh heavily, turning back to face the ceiling and he forces his lips apart.

“I wanted to say sorry. For what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it like—”

“You don’t have to apologise,” you say. “You weren’t wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean it was right for me to say it,” Jeongguk returns, slightly frustrated with how you keep trying to finish his words for him. “It was a shitty joke. I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable.”

He expects something, anything from you then. But what he gets in return is silence. And then you murmur into the space between you, voice as light as air.

“You still weren’t wrong, though.”

That stops his heart in his chest, a crack splintering right through it. Before Jeongguk can say anything, you’re shuffling onto your elbows, turning to face him with intent.

“Does my inexperience turn you off? Like am I really bad at this sex thing?”

“We’ve never had sex,” he returns, brain malfunctioning because your boobs are dangerously close to his face. The eye roll he receives is Oscar-worthy.

“You know what I mean, Jeongguk.”

“It’s not,” he says, the connection between his mind and mouth finally breaking free from dick. “It’s really not. You think you’re bad at this?” 

The lip caught between your teeth is enough of an answer. 

“You’re not,” Jeongguk continues, before the thoughts he can see in your mind glide through the air. “I promise, you’re not. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“You wouldn’t?” He doesn’t know whether to hate or love how you stare at him in this moment because nobody has ever looked at him like that before. Like he’s holding the weight of their heart in his hands and the final verdict could be a breath of life or a death blow. 

“I wouldn’t,” Jeongguk affirms. He watches you sag in relief beside him, an odd feeling blooming between his ribs. He ignores vehemently, hurriedly searching for something to say. “Why would you ask, though?”

“I just feel silly sometimes, you know. Like wow, nobody else but myself has touched me before so I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing. I already overthink most things but this is worse because it’s new to me.” 

(Jeongguk shoves the thought of you touching yourself far far away in the base of his mind never to be disturbed again). 

“It’s new to everyone at some point, it’s not a big deal,” he says. He vaguely gets where you’re coming from, remembering how nervous he felt around his partners before he got used to it. It’s oddly akin to how he feels around you.

“It’s different, though. Usually it’s two people figuring it out together but in most cases it’s only me, you know.”

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow at that, his shoulder bumping against yours when he shifts closer. “First of all, there are more people who are virgins than you think.” Jeongguk shushes the scoff you let out with a pointed stare. “And secondly, I feel like I’m figuring things out with you too. It’s like that with every new partner—at least the ones you get to know.”

You elbow his ribs, not sharp but playful. “Really? And what do you know about me?”

He knows far more than he’d ever admit to anyone. He’s not stalking you but you have appeared in his line of vision more lately (he blames it on his sudden hyper awareness of you). One, you have a diet Coke obsession considering that every time he’s spotted you on campus one is lingering nearby. You like collecting pins, if the heavily adorned tote bag you lug to and from class is any indication. You crack your knuckles far too loud for someone who prefers the silent floor of the library. You like skirts and dresses over pants (even if it’s raining). You’ve recently started getting your nails done in elaborate designs that seem impractical at times. Your eyes do this funny thing when you look at him, as if they’re teetering between confusion and affection. You get touchy when you're drunk. You always smell good. You taste even better. Your thighs tense hard when you’re about to cum, almost locking up like your body’s only response to pleasure is to shut down. And when you touch him he forgets how to breathe. 

“Not much, actually,” Jeongguk says. You wiggle closer and the last thought in his head becomes a reality.

“I don’t know much about you either,” you say. The wonder in your voice is a viper wrapping around Jeongguk’s neck. “But that’s better for the both of us, anyway.”

“Better? Why would that be better?”

“Because this isn't real, or anything. we’re just friends with benefits… Or strangers actually—strangers with benefits,” you say, shrugging your shoulders like it’s obvious.

Jeongguk closes his eyes because if he doesn’t he might combust. He’s seen more intimately than any other person on this planet and you’re currently lying in his bed wearing his clothes but you’re calling him a stranger.

“What’s wrong with us being friends?” He asks, once his heart has calmed down enough for a rational thought to emerge from his head.

Your nose scrunches in distaste, effectively squashing his heart in the process. “That would be weird.”

