#I would do the same thing. the whole world would do the same thing.

[kooyabooya]

BABYLON

m reader x sana // 26k words

Almighty hand to God, there had been much, much worse situations to get yourself stuck in. 

If there’s any sort of consolation to fall back on, you’d wish that you’d say something earlier, call this off with a simple push and shove on the way out the door, close it and wrap up nicely with no worry filling your mind. 

It’s not that easy, though. 

Never was to begin with. 

Not when you have the lights off in your study, the sound of laughs downstairs surrounding the dining table, really fucked how you’ve hidden away from everyone else - also wanting to at the same time because all of them would have the same thread of thoughts running through their head if they saw you at the front of your desk with another body pressed towards you. 

“Don’t get so worked up,” Sana tells you, lips fast across your neck while her singular hand is well deep into the grip of your shaft. You could feel her breath slip through the opening when her lips are back on yours, the taste of her is already addicting the more she leans, a hand in her hair trying to give more, fighting, but losing drastically. 

What you give, Sana takes. That’s usually how it works in most cases like these with her. You can’t stop, you won’t stop. It’s already difficult to break away once she’s lowering your inhibitions without the use of alcohol. 

“Maybe I should deal with you right now instead of later,” you tell her, hiding the smallest hint of worry when your hands find Sana’s hips. She’s proud of the sigh she lets out against your mouth when pulling away before you’re quick to drag her back in. “Let the whole world below know of the things you’re doing to me right now?” 

You won’t stop giving in, because Sana gets you. Just like that. 

“Have them screaming in shock when you bend me over the desk fucking me?” Sana asks, a tempting offer above a whisper at that. It also doesn’t help that she’s giggling at the thought of you doing exactly what she proposes. “Sounds hot,” she says, huskily, “because I know you would.” 

This was never supposed to happen. Hell, this was the last thing you expected to happen. All of the possibilities in repercussions start flowing through your head again because this was definitely not the first time you’ve surrendered yourself to Sana’s advances, nor that you didn't want to. 

She’s like quick sand, pulling you from underneath into the catacombs of temptations that would have Satan himself impressed if he could see you right now. Or how this woman at her fingertips is breaking down every last bit of rational support running through your brain just so that she can draw out the rasps of desperation to get her screaming, shuddering. 

You could lower the flag and raise up the drawbridges - it’s so easy to do. She’s playing all of her cards right, knowing that your hand would never stack up against hers. 

Forget calling a bluff in this house of cards, since the only play you have in your book is to fold. 

–

You see, the events that happened before the wildfire were relatively tame. 

Nothing but wins coming left and right in the avenue of your life. Speaking of avenues, there’s this newly acquired house (all thanks to your surprisingly good credit score) alongside this block that has a new occupant–

“Babe, the place is amazing!” Dahyun exclaims out, arms around your neck once you and her finally make it past the front porch, taking in the high ceilings and matte layout of the new space. All of this wouldn’t have been possible if it weren’t for the countless days and hours of work to achieve this milestone. You’ll be proud of yourself for settling down while others may be working for bigger goals and ambitions. 

(A minor correction: two new occupants.)

The house itself is in a nice area. Not too far from the city, in a pretty well modest community, alongside the hills. Detailing is pretty modern: four bedrooms, three bathrooms, two stories, kitchen was renovated before signing off the lease, ideas for rooms themselves are already drafting from Dahyun’s pinterest board. Knowing that your wife has some good taste, it wasn’t worth deliberating over. You’ve gone through the gauntlet of places in different areas: beachside, close by to your cousins, one was also about a two hour trip away from the city, there’s also this high rise apartment that would’ve been a perfect choice though it never happens. 

There’s some scattered boxes here and there still, but most of the things are already in place from the whole moving process. Aside from all the heavy lifting and not wanting to stain the ring on your finger from the dust and oil when the truck broke down on one of four trips, the beauty of being able to be grounded by the tune of Dahyun’s laughs and witty banter when you’re trying to catalog and take inventory of the things that will be kept and what’s going up for the garage sale you plan to have within the next week or so. 

“I’m just glad that we finally got it over with.” You put her down, eyes overseeing the view past the spacious living room, as well as the boardwalk-esque deck housing the pool right outside. “Absolute hell trying to get the final documents signed, but finally.” 

“I’m so proud of you honey,” Dahyun tells you, hand to your cheek with the most reassuring look that she’s known for giving in your times of crisis. “Had I known that we’d actually get the house after almost signing off on the last place with Jeongyeon–” 

“Our luck was pretty much cut out for us,” you amend, though she’s not thinking of the ‘what could’ve been’ - since the here and now was all that mattered to Dahyun. You wanted this, and she did too. The agreement was not hard to fight over; sights were set, end of discussion. 

“We should give our credit to Jeongyeon for referring us to this place,” Dahyun starts again, trailing off with hands behind her back, chin up when she walks in deeper. Her gaze turns back to you, leaning on the pillar when you’re staring up at the intricate set of lights hanging over the couch. “Didn’t you say this listing was about to be taken down at the last minute?” 

“Almost,” you answer, hugging Dahyun again with your nose in her hair, “Gladly got the call as soon as I found out.” 

Dahyun twists around, arms circling her waist, pulling her closer under your touch. She’s happy, giddy when the tip of your nose is nuzzling hers for a quick second. Cliché, corny even, but you’re in love and she’s in love - something that the new home will be more filled with for years to come. 

“Shouldn’t we empty out the rest of the remaining boxes?” you ask her, hands curling inward on the small of her back, leaning in slowly for the softness of her fingertips across your face, the plushness of her lips on yours. 

This was a brand new start, a turn of the page in the livelihood of things, one act onto the next. 

–

Here’s the thing about new beginnings, most of these aspects are supposed to be taken in a positive light.

Most of the time. 

The subject of change itself is frightening, can make someone anxious at times because of the uncertainty of how things would play from here on out. Naturally, it’s normal for human beings to feel like this - this daunting notion in being uncomfortable because of this collective notion of ‘being stuck in the past’ or ‘to relive the glory days’. Nostalgia is believed to be one of the great unsaid drugs that everyone takes unknowingly without even realizing it. 

Luckily, you’re not facing things alone around these parts of life now. 

Kim ‘the introverted but somewhat still a social butterfly’ Dahyun has this effect on others that makes her extremely likable. Hell, if it weren’t for that characteristic, the ring on her finger wouldn’t have been there in the first place. She just has this quintessential quirk of just being able to click with others like it's nothing, almost as if she’s known someone she’s just met for more than five years. 

It’s an art in itself to admire, a playlist of clips in your mind that you’ll keep replaying over and over whenever the instance occurs. 

You’re willing to be a people person while she does it effortlessly. 

Not even a week after getting settled in, Dahyun was already getting acquainted with the nearby neighbors opposite and adjacent to your place while you’re busy getting the groceries in (since one or two trips are always the priority for the efficiency of less work.) 

If you’re looking at your new house from the street and inwards, the home on your left is owned by Jihyo. She’s lovely, adventurous, mostly in and out of the house on a daily basis. You lean an ear into the conversation while Dahyun’s getting her small garden going that Jihyo was also a pilates coach, the hint taken with the amount of lululemon products she wears and has in her closet in the brief exchanges of hello’s and head nods. In the next house over to the right, there was Chaeyoung’s place. Dahyun tells you over dinner a few nights ago that Chaeyoung is this underground indie artist that’s hardly home because of her tour scheduling and the fact that she’s in London for her Europe leg on the calendar, but was home for a quick break since her brother just came back from the mandatory military service. 

“You know, when I first looked into this cul de sac, I didn’t expect to live next to a considerable amount of celebrities.” you say, tending to the raw set of patties spread across the grill while the backyard of your house was transformed to this small, homey, kickback-style of a housewarming party with nearly everyone invited along the street. “Too early to say I’ve hit the jackpot?” 

“Please,” Jihyo starts, the cup of bourbon in her hand swirling while the smoke is up in the air, “I think you think too highly of this community a lot.” 

“Everyone has something special going on around here, which is nice.” 

“A silent observer,” she murmurs at you, “Dahyun likes that about you, the ability to read people. You could honestly pass that as your hidden talent.” 

“I may not be a people person like her, but if the conversation persists–” 

“He has no problem slotting himself into it like it’s nothing.” Dahyun says over your shoulder, arm snaking your middle while she’s pressing a kiss into the blend of your shirt while you’re flipping burgers on the clock. “The best at it too.” 

Even through the shades of your glasses, you lean over with Dahyun scooching to your left. A white bucket hat is all you see through the lens that’s shielding the top of her head with the monochrome scheme she has with her dress and shirt. Simplicity at its finest with the way she swipes your drink for a quick clink with Jihyo’s before downing it after. 

There’s this mix of food and drinks being dished out, there’s a lot of simple activities spread out across the yard. Some people are in the pool with White Claws on the cupholders of the floaties, another group is playing spikeball that one of them brought over for more variety with the hoop on the outer rim of the boardwalk, the set table for beer pong, and essentially some others that were scribbled off the shopping list. 

You’re weaving in and out of different groups throughout the houseparty - the role of being the host of the party really shows with the amount of times you’ve checked in with everyone in the span of ten to fifteen minutes. It’s all in good graces really, to set a solid first impression while the ambience really sets everyone into a mood. Cooling down once the sunset hits, and all of a sudden the influx of drinks being passed around might be mistaken as a frat party. 

Aside from the inquiries of passing more drinks, you’ve noticed the stigma that’s seeping through the guest’s faces when you’re indulging in conversations, a hierarchy of sorts. And when they see you get cozy in the seat, that’s when the questions occur. 

Mina, the person living in the house on the opposite side of your street asks: so what’s your daytime occupation, if you don’t mind me asking?

Quick on the draw, you answer: Currently working in data science from the comforts of my home. Oh, and I also dabble with a little bit of history to a minor stance. 

“The world doesn’t thank enough people who aren’t willing to move for a charitable cause.” Her tone is nonchalant, almost flat. That simple black dress she’s wearing, the outline of her figure that may look unreal at first glance, the way her leg is folded on top that signifies that she’s all class, a tilt of her head that has you leaning back ever so slightly. “Are you this some sort of- house husband then? Given the way you’ve been tending to us around the party so far?”

“God no,” you answer, hand up in defense while you’re casually leaning for the unattended cup of Lager that was brought in by Jihyo’s fling? Booty call? Friend with some benefit? It wouldn’t matter since he’s athletic enough to have his own chain of gyms as a fine investment. “Call me a clean freak, but I get by with my duties around the new place.”

“What does Dahyun do again?” Lisa, another neighbor just a few houses down chimes in, “You said that she’s–”

“A corporate lawyer,” you say, catching Dahyun in your peripheral view who’s laughing with another guest that seemed to just make their way into the late afternoon. Hand to the back of your head while racking it, “She’s pretty damn good at her job too.” 

You get a collective nod from the two women when you keep your mouth partly open with a tongue nicking the inside of your bottom lip. Logistically, Dahyun was a key counterpart in her firm, the way that she’s her bosses’ right hand when it comes to finishing off deals whether the fact it came down to mergers or closing cases. She’s always one to speak her mind, not willing to play nice or by the book. 

Generally, a lawyer’s job tends to be stressful at times, given the unhealthy hours depending on what lands on her desk first thing when she walks in, early or not. If Dahyun needs some downtime, you’d give it to her - something about it that she coined you to be her sleeping pill. 

(Kinda funny, though.) 

However, there was this whole ordeal of some big litigation incident with one of the firm’s associated parties. Something about the high ranking chairman and close member convicted of fraud and if the press found out about it, the whole door gets blown up and it turns into an absolute shit show. Dahyun’s boss had her spearhead the whole thing and as a big token of appreciation, she managed to get time off. 

The apartment prior was starting to get a little bit cramped, so she brought up the idea of moving while eating out for lunch one afternoon and that was that. 

Explains how the house acquisition was more simple to deal with, considering how you’re good with numbers and finances, but that’s all to know. 

Tech savvy, is what Mina tells you, taking out of it with a margarita in her hand while you raise your cup in acknowledgement, breaking away from the set of couches around the makeshift bonfire pit. Ever the sentry, unintentional but it’s what a good party host does to get to know new faces, right? 

Like the ping pong ball on the table, you’re bouncing around the backyard again, avoiding the splash zone of the pool when you slide across the makeshift bar of different varieties of drinks off to the right of the sliding door, cups riddled both half full and empty that’ll have to be dealt with eventually later, or in the next morning - whichever one happens first. A frame of mind falls into the same habit, picking up the clutter for a bit before you could treat yourself to another choice of booze or wine you’ll fish out of the kitchen once done. 

Nothing would prepare you for the extra set of small hands swooping in the table to keep tight on the slack. 

She seems familiar, not long term familiar, but something that you’ve caught yourself having a double take at for a quick second only to forget a couple seconds later. A quick spike of the heartbeat, that’s also something that you’re very torn on in that moment - running back a necessary subroutine in your memory banks to check that you’re - well, you.

“I take you’re the guy Dahyun was praising about.” she says, her voice cheery with that simple but sly smile of hers that’s stabbing daggers into your heart. “Find it hard to believe that you’re her husband, actually.”

The solo cups slide in smoothly, placing it back in the respective stack while this girl is tending to the crushed water bottles and cans in that small plastic bag she’s putting them in. A small contribution at that, but a helpful gesture that you’ll indirectly accept once the plastic is tied and in the bin. 

“And what are you trying to say?” you start, arm bearing your hand when you stand square across from her. “Was it everything that you hoped to expect?” 

Unbuttoned baseball jersey, those high top sneakers and short shorts giving a slight peek into her figure from the down up. Her tank top also raised enough to show her toned midsection that looks tapered and detailed. Casual, you think, perfect for the summer vibe that you could honestly put a lei over her neck and all of a sudden this party is a fucking luau. 

“Hon!” a voice calls out to you in the distance, approaching you and the girl from the other side of the yard. When that person gets closer, it turns out to be Dahyun who immediately grins at the sight of you looking all curious. “Oh! Good, I’ve managed to get you two both together.” 

“But you didn’t do anything.” 

“Who said that I was the one to start it?” 

“Coming from the person who’s all for taking the credit for herself.” 

“Always the pleaser,” the girl laughs out loud, Dahyun closing in with her fingers intertwining with hers. There’s history to them - not even a second thought to track back, it’s all there right in front of you to see. It also clicks in your head that this girl was also the same one that Dahyun was gleefully excited to see back in your sit-in with Mina and Lisa. 

The exchange of happy glances abruptly stops when Dahyun catches you with an arched brow, looking for answers, and to this she just smiles downward because how could she forget with the formalities, it’s silly. “Babe, I’d like you to meet Minatozaki Sana, one of my closest friends since college.” 

“Sana,” you say, and when the syllables reverberate past the oral cavity and into the air, it rolls off the tongue nicely. “I see, friend of Dahyun’s?” 

“Indeed I am,” she says, extending her hand as a peaceful offering - not even realizing the turmoil that’s running through your head while hiding it effortlessly. The way her hand fits in yours, her whole body looks delicate like she’s handmade with God’s well crafted time; she’s also a few inches taller than Dahyun (by two for the accurate calculation), you’ve got Dahyun to mold into the threads of the mattress and now imagine–

“I was wondering who was getting Dahyun a bit excited at the gate when you came in,” you say as you’re pouring yourself another cup of brandy this time, since the other drinks were relatively tame for your high alcohol tolerance. “Now with a face to the name, I gotta say, you’re pretty likable already.” 

Bottom line, it’s really curious to act this way. Clearly, you’re smiling at the fact that she’s standing there with her arms crossed, you’ve placed your cup down filling the next one, because another wouldn’t hurt. 

So how did you and Dahyun meet, you say - palm flat on the foldable table that sends the drinks sloshing slightly at the change in stable weight. I would assume that the story in itself is an interesting one, I hope? 

Sana and Dahyun have this exchanging look between the two of them, the infatuation of how their minds are interlinked. These two have been through everything, despite the differences in majors and fields of work - the bond that they have is admirable. “What do you know about me that Dahyun has told you?” 

“Whatever that wasn't ordinary already,” you reply. “What also boggles my mind is that–”

“If she told you about the time I almost had to blow my professor to give me a passing grade, she’s dead wrong. It never happened.” That star-stricken grin that has you pouting slightly and rolling your eyes because her answer has you completely way off of left field. 

Not that, you add on but-hmm it can only make you wonder of the kinds of things that happened in that period of youth, before Dahyun came along into your life albeit a simple nudge of the shoulder while passing between working schedules. A part of the script of life that’s rewritten in itself and jesus - it’ll sit in the comfy nook of your brain while it sends your heart and gut flipping in all directions. 