“You don’t want to be friends with the people you fuck?” Jeongguk sharply questions. 

“I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never really experienced anything like this before so I couldn’t tell you.” Your reply is so innocent that for a second he feels bad for the bitterness in his words. But then you continue speaking and that changes everything. “But maybe, yeah.”

“So why not me?”

You look at him like that option is unfathomable, which hurts more than he expects. “Well… How would that work? Wouldn’t we get attached?”

Jeongguk is very comfortable with the idea of forming an attachment with you. But it’s obvious from the way your eyes flicker between his that you, on the other hand, are not.

“We wouldn’t,” he lies, gaze faltering from yours. 

“Oh?”  You say, so agreeable even when he’s lying between his teeth. “Okay then, we can be friends.” 

He immediately regrets suggesting the idea of friendship the second you say it. Jeongguk does not want to be your friend. The word itself feels like an ugly brand in his skin. He’s not sure what he wants from this but it’s certainly not friendship. But before he can amend this situation, your finger is poking his check, examining his face with newfound fascination.

“What’s your favourite colour?” You ask, the edge of your nail sharp on his skin.

Jeongguk tries not to move. Whether it’s out of fear or desire he can’t tell yet. “Purple.”

“Oh? That’s mine too!” You giggle and the sound seeps into his blood. “Ask me a question next,” you command. Your fingertips trail sound the side of his face, idly flicking the silver hoops dangling from his ear.

“Why?” There’s a shiver down his spine that he violently suppresses. 

“Because we’re getting to know each other, aren’t we?”

“Forming a friendship isn’t usually done through rapid fire questions,” Jeongguk returns.

You quirk an eyebrow. “I don’t think anything we’ve done is something that is usual.”

That’s a fair point, something that Jeongguk admits with a heavy exhale. “Okay, then, what’s your favourite movie?”

“Perfect Blue,” you answer. “Yours?”

“Any of the Spiderman movies. What’s Perfect Blue about?”

“It’s difficult to explain.” Your fingers are now slipping down his neck, coming to rest languidly on his chest where his heart is fervently slamming against his ribs. “You like Marvel movies?”

Jeongguk hums, face turning towards yours. “You don’t?”

You’re not looking at his eyes, dazed gaze trained on his lips. The quick swipe of his tongue across them is instinctive, the sudden buzz that zips under his skin when your gaze sharpens nearly sends him into cardiac arrest. The careening from your demeanour disposition into ravening hunter poised for the kill terrifies him, yet, his eyes can’t help but slip down your features, lingering on the span of skin that fleeting escapes from the neckline of his shirt when you shift closer.  

“Not a big fan,” you reply. Your nails drag down the length of his chest. There’s not a single functioning blood vessel in Jeongguk’s brain right now. “What’s your favourite season?”

“Winter,” Jeongguk says. He’s going to burn inside out at this rate. “Yours?”

“Summer,” you return, the corners of your lips turning upwards. It’s angelic, despite the way your palm settles right at the base of his stomach, fingertips toying with the hem of his shorts. He forces the question out of his mouth before apprehension can beat it into submission, daunted by your answer but more terrified of how his body will betray him if he doesn’t.

“Can I kiss you?”

You still, gaze finally lifting from his mouth. The look you give him is heavy, digging right through his eyes into the pit of his stomach in search of something Jeongguk wasn’t sure he possessed. But perhaps you find it, because after a painful moment of silent consideration, your lips stretch wide as your body leans into his. 

“Sure.” 

Then your mouth is on his and the hinges on the door of his desire rip off, leaving him victim to the pit of flames burning wild in his gut. They consume him, like you do, with an eagerness that he revels in, his hands on you in the space it takes between a breath to leave your lungs and enter his. None of his fantasies compare to this, falling flat on his tongue despite the hours he’d spent drawing colour in them. They could never measure up to the taste of you, bright and violent against his lips. His hands fumble with want, travelling from the nap of your neck to the expanse of your hips where he grips tight. A second later and you’re spread out over him, crotch lined neatly into his like your bodies were made to fit into each other. The blood inside of him positively sings, cock straining against the fabric of his underwear. He can’t help the moan that slips from the back of his throat when your tongue meets his, senses drowning in your presence. You grind yourself down on him and even though it stings Jeongguk’s body responds, his hips bucking up in search of more. It’s as if you control every inch of him, from the curls on his head to the nerves under his skin, all under your command. And he’s obsessed with it—he's obsessed with you. 

Your mumbles of lack of experience from earlier seem laughable now, because Jeongguk feels like the inexperienced one, practically on the verge of spilling inside of his pants.

Maybe his needs are obvious because you draw away a second later, leaving Jeongguk pathetically chasing after the shape of your mouth, his vision hazy with want. You stop the act with a gentle press of your palm on his shoulder, forcing him into the mattress with a firmness that sends a spark right to the curve of his belly. 

“Wait—wait—wanna do something.” It’s huffed out from your wet lips, Jeongguk’s dick throbbing underneath you at the sight of them. He hasn’t forgotten how you looked kneeling before him, lips parted wide for him. He wants to see that again, see your lips stretched around his length, swallowing inch after inch of him under your eyes well with tears and your throat can’t take anymore.

Maybe it’s the liquor talking but he has never been his horny in his life. 

“What?” He says instead, taken aback at how breathless he sounds. You tilt your head again, a habit that Jeongguk is quickly learning to adore, as the corner of your lip gets caught in the hold of your teeth. He can see you thinking, stuck between honest reticent and shameful desire. His hips roll into you in return, hoping to sway the tide in your mind. Whatever you’re thinking of, he wants it. More than he’d ever openingly admit. Lucky for him, it does, your eyes fluttering shut when he pulls you into him and a wondrous noise parting from your lips.

“The list,” you mumble, blinking slowly as you resettle on Jeongguk’s dick. “There was something on the list that I wanted to try and I know it’s not the usual setting but since we’re here…” 

Fortunately, you don’t know that Jongguk would give you anything you ever wanted anywhere if you asked him. He chooses to hum in response, the pads of his fingers gingerly gliding under the hem of your shirt (his shirt), as he gives you time to gather the moxie to speak. 

You do a moment later, trembling when his hands finally get on you. “Wanted to try sixty-nining. Or whatever.”

He ignores the way his tip pathetically leaks at the image that flashes before his eyes, trying to push back the wave already poised to swallow him whole. The damp patch building along the fabric of his underwear would be embarrassing in any other situation but Jeongguk gives into his desires around you, greedily tugging you back down to his mouth. 

You kiss him with repose, melting into him with an ease that is terrifying. Time stills, your head spinning as he breathes you in. You part with a muted sigh, lips plush with the memory of each other.

“So?” You ask, impatient with want.

“Okay,” Jeongguk finally speaks, honey gaze trailing across your features. His voice is heavy as it leaves his throat, “We can do that.”

You kiss him again, fuelled by need. The sight of Jeongguk’s flushed face and lidded eyes is devastating. He must feel the same because his hands are quick, tugging your shirt over your head when you briefly break apart to breathe. You’re not even granted a moment to process the cool air settling on your scathing skin, Jeongguk’s wandering mouth already latching on the swell of your chest. His teeth sink in with purpose, hard enough to send a jolt down your spine. The act coaxes his bulge further into your, the expanse of his length teasing your swollen clit. It’s too much and not enough simultaneously and Jeongguk knows you well enough to read this. 

His hands rid the sweatpants on your hips with speed, but, in your eagerness to help your legs tangle with his, sending you spiralling off the hold of his lap and into the bed. 

Your giggles are infectious, engulfed by the sheets strewn around your body. In your peripheral vision, you catch Jeongguk’s concerned gaze, the faint smile on his lips inducing a matching on yours. “Are you okay?” He asks, hands halted at your hips. You laugh again, forgoing a reply to swiftly kick your sweatpants off (and effectively most of his comforter). This leaves you all but bare, the only thing on your skin a thin black thong. You don’t miss the way his jaw sets at the sight of it, the fingers on your hips digging into your skin tenaciously.