Let that be a new doc or spreadsheet for you to graph out in your mind, because there’s a lot to compute and learn into getting this right. 

–

So it actually turns out that Sana’s the next door neighbor living on the left of your house. She just wasn’t there during the whole moving process before the housewarming party because like Mina, Sana was out and about seeing the world - something about putting some miles in her life trying to cross off one or two things off the bucket list, maybe more. 

There’s only some noticeable details to keep track of in a few: 

* Said somewhere along the lines of having a fear of heights? Lost a bet to her cousin and went skydiving to get over it. 

* Well-spoken, considering that she was in Dahyun’s undergrad cohort before she had a change of heart in her choice of major, leading towards the pipeline of communication studies or working with kids, cute. 

* She’s an only child in the family and very accepting of the fact of having a big house to herself (since Juile, her housemate who was also paying for half of the place but hardly around to live inside and still depositing the rent when it was time). Lonely, one might say out of sympathy but that would be undermining her success till now. 

* Oh, and that story of her blowing her professor to get a passing grade? Hard to believe how it’s true and very similar to a common storyline you’ve surfed incognito on the internet before.

“Look,” and she says this with a whole hearted laugh when you’re behind her and Dahyun walking out of the side gate. “It was only a one time thing, I swear and plus,” you’re having flash of doubt when Dahyun looks over, and you’re terrible at hiding it because it’s in your eyes, a shake of the head in disbelief when Sana’s shoulders slouch, “we were sophomores that hated that fuckass professor so much, I was willing to take the fall.” 

“And you did, but thank god there’s no proof of documentation that recounts such events like those, right? Right?” 

A prompting cough deviates the ongoing conversation, “I assume that everything was handled then?” To this, Sana nods - right hand swearing under oath, smiling earnestly with those eyes of hers, left hand supporting her elbow. She’s distracting with how her tank top peeks out with her chest open slightly. In the court of law, she could never get away with testifying let alone convince the grand jury. “I mean, what would happen if there was something that’s sizable enough to damage your image of being this good-willed human being?” 

“Then everyone would watch the world burn if that were the true, but I’m cautious of my digital footprint, always making sure that my track record is clean.” 

(She’s in the same pedigree as Mina, Lisa, and pretty much everyone that’s occupying the boulevard: poised, casual, stable, know themselves all too well to get what they want - because they always do, it’ll have your head turning from the moment they walk in to when they leave the table. Dahyun gave you the brief rundown about her circle of friends; they’re good people, not wanting to let the finer things of life get to them, stay true to their words, grounded even.)

It’s how the amber light of your garage door shines above that gives Sana this radiating shade of copper in her hair. You’d offer to walk her back to her place if it wasn’t just a few steps away. Better yet, Dahyun would’ve permitted you to do so if you were to ask right now, but it’s fine. The grace period of life works in mysterious ways, funny how this sense of nostalgia comes back when you see two lovely girls play the game of catch-up, hugging after not seeing each other for a couple years. 

Tuning back in to the image: 

“I’m baffled you’ve managed to land a house like this, especially with your money and the amount of back breaking work you do on a daily basis. Twenty trials? You’re a fucking workaholic.” 

The pair of them laugh together, it’s really heartwarming to listen. 

Still, 

“-plus the extended vacation time you just got-” Sana sounds like a kid on the last days of school trying to come up with a multitude of things to waste time while Dahyun just listens to her rambling; eyes curving up with stupid smiles and the head tilts as if the secrets being exchanged are not meant to be spoken of to others, they look good together, wow. Have we checked the calendar if it’s Pride month still?

When they turn toward you, the actions seem unreal to register. Dahyun’s monolids contrast Sana’s double eyelids, the way Sana’s eyes especially look almond like. Her smile is a little smaller compared to Dahyun’s and when they’re just freely cuddling each other without any spite of jealousy beneath it.

They’re leaving you dumbfounded, consider yourself to be humbled. 

Sana breaks the hug first before she lets out an overreaching hand for you to shake. You’ll admit on another given day to Dahyun that Sana’s pretty, the small pull hinting at her smile all the more reason to give a positive outlook for first impressions that will also have you wondering how in the hell isn’t she in a relationship yet. Overkill when she does the line with her eyes while keeping the same smile when mirroring Dahyun’s expression, too. 

“Same number as always?” Dahyun asks, clinging onto her hand like she’s going away for a sizable amount of time. “I got nothing for the next couple of weeks.” 

“I’ll just walk over and ring the doorbell, don’t bother.” Sana’s answer is optimistic, and you’re hoping she’ll stick to her word because you’re willing to break the lines, the yellow tape at the scene, and ignore the lines of ink blacked out for confidentiality assurance. 

You and Dahyun say good night, and she’s just happily bouncing along the sidewalk into her own front yard. 

“She likes you, by the way.” Dahyun tells you, slotting herself right underneath your right arm while you’re squinting to see absolutely nothing in the darkness, not even tuned in to what your wife was telling you. A few sweeps of looks across the street pass and you’re rubbing warmth on her shoulder, only to nudge your head slightly to finally hear. 

“Sana’s…interesting.” you say, blinking, looking down at Dahyun’s gaze before your eyes shoot away scouring for something else to eye at in the short meantime before a light slap to the stomach sends you snorting out of the quick annoyance. “Hey, based on how she acted, I would’ve thought she’d be anything but ordinary.” 

“She’s done some stupid shit, that’s for sure.” Dahyun signs to her own admission, seeing it first hand of the stories that were told an hour ago. “Though, she’s gotten better once I convinced her to see things in a different perspective.” 

“Could’ve passed as a good lawyer if you asked me.” 

“Please tell me that’s satirical.” 

“Wasn’t planning to say, but I guess it just happened.” 

A close of the gate and up the steps into the front door, easy to say that getting yourself settled in for once in your life doesn’t seem to be that bad of an idea. The plans themselves are just getting started, drawing them up on the itinerary sometime later this week will get a number of things going. 

–

Apparently nobody saw this coming, and let this be an error in the calculations because evidently, this whole ‘summer in the hamptons’ type thing was about to be undermined entirely. 

Turns out on the following day, Dahyun gets this business call at around three in the morning, and the phone just keeps vibrating on the nightstand. She eventually lets you off slumbering with the lamp on while she goes to the couch to hear what her boss was egging on about for what you think would be a short call, but it wasn’t. 

What you eventually find out hours later is that Dahyun was called in to help play defense in this big lawsuit that was deemed to be ‘the second coming of the Watergate Scandal’. God, those news anchors and journalists need to do a better job of nailing the creative writing aspect because it was just fucking awful when they’re reporting it at eight in the morning after. Apparently you’re also reading an article online on your desktop about Dahyun’s firm coming under fire for a sizable client that’s been doing murky deals behind their backs that would not only jeopardize one branch of the corporate relationship, but all the potential deals that have yet to be signed. It’s a mess. Though, work shouldn’t even be the thought since Dahyun’s pulling out all of these boxes that were related to this case out all over the dining room table that she has to bring back to her office and whatever was on the menu for the boat party next week that you’re having with close family and friends was about to be canceled. 

And this has happened on many occasions, but if it involved Dahyun or anything related to the law firm she holds dearly to her heart (of course, you’re first, obviously) the support in her endeavor would always be important to protect. 

“I just hoped that they were able to handle this quietly, and without my help.” You’re dipping your head down to spit the last taste of mint from your mouth. Dahyun leans forward on the sink with her ankles crossed, wearing one of your shirts blinking dutifully, quite zoned out while her hand is over your hamstring, tapping it gingerly. 

“Well if that were the case, then they would’ve called you in anyway.” You say, raising an eyebrow with the tinge of mouthwash cycling in and out when you spit again. “So much for having your rewarded vacation time.” 

Dahyun leans back against the mirror when she’s putting her hair up in this messy bun. She looks a little more relaxed compared to the ragged breaths down your ear when your cock was buried inside her, clinging to your neck while that vicious upstroke of your hips sends her absolutely blown out. The look she gives with her pleading eyes when you take the toothbrush out of her mouth, washing it after she leans over to spit out the toothpaste before handing a washcloth for you to wipe yourself with. “You think I shouldn’t go.” 

“Wasn’t really bringing that up for you to consider, but judging how this looks from the outside in, I’d say it’s pretty bad.” 

“You’re really not helping my train of thought here,” she sighs, hands bearing her waist, the crinkles of your shirt on her subtly showing that petite frame, the image itself recorded in your memory banks loads of times - each one just like the first, if not better. 

Sliding over a few inches to where she sits there idly, your hands placed on the outer rim where her knees bend over the marble counter. She doesn’t change her posture when you’re looking her in the eyes trying to get a read on what her next move might be. Still elegant as ever, Dahyun will always put this appearance on even when it's the simple domestic life she’s living. 

Energy levels are still high, and the initial action was to get back to watching this sappy rom-com kdrama that bored Dahyun to the point where she slipped a hand inside your sweatpants just to ‘spice things up a bit’. Once the prompted question of are you still watching appears on the screen after minutes of inactivity, no point in answering it while she’s happily fucking herself over you while you’re sprawled across the satin sheets, gripping into her perfect waist with the sound of her hips with yours bouncing off the new walls. 

When’s the flight? You ask her, hand sliding up her thigh slowly. I could put in a word for your associate to get that done, save the trouble. Inevitably, the jaws of justice will soon swallow her up again when she manages to break free from the shackles of court orders and depositions. 

“First thing at nine,” she answers, fingers tugging at the midpoint of where the seam of your shirt and the waistband of your sweats meet. “Got some things to pack up soon, but I think most of the papers and boxes won’t be a lot for me to carry on the quick plane trip back.” 

“Crazy that they get paid for a short flight from upstate.” 

“In addition to the fact that they’re also on my dad’s payroll.” 

“A plus I might admit.” you muse. 

Dahyun shifts her gaze from right to left, spreading her legs wider when you scoot her hips up to meet yours. The hum of satisfaction that she gives when your eyes flick up to see that rosy shade of pink plastered across her face, eyes waiting, honing on something that she subjects that will be given to her. Precision was one of her key strengths, but when that’s used against her, it’s a completely different story. 

When she tugs a little bit more on your undershirt to lift, she usually does so with this sense of security - like a kind of clinginess that you won’t have any sort of complaint against. You’ve understood it to a degree. Whether you’re dropping by the office of the firm or being dragged into the kitchen after sitting on your chair for hours and hours doing analytics and business calls, moments like these with Dahyun are always something to behold. Considerably, you don’t mind giving into her needs for attention; in fact, you’re willing to do that without even thinking twice. 

“So,” Dahyun prompts with this sultry voice of hers, clueless and innocently - as if she has no idea what she’s doing to you. With her (your) shirt rumpled all over her body, those pretty eyelashes, her creamy thighs, the way that her fingers are grazing the elastic of both your sweats and boxers, you begin to assess the conditions when you’ve nestled yourself in between her knees, some water staining the gray cotton when you finally lean closer. “How are you gonna handle yourself while I’m gone?” 

“I think you’ll lay the severance package,” you say, not giving any faltering sense when she’s ghosting her set of fingertips on the right hand across your chest. “If there’s damages to it, I don’t mind paying up.” 

“Non-compete or NDA,” Dahyun huffs, lifting the outer seam of the shirt past her hips, showing the opening underneath where her pussy is glistening with her slick, awaiting your end of the bargain, this non-verbal agreement where she knows that you’ll always deliver the requests and offers. “Besides, you still owe me.” 

Laughing, you do recall the statement. It’s funny - there’s a trade off throughout the day earlier where you’re awoken to her warm mouth, deepthroating your cock that leaves you with these sharp inhales. The way her jaw slacks of how she sucks, the mix of spit lathering all over your length while she’s bobbing away between your thighs at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. Even after Dahyun takes care of the morning wood situation, you pay her back by eating her pussy freely on the kitchen counter as the logical option to keep yourselves occupied while waiting for the oatmeal. There’s no competition between the two of you of who makes the other cum the fastest, the hardest, let alone how many rounds can you do in a day; it really just boils down to this one simple look, a push-pull that sends the neurons firing away automatically - fucking each other ‘just because’ to put it simply. 

This girl on the bathroom sink, slouching, head against the mirror still while your hands finally snake under her shirt, feeling the unbelievable midsection under the breasts when she lowers her eyes, leaning up for the touch of your lips. 

Every kiss, stolen or prolonged, each one always has the flaps in your heart opening. She’s yours. 

Tender at first, but then the heat gets raised up when her arm hooks onto your waist, fighting the slipping tongue that’s breaking away for a slight second in her mouth. Her hands are also grasping for any kind of reach for her to clutch on, no luck for it when she finally takes her fingers into your hair, not wanting to pull away. 

Dahyun does this little whine after the quick inhale of air when you slip a finger or two inside her bare cunt, testing the waters as she bites her lip in anticipation. “Don’t do that now,” she spits. That obscene noise coming out of her instantly after when she bucks her hips forward again, accidentally curling a finger in her warm cunt that makes her look away from your intense gaze. “Darling, please–” 

“Use your words honey,” you whisper against her lips when you’re tugging on her bottom lip, causing her to sit up straight on the counter, slotting her arms around your neck with hands circling her waist. “Can’t really hear what you’re saying if you’re mopping my face up.” 

She’s losing her sense of focus when your fingers continue to bottom out the whole length of them, filling her up and pushing deeper. It also doesn’t help when your thumb presses flat on her clit that sends her mewling at the bend. Her face is against your neck, the steady pace of those staggered breaths against your skin keeps your current operation on the clock, unraveling this line when you’re slipping in and out of her. 

“Baby, baby, baby, please–” her heel locks the back of your thigh in place, hitting a kneecap on the cabinet. She’s reduced to these simple words and responses with the heavy breathing. Her hips are nearly coming off the glassy surface of the sink. The shirt’s lifted up beneath her perky mounds (and that fucking underboob is a national treasure in itself), the seal of your mouth is all over her throat: pulling, kissing, gnawing. You kinda feel bad for the concealer pack she’s gonna be using later for a brief afterthought. 

Although this little contest of edging Dahyun out to cum wasn’t on the cards for tonight. You’re managing this smile when she pulls the hair tie out of her hair, letting it flow freely. This look of post-sex yet natural style that she does makes you stare in awe when you pull her hips more out at the edge, the way her elbows are propped up nicely and her legs are spread even wider. Her hand pulls the shirt higher, showing her breasts now, the preferred choice of marks that were left there as a reminder from earlier. You slip out of the sweatpants and boxers, fixed on the brushing of her bare cunt just millimeters away from dipping yourself - a teasing tip, then the first couple inches at the half - and that shudder from her hips catches you off guard. 

“Yes,” Dahyun moans out that matches your sigh in perfect timing. A moment’s hesitation, replaced with the second necessary action to sink yourself into her more, parting her walls nicely, slowly, until you feel all of her wrapped around you. 

She gasps, mewling, spilling out this chain of hitched breaths, “god. honey, your cock–” 

It all slides out for a second. Unreal. Then you slam back into her again. Pacing was always the methodical approach, a line into the protocol when Dahyun is writhing in the drag of your cock fucking deep into her cunt, she’s biting her lip at the fact that she’s shimming her legs more out, wanting to choke herself down the length. My god, you’d love to keep the look she has on her face, lips parted at how badly she just wants you to split her in two, seeing the last hint of her pupils rolling back into her brain when you skate the palms of your hands across her stomach, clutching onto her perky breast when the tempo starts to increase. 

When your hands finally nestle into the curve of her hips, they stay there. They’re already at a good place when your cock finally feels all of her, so wet, so tight. A slight throb along the length when you drag yourself out, that small pocket of air escaping before the vice seals shut again. She’s unbelievably perfect, one label off the list from your head when you’re fixed on the sight of your length disappearing inside her, head tilting forward with every stroke back in. 

“You’re so - mmh,” Dahyun hitches her breath, shuddering, you could feel the rise and fall of her chest when your hand clutches her thigh. A choked out sob leaves her lips, and you’re impressed at the composure of nailing her cunt, the same spot being hit deep, even deeper, to that one area where she’s lost herself before. “Fucking big for me, this cock - feels so good-” 

“Dahyun...” you hiss, shifting your hands down to the soft cushion of her ass, sinking down once again, then another, and then another, sliding her out across the counter before you’re driving her back in, this never-ending piston into the fiery pit of heat, stretching her out, twisting that nimble body of hers into your own creation, coaxing every exhale you catch from her abdomen. “Your pussy is so–” 

What you meant to say was, “your pussy is so fucking tight, god damnit-” You know what, the thought can barely even be formed in your head when you meet Dahyun’s eyes, slowly fluttering shut with her teeth slowly disappearing behind her lip. That, and the feeling of her walls imploding your cock to the remnants of awareness you had left. 