“I’m fine. Your turn,” you murmur, shuffling onto your elbows. His gaze dips to your chest, shifting dark under the faint moonlight. He obeys your command, shedding his clothes as if they’re aflame, leaving only his underwear on. You’ve been trying to overlook the bulge in his pants, revelling in how he felt against you but still somewhat unnerved by it. Even with experience under your belt, the sight of him taut against the fabric of his underwear sends an indecipherable thrill through bones. There’s no denying it now though, your gaze faltering along his golden bare skin down to his crotch. 

Jeongguk sees the discontent flash across your face, cautiously drawing near. His hand is on your jaw a beat later, pulling your eyes back to him. It’s wordless, his mouth a source of newfound comfort on your lips, virtually swallowing your trivial worries whole. The simple touch reignites your need, hands automatically reaching out until your writhing against him, desire setting your nerves alight. 

“Okay?” Jeongguk asks when your lips eventually part. You’re enraptured by how his eyes glitter even in the dark. 

“I’m okay,” you return. Except you’re not. This feeling, the one of ravening emptiness, between your thighs is new. It’s worsened by the mess you’ve made on your underwear, the fabric stuck to your skin with evidence of your desire. You don’t know what’s driving this but you do know that Jeongguk is the only one who can fix it. That’s what spurs your movements, legs easily flinging themselves around Jeongguk’s waist as you push his back into the sheets, pressing down in hopes of easing something. The twitch you get in response momentarily does, before something in your gut brilliantly bursts as his cock throbs against you, wet just like you are. 

“Fuck.” There are hands on your hips, gently willing you away but you push back in protest, mind barren of all thoughts but Jeongguk. Despite his actions, his body is on the same wavelength, hips matching the swivel of yours with a carnal greed that leaves your cheeks hot. It’s practically slippery, the two of you leaking onto each other through the material, his tip grazing the swollen nub of your clit with every meeting.  He chokes out a moan when you lean forward, your chest pressed flush against his, the hands on your hips clutching tight. “Gonna have to stop that if you want to sit on my face,” he vocalises, voice rough against your skin. 

That halts your movements, nerves bright and electric at the reminder. It takes a moment for your brain to recalibrate, before the realisation that you’re both still wearing too much clothes sinks in.

“Off,” you murmur, pulling away. Jeongguk’s hands follow but you direct them back to the waistband of his underwear. “Off, seriously.”

“Bossy,” he twines, but he complies, tugging them off with a single swift motion. There’s a sudden direct connection between your heart and your pussy because the flutter that seizes your walls knocks you off your kilter. You mimic his actions, willing away the fluttering in your belly as you drag your underwear down your thighs. It’s absently discarded, the two of you finally baring it all for each other. The silence hanging over your heads is broken by Jeongguk’s hands grazing your skin, his touch luring a wondrous noise from the back of your throat. It’s ginger, a stark contrast to the hardness of his eyes. They don’t stray away from you, conscientiously committing every curve and edge of your body into his memory.

“Come here,” Jeongguk states, “Want to taste you.” The heaviness in his voice shoots straight to your gut. You know what he means, shifting to turn yourself away from him. It’s oddly more baring than anything you’ve done together before. He guides you towards him, a sigh parting from his lips when you finally settle before his face, the curve of your ass flush against his firm palms. “Pretty,” Jeongguk murmurs into the heat of your skin. You nearly whimper, the slick that slips from you betraying. You can feel his breath against your cunt, grazing along your nerves, as he shifts closer.

The swipe of his tongue along your lips sends you spiralling. It’s heady, eager licks parting your pussy before cautiously dipping inside of you. 

“Jeon-Jeongguk…” You mewl, broken at the wantonness of his actions. He hums into you in response, mouth now pressed against your cunt, tongue deep enough to coax your hips into movement. He accepts the pressure of your hips on his face with a groan that vibrates through your bones, his length leaking milky white against the expanse of his abs. You’d momentarily forgotten what you wanted, but that sight is enough of a reminder and your head ducks forward, wet lips settling on the angry red tip of his cock.

Jeongguk almost cums. Almost. 