It’s also pretty funny to think how Dahyun was fucking herself freely over you just an hour ago, only for her to be used like this and she knows you simply can’t help yourself. 

“Love, I can’t - shit,” that utterance nearly takes everything ouight of you to say; everything about it is euphoric, the way you have her legs up, bottoming her out. You look at her again, and she has her hand over her mouth, trying to fight that natural clench when your cock fills the heat inside her. “You’re so good for me, spreading yourself open like this. Fuck.” 

This is a case that you’ll take to your grave, knowing all of your wife’s body so well to the point that every kiss, thrust, moan, hell even the appearance when she’s like this for you will be more than enough to last as much as possible. Dahyun knows the switch off too - aside from the fact that she’s cock drunk every single fucking time you fuck her brains out - and she loves this. You see it in her pupils, the desperation to tear all the edges apart, the signal for you to finally wreck her in the way that she wants you to. 

“Don’t stop,” she begs, chest heaving heavily when her legs wrap around your waist, propping herself up for you to take her waist into your chest, letting out these songs of pleas that’s encouraging you to get to that edge first. You could feel her body going limp, the support is almost reflexive while your hips continue to pummel her out. 

“You-” you try to say. Fuck. It goes everything against the directive you’ve put yourself in, the noises of your skin clashing with hers, creating this filthy yet harmonious sound that only gets more and more harder. Dahyun’s breathless moans keep you in check when your motions start to get irregular, inconsistent, keeping yourself busy with your mouth all over her chest. “God, Dahyun–” 

“Do it baby,” she whispers into the cuff of your ear, “Keep fucking my pussy. Pound me like this.” Her hand does this simple action, and it’s lethal. All it took was a simple palm to your cheek, it’s filled with little meaning but carries so much intimacy. Moans and grunts continue to slip out while you search for her eyes, feeling that pull in your waist, grip tightening and loosening as you’re mindlessly thrusting. “You’re getting close for me, aren’t you?” 

“Honey,” and at this point you’ve got it all spun out of control, “You feel so fucking good.” 

“I know, baby.” Dahyun ignores your words of affirmation, smirking. “You know what to do.” 

God. She can kill you, bring you back to life, and kill you all over again. Begging was already done before, you’ve fucked her way past her orgasm on mulitiple occasions - using her as your cumdump; doesn’t matter what time of the day or what you’re doing. The endgame was always this: having you completely fucked out in that velvety smooth pussy of hers - all wet and warm enough for you to live in. 

With your teeth gritting and a final huff of air blowing past your nostrils, you cum inside her, filling her sloppy cunt all the way up. 

Dahyun is sinister, it’s not up for a fair debate. When she coos and hums into your ear canal, you’re battling every urge to just wrap your fingers all over the column of her throat, use the remaining bits of pulse in your member to get her screeching. Alas, you hold yourself back while the ropes of cum are spurting around her walls, her mouth also gaping open when the fourth and fifth pulse out your cock weakly. 

There’s this pause soon after, a collection of breath between the two of you that constructs a reconsideration of your choices. Dahyun has this telepathic connection with your mind that makes the connection instantaneous - you don’t say anything because there’s this one look in her eyes, hanging in the atmosphere bathed with afterglow - and she knows. 

When you do slide out of her swollen cunt, there’s a considerable amount of your cum dripping out of her, slapping the tip along the outside of her folds just to tease her before retreating away entirely. The image of her legs spread out and her back laid across the sink will be saved into your memory for you to look on sometime in the future, or maybe even next week. 

“So,” you mutter, shaking off the small jitters of blood loss to the head when you’re massaging Dahyun’s thighs, “Have I paid off my case in due time?” 

Dahyun chuckles, a single finger raised up from the wreck beneath to get a taste, licking her lips following the fingertip. She wiggles up on her hands to sit on the counter again, hair flipped to one side while she lets the shirt fall down to cover her body, “Hate to say it, but you always do.” 

“That’s good to know.” 

“I’m also saying that you could use my help.” 

“Ha Ha,” 

“What? I’m serious.”

“I’m serious. Well so am I.” Dahyun sarcastically says, slapping your hip that makes your cock jump suddenly. You can see the dashes appear on her face when she lets out this simple smile, the eyes disappearing reflecting the same expression on her lips. She could saunter around the courtroom making a solid case for the defense, but no one would know the fact she’s all liquid putty when you have your hands on her like this. “I appreciate the thoughtful offer, but I think someone’s gotta guard the house while I handle work.” 

“I’m gonna hate you by the end of this.” 

“How bout you flip me over and rail my ass on the sink again?” 

You’re starting to curse that concrete jungle a little more by the end of it. 

–

Okay, to cut to the chase, there might’ve been a slight miscalculation that you had panned out in your head. 

You switch on the TV two days later and Dahyun’s already made her way back to ground zero in the city to handle this case, where it completely spirals into an absolute shitshow. All gloves are off when the story gets released out to the public, scapegoating one of Dahyun’s board members having themselves tangled in an affair with one of the staff. Sure, it could've been an analytical approach to brush off the heat that’s only growing by the second - a shitty attempt you might also think; either way, this trial was crucial for your wife’s firm to win because in the scenario that they lose, all credibility and positive imagery surrounding them will plummet and that equals no more lawyer work for Dahyun. 

She was optimistic at first while on the phone with you, talking about how this case should’ve been a cakewalk to handle, predicting the possible time period of when she should come back home to finally relax with all that hard work paid off temporarily. You’re smiling at the fact that she sounds composed, no hint of stress lying in her tone, riding on that high when you have her bucking into your hips just an hour before her private plane trip to the firm. 

It’s only a matter of time before all of this blows over, you think. Not your fault also when the house feels suddenly empty in the wake of this unexpected catastrophe. 

You’re hearing this definition of a fortnight. As in, Dahyun’s projected time when she could get out of the office and have someone else handle the case on her behalf. A little unusual for her to indulge in the understanding of the term itself, not while you’re making yourself dinner with the chops of onions on the cutting board and the phone being on speaker off to the right side. 

“Two weeks?” you’re asking, the dice of onion cubes being skated off into the pot left to boil while stirring. “That’s a pretty big ask for you to take up with your boss.” 

“Why do you think I’m hitting you with the English lesson?”

“Babe, you’re talking about a term that was used in the freaking 1800s.” you laugh, leaning back on the counter, glass of water in your hand as one of the stupid actions that most people tend to do when talking to their crush. “Would’ve been better if you just said two weeks instead of a fortnight. What do you think I am? Some kid that’s withering their life away over some video game?” 

“There you go again.” She laughs out loud. You can envision the picture of her rolling her eyes at you when you spew out complete nonsense that won’t comprehend in her brain since her lifestyle doesn’t line up with it. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, smirking with a dimple poking out against the touchscreen. “Seriously, when do you think you’re gonna make it back?” 

“Honestly, I don’t think it’ll be anytime soon.” she admits, hearing the click of your tongue over the speaker when you’re accepting the fact that her job might potentially be on the line if she were to leave early. “I know we said two weeks, but in this case-” You can hear her stop short when she clears the lump in her throat before continuing, “This trial might drag on for who knows how long? It might be a few days, two weeks, a month? Everything is laid out for us to fail.” 

“And you won’t.” you tell her, reminding the positives going forward. “Maybe it could look bad, but I’m certain that you’ll do a good enough job with what you have to work with. I’m sure of that.” 

That sigh of relief you hear through the phone. Yeah, you’re right. I get it. A little reassurance goes a long way for someone in her field dealing with that kind of work - not that you would relate or somewhat imagine what it would be like to be in Dahyun’s shoes, but aside from all bad things, you know that she’s headstrong to the point where none of this should even faze her in the first place. 

“You know you can’t go back to the old place, dummy.” you laugh, opening the lid of the pot that unleashes a quick cloud of steam rising above the rim. “Where are you planning on staying in the meantime while working?” 

“Minju has a guest room at her place.” Dahyun answers, “I’d figured that I should tell you this, but I think she and her associate are having a little thing together.” 

“And this is news to me, how?” 

“Because I’ve seen him and her get a lot closer than usual.” she adds, “You do remember that we have this policy that’s strict on relationships around the office–” 

“But you and I, along with some other considerable names and high-ranking figures, are the exception. I know. We’ve been over this story a bunch of times already.” 

Dahyun straightens herself up on the couch over the phone, folding her legs inward on the seat, sighing, smiling. “Are you eating dinner this late?” 

“Well, if you consider ten-thirty to be late to have myself a meal, then yeah, you can call that to be a late dinner.” 

“Rude,” she muses. “Can’t your wife have a little bit of curiosity about your day while being alone? Missing me?” 

“I guess, but there’s nothing to report on my end.” 

She hums, and you can picture the pout she’s putting on whenever you give her an open ended answer that could totally be expanded on if you just put the effort into it. Dahyun knows you're lazy to an extent when it’s off work hours, and she doesn’t blame you for that. “Have you been using your hand to keep yourself occupied while I’m gone, baby?” 

“Sweetie,” you chuckle, tongue against the inside part of your bottom lip when you automatically realize what she’s trying to do - what she’s trying to make you do. “No, we’re not doing this.” 

“Aw, why not?” 

“Because I can only do so much to keep myself sane while you’re not here.” 

“Fine,” Dahyun sighs out in defeat, and you turn off the stove to let the signature dish of your mother’s pork stew cool down before you get to eating. “One last thing,” she starts, “Sana wants a favor from you while I’m not there.” 

“Hmm?” you sound off, getting a small taste test of the minimal viscosity of the soup you just cooked. “What does she need help with?” 

“Just some heavy lifting around her place,” Dahyun answers, yawning. “I told her that she could come by the house to get you and help with whatever she needs.” 

“You’re setting me up, aren’t you.” 

A soft giggle could be heard in the background on Dahyun’s end. It probably shouldn’t mean anything, but a suspicion starts formulating in the back of your head. This could mean one of two things: you’re either fucked for the potential summer, or fucked for the potential summer. 

“Help Sana out tomorrow,” Dahyun instructs. “I don’t think anything bad will happen if you’re stuck with her.” 

–

Turns out that Dahyun would be right when you do stand at the steps of Sana’s front door, hand at the hip while the few seconds of silence runs the possible uncertainties through your head. 

A swing of the door inward: “Howdy stranger, have my pizza?” 

You get a good look at her. She’s wearing these thinly rimmed glasses, the middle wire sitting nicely on the bridge of her nose. Her long sleeve hugs her shoulders nicely, tugging at the fabric while her other arm is raised on the door. The shorts are also doing a number on you internally, highlighting the ridiculously long legs that has miles and miles of skin, aside from the fact that they appear to be too short (and also pink, but fuck, man.) Cozy, homebody type of vibe, is what you end off with. 

“Hey.” And this comes off as a half-choke in the fumble of words, “Dahyun said that you needed some help?” 

Sana cocks her head off to the side, brows attracted inwardly, lost for a second before she fully realizes the present dilemma that she’d had happen to forget. “Oh, I did ask for a few things.” 

“Fingers crossed your to-do list isn’t full?” 

She does this subtle nod of her head motioning you to come inside, and you hesitate for a second, peering over past her head of brown hair to see the state of the place and here’s how it looks: everything has a very simplistic aesthetic, blank tones of the furnishings and floorboards complimenting each other the more you and her make your ways around the place. Some boxes are still present here and there, half-open, half-closed, like the items in them haven’t found their rightful place amongst the shelves and cupboards and closets between the rooms. Sana mentions also that her and Julie also have similar tastes, but given the fact that they both haven’t been in the place that often because of their work, it’s pretty disappointing to take away. 

“How long have you had this house?” you ask, picking up a picture frame off one of the tables in the living room that has Sana and this other gorgeous girl leaning her head in with hers, you can’t put a name to her, but curiosity will come later when the time is right. 

“Just like you, not that long actually,” Sana answers, rounding past the corner towards the kitchen when you pick up on the lasting trail of her footsteps to meet her at point B. “Julie and I only managed to settle in about a few weeks ago before she went overseas for some big movie project that she’s a part of. Other than that, it’s just been me here all by myself.” 

“That doesn’t sound fun.” 

“I find it calming to have a big house with multiple rooms without the sense of company.” 

Your eyes trail off in the distance of this closed space. It looks barren, but rich, with the sense of presence from all of the different decorations and paintings all over the walls and tables. You might mistake this as a museum, an unplanned exhibit with your neighbor as the centerpiece of this gallery. 

“So,” you start to say, arms cross when you’re watching Sana on the opposite side of the kitchen island, sipping on a glass of strawberry lemonade, looking back at you with wide eyes, those pouty lips on the rim–

She points to the set of disregarded items off to your left side behind, the same set of boxes you noticed when walking in, “I need to get these things out of there and placed around the house,” and she starts to round the area of the kitchen to get closer to you, “and my garage door needs some fixing since it won’t open for some reason” 

“You really think I’m qualified to help you with the garage?” you raise an eyebrow in suspicion. 

“Dahyun asked you to help me, so please, make us happy.” 

–

The first meeting with Sana happens quite quickly. It should’ve ended there - a simple favor fulfilled and get on with continuing the daily routines around the house and neighborhood. 

Except it doesn’t happen that way. Not when Sana catches your attention when you’re taking out the trash, watering Dahyun’s little growing garden, when you’re getting your morning and evening runs up the hill and round the block, she always seems to get you caught in her lines of sight. 

You’re not against it however, taking a liking to have a quick chat with Sana about different things that were worth bringing up - it’s the simple camradire that’s developed rapidly after the housewarming party. She’s interested to see you with the garage open, finding a new thing to tinker and fix with the car (although modding a tesla would make some vehicle enthusiasts want to rip out their hair and gouge their fucking eyeballs,) she just makes the minute trip from her house over to yours just to talk. 

Dahyun’s calls circulate every now and then, getting the quick rundown of what’s been happening while she’s knee-deep in trial work down at the firm. You simply smile while tapping on the camera switch icon on facetime to have her look at the group of Sana, Jihyo and her summer flirt, Mina, along with a few others just have a communal game night of Mario Kart down at Sana’s place when everything is settled in. Before that, you were explaining the fascination of this ancient city that you’ve been reading into between business calls and graph inputs during work that may sound like you’re a boring professor talking about history. 

None of that would matter because Sana’s house is like this ancient city that’s riddled with riches and items of materialistic value that would probably convince someone else that their money is being wasted over meaningless items rather than propper investments. You get a few nods of agreement, maybe some fingersnaps because what you’re saying could be plausible with the amount of knowledge you’ve consumed to tell without boring everybody. 

“I could care less if that were the case,” Sana says, leaning closer on the couch while running a hand through her hair, the flowy locks combined with that cropped Prada shirt could have you reeling in an alternate universe, but it doesn’t. 

“Sana,” you call out, Jihyo’s also giggling at the fact before you even say it also, “your walk in closet is literally the devotion of this ‘city of gold’ I’m talking about.” 

“Hey!” and she’s taking this with a light offense, “I only say that it’s true because where else am I supposed to put the dresses?” 

“I suppose they could go somewhere else that doesn’t take up space in the racks?” 

“You’re the one who helped me put them up anyway!” 

“Don’t get all defensive now because I’m talking about it.” 

She cracks this smile while Mina sounds off with a ‘boo’ noise, “You can take your little history tangent up your ass then.” 

To that, you raise an open bottle of White Owl to her face, downing a bit of the drink while she rolls her eyes, narrowing while she purses her lips. She’s lining her fingers across the bottom of her chin, intuitively, studying the movements of your hands and eyes, getting a read of what makes you tick. 

Even after the activities of game night are all wrapped up, you stay behind in Sana’s house, picking up the assortments of empty glasses and bottles, the charcuterie board that’s scavenged through, except the stack of cheese that was apparently stale and too cold to even dig their teeth in. 

“Care for some cereal?” Sana prompts after the final sweep. 

“You’re asking me to have a night breakfast?” 

“You’re making it sound like it’s something to be frowned upon.” 

“Then why the paradoxical proposal?” 

She doesn’t bother answering that with a simple hum while you’re chuckling lowly. There’s already two bowls on the counter, and not long after, she’s holding out two boxes: Frosted Flakes and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. 

“I like the choices.” you tell her, placing yourself on one of the high chairs while Sana slides one of the boxes over with the jug of milk trailing just behind it. You snap a picture of yours and Sana’s bowls to send over to Dahyun and in which she responds in three seconds - you fell for the cereal bait tactic. 

What? I got courted with Frosted Flakes and you know this, they’re great. 

She did the same thing to me back in college, but that’s her ‘ol reliable’. 

Sana swipes your phone from your hand that you try to get back, but she skips a few feet away and starts to text in your place. “What are you texting Dahyun about?” 

“Why does it matter to you?” 

“That’s my phone you’re using.” 

Sana parts her mouth open, humming once, “I’m too lazy to grab mine from the living room.” 

“You’re texting my wife.” you deadpan. 

“She was mine first before you came along.” 

You roll your eyes. Ouch. But you sigh once the defeat settles itself back in over you. All that you’re just left to do is get these soggy, milky grains down before you eventually pack it up for the night. 

“Thanks again for staying back to help,” Sana tells you on the front step of her yard, “worth the treat of cereal as a reward.” 

“Nice to have some company, especially when there’s video games that make me feel like a careless child again.” 

“We’re all a little starved for a little fun, glad I contributed to that reach of youth.” 

And this comes out of nowhere, really, you miss Dahyun around the house and it’s felt like ages since you’ve last seen her. 

Sana has her knuckles against her cheek, the fingers are well refined, she has that glow on her face and that small hint of a dimple that breaks out underneath and well - that same pout you saw last time breaks into this perfect grin of hers that’s filled with uncut happiness, the way her eyes arch into that same eye smile Dahyun has really makes you think twice about your situation. 

It’s embarrassing, but you miss Dahyun while there’s this small crush of Sana growing inside you. Going against your vow might be one thing, but your heart can’t help itself to only tell you over your mind - well shit. Congrats. 

Though, she’s reeling you back in after seeing Hailey’s comet above, calling your name that makes you unsure if you even know your own name. 

“Will you be busy for the rest of the week?” She prompts. 

“You can just come past the gate and ring the doorbell, I’ll always answer.” 

Sana doesn’t say anything more than that, only giving you the usual ‘good night’ message before she sends you off on your way, just a few feet to the side and behind another door. 

–

Some weeks pass. It’s late, and hot. The combination of this nightly hot climate doesn’t serve anyone well. 

You hear a knock at the door that has you scratching your head over the fact on who would be at your front doorstep around this time. All of that gets thrown out the window when you look up past the column of wood to see Sana standing there, bundled up in gray sweats and an oversized sweater that’s draping her frame, two sizes too big, her shoulder noticeable to see. She has nothing else on or with her besides the phone in her hand. 

“It’s the middle of the night,” you announce, squinting at the light towering over you and her in the front patio of the house, letting out a sigh while Sana just wiggles her body side to side, acting all innocent knowing that she knows what she’s doing. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping already?” 

Sana finds your reactions to be funny. For every question, you give her a simple or calculated answer. A greeting in the morning or afternoon would be short and sweet ending off with ‘let me know if you ever need anything’ before heading back inside with the daily mail or some vacuum or bundle of rags to clean from the garage. Every blurt or sexual comment would send you coughing or spitting out some of your water when Sana’s dropping by to see what you were doing. Most girls other than Dahyun in her position would be automatically disinterested, not your fault for being naturally dry and introverted.  

“Julie crashed at Natty’s place, so I managed to drive myself back home.” Sana replies with a pull of her lips, breaking a sly grin when you return the same nod, prompting her to come inside because it wouldn’t be like you to keep a beautiful girl from around the neighborhood just standing outside your doorstep. 

The hums that come out of Sana’s mouth are refreshing, in addition to the little swing of her head back and forth when she moves past the first lounge area of your house to between the dining table and kitchen where she stops short for a second, looking off to the left, formulating a thought. You had the lights dimmed around the place, but you catch the silhouette of her side profile while a hand is behind her back, like one of those poses that she did for a magazine not too long ago that she shared when you finished up moving the last bits of her boxes. 

“Why come to my place?” you ask, flicking a light switch that brightens the area right outside leading up to the backyard. “Are you that bored around your house that you just walk over to mine?” 

“Not denying that I’m bored,” Sana amends, turning towards you again, “just wanted to give you some company.” 

“Sana, it’s late.” 

“Remind me again,” she pouts, the lift of her eyebrows makes you slightly cringe, “How long has Dahyun been busy with her work and that trial of hers?” 

“Last I heard from her was that she’s almost done closing off the settlements.” 

“Good, and you haven’t been losing your mind over the fact that your wife’s not with you.”

“Can I live normally while Dahyun gets to play the main breadwinner in the relationship?” 

Sana coos after that. She keeps this longing gaze at you while you’re returning the same fix on her. The end point of her nose, the lines of her cheek, that over peeking collarbone when she sweeps her hair from the front to the back with a little flip; you tell her that the downtime you were mainly focused on was trying to get back to sleeping, but the damn heat was the main excuse and to that she laughs, scrunching her face when she can see right through the poorly constructed lie. 

It’s distracting, the small rumbling of this breaking desire - makes you feel uncertain in how you should approach the current dwindling situation.  

Falling off the curve, however, Sana asks you:  “Do you mind if I can take a swim in your pool?” 

–

This should be a page in the history books, ripped away and shrouded in the shadows, never to be disclosed to anyone else that isn’t yourself. 

It’s also completely harmless when you’re mindlessly handing Sana one of your spare towels sitting in the bathroom, smiling sincerely when she accepts the simple item of hospitality with the add on of, if you also need some extra clothes to wear because you dipped your feet in the pool with the overhanging flared sweatpants of yours getting stained, I can lend you a pair while it dries up - pick it up tomorrow or have it dropped off- 

She floats her way down the steps, towel over her shoulder, “I’d take an extra pair of pants to use after I finish, thank you.” 

You nod, letting herself like at home as if her own home wasn’t only less than five seconds away next to yours. The glass sliding door opens up to the balcony when you finally hear the light crash of water being made from the floor below. 

There’s something calming about the light blue glow being illuminated from the pool, looking up at the different stars and constellations with today’s moon being somewhat of a mix between a half moon slowly transitioning into a crescent. Dahyun was also with you in this same position after the first night of moving in, pointing out the basic lines of the Big Dipper and the Alpha Centauri, you showing her Orion’s belt before she made a counterargument that it wasn’t a freaking belt, but it just goes to show that you’re just counting the days down until Dahyun gets back from brining the trial win home. 

Looking down, you just see Sana the singular hint of honey brown sitting on the edge of the pool before slowly dipping in, getting the ends of her hair wet before tying it up in a high bun and happily floating in place, sighing while the refreshing yet, cool temperature of water settle around her body. 

The room of your study looks tempting to set up base camp, not the worst option to consider also as a form to keep yourself occupied while your bubbly neighbor was right outside your backyard swimming in the night. 

(God’s really picking and choosing your battles in any way that he pleases, huh?)

You stay the course, grabbing a quick bottle of Heiniken from the fridge when you’re seeing the sight of Sana’s shoulders and arms breaking the flow of water, her head just above the turquoise surface, the light shining beneath her face to get a good glimpse of her rosy cheeks, those lips tugged at the ends of them in a soft smile, the line of her neck also doing you numbers than the beverage in your hand before you’ve even got a propper sip. 

Sana looks towards the back of the house, you raise the bottle up to let her know that you’re still here, noticing the pile of clothes on one of the lounge chairs, neatly folded with her phone as the cherry on top. 

Here’s where you make mistake #1: The second bottle in your left hand needs a drinker, and you step your way out into the boardwalk of your pool. A missing piece of detail that you completely ignored was how Sana’s pile of clothes was lacking one vital part–

“I find it to be pretty peculiar for my wife’s friend to be skinny dipping in my pool at around this hour.” you inform Sana of the situation, to which she softly laughs at the observation while you’re kneeling at the edge, placing the two bottles off to the side that you’ll get back to later. 

Sana floats her way to the edge of the pool right next to you, arms hanging on the deep end while looking up, “Didn’t think I needed the necessary layers, no?”

“You want to tell me about layers when you’re wearing nothing underneath.” 

“Where’s the fun in having swimsuits and trunks?” she teases, “it’s too much of a hassle for me to go through the exhausting process of changing in your spare bathroom that’s miles away from the pool.”

“There was literally a bathroom for you next to the kitchen that you passed by to get here.“

“Why don’t you join me? The pool’s too big to have one person inside.” 

No. No. Don’t even think about–

“And if I refuse?” you ask quickly, naively. 

Sana leans her head back, and your eyes can’t help in anything besides fucking you up. The waves of the water cleared up, returning to its calm, idle state where you catch the highlighted sallow skin against the light, catching her hips and legs flowing freely. She lets her lower body rise up to the surface, hands still alongside the edge almost as if she’s lounging on the nearby chairs - it also hits you that she’s doing it on purpose, the fact that her bare ass is just out in the open air for you to see–

Right on cue, mistake #2: you sit down nicely, criss-cross like a little kid; and Sana scoots herself to where you’re sitting, closely, dangerously. 

“I’ve got some pull for you to rethink, take my offer into some light consideration.” she muses, and the leaning closer coming from you is seriously not helping. She’s got her hand laying below your knee, and she might as well be right under you with the ground advantage. 

That same lean is also curious; it’s also pretty familiar too - how the natural state of gravity works, Dahyun reeled you in to some similar form a long while ago - forget if or maybe if the fact she looked first or you looked first, it doesn’t matter. One key difference between that event and now was the fact that you realize that you’ve toppled over and into the swimming pool, clothes still on and everything, the brisk feeling of water washing over before you find yourself breathing, ears getting flushed out and replaced with Sana’s sweet laugh to top if all off. 

You swipe your hands through your soaked face, slowly floating to the shallow end while cringing at the present moment that just occurred. The blend on your shirt and sweats mold to your figure, like someone had slapped clay on you. Chlorine is not good for the eyes, obviously, so keep rubbing your eyes and clearing out any sinuses while telling Sana that you’re not inviting her in the next time after this night. 

Sana has this effect on people, so natural and open to the point with others that she’s hugging everyone and doing skinship as she pleases, you’re not far off from the latter, in fact–

“I thought you’d be a little more vocal with the fact I pulled you in,” she tells you, turning away slightly when you splash a hint of water as she approaches you. 

“It’s cold,” you say blankly, slicking your hair back while Sana closes the distance. Sly smile and everything. 

“That’s all you have to say?” she asks, “So dry.” 

“Aside from the fact that you’re swimming naked in my pool, I think there’s more pressing issues for me to take care of.” 

Pressing issues noted, Sana is well within arms reach, except you have another look at her charming face, her body under the water - she’s well defined in all avenues, fair skin that would even rival Dahyun’s for a quick comparison, her hands continue to do their own thing when they’re measuring the shape of your middle, fingertips grazing the soaked shirt and all. 

“I’m sorry” she breathes out, the faintest apology of them all. 

You’ve got your arms around her waist, not a care to fully realize what you’re actually doing; it’s a collapse in real time, her hand to the back of your neck: mistake #3. 

With a simple press of her lips on yours, she grips tightly, the draw of air clouding the intoxicating taste that has you humming a bit, the slide of her fingers down the line of your jaw before going off the rails with replacing the hand with a full on arm, hooking onto your neck while you move up to her upper back. 

But this inferno was unraveling. 

Her legs fill the gap between yours, hands are now on both sides of her face, thumb sliding across that prominent cheek bone that will have you sculpting out the details some other time. She’s kissing you like she wanted this to happen, the desperation, hunger even, like it would be the last thing needed over everything else, and you’d give that to her. It’s all sinking, that box of thoughts that was supposed to stay at the bottom of the ocean, the sealed lock intact and with no key to open, it’s resurfacing like the breaths of air you and Sana share with your faces just centimeters away from each other. 

“Do you think you can forgive me?” she stops to ask. 

A fucking truck of reasoning is what hits you, pulling back even more but your hands are now keeping Sana in place, just right above her ass holding at the hips. “Yes- no-” She pulls you in for another convincing kiss before another could be stolen on her cheek, the same sigh she sounded in your throat a few seconds ago comes around. “I don’t know anymore.” 

“It’s okay to not know.” Sana’s face softens when you can’t even bother to look her in the eyes now, tilting your chin up to support, lightly stroking it. “We probably shouldn’t.” 

She’s right. You’ve got to end this and you have to end it now.

“But what if we did?” You’re left breathing, in disbelief. 

“Would you want to find out?” Sana asks again, unsure but also confident. “There’s this kind of luxury I’m fascinated with discovering the unknown.” 

You’re thinking of these different stories in your head, the different kinds of graphs and tables riddled with numbers trying to come up with a logical case, predicting a scenario where you could forget about all of this, count the days until you won’t be alone again with the right person. Except Sana is dishing out all of these simple motions that have you leaning in for more, yearning. A hand is being slid across the shoulder, her face is suddenly closer with yours when you pull her towards you. “I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t afraid.” 

“Don’t feel bad,” she tells you, a comforting whisper, wisping in the breeze. “You’ll be able to catch on quickly.” 

(If there was anything that you’ve noticed while starting this new chapter: you’ve learned that the sly smile armed by Minatozaki Sana will have anybody flipping over, ruining lives and starting fires.) 

All common sense gets tossed out of the pool when you kiss her again, a choice that will have its own consequences when the time is right, the floodgates of sin opening harshly while you've just signed your one-way ticket straight to hell.

–

Another thing that you learn from the houses that are oozing with richness up and down the street is that money and sex have powerful selling points. 

This may be subject to change, but when you have an art piece like Sana stolen from the museum of her house (figuratively), all fingers and charges point toward theft, the necessary offenses that follow after don’t really matter as of right now. 

–

It’s not that difficult for you to fall in a place like this: carrying Sana up the steps but only stopping short at the doorway when she’s lapping her tongue into your mouth. She’s still wet in your hands from the pool, and you have the wall play as a part to keep her in place - the fit of your lips breaking apart before they find themselves again. 

“Mmm,” Sana hums into your mouth when you finally let her down, on the balls of her feet while your hands wrap around her waist again, knee lightly nudging the apparent line of your cock with the pads of her fingers soon after, testing it. 

“Hey,” you mumble, pulling away with an audible smack from her lips, tongue licking your mouth while she softly laughs, and again - it’s definitely on purpose when her hand palms your cock more firmly through the soaked sweatpants that has you gasping for a millisecond. “Trying to get on with it faster now, are we?” 

Her hand sets itself on your chest, eyes meeting with hers half-lidded, she knows what she’s doing, she knows that this is wrong, and she most definitely knows that this is on purpose. You tilt your  head more deeper only for her to stop you for not more than two seconds, before easily allowing you to kiss her once again. 

“Who’s leading?” Sana laughs at herself, still stark naked when your hands land at the rise of her hip, massaging the slope of her ass with the droplets of water gliding across your palms. “Wouldn’t be right of me to do all of the hard work, begging at the fact that you’re about to fuck me over in this huge house, get your fingers inside and finally have that perfect dick that Dahyun always talks about.” 

“She told you?”

“Much like every time we catch up. Always.” 

“What do you know so far?” 

Sana sighs when you kiss her again, the lines on her face softening like a flush of anxiety that suddenly went away in a matter of a second. Your hand is quick to travel to the back of her head, pull the elastic of her hair tie that lets her locks flow down while the counterpart is palming her warm, bare cunt, eliciting a slight gasp while you’re smiling into her skin. “She- she told me that you were disappointing the first time y-you guys did it.” 

“Oh?” you mutter, thumb tapping on her clit that makes her whole body stiffen while the pad of your middle finger slowly scoops under her folds, noting how much she’s gotten slick in the short span of time. “The inexperience was the main factor.” 

Another finger pushes inside, feeling the stretch while your ear receives the steady decline of Sana’s breaths, lip being pulled inward by the upper row of her teeth while her chest heaves, the heat becoming too unbearable to handle. She’s not one to let you take the easy route, putting her lips back with yours while you scoop under her luscious ass, walking past the doorway and into the bedroom - a space where Dahyun’s appearance was the common one - now introducing a newcomer that will make her case to stay. 

The landing on the bed isn’t gentle, and Sana slightly sets herself up on one elbow, while you’re tugging the sopped clothes off your body, trying to get a read into this pretty woman’s eyes of the things you want to do to her. You’ll make her cum, flip her into the mattress, have her bouncing on your cock later, get her whimpering while you drink in the sight of her pretty face just blown out, euphoric, the writing’s already on the wall before you even get a chance to draw the pen. 