It takes a violent amount of willpower for him to not spill into your mouth, your tongue so eager on his tip that his brain positively short circuits, his own tongue buried deep inside of you. It’s clenched tight by the fluttering of the walls of your cunt, unfettering a carnal part of Jeongguk that he wasn’t even aware of. It’s maddening, the feeling of your tongue swirling around his length, throat gingerly swallowing around more of him with every passing second. He can’t help the low moan that escapes his mouth, tongue finally spilling out of you to swipe at your clit. The tremble that echoes down your thighs eggs him on, the licks he imparts on your clit fast and precise. It leaves his mouth wet and glistening, coated with the slick that seemingly pours out of you. For the first time in his life Jeongguk is overrun with desire, mind lost between the feeling of you against his mouth as your lips work on his cock, the croons in your throat vibrating around his length. He’d thought nothing would be as good as you on your knees for him but this—this—was intoxicating. 

He’s close, you can tell, from the way he groans into your cunt and the obvious twitching against your tongue. But you’re not thinking about that, too lost in the way his tongue darts from your clit to dip inside of you, his face buried deep between your thighs. His hands clutch on you tightly, fingers almost tearing past your skin to fuse you into him. Like he can’t get enough. And maybe he can’t because when shift away, knees buckling from the vicious thrill that surges through your body he pulls you back, mouth relentless. 

“Jeongguk,” you keen, trembling with the promise of release. You’ve abandoned his needs for the moment, too overwhelmed by your own body to think beyond. He ignores you, delivering brutal flicks on your clit. “Jeongguk—please!” That captures his attention, a moment of relief granted when his mouth departs from your cunt. He delivers a sharp nip at your inner thigh in retribution, huffing into your skin. You can’t see him but you know what he looks like; brown eyes blown out with desire and his petal lips tinged rouge, glistening prettily with your slick. It’s enough to lock the bones in your body, but the feeling of his teeth playfully sinking into the flesh of your thigh again does that and then some. He eases it with a soft kiss, the conflicting ache of pain ebbeding under the tender touch.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks, roughened voice cracking into your skin. You hate when he calls you that. It makes your heart swoop into your gut and do flips and tricks that leave you sick. 

“Wasaboutocum.” It’s a slur, your mouth and brain effectively disconnected. There’s a beat of silence, before Jeongguk’s mouth is flush against your cunt, blooming a new wave of want that tremors down your thighs. 

“Kind of the point here,” he murmurs, licking you idly. You don’t need to see it to hear the smile on his lips. Cocky bastard. 

“Yeah, I know,” you mumble. “It felt different though.”

“Different, how?” Jeongguk stills underneath you, bumping his nose against the inner side of your thigh affectionately.

“Just different,” you return, refusing to elaborate. He kisses your thigh again and you try (and fail) not to melt into a puddle of mush.

“Were you going to squirt?”

“Jeongguk!” If you were facing him you’d have smacked his arm in admonishment. He just laughs, peppering another fleeting kiss on your thigh. 

“Why are you mad?” He mumbles into your skin, drawing you close with a firm tug of his hands on your hips. “Do it—I’ll take care of you.” 

He doesn’t give you the time to rebuttal, tongue back on your clit with purpose. For a second, you lost in the feeling of him, the zealous swipe of his tongue along your cunt consuming you whole. But then you glance down, gaze tumbling on the mess spilling against the curve of his stomach. Your mouth eases back down on him, revelling in the faint flash of  salt that coats your mouth, and Jeongguk jolts underneath you. He returns the favour with a groan that coaxes a flood from your cunt, lapping you up like a starved man. 

It doesn’t take long for you to begin to unravel again, already on edge from how he’d toyed with you earlier. Jeongguk is more resilient, and eventually your mouth falters from his length, unable to keep up with the assaulting pace he’d set on your pussy. You move unconsciously, grinding yourself into his mouth with a force Jeongguk reciprocates. His tongue is unremitting, even as your high snaps through you, thighs suddenly taut as you leak against his face. The only thing stuck on your lips is his name, murmured into the heavy air like a sinful prayer. The grip on your ass is just as unforgiving, his fingertips roughly digging in as his tongue delves between your lips, lapping up the reminiscents of your release. Your thighs are still quivering when he finally lets up, the automatic need to get away driving your body off of Jeongguk. 