“You think I’m gonna disappoint you with my performance? Maybe prove that Dahyun’s point still stands?” you ask her, making your space bigger over hers when you’re on top of her, pulling from the hips to get her to meet your thighs. Sana bites her lip in a short excitement, keeping her gaze on yours when her fingers finally wrap around your cock, giving a few experimental pumps while she spreads wider, opening the gates to an avenue that will have you packing your bags to the next house over. “Imagine if–”

“I’ll make you shut up about your worries, now fill my pussy up. With your fingers, your cock, just anything, please.” 

She’s desperate for you, and you have to admit it too, but when that first rush of every single sensation registering in your mind from the very instant you have your cock wrapped around her, sliding inside those lines with the small tug of your hips, pushing more while you could feel nails rip into your skin. 

It’s a new entry of data, the approach of how Sana’s pussy is downright perfect for you. There’s a slight throb, a misfire when the strokes are still hesitant, uncertain exchanges of breaths with the slow blinks between her eyes and yours. Uninviting, but all the more welcoming with her walls, clinging into the deeper ends of her cunt, breaking down the imaginary lines of numbers and rope circling through your head. 

“My, fuck–” and you also choke out something too when she says that, the muted cry she let out while you take a moment to readjust, sliding out before you yank Sana’s hips onto your cock again. “T-this is everything.” 

Like you need the exposition on the term everything. All of your worries wash away when you thrust more ferociously, the internal bomb in your brain ticking away the time every single speck of seconds that passes through burying your cock inside her. You’re nowhere near gentle at this point, the squeeze that has you mirroring Sana’s “hnns” over the claps of your thighs with hers, taking advantage of the arch in her back by hooking your arms underneath while one of her long legs locks around you. 

“So good,” she just groans out, relishing in the feeling of it. “Don’t stop–” 

You’re also not safe from it either, fingers resting alongside her midriff where her hands are placed on top, grasping at the new angle of your hips where it has her wheezing, the fresh spot of heat hitting the base also making your lose your sense of awareness, reduced to nothing but just a desolate being of a husband that’s throwing their marriage away. 

Her creaming cunt only keeps you focused, the pretty sounds and remarks coming out of her mouth has you giving her expressions of confusion, lust, shock, and maybe that longing look of when you see someone at first sight and it just kills you, right then and there. The sheets come undone, a pillow is used as a secondary support underneath her back, a clutch of the tit and she does this simple evil grab of your hips while you’re ruthlessly pounding into her helpless body, utilized as a vice the more you hold your end of the bargain. 

“Sana, you’re–” and again, the mind blanks out of this small blurb of praise before she just giggles for her response, fucking her so throughly that you’re running the different combinations of tempos to get her even more ruined, fucked dumb, maybe even have her begging to be used over your cock like this again soon - the eventuality of that notion will be all too apparent when the sun rises the next morning. 

She just clings to you, keeping your hips in motion while her hands cup around your face once more, pulling inward for that press of lips all over again like the beginning. You feel the wobbling lip, a thumb quick to keep her coaxing while she whimpers in absolute bliss. 

“I want you,” she huffs, and you’re falling through the cracks with every steady stroke of your cock between the opening of her legs, “to make me cum. Make a mess out of me and this pussy.” 

You’re taking shelter between her mounds, not wanting to look up in pension for the cardinal sins committed tonight, lips swiping up and down her neck that has Sana moan out in approval, the clamp of her walls tightening every return back to the bottom, her hands are over your back, tracing lines, fantasizing. She’s a fucking waterfall every thrust you take. 

“I’m- fuck–you’re gonna–gonna make me cum so fucking hard.” you feel the pulse impending, the muffled squeak that she makes in your lips, she’ll be the first to fall. That eruption happens fast, the spasm and tighter grab in her walls around you while she’s crying for now. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for this incident, a flashpoint in time that was probably bound to happen, fucking Sana in the walls of your own bedroom this hard– “You’re something else, just like you were meant to have me like this, God.” 

“Keep fucking me like this - god that feels so good, You and your cock it’s-” she huffs, barely smiling. She can see you slipping, at the edge, the litany of moans sounding like a siren out at sea. That mess she requested, you’ll give it to her, bury your cock in the deepest depths where it shouldn’t even be humanly possible, where the molten hot walls are bursting the thickness of your head, grinding out every cell and fiber - it’s possible. “Fuck, that’s so hot when you’re all fucked out for me.” 

“Sana,” you say, and she has your hand over her tongue, licking up the thumb, and you’ll swear that it’ll do damage to you for centuries. 

“Mhm,” she responds nicely, the last bit of the hum coming out as a hitched whimper, “Cum inside me.” 

That’s how she’ll want to do things. If she wants something, she’ll get it. You do the same amount of damage to her like she did to you while she’s begging, whimpering, getting all of the lovely noises of being fucked out to oblivion out of her mouth until she’s leaking - washing you over, from the legs, to the pillows and sheets. Stretching her out perfectly, get her to slur out phrases that she would say normally on occasions not like this, only to come back around and have you fill in between the gaps. 

You slip, she slips, it won’t matter, because you or her will make the catch, that extra push deep, maybe harder. The velvety drag already has you addicted to her, the sight of her body above this hips was just the plus. 

“God, Sana. So fucking wonderful.” you snarl against the line of her cheek, one last final dip that has your cum flooding deep into her warm, velvety cunt. 

The throbs of your cock has Sana mumuring softly, saying something like - yes, yes, keep fucking your cum into me, so that I can feel it - nice and hot, god yes. 

You slide out halfway, and her hips buck from the tender motion while your hands rub her thighs. And you also black out for a second when a few more spurts coat her walls even more, the pullout quick for a fist around the head of your cock, covering her waist in the remaining bits of cum still left inside you - well fucked and sloppy. 

Sana’s eyelids flutter shut, your hand rubbing along the oblique of your hips, that sense of desire finally fading away when you fully realize what had just transpired in the past hour or so. The lights are off in the house with the illuminating glow of the moon breaking through the window, tinnitus ringing in your eardrums and your eyes are fixated on Sana again, cross-eyed on the cum-soaked fingers she has, taking the liberty of sucking on them shamelessly, and the fucking noises she makes has your jaw to the floor. 

“Thank you,” she says, sweetly, innocently, sitting up on the bed with her legs crossed, the trail of cum still apparent on her stomach. “You certainly did not disappoint.” 

You, my friend, are entirely fucked. 

“What’s gonna happen to us now?” you ask her, rubbing your face and shaking your head in disapproval while Sana cleans the rest of herself up with her fingers. “I think we made–”

“Did I not tell you to worry?” Sana’s quick to shut you down, her look cross while you don’t even bother to meet her in the eye. This is supposed to feel wrong, it shouldn’t feel like anything else besides that. She scoots herself over to you with a quick kiss to your cheek, one that you accept openly, but still feel pensive over. 

“We can talk about it later,” she says, sliding herself into the rumpled sheets, patting down the open space next to her. “Would you mind if I stay the night? In your room? And in your bed?” 

“I can’t really turn down that offer,” you laugh, following along with a hand trailing up the side of her figure, giving a meaningful press of lips to the spot of her hair, “I actually like the company now.” 

“Would you also mind if I want it later when I can’t sleep?” 

“I’m seriously gonna hate you for this when we’re done.” 

“But I’m asking nicely.” she says, and hums this sweet tone when you lay next to her, feeling her ass shimmying against your cock underneath. “You’ll say yes,right?”

“Keep up with the needy act, and maybe I’ll have to fuck the want right out of you.” 

Sana rolls herself on top of you, finger tracing the lines of your face again, sketching, the bottom of her lip tugged by a pair of teeth. There’s that sly smile again, mischievous. It’s the reality now, she’s won you over. 

“Consider it a gift for you.” she adds, kissing you again before she goes slack on your chest, the wave of sleep finally setting in. 

–

(This actually comes later when you can’t dream a wink, staring up at the high ceiling: 

It only takes little effort for someone to make a house into a home - and you learn to the best extent possible, Sana slots in that missing piece where Dahyun is supposed to fill - without even fully realizing it. 

Her and Dahyun are two sides of the same coin, both give you this sense of ease and confusion that has you looking off while they’re trying to hide the inevitable laughs. They’re both also moodmakers with the way they look at you with the earnest smile, a reminder of one and the other that you’re not too far behind to follow. 

Every nick of the mouth moving, the glint in their eyes that will break you down from the shackles of rational thoughts while the springs in your bed are supporting the absolute fucking you’re doing over them. 

Maybe this summer will be saved after all.) 

–

When the crack of dawn breaks through the sunrise, you’re trying to recollect what little thoughts you have left of your deteriorating marriage; as in, what’s gonna happen to you when Dahyun finds out you’ve slept with her close friend who just happens to live in the house right next door, aside from other things. This space was now tainted in the heinous acts you’ve committed but the only thing that was filling the front of your mind was the amount of work emails you saw on your phone while waking up. 

“You’re just gonna leave me here in the bed all alone?” Sana asks, your back still turned to her when you mindlessly flick up the switch to your bathroom. 

A simple spin on the ball of your heel, and the image is just majestic to witness. 

This 5’3 brunette that’s all sunshine and rainbows, replaced by a deity that oozes sexiness and uncapped lust, lays on the side of her frame with an elbow propped up to support her head, hair still having that post-fuck frizziness to it, the sheets are covering most of her middle, but that outreaching left leg exposed, folds in, and you catch that slope of her hip, her ass is also not that far behind to look over. 

You already know her body all too well. If you could put someone that’s remotely close to the Greek god of Aphrodite, Sana would come very close to that. 

“Are you really expecting yourself to stay here?” you ask, fishing for your toothbrush before washing it with one hand, the other grabbing the minty toothpaste that was adjacent to it in the cup. “You know that I have work, not to mention working at home too.” 

You watch from the doorway when she sits up, the romp of her sheets falling over in front that shows that pale chest, her firm breasts that lay beneath her fine collarbones, there’s a new set of hickeys - the hickeys, showing your favorite spot to soothe her while she’s wailing in your arms, the rise and fall of her shoulders every breath let out has another wanting bite of her swollen lips. 

“Is it too much to keep you company?” she asks again, tugging on the comforter, hoping that she’ll get the right answer out of you.

“It’s not that I mind about the company of you, it’s the fact that others would get suspicious.” you retort, placing down the brush filled toothpaste on the counter, “That’s the last thing that I want to happen.” 

“How long has Dahyun been at trial with her firm?” 

“At least a couple weeks at this point.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“You need to go home.” 

“But your place is a lot nicer than mine, clean also.” she smiles, looking up little by little when you approach her on the edge of the bed. A hand is outreached with hers, and it’s damning how well it fits with yours, the automatic reflex of brushing your thumb over the highest peak of her middle knuckle. You don’t even flinch at the fact that she’s moved your hand over to her breast, tracing her nipple. It’s not hard to ease into these seductive advances, softly chuckling at the way Sana’s tit has a sort of weight to them - perky, but impossible to resist. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” you ask yourself, a little loudly for Sana to hear too, “I have to get ready.” 

“Breakfast on the table?” 

“Have you freshen up before you do the walk of shame next door.” you whisper, helping her up, swooping under her legs in a bridal carry. The tangle of her hairs on your chest when she leans her head in, laughing, the smell of citrus and lingering sweat. “The comforter was too heavy and hot anyway.” 

Sana just giggles, waving her feet in the air, into the bathroom where her skin glows a little bit lighter. “What’s the point of having that open room next to yours if it’s not used?” 

–

(There’s a lot of questions that don’t get answered. Partly because Sana can’t concentrate while you’re kneeling between her legs in the shower, lapping away at her clit, washing away any slick that’s left out; her fingers are splayed out across the tile, slipping, dripping away from her hips. 

You also shouldn’t be whispering these sweet nothings into her ear either, kissing her as if in another reality, maybe this too, could be a thing. It isn’t fair, it’s not right. She comes off as urgent, hoping to keep your mind off of the responsibilities sitting at your desk for just a little while longer. “Don’t do this to me.” That’s a plea, your mouth hovering over her neck, she has your dress shirt draped over her on the kitchen island with her knees apart again, filling in the space while she’s all porcelain teeth and warm tongue. She tugs on your lips like she wants every last bit of you, and it’s not worth fighting for. Her mouth gets on the cuff of your ear, and she whispers this spell, a curse rather, impending your fate even more: 

“I think you know all of the things that I would do to you.”) 

–

Fucking Sana has its own luxury. 

This living art piece wandering about in your house where no one else knows. She comes to your place, you go to hers, it’s a trade off that’s very easy to do when you’re just a few steps away from each other’s doors. 

We could also talk about benefits. The benefits. She asks for a couple favors - a helping hand to clean the house (yours or hers) as an example - you have some requests of your own, mostly to just have a quick bite of her cooking or pull some aged alcohol that was gifted to you a long while ago, half  the bottle already gone before the end of one night. It usually ends up with you sinking inside of her, caressing her gentle body, kissing the nape of her neck when your hips mesh with hers perfectly. 

It’s a new fun that’s profound in yourself. This super popular model that has every hot contact of companies you could name off the top of your head in her phone, taking a quick hiatus for some ‘me’ time. She’s got a solid income, her closet is full of brands that you take note of to give to Dahyun later down the line, and the sex man, it’s just fucking- well, terrific. 

If having Sana all to yourself was the prime exclusivity in its own right, the girls she invites over make everything much more interesting, just aside from the fact that she comes unannounced most of the time. Oh, and that girl in her picture framed back at her place, Chou Tzuyu, she’s a real sweetheart. You’ll have her tag along with Sana no matter what time of the day it is (or night, because you’ll always be free outside of work when it counts). 

Sana usually stays in your house more compared to hers, and she usually seeks you out first with a longing press of lips on yours. Tender, sweet, before you get into the best part of your regular business day, bending her over the nearest piece of furniture and dumping a nice hot load between her thighs while she goes on doing whatever you need her to do around the house to keep herself busy. 

She doesn’t let you have your way that easily. There’s this business call you’re doing, talking about how the numbers don’t really add up for this list of statistic report you were handed an hour prior, trying to fight the gravity of your head leaning forward–

“Sana, your fucking mouth. So good, jesus.” you mutter, cradling her head while she taps your cock on her perfect lips, laving her tongue over before she dips down again, pushing you past the tightness of her throat. 

–of the very person pushing your thighs apart underneath the desk when she primes at the very angle, bobbing her head slowly while maintaining that hypnotic friction of her hand over your shaft. 

You hit the key binded to the mute button on the call, not giving a single ear of the person in the session rambling about well, if we could get an extra day or two with the new inputs for the program, then maybe we the numbers that are put together can line up with the graph - ‘and, let me get this straight–’ 

“Mmph, god.” You’re broken down to just a few simple actions, combing Sana’s hair, guiding her silkly mouth onto your cock, and she doesn’t let up the fucking pace. You’ve got your fingers intertwined with hers on your thigh, not giving a care of how she’s so persistent to get you off like this, choking, drawing back for some air - her pinky and ring finger moving in this motion on the tip that has you shuddering. 

“Such a fucking hard worker,” she says, biting her lip, the glare in her eyes that’s nearly demonic while her tongue slips along the underside and upper part of your cock. “How could you talk so calmly while your dick is in my mouth?” 

“I’ve had practice before,” you answer, slightly smirking at the memory of Dahyun doing the exact same to you long ago, it’s no different.

Keeping it together wasn’t the option anymore, while the rush of Sana’s mouth is drawn back to you, proceeding with the online meeting as planned, discussing the future plans delegated to your coworkers. Too bad that they can’t hear the litany of gurgles and gags happening below your desk, struggling to not use one hand and keep Sana buried under there, watching with that lustful look in your eyes when she knows you’re about to pop, the shake of your leg as the sole hint to what she needs before putting both hands into the mix, all wet while every ounce of focus gets diluted to the ceiling. 

The meeting eventually ends while groaning at Sana’s throat bottoming you out, spilling inside that heat with a weak buck of your hips, shoving everything into her where your balls meet her chin. It just happens, more and more; her mouth is so fucked for you that some of the cum gets on her teeth when you slide out of her. The worst part: you’re still fucking leaking, getting it on her bottom lip, another rope above her eyebrow; the splatter doesn’t even end when she lightly presses a thumb down at the base and you get another drop to her cheek - it still isn’t fair when she wraps her fingers around, lightly stoking while your entire lower half of your body is still twitching once the work is all done. 

Sana can be evil, but she goes back to being a bundle of joy when she plants a kiss to the tip, pushing your chair back and kisses you back on the lips, wiping some remnants of your cum from your lips onto her fingertip while she sucks them cleanly. “Productive call?” 

“Got a few more clients to talk to, but thanks. I needed that.” you sigh, fingers on her chin to assess the proof, nodding Sana off to go ahead and wash up before cooking lunch. 

“You still want the usual meal?” 

–

Sana goes away for a few days, and the place gets hollow again. 

You have the phone in your ear with your manager to talk about potential vacation time (talk about great timing too), and with a press of a button on the TV, you see the headline on the channel broadcast: 

Dahyun and her firm won the trial. Which means that she’s finally coming home.

–

Dahyun’s homecoming is a bit short lived when you wait for her right on the street, her personal chauffeur rolling away while she’s walking to you with a duffel bag, a carry-on luggage, and her briefcase that she sets down before jumping into your arms. She smells soapy, a nice tinge of lavender when you bury your nose into the midpoint of her collar and neck. You tell her that you’re proud, give her the necessary congrats before dishing out the reassurance that you didn’t burn the goddamn place down while she was out saving her own job. 

“You didn’t miss much,” you say, watching Dahyun take a longing bite of the salmon dish you cooked for her, the hum of approval with that smile you’ve missed so much for god knows how many weeks has it been. “Besides the fact that you were saving your career, I kept myself busy with the projects at mine.” 

“Really,” she starts, “I would think that you’d drive yourself insane up until I finally managed to get back. That racing sim setup would literally drive your attention away from me, so I thought that was one of the things to keep you busy.” 

“I didn’t even have the whole thing unboxed yet,” you manage, swiping her glass of water for you to drink out of while she drives the knife into the food for another slice. “If anything, I was just cooped up in my office while keeping the house nice and tidy.” 

“Good to know. Have you been doing stuff with the others while I was gone?” 

“Who do you mean?” 

“I mean. Jihyo, Mina, maybe even Sana.” Dahyun says, and your gaze shifts from stoic to this more pensive one; like the last name makes you remember things that you’re not supposed to. “You did help with Sana right?” 

“I did. I was hoping that she left a handful of messages for you to read when you got off the plane.” 

The doorbell rings, and your wife is quick to answer it with that fast-paced walk of hers. By the time she opens the door, the home is filled with a familiar sound that was echoing through the hallways not that long ago, a week, three weeks even. 

Sana greets Dahyun with a loving embrace much like yours earlier this morning. Their conversation was pretty much filled with the usual ‘when did you get back?”, ‘you have to fill me in on everything that happened at your work!’, and ‘did you give him a hard time with the stuff you asked him to do?’ All of these questions have your head at an angle when you see the pair of them cling onto each other, like lost friends who haven’t seen each other but miraculously reunite at an airport after who knows what time frame you’d put them in. 

(Sana gives you this gaze, one that will have you kicking your heels while she combs down Dahyun’s hair, that sly smile of a girl who knows what they did, what she does to you.) 

You do nothing, just give her the simple wave and smile like nothing ever happened, while your mind plays a whole different tune and movie in the back of your head. 

–

(A small tidbit about montages: these moments in time from here on out to help shape up how stories play going forward. It’s not pretty, playing Sana’s game of chess while the ‘oh, my wife doesn’t know I cheated on her with her best friend who just happens to be our next door neighbor’ runs in your head. 

The blips don’t also fucking help either:

Instance #1: Another house party hosted by you and Dahyun where you bump into Sana in the kitchen, who returns with a playful tap to your crotch and a smack to your ass that has you buckling forward while you hear her laugh fade into the crowd.

Instance #2: Sana comes over for a movie night with Dahyun. While she went to use the bathroom, she uses this as an advantage to straddle over your lap, sucking your face up with her lips like a vacuum in the dark before she hurries back to her original spot on the couch, fixing up her hair and wiping her lips, playfully pointing at the hickey underneath your jaw that has you rolling her eyes by the time Dahyun settles back in the seat.  

And finally, instance #3: The infamous office room incident. Where you had a dinner party with the neighbors again to celebrate your promotional achievement of heading this massive project that would benefit into making electric cars more affordable for the common money maker. Everyone is having fun with the drinks and partying aspect of it while Sana is on her knees, again, in the dark, deepthroating your cock with the door open for anyone to notice. All urges are off the table when you and her stow yourselves away into the guest room (with the meticulously placed soundproof foam pads all over the walls) when you have Sana’s light body bouncing over your cock, hammering down her hot cunt for a few minutes while she bites her own finger when you switch up the tempo to be more slow, loving, a deliberate way where she can really feel every throb inside her. She has a hand to the small of your back, you’re covering her moans with your palm, making her cum over and over until she’s walking to her house with a stutter in her step. 

More incidents did occur, but there’s got to be a sense of craziness if we’re thinking of going through all of them.) 

–

“I’d say that things are pretty normal now,” you say, arm around Dahyun’s back with fingertips just grazing the top of her ass, legs over your lap while taking shade on the couch in the backyard patio, hanging out with a quartet of drinks on the table, two for you, and the other two for Sana and Tzuyu. 

They’re here on another hot Thursday, not wanting to risk a brownout with the a/c running for more than the viable six to eight hours that you’d normally have while working, taking a dip in the pool for a bit. Two pretty girls in clad bikinis: Sana in a revealing two piece that barely covers her nipples and pussy, Tzuyu in a striking singular bathing suit that shows those luscious thighs almost having you drool when she gets out of the water. 

“This was so much better than just walking around in our underwear around the house.” Tzuyu says, laughing, grabbing her bottle of this brand you pulled from the fridge when she takes a nice swig. You remember the faint memory of waking up one morning with Tzuyu and Sana, both of them taking turns fucking you in different parts around the house. Tzuyu on the couch in the living room and Sana again on your office chair, hopping along your cock while you’re typing in a report on the desktop. 

Sana’s laugh fills the atmosphere when she talks about pushing Dahyun into the pool, her look unamused when you stare at her in bewilderment while she sees Dahyun slap your shoulder, motioning you to take on the defensive. “You really have nothing else better to do than to spend your time with us.” 

“You and Dahyun are good company.” Sana says, dismissively, hand on Tzuyu’s thigh to also include her in the conversation. 

Dahyun shifts her legs off of your lap, pulling them in towards her while you sit up, leaning forward for the empty bottles before you’re stopped by Sana and Tzuyu, who both offered to get another round of drinks back inside while you relax. The pair of them both walk away, arm in arm, two beautiful girls with both bearing breathtaking asses, all within line of your eyesight. 

“You don’t think I know,” Dahyun says, snapping your gaze immediately back to her. 

“Know what?” you say, crossing your arm over while she leans in closer to you, making a face that looks very serious, but not threatening. A lick of your inner lip sends you uneasy while Dahyun’s eyes stare deeply into your soul. That deepening pit of anxiety inside your stomach has you second guessing on whether or not being honest and transparent with your wife should be the best route to go knowing what you did. What you’ve done. 

“Nothing,” she answers after, “Wanted to test something out of you.” Dahyun then leans her head into your collarbone while you stare out into the blue horizon hearing the sounds of Sana and Tzuyu come back with another bundle of bottles waiting to be downed. 

–

This happens entirely on a whim, and when you’re not even a part of the picture. 

Sana answers the door to her house, eyes shooting up when Dahyun’s at the top step, smiling with a bag from the bakery and a full bottle of sparkling cider. 

It’s the usual game of the catch-up conversation, Dahyun talks about her draining work from the trial, plus her extended vacation time handed by her boss. Sana talks about the upcoming collabs that she’s been appointed to, a plane waiting with an open door for her on the taxiway by the end of the month. 

Exchanging laughs, quick memories of their past hangouts. The high-school reunion type vibe has this sense of nostalgic feeling between the two of them, but Dahyun drops the act completely out of nowhere to talk about more pressing matters. 

“How long?” she asks Sana, placing her glass neatly on the counter across from her. 

“What are you talking about?” Sana says, swallowing down a lump of bread down her throat, worrying. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“I know you’ve been getting cozy with him,” Dahyun says flatly, “I just want you to tell me if that’s true or not.” 

“About?” 

“Getting his dick all up inside of you like you wanted.” 

“I thought you were okay with it?” 

“I never said anything remotely close to that.” Dahyun sighs, grabbing the half-full bottle of cider before downing it straight from the opening, placing it down right after while Sana taps her finger on the counter. “Besides, he’s probably worried that our marriage is ruined.” 

“Doesn’t seem that way.” 

“Sana, what are you implying?” 

“What I’m implying,” Sana prompts sweetly, stepping towards Dahyun around the counter, snaking a hand down her waist where it’s open in the crop-top, kissing her by surprise. Dahyun’s mouth opens wider, fingers curling around the nape of Sana’s neck, like an old memory locked away coming to light again. “Is that we show your lovely man that shouldn’t be the case between us.” 

She dips her face into Dahyun’s again, the kiss more intoxicating than the first initial contact. It’s how Dahyun melts down from Sana, the way her spine curves backwards, Sana’s hands there at the perfect time to support her, both of them are panting into it, how open they were about their feelings for each other before you waltzed in to have Dahyun all to yourself. 

“I hate how I like you and him both.” Dahyun gasps when Sana plants her lips across her neck, her hands grasping her waist and ass that gets this hum of approval from Sana on her skin. “Maybe we could find a probable compromise to solve this little problem?” 

“Is it the same compromise I’m thinking of seeing his pretty eyes when we cum all over his cock?” Sana asks with a wink while Dahyun just giggles into her chest. 

“I love it when you and I are on the same page.” 

–

A sigh leaves your lips when you hear how the metal grinds inside the lock of your doorknob, pushing the front door open to see the surprise of an article of clothing, sitting at your feet, tilting your head to the side when you pick it up to see that it was a cropped shirt. The soft sound of the humidifier fills the eerie silence when your eyes notice another piece of clothing a few inches away from the shirt, connecting the dots in your mind realizing the trail of clothes up the stairs. 

Once up the steps, the pieces start to get larger: first a shirt, then some stockings, the door leading into your bedroom was ajar, the knob hanging with two pairs of panties. The hinges on your door squeak but so quietly, and your ears are greeted with a familiar laugh, not just one, but two. 

Without producing any more noise to make your presence known, your eye captures the sight of Sana on your bed, dipping her head lower to a girl laying underneath, caressing her face while the other girl giggles, returning the kiss openly. It’s pretty peculiar, when you also realize that both of them are naked on your mattress, it’s also really fucking peculiar when you connect the dots that the girl laying underneath Sana is Dahyun of all people. 

“I suppose that Sana’s little secret was finally let out by her.” you finally say, leaning on the door frame with the smooth wood wide open. And when the both look up at you, Sana looking up and forward, Dahyun looking from under while laying still, fuck, it’s sending signals to your brain at the image of them on top of each other like this, a mesh of skin on skin, their pretty faces stacked on their chins - you could sketch it on an easel, because that’s a literal art piece in real time. 

Your mind doesn’t even register the few seconds after, when both Dahyun and Sana make way towards you, the movement of their bodies in perfect sync, hypnotized at the way you watch how they stand on their tiptoes - ghosting their hands all over your chest and hips while your hands tend to their asses, palm at the defined fit of them, softly laughing. 

“We had,” Sana and Dahyun both say each word in different pauses, something straight out of a horror movie at the way they ad lib each other’s utterances. “An idea,” Sana adds. “That you’d hope you’ll like.” Dahyun finishes. “Would you like to see what we were discussing?” 

(God picked your battles, and maybe you could let him off the hook just this once.) 

“Impress me,” you simply say, while Sana pulls your head into hers when she kisses you in front of Dahyun. 

–

So Sana and Dahyun return to the positions where you first found them.

The only difference being, Dahyun hanging her head off the bed upside down, dragging her tongue across the seam of your balls while Sana’s tongue slips inside your mouth, her slender fingers giving these languid strokes to your cock while the pair of them just hum in content, getting you ready when all of the gears are primed to click. 

The contrast between the two of them, Sana being gentle with her lips while Dahyun is the complete opposite with hers, aggressive with the way her tongue swipes across the underside of your cock, her hands wrapped around your thighs to get more of those lavish licks at the base that has you counting stars behind your eyelids early. 

“How are you rock fucking hard?” Sana husks, brushing her lips against yours while Dahyun leaves a path of pecks to your inner thigh before she rolls her body over, looking up with her doe eyes while Sana lets herself fall right next to her, flipping her hair back while the sheets crinkle at the elbows, reflecting the same look before flashing her eyes back at Dahyun. “Makes me wonder who you’re gonna finish inside of at the end of this.” 

“Didn’t know that this was a competition,” you say, mind zoning out when Sana draws her tongue up your underside now in a quick lick, Dahyun smiling on the opposite end doing the same exact thing, that will most definitely bite back your words. 

It’s only right that Dahyun gets to be the first to push your head into her mouth, inhaling a bit while her tongue smoothes out across the area, delicately brushing along the length that sends the synapses in your spine on an electrical current. Sana just looks in awe at how much your wife is taking you, twisting a hand in play while she plants a wet kiss to her temple. 

You could get lost in the finesse of how Dahyun’s small hands skate up your length, the cushion of her mouth already enough to have your tongue between your teeth, but Sana didn’t come her to just watch, tapping lightly on her shoulder and sliding you out of one heat into the next, and the expectation you had for Sana blowing you always gets thrown out the window. 

“Fucking whore she is,” Dahyun rasps when Sana lowers her lips more down your cock, rolling along with the lightest graze of her teeth along the top, a twitch of your legs with a billowing puff of your cheeks to let them know that what they’re doing is working. How many times has he let you blow him under the desk? You hear Dahyun ask Sana, pulling some stray strands of hair from her side when she clasps her lips at the base, keeping you there in the sweltering heat. 

“Oh Dahyun,” Sana reprimands, “You have no idea how much I’ve made him cum while you were away.” 

A hand is thrown into the mix, behind both of their heads when they meet the glints in their eyes, uniformly taking your cockhead from the side, slowly sliding down at the suction, how they both fluidly slide you in their mouths in alternating fashion. Sana popping with her mouth, Dahyun swiping along the slit the next second. 

“Christ girls,” and you could hear the giggles of satisfaction to your amazement when they both have a hand along the length, stroking slowly to the point you can’t even look them in the eye. “You had this planned for a while now, haven’t you?” 

“I was against Sana’s crazy idea,” Dahyun purrs, face flushed when you notice that Sana’s hand is at her rear, fingers dipping into her cunt that’s already slicked up, waiting to be stretched, “but then she convinced me otherwise after some- propper persuasion.” 

“Tell me,” Sana chimes in, that innocent pout with her pursed lips doing absolutely no justice to how she looks right now, “Who do you think is the bigger slut between the two of us, me? Or Dahyunie?” 

Dahyun guwaffs when she leans into your palm, slapping your cock along her lips while you thumb the soft skin on her temple, swiping the underside of your head makes you grit your teeth at the amount of teasing they’re both doing. “Maybe he should fuck our faces to see,” she suggests, “Who could choke the hardest over this fucking cock.” 

(With a pair of wide open eyes, you could only mouth the word, “fuck.”) 

“You’d like that anyway, won’t you daddy?” 

The obedience settles in when both of these girls let their hands rest on the edge of the bed, finger and thumb wrapped around your cock when you tell both of them to hang their mouths open, rubbing your tip around the rim of Sana’s lips when she opens wider, wider until her jaw fully slacks at the whole length, and you love how she’s a pro at this. 

You take your deserved pleasure of how each of these girls' mouths feel around you. Sana’s lips being so unbearably perfect with those pretty lips of hers, sliding out and have Dahyun practically inhale your cock next, her eyes blinking up over the tight seal she has over you. “Jesus, baby–” 

Sana helps play the guide fucking your cock more into Dahyun’s mouth, the subtle flick she has sliding around with every move and thrust flushing into her throat. Her small lips were already ahead of the curve mirroring Sana’s movements a few minutes ago, the pressure sending waves from your hips up, lightly clutching her hair to keep the ache building. 

“Taking your baby so well, huh?” Sana growls over the sound of Dahyun desperately slipping her head down your length. “You like how she’s deepthroating you after not having your cock for a whole month?” 

“Feels so fucking good,” you answer, spreading your legs apart to keep Dahyun’s mouth on your cock warm, moaning so loud when Sana’s other hand works your balls, fingernails scratching along the ridges of skin while she fingers her, the moans sending vibrations along your shaft nearly breaking you. “Keep- gonna cum on this pretty fucking face.” 

Borderline filthy, almost off the fucking rails. Sana doesn’t like to play fair when she pulls Dahyun off of your cock, the drag of her tongue stripped off with a line spit connecting to her lips that’s soon catered to Sana’s mouth kissing Dahyun again, and the sight in itself is a blessing that you’ll never take for granted, how their faces tilt every second they meet, the smile breaking at the corner where you could notice them, delicately letting their fingers explore their faces, hooking into their hair and necks, the rise and fall of their shoulder every breath taken. 