You collapse into the sheets face first, walls still clenching tight with every faint tremor of your release. It takes a moment for you to gather yourself, head slowly turning to find Jeongguk staring at you, his eyes dark and his mouth bruised with the memory of you. 

“Y-You… Oh my God.” It’s the only thing you can piece together, struggling to even set your vision straight. Every bone in your body feels brand new, a glow blooming through your limbs that you’ve never felt before. 

“You didn’t squirt,” Jeongguk murmurs. You don’t notice it, still in a blissful haze, but there’s a dangerous tension present in his limbs that should concern you. 

“I didn’t,” you blither. Jeongguk shifts forward as your eyes flutter shut. The hands of your skin aren’t kind, flipping your on to your back with a force that knocks the breath out of your chest, your eyes springing open. He’s settling himself over you, cock still painfully hard. It glistens with the reminiscence of your spit, angry red tip leaking. 

“I wanted you to,” Jeongguk murmurs. The calmness in his tone is unsettling, stoking a new pit in your gut that violently curves inwards when he tags you closer, the muscles beneath his sun-kissed skin shifting with the movement. “I said you could,” he continues, firmly arranging you beneath him. There’s a lump in your throat, blood thrumming in your head as you watch him.

“I couldn’t,” you reply, tongue finally unplastering itself from the roof of your mouth. 

“Why?” Jeongguk questions, honey gaze locking on you. You can’t discern what’s running in his head but it leaves you breathless nonetheless, skin buzzing with every rough firm touch he bestows on you. 

“T’was too much,” you slur, the words retreating back down your throat when Jeongguk cages you in with his broad shoulders, your legs slung around his waist. You can feel him against your thigh, hard and needy. 

 “I told you I would take care of you, didn't I?” He says, mouth settling on the hollow of your neck. The kiss he plants there makes you swoon, sending a sharp thrill right to your cunt

“I know,” you murmur, trying to figure out when the connection between your heart and pussy formed. It was starting to have a detrimental effect considering Jeongguk was nothing more than a glorified fuckbuddy. Your attempt to will it away is pathetic, abysmal even, almost evanescent before your eyes when Jeongguk shifts upwards, his nose bumping against yours as your lips easily slot into each other. You can taste him on your tongue and you know he can taste himself on yours too, the knowledge driving your mouths apart with a fervour that leaves your heart thumping violently in your chest. Your legs pull him closer, his crotch finally settling on yours. 

“We don’t have too.” Is the first thing Jeongguk says when your lips part, his gaze clement.

You roll yours in return. “Wasn’t going to. We’re not there on the list yet.”

The way his eyes widen in surprise coaxes a giggle from you, the sudden urge to place a kiss on hips overriding any sensible thought in your head. Before you can curb the intruding desire your mouth is moving, settling a delicate kiss on the corner of his mouth. Jeongguk leans into it, seemingly no longer perturbed. Or rather placated, unlike your hips shift upward and his mouth splits open with the desire for more.

“I want to take care of you too,” you offer. Your cunt is still slick, aiding the glide of this length between your lips. They practically swallow his length, leaving his cock dripping with every shift between you. Jeongguk’s head feebly drops between the crock of your neck and shoulder, the muffled breathless moans that float from his throat a precious melody. Your fingernails drag down his back as his hips drive forward, back arching off the bed to meet his movements. Jeongguk doesn’t speak, gripping the base of your back to anchor himself between the folds of your cunt. His tip leaks with every slide against your cunt, bumping into your swollen clit whenever he gets too eager. It starts slow, his unravelling, before need takes hold and Jeongguk is manhandling you into place, the piston of his hips unforgiving. You let him use you, succumbing to the thrill of being the sole reason for his pleasure. Somehow, he looks cute too, chocolate waves swaying with every hard runt against you. His moans are delicate, a muffled array of curse words jumbled with the mantra of your name. Then you feel it, the taut pull of his spine under your fingertips, a stillness overtaking his body as he spills against the stretch of your stomach. It’s enough to create a warm milky white pool in the curve of your tummy, the bed sheets beneath you a fellow casualty.