Sana’s head spins out of control when she’s pushed onto the pillows of the bed, propping on her elbows while Dahyun spreads her knees apart more, kissing up the line of her inner thigh. “Dahyun,” she rasps, head reeling back when she’s getting close to the center, “I’ve been dreaming of this to happen for so long: you eating me out while your husband is oh- looks like he’s already ahead of the–” 

You don’t pay attention to their short exchange of words, relishing in the taste of Dahyun’s pussy, licking past the slit when you grip her asscheeks a little more tighter, a slip of the tongue over her clit, lapping up in the ways that you know your wife likes. 

Like the trail of clothes to the bedroom, your vibrations transfer up to Dahyun’s mouth and into Sana’s cunt; it’s a connecting line of fucking when you slide your tongue deeper, where the heat is the most hot, hooking your arms over Dahyun’s thigh’s while Sana grips her head, whimpering the moans where she’s left struggling for air. 

“Look at us, Dahyun, shit, he’s eating away at you, you’re eating away at me, this is so fucking good.” 

Sana’s the first to sputter, the amount of hums in approval, cracking under the faults. You and Dahyun are on the same page when you’re slipping two fingers in - then three; Dahyun catches on while getting fucked over, adding her four fingers into Sana’s stretching pussy. She’s gonna lose it. 

That whine she makes, when she’s over the edge, it’s the missing symphony in your ears. 

“Yes, I’m cum– gonna fucking cum,” she cries out, Dahyun leans all the way in, back arched in a way that would rival a gymnast. The way your fingers are clutching at her snowy skin, enough to easily scratch and draw bruises, she’s quivering when you’ve also made her reach the peak like Sana: these meaningless sounds, air getting more static through their tracheas. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” Dahyun whines out matching Sana’s volume, hips tensing while your mouth is pressing against the pucker of her ass, tongue and finger tag teaming while she fucks Sana through her sensitive pussy, past the first hurdle of cumming and skating a pair of fingertips over her clit, making Sana lock her knees while the circles on her nub continue, speaking complete nonsense and in mewls. 

“I’ll fuck you now, just like you wanted.” you spit, pulling yourself closer to Dahyun by the hips, her whole body relaxing when you have the head of your cock, skimming the folds of her pussy while Sana cradles her head on her boobs, leaving languid kisses while Sana puts her legs up underneath. 

“Need it–” Dahyun pants, only to be shut up by Sana kissing her again to keep her dazed. 

“What do you need, honey?” you ask, leaning forward to kiss the line of her back, hand massaging her waist before you retract your hand up the dunes of her hip, onto the divot of her hip while impulsively smacking your wife’s ass that makes her yelp at how hard you hit it. 

“Your cock- need your cock inside me-” She can barely answer while she’s drunk at the teasing of your cock along her pussy while Sana’s lips work her neck. “Need you to fuck me.”

“Well, he’s gonna have his work cut out for you isn’t he?” Sana asks, massaging Dahyun’s waist while the top of your thigh meets Sana’s ass, licking your finger to make her squeal when you rub it on her clit, and you get several. “Fucking our brains till we’re drained.” she tells you, watching as you stroke the length of your cock. How long could you hold out? How much can you handle? You’ll be good for us, let you easy- until you’re cumming a whole fucking mess. 

Sana means business, Dahyun is already putty just waiting to be put back into a tube and spilled over on the bed. “You two will be good girls for me, and I’ll fuck you guys right.” 

You mean what you say, it’s in existence. And when you push your head into Dahyun’s perfect pussy, the opening rips out a tone within her that you’ll always remember - sucking in an air at the clamp, taking you all the way. Sana smiles at the wince Dahyun makes, holding her face when you pull back, slowly thrusting halfway, the tightness leaving you speechless. 

That very moment where you’re sinking - where you don’t even have to say anything. (Because Dahyun was just made to take your cock that doesn’t feel undeserving at all.) Her ass is spread out, cunt gripping the whole fucking length while she buries her head into Sana’s neck. You could also hear a hush come from Sana’s lips while you’re still fixated on your cock disappearing inside of Dahyun. 

“Just-” Dahyun sputters, the octave in her voice going up pitch by pitch, fucking her soaking hole while you’re pushing everything to the possible ability you can, where you can feel the clench around your head, sobbing, hands over the dough of her ass, getting her cock drunk until you senselessly empty yourself inside her. 

“Harder,” Sana chides, tongue on the neck while she’s the supporting beam of the shaking girl laying on top of her. “I want her to be broken in two.” 

So you keep pounding, this familiar angle with your hips to where Dahyun has died before, shrieking while she feels like she’s floating in her head. When you see her head move over to the side, her profile in view, you’re blown away by the fade of her blush, Sana’s hand underneath to her chin, her back arched to the highest point she could possibly have it in, pistoning yourself in like it wasn’t the daily routine as it is, not ever realizing that it would never stop being like this. 

When her moans reach the apex, you could see Dahyun mouthing something, a wobbling lip hindering for her to even say the words properly - Baby, I’m gonna fucking– cum so hard on your- 

One final push in, and her entire lower half shakes, a dam finally cracking under the pressure. 

Sana’s just there to admire the artwork of her face, while reassuring that everything will be taken care of once all of this is done, a kiss to the lips while your cock continues to slowly plunge deep, cumming on your hips, the warmth too comfy to even leave. This would be great, one more sense of presence in the bed that will be a mainstay from now on. 

“Look at you doing so well for him,” Sana says, and she’s still laughing, drunk on the sounds of Dahyun while her half-lidded eyes are telling a different tale. “You’ve missed his big fucking cock, fitting so perfectly inside you, hmm? Look at how much you creamed all over him, ugh, filthy.” 

Dahyun just shudders while you’re massaging her inner thigh, pulling the head of your cock out of her fucked pussy, slapping the head agasint the sensitive clit, and you chuckle lightly at the small twitches she makes every hit that she feels; once, twice, thrice, and even the fourth. 

“Was that enough to satisfy you?” you ask, learning over to get your face in between the two pretty girls, getting a whiff of your wife’s hair while Sana’s quick to plant her lips on the cuff of your ear, bold, trying to hide how badly she wants the next go at you railing her. “Could you take more tries before your cunt gets my load all up inside of you?” 

“She’s not gonna answer that for you right away.” Sana sliding herself down, her fingers fluttering around your shaft. She does these circular motions alongside the skin that had your head sideways the other day back on the couch, realizing how sterile you were at being delicately handled, she’ll play that to her advantage, and she always finds something new. 

“Now that you had your fill with her,” she continues on with this while showering Dahyun with peppered kisses across her breasts. “Don’t you think I should have a go? Make you throb to the point where I get to feel the teeny bits of precum before you burst?” 

“Sana, that’s not nice.” you tell her, lightly tapping Dahyun’s waist, leaning over to the nook of her neck to whisper something. Have her something to do while keeping Sana’s mouth occupied, because I hate how she doesn’t shut up about things like these. And Dahyun follows along, still coming down on her high, shimmying her way up on her knees and when she finally hovers over Sana’s face, you see the quick peek of her tongue tip in preparation while your fingers are working fast around Sana’s thighs, pulling her towards you and priming Dahyun for the perfect angle. 

“Should we shut this little slut up, honey?’ Dahyun asks, biting her lip at you while you slapping your cock along Sana’s folds, to an amount enough for her to hide the growl coming out of her mouth. “I think she’s a little too antsy for the both of us.” 

“Ladies first,” you smirk, providing the common courtesy, dipping your cockhead in before backing out, catching the small ‘fuck’ being let out by Sana. Dahyun takes the quick moment of weakness as an opportunity to finally sit on her face, her hand also quick to rub her clit while the woman’s open mouth on her pussy starts to tear away at the threads, and you know Sana well enough to describe the feelings. 

It’s listed as this: tight, so fucking tight to the point that it should be considered to a world class delicacy that’s not meant to be enjoyed leisurely. 

That sharp draw of air through the thin lines of your teeth, finding that leverage into her cunt, easing into her, trying not to get ahead of yourself when she’s finally flush with your hips. You could hear the hum of satisfaction through Dahyun, her hand gripping Sana’s hairs between her legs, lightly grinding her cunt over her wet, hot mouth. 

“Right there, yeah, there we go.” How your cock stretches alongside the walls, spreading her apart. It’s always a real show to keep both eyes open on, no quarter of the inch left behind. Sana would be this tornado that swoops in places, taking people off their feet. In trade for that, she offers a grace with her person - a vibe that comes off as rich, tied to materialism, to be used as a personal fucktoy when the time is right, and that instance of ‘time’ happens to be legitimately, every time. 

You could take days to figure out how you managed to get in this position. It’ll only take you hours, minutes; hell, maybe even less than a few milliseconds to wrap your head around the fact of how full you make Sana with your cock, providing the same structure of strokes, slowly building up pace like with Dahyun a few minutes ago. 

“How’s he feeling, Sana? Does he fill you up well like he said that he would?” Dahyun finally says, hair curtaining the right side of her face while Sana’s eyes can only look up while her mouth works her pussy again. The gluttal sounds of moans and chokes and smacks of Sana’s lips on Dahyun’s other lips, the only thing that she can do while you’re splitting Sana apart, her also doing some small movements so that she could fuck herself back onto your cock. 

Dahyun pulls her hips up for Sana to speak, “Oh baby, it’s fucking me so deep. Want him - want daddy to fuck this pretty pussy–all for him.” 

“Is that something you can do…fuck her cunt the same way you fucked my cunt?” 

This takes a pause, flashing a gaze to Dahyun while you could feel the muscles flex in Sana’s legs and hips, driving yourself into her continuously, keeping a rhythm in check. The demand that’s being proposed doesn’t even register in your mind and Dahyun does this swift motion of doing a complete one-eighty of her hips, pressing her ass down onto Sana’s forehead, leaning over with a hand onto her waist while the other pulls your face in with her small fingers. You’ll have to pay attention, because her lips are quick to keep you from snapping out of Sana’s perfect pussy. 

“What are you asking me to–” 

“I want you–” one kiss to get you drunk from Dahyun, “to fuck her properly–” another kiss to keep focus, “until she cums–” nothing wrong with having a third kiss, “all over this perfect cock.” 

Your hand is quick to reach across for Dahyun’s breast, kneading it in a way that she knows that she’s still yours, her eyes flickering down to the sight of your cock sinking back into Sana’s blown cunt, floating a pair of fingers on the clit, watching as you tear her apart, not wanting to shy or look away herself. 

Sana’s quick to pull her face off of Dahyun’s ass, gasping for air before sweeping the flat of her tongue across her pussy once again, “So fucking perfect for me, daddy, please, don’t stop,” is what she says to you while you can see her legs go limp slightly from the sides. 

The creaks of your lofted bed frame are singing at the shift of movement between the bedsheets and pillows, pulling yourself (with Sana inside still) up to the edge, planting both of your knees when you bottom yourself a little bit more deeper. You notice the image of Sana’s face fucked out, how she’s blushing, twisting her head to the right with her eyes closed, Dahyun manages to stave off to the side, taking a momentary break while you carry on with teasing Sana’s swollen clit, getting a few whines, moving her head against the sheets in a brief tantrum. 

“Had enough yet?” you had the frame of asking, smiling alongside the line of Sana’s neck while the temporary angle of your cock just nudges that one spot you’ve managed to hit a couple times, the symphony of Sana’s little ‘oh’s’ when a small move of the hips just has Sana’s cunt clenching the head of your cock to send you gasping as well. 

“Stop - stop with the questions,” she huffs, body stiffening before the wave of relaxation when you’re leaving more pretty bruises along the drawn canvas of her middle, licking up the deserved sweat of your hard work that’s also staining the sheets, along with the soaking that’s between your legs and hers. 

You get a command, Sana looks up in a panic when Dahyun tells you to start fucking her harder, lifting the small of her back to get her horizontal with the mattress. 

The levels just only seem to go up higher than then; Sana’s eyes being pulled down and rolled back. She knows you’re hitting the right spot, because of how she’s lightly pulling her legs up, you doing most of the support when she’s drawing these hitches of air, shuddering all over your waist while you push her beyond that edge. Her head is doing this bobbing motion when you slide with that upstroke, and you could feel the drag of her nails digging into your forearms that would seem accidental in another circumstance. 

Dahyun plays spectator, catching her breath, hand toying between her thighs while you’re fucking the girl beneath you into a spilled puddle all over your lap. 

“Are you seriously getting off without my help?” you ask, effortlessly gliding into the folds of Sana’s cunt. “Touching yourself while your best friend is taking my cock, sweetie? God, look at her, she’s wrecked.” 

Sana pulls you in with little strength she has left, able to get her arms around your neck and shoulders, tightening that pull even more against you. 

“Want you to cum,” she pleads, “I want you to cum inside and just, fuck, you don’t–” It’s miserable, hopeless, the power you have to just do exactly that with the way both Dahyun and Sana are both moaning and panting and just straight up rubbing both of their swollen clits while the length of your cock is still drowning in one of them. 

It’s how you do these broad strokes, slowly, strategically, a technique that you’ve perfected over the amounts of times you’ve got yourself completely fucked over, balls tapping above the pucker of Sana’s ass when pulling yourself in from the top of her thighs, a holding point while doing the best punishment of teasing you could ever do for someone like her. 

(Calling Dahyun over: shut this bitch up for me, please?) 

It’ll do you numbers in which: you’re still fucking Sana insanely hard still, with Dahyun’s head hovering above the present action. 

Sana’s clutching on to Dahyun’s leg, pressing her eyes into the skin, not wanting to let this fantastic feeling ever end, muttering all of the lovely things that she’s told you before multiple times. You could see the tug on her lips, tilting your head at how familiar the look was because you’ve seen it the first few times at how she couldn’t believe that you’d feel this good inside her, to get her stomach transformed into ashes and have her seeing stars. Sana’s body is “Pandora’s box’ full of lust, just waiting to be opened until you’ll give her opulence of what she needs from you, to fill her up. 

“Fuck her through and through,” Dahyun orders with this hint of anger, “need to see her cum–” 

“Give me your mouth, princess,” retreating from Sana’s exhausted cunt and getting Dahyun’s mouth all over you, cleaning up the mess of Sana’s slick right off of your length, stomach dipping when her throat swallows almost the entire half. 

Your ears are zeroing in on the gags your wife is making on your cock, doing a double feature while her fingers are rubbing Sana’s clit to keep that ache, grasping a high ponytail with one hand, sucking away that will have you dreaming that the tension is almost tempting of spilling inside her throat right at that second. Dialing back with what little warning you have left, slipping back into the other hot warmth below her chin. 

Despite the numbness clouding your brain, the obscene sounds of hums and whines tie in perfect tandem while you’re gliding back into Sana’s cunt, alternating between the tender rings of muscles, stretching around your cock in a one-two step: Dahyun’s mouth sliding and slobbering down your length, teasing Sana with your cockhead in her cunt massaging the walls around that squeezing vice. 

You’re not at fault for when it happens: face red hot from within, the sound that rips through your vocal cords while your knees buck at the sensation of Sana’s ass bouncing back off the edge of the bed, and the small gyration of her hips when you’ve driven all the way to the hilt, she can sense it too.

Again, you’re not at fault for the way your cock pulsates that first second inside Sana’s sopping fuckhole, the first shots at the deepest pit where you could take it, twitching while you’re trying to save yourself from losing all of it from the first hold. Any second longer inside that lovely heat will have you rethinking your life choices up until this point. 

You pull out, fist tight around your cock when you could see the lower point of your tip, giving an act of generosity firing another shot of cum inside Sana, cock out in the air where Dahyun sees the opportunity to lean in, drinking in the remaining spill that–

Scratch that, it’s not remaining, because you’re cumming everywhere. 

There’s drops of white spilling from the front of her lower lips, pumping out the leaks on the flat of Sana’s stomach. Shit, you even managed to get a few globs on Dahyun’s cheek, even up to Sana’s right tit. It’s all fucked, you almost topple over on top the both of them, the arm serving as a last gasp foothold while the color drains from your face. 

Dahyun pushes you up with both of her hands, staring at you with the splotches of your release slowly sliding down alongside her cheek. She’s taken aback with the load, but what she does with it–

(Well, don’t be surprised. She’s the love of your life for god’s sake.) 