Jeongguk stares at it in wonder, mouth partly agap, before he leans in with a lethal kiss to your throat. You arch into it, fingers tangled in the waves of his hair. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he sheepishly murmurs. You like the way he looks post-orgasm, features glowing bright and a rosy hue flooding his skin. His eyes are so bright, flickering over your face like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming or wide awake. You pull his mouth to yours in reply to that, not caring at all that you’re covered in his cum.

“Let me clean you up,” Jeongguk offers, reluctantly stepping away from your perfect mouth. He returns with a warm damp cloth, diligently wiping you down with a tenderness that flusters you.  You are tended to gently, declining an offering of water that floats from Jeongguk’s bathroom as he wrings the clothes clean. When he’s done, you’ve already tucked your naked body back under the comforter, watching him patter around the room idly. The need to be held doesn’t hit you until Jeongguk is slipping into the bed beside you, his arms around stretched open to welcome your body. It’s a welcomed embrace that you easily fit into, your head and his chest perfect puzzle pieces. Jeongguk’s arms are firm around your figure, his heart beating languidly. Yet, your eyes can’t shut, something he takes note of moments later.

“What’s on your mind?” There’s a hint of apprehension colouring his voice, as if he’s afraid of what you might say.

You don’t know what you might say because you don’t even know what you’re thinking right now. It’s all a massive jumbled mess that feels like a collision of your heart and mind and desires. Jeongguk’s reassuring presence isn’t helping either, the comfort you’re deriving from being in arms is treacherous. 

“I like it when you bite me,” you say instead, choosing the first ridiculous noncommittal thought in your head to vocalise.

Jeongguk chokes at that, his body tensing under yours. The twitch of his length against your thigh is a warning. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, drawing you close. 

You try to ignore the implications of what he means by that, forcing your eyes shut to evade further questioning. You’re aware that Jeongguk said that knowing somebody changes the dynamics of a sexual relationship, but this, the way he was touching you—the way he’s holding you know feels like more than friendship. It feels like more than anything you’re ready for, even if you were eager to please mere moments ago. Which is honestly part of the problem. While you don't have much sexual experience, you know for a fact that fuckbuddies don’t derive happiness from each other. Not like this at least.

You decide to will your eyes shut for now, acutely aware of how fast Jeongguk has fallen asleep beside you. Whatever this is—whatever this feeling constricting your chest is—you’ll deal with it tomorrow. Or maybe you won’t. All you know is that this is starting to get too close for comfort. 

↯

Jeongguk awakens from the best sleep of his life to a nose full of bright cherry and jasmine. It swirls around his heart, his eyes blinking away the night before in favour of the late bright sunlight bleeding through his blinds. His hands move instinctively, searching for the warm body he knows is there. Instead, they are greeted by empty air, a coolness in the sheets that snaps his mind awake. His spine springs up in attention, hazy gaze clearing as he examines the room. There’s no evidence of you, the clothes he had nearly stumbled over last night absent from his bedroom floor. For a moment, Jeongguk’s brain fails to process what it all means; the empty bed, the cleaned floor, the silence in his room. Then his heart hurtles into his gut with a force that cracks right through its centre. You’re gone. You fled from his room like he was a shameful secret—even worse, you’d fled from him the way Jeongguk did to girls he met on nights out. Probably creeped out of his arms, plucking your clothes up while he was dead asleep. His head careens with the information, the realisation slowly sinking in as he slides back beneath the sheets of his bed, blatantly ignoring the sudden ache flowing from his chest. 

He’s not sure what he did to deserve this, not when he’d be fairly honest with you last night. Or was it his honesty that drove you away—again. It’s too much for his hungover brain to organise, the dismay sitting in his gut unhelpful. And then a series of rapid notifications that lures his gaze to his phone on his bedside table. The fluttering in his stomach dies instantly when his eyes land on the messenger ID. It’s Mingyu, the partial reason for his current state of despondency. His chest splits when he realises there’s not a single text from you either. 

Jeongguk tosses his phone into the corner of his room, roughly yanking his comforter over his head with a wish for the sun to disappear ringing loud in his head.