Two fingers skate off some of the cum off her profile, rubbing it on her lips. You draw yourself away while Dahyun helps Sana sit up on the bed, her hand quick to dip under her cunt where she picks up more of your cum that you’ve spilt inside. Sana catches on quick to lick off the cum off of Dahyun’s cheek, tongue sliding across the plane to swallow, the small ‘mms’ and audible smacks of lips colliding. Dahyun just laughs when she examines her palm, placing it underneath her mouth and Sana’s both of them licking the dribble up like two birds in a bath, washed over with sweat and slick and filthy and–

“So fucking gross,” Dahyun says, finger to the arch of Sana’s brow, wiping a wisp of hair off. “Like, are you gonna be so full of yourself–”

“Hey,” Sana tuts, “Don’t get all mad now that I’ve managed to push his buttons better than you.” She then slumps herself over Dahyun’s lap, hand massaging her waist while Dahyun leans back on her palms, crossing one leg up the edge to support her head. They both get secluded in their own little world, whispering these different sayings to each other with a soft smile at one, a scrunched nose to the other. 

You manage to slot yourself to the side, next to Dahyun, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, “I thought this wasn’t a competition over me.” 

The pair simply roll their eyes, Dahyun runs her fingers through Sana’s hair, unconsciously, affectionately. They’re still coming down from all the fucked out clarities while they simply - just - look. Being proven wrong wasn’t that much of a loss in itself; in fact, it was actually inviting when you’re giving them the same confused expression that has the brain questioning everything from the plain existence to whether or not this new reality was even sustainable amongst the three of you. 

“We could all agree to an accord together,” Sana says enthusiastically, “like distinguished human beings- or, something like that.” 

(I mean, there’s a blueprint to draw up for that extra room anyway, but you’ll get to that later.) 

–

It’s during one Saturday morning, when the plates and bowls of today’s breakfast are already in the sink, you have a single carry-on duffel bag in your hand, placed on the highest step of the stairs, taking in that crisp air through your nose. Everything comes to a gentle slope, the clouds are high up in the sky, meshed up together, shielding the landscape from the beaming sun, and the time hasn’t even hit noon yet. 

“I just don’t get it.” you beam, elbows on the railing while your eyes get caught up in a pair of blue jay’s gliding past the street, fascinated by the companionship of nature. Only to have your attention drawn to the awaiting car on the driveway, Dahyun’s personal chauffeur (and to this day you’re still wondering if that person even gets paid or not). “All of this trouble of having a vacation, get reeled back into working, have more time off than expected, but still decide to take up another work order again?” 

Dahyun steps out the doorway, slapping your arm, leaving your face with a small wince that you play off with dead eyes. “I could call Nayeon to put in a word for Momo. If you’re making such a big deal out of it, I might as well tell them myself that I wanted more time off than need be.” 

“You said that it was work related.” you tell her as the counterargument.

“But it’s not!” Sana bursts out, all smiles while you’re walking down the pathway with another bag in your hand onto the asphalt. “Such a buzzkill, as if you didn’t want the whole place to yourself to burn down. You spend wayyyy too much time up in your little office, so consider this to be punishment.” 

“Where did this come from?” you ask, flustered, with arms up trying to play the innocence card. 

Dahyun pulls Sana’s singular luggage from her hand and into the trunk of the car, the bag you were carrying also next to be put before a shut off of the compartment. “We’ve been planning this for sometime, and now we’ve decided to do it. Together.” She pulls up her own passport with an airline ticket shoved in between the pages. You could probably guess where they’re going, judging from the assortment of clothes that they’ve packed, it must be somewhere tropical, like Cancun or in the Bahamas, maybe even Malaysia was on the cards, but you take it with a grain of salt. 

“Is this supposed to be a besties trip that I didn’t even know about until now?” you ask the two girls standing behind the car, leaning back onto the glossy material of the paint job while your arms are bridged between your chest. “I’m also assuming that this is predetermined–” 

“Stop being so analytical.” Sana groans out, “You really have to think twice about what our summer plans were?” 

“Maybe he just needs a few conditions.” Dahyun adds on, nudging Sana’s shoulder to which her face suddenly lights up in excitement. “Besides, he’s really good at reading between the lines, like, you know, he has a good thing for body language - go ahead, test him, I’m sure that he’ll show off like he always does.” 

(It’s how you catch yourself shaking your head downwards to the Earth, hiding the grin that’s breaking on your face because Dahyun knows how well you observe your surroundings. She’s trying to play dumb at the fact that she went ahead to grab your duffel bag while getting the shower ready for yourself. You also notice that Dahyun’s driver got her roughly about ten minutes early to put your bag in the trunk and pretend that nothing ever happened. It’s cute when she gets sneaky and mischievous, because Sana will always buy into what she devises to get you stressed, a migraine pounding through the back of your head, taking it out when you have both of them moaning underneath or straddled on top of you.) 

So you say: “Are there any guarantees to this if I do what you ask?” 

Dahyun puts her passport out in front, shifting her thumb over to show yours underneath. You pretend to be shocked with lifted eyebrows, but you already have them figured out. 

“Honey,” Sana says, blinking with her teeth peering through her smile, “I can guarantee that you've got us both.” 

[drabbles-mc]

We Were Just Leaving

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut (protected p in v), language, alcohol, strangers to lovers

For Week 2 of Hot Bucky Summer: "What should I call you?"

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: my first time ever writing smut for bucky. it truly is a Hot Bucky Summer! 😂 biggest thanks to @buckybarnesevents for putting on this event! endless appreciation for all of your hard work 💞 maybe i'll write more for these two in this event if another prompt strikes inspo for them 👀

Going out on your own to get a drink and decompress after a long week had sounded like a great idea until about three minutes ago. Ever since then you’d been silently kicking and cursing yourself for not taking up your coworkers on their Happy Hour offer. The last thing you’d wanted to do after the way your week had gone was socialize, even with coworkers that you generally liked and got along with.

But now that seemed like the greatest thing in the world compared to the situation you were about to find yourself in. Theo from the finance department and his same half a dozen jokes seemed like a dream to be across a table from compared to your ex who had just walked through the door of the bar you were at.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

You had less than a couple minutes to try and scamper out before he saw you. And the only reason you had that kind of time at all was because the bar was busy and it would take longer to spot you in the midst of everyone. But the second that your ex got up to the bar with his buddies to order drinks, your cover would be blown.

You dug some cash out of your purse, tossing enough onto the top of the bar to cover the one drink you’d ordered so far and the tip for the bartender. You were zipping your bag back up as you were hopping off the stool that you’d been sitting on. Your eyes were fixed on your purse, frustrated that this was the one time that the zipper decided to jam. The whole time you were straining your ear to make sure that you could hear how close your ex was, trying to hear his voice or his laughter.

“Fuck,” you were trying to weave your way through the crowd but the clusters and groups of friends all lingering and waiting for their chance to slink up to the bar and order were all packed tightly. You didn’t remember when this spot became a popular place to be. You huffed, trying to say, “Excuse me,” loud enough for people to hear you but not so loud that it came across as rude or drew any real attention to you.

A pocket of space opened up and you were more relieved than you should’ve been. Clutching your bag tight to you, you took long, measured strides to try and slip through the small groups of people that had parted ways just enough for you to sneak through. You were almost to the other side of them, almost out of what would be an easy range for your ex to see you, when someone took a step backwards as they laughed and inadvertently bumped right into you.

The fact that it was an accident did nothing to soothe your nerves. Them stepping back sent you stumbling mid-stride and bumping right into someone sitting at one of the few small high-top tables that the bar had scattered around. You felt a hand on your back and the heat flaring up in your face and you were already sputtering out five different apologies at once before you’d even fully turned around to face the person you’d bumped into.

When you looked at his face, all the words stopped cascading past your lips. Still white-knuckling your purse, still feeling like your face and throat were on fire from embarrassment, you found yourself incapable of looking anywhere but at the icy blue eyes staring back at you.

He didn’t look happy about you bumping into him, per se, but he didn’t look as angry or annoyed as other people in the bar might’ve been. No drinks were spilled in the process, which was a bonus. He raised his eyebrows slightly as he looked at you, but his expression was otherwise neutral.

“S-sorry,” you finally forced out, clear but still uncertain.

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Okay.” You nodded, knowing that you should be forcing your feet to carry you away, but you were locked in place.

His eyebrows went from raised to pinched together. Apparently, he took your hesitancy to leave as you not believing his simple reassurance. “Really,” he emphasized with a small nod, “it’s fine. You can go—seemed like you were in a rush anyway.”

Your eyes widened slightly at that, the full scope of the situation coming back to you. You cleared your throat. “Right. Thanks. Thank you. Sorry. I’m just gonna—” you were halfway to motioning over your shoulder when a vaguely familiar voice blared like an airhorn in your ear.

“Well look who it is!”

Turning to look over your shoulder, your stomach dropped. It wasn’t your ex, but you knew that he was going to run right back to your ex and tell him that you were here. Even if you tried to bolt it wasn’t going to do you any good. You were in it now.

“Hey,” you said, keeping it short, trying to make your tone as unenthusiastic as possible.

“Oh, Ricky’s gonna be stoked that you’re—”

“I was just—”

He waved you off. “Wait right here—I’ll go grab him.”

“Don’t—” It didn’t matter what you were going to say next because he was already taking back off towards the bar. You let out a deep sigh. “Fuck.”

You’d nearly forgotten the man stuck in the middle of all this until he spoke up again. “So, who’s Ricky?” There was a hint of amusement to his voice despite the fact that his expression hadn’t changed much at all.

You shook your head. “Whatever you’re already thinking, just go with that,” you said with a shake of your head.

“Rough.”

You had to laugh at the simple response. “Yeah. That’s why I was, you know,” you gestured vaguely towards the door that you had previously been trying to get to as quickly as possible.

You shook your head again, unable to do anything else. Each second that passed you could feel the anxious jitters building. You had no interest in talking to him ever again, and you knew that if he started talking to you, it was going to be nearly impossible to get out of it. That’s just how he was. You were so deep in thought and oncoming panic that you hadn’t noticed the way you were gnawing the inside of your lip until you felt a slight sting from it.

Turning to look at the man who hadn’t asked for any of this, you said, “You don’t owe me a favor, but do you think you could still do one for me?”

He shook his head, “I’m not gonna beat up—”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. “No, no. I mean, I bet you could. But just, can you pretend that we were here together and that we were leaving? I just, I need an exit strategy.”

“What, you want me to pretend to be your new boyfriend so your old one will leave you alone?”

“You don’t have to be my boyfriend. Just, be some friend that wanted to grab a drink with me. And get me the fuck out of here. Please.”

The pause that ensued didn’t give you anything resembling hope. But he must’ve taken just enough pity on you because his shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Alright, fine.”

Relief coursed through you even though you were nowhere near through this exchange yet. “Thank you.”

“What should I call you?” he asked.

You gave him a confused look. “My…my name, I guess?”

Your face and the tone of your response had him feeling whatever embarrassment you’d been battling with earlier when you bumped into him. He saw it all over your face then, and he was certain that you could see it all over his face now. The whole situation was much simpler about sixty seconds ago when you were the more flustered one in the scenario. Now he was the one in uncertain territory. He didn’t know why he asked it like that, but it was what had come out of his mouth when he tried to ask you for your name. It crossed his mind for a moment that maybe you’d bumped into the wrong person to get you out of this mess but it was too late now.

“Yeah. Um, enlighten me?” The laugh that you let out at that wasn’t a cruel one, which was the only reason he didn’t double-down on his embarrassment. You were amused, perhaps even a little relieved. After all, you could’ve just told him your name in response to his first question. As it stood, you told him now and he nodded. “Right.”

You figured you should know his too. “What’s—”

You didn’t get to finish the question let alone get the answer before your ex and his friend reappeared in front of you. They each had a drink in their hand and smug smiles on their faces. The reality of what had you asking ridiculous favors of a stranger you’d only known for about five minutes suddenly crashed down over you again. The knot in your stomach was back with a vengeance as you looked at the man in front of you, knowing that he was feeling none of the dread that you currently were.

“I didn’t believe it when he told me,” Ricky spoke up, nodding in the direction of his friend. “Thought you were still avoiding me.”

You forced yourself to swallow past the lump in your throat. “I tried to tell him that we were just taking off,” you replied, hating how defeated you sounded.

The smug look on your ex’s face disappeared instantly when he heard the word we. It was only then that he realized you were standing right next to a man. A man whose name you still didn’t know but he didn’t know that part.

“We?” Ricky repeated. “Well, care to introduce us?”

You tried not to let your panic show on your face. At this point you were ready to just give this random stranger you’d met in a bar an equally random name and apologize for it later. You barely registered the sound of his chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it away from the table and stood himself up from it.

Fighting the uncertainty out of your voice, you said, “This is—”

He cut you off by putting himself between you and Ricky, holding his hand out for the man to shake in the process. “James,” he said as he nonchalantly slipped his free hand into yours. It wasn’t a gesture you’d been expecting, but you weren’t going to go against it either. There was something reassuring about the callouses of his palm against your skin as he threaded your fingers together. When he broke off the handshake with your ex, he gave a small tilt of his head and said, “Ricky, right?”

You knew that you weren’t doing a good job at all at hiding the pleased and surprised look on your face. The feeling only intensified when you saw the way it through Ricky completely off-kilter, whatever hand he had been planning on playing now no longer available to him.

He cleared his throat, and you noticed the way he adjusted, tightened his grip on the glass he was holding. He tried to recover from the temporary upset. “So, you’ve heard about me, then?” he asked, the look on his face letting you know that he considered it to be a good thing.

You were rolling your eyes and about to come back with something when James beat you to the punch. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

You tried to suppress the smile that wanted to take over your face but you weren’t sure if you did. You found yourself giving James’s hand a light squeeze, instinctively placing your other hand in the center of his back.

Ricky was trying to sputter out a response and James didn’t let him get a single coherent word out. “Like she said,” he gave you a small, gentle nudge towards the door, “we were just leaving.”

“I—”

James was already turning around and taking off towards the door. He called back over his shoulder, more nonchalant than your ex could ever hope to be, “Nice meeting you, Ricky.”

You were glad that the music and general chatter of the bar was hiding the sound of your laughter as the two of you made your way towards the door. Navigating the crowds was so much easier when you were attached to a man built the way that he was—funny how that seemed to work. The two of you were able to quickly maneuver your way to and out the door.

There was no better sound in the world to you than your boots hitting the concrete sidewalk outside the bar. The relief of being out of there was more than you were able to say in the moment, so instead you just kept laughing as you instinctively headed in the direction on the sidewalk that would eventually lead back to your apartment.

In that moment, there was no better sound in the world to James than the sound of you laughing. You were thanking him as the two of you walked away, and he was content to follow you under the guise of being committed to the little ruse you’d put together, to getting you far enough away from the bar to be considered out of the danger zone. He wondered if you, in the midst of your relief, even noticed that you were still holding onto his hand. He certainly still noticed.

You stopped suddenly and turned to look at him, eyes wide. “Oh, shit,” you gasped.

He looked over his shoulder, expecting your reaction to be because your ex had followed the two of you, or something similar. “What?”

You gestured back towards the bar. “Your drink! We didn’t pay—”

His laughter stopped you short. Shaking his head he said, “I was paid up.”

Your shock and tension both disappeared. “Oh. Okay.” It was then that you realized you were still holding his hand. You let go immediately, face warm as you let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

The two of you stood on the sidewalk, a few inches separating you as you faced each other. “So,” you started, the awkwardness that had previously disappeared rearing its head again, “James your real name or just something you made up so my ex can’t stalk you on Facebook or something?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t have Facebook. But yeah, it’s my real name. You,” he cracked a tiny grin, “you can call me Bucky, though.”

You smiled. “Bucky? That, you know, that what I should call you?” you joked.

He laughed, head tilting back slightly as did. He felt the way his face heated up at that and he just hoped that it was dark enough outside to hide the fact that he was probably blushing. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Reaching out, you gently placed your hand on the outside of his bicep for all of a moment, not that it stopped him from being able to feel the warmth of your palm through the blue fabric of his henley. “Well, thank you, Bucky. I appreciate it. Sorry if I totally ruined your night.”

“You didn’t,” he said with no hesitation. “Sorry that your ex ruined yours.”

You shrugged, feeling the way that your lips were slowly tugging up into a smile. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Do you have plans right now?” Bucky asked, unsure of where the question came from or how it got out past his lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I was just planning on going home. Why? Have better plans in mind?”

It took him no time at all to realize that he’d walked himself into this with no idea where he was going with it. He knew that he had a decent poker face but even so he had a feeling you could read him like a book in that moment. And he definitely wasn’t reading like a mystery novel.

“I didn’t know if…you know…” he trailed off for a moment, “Wanna get…coffee? Or something?”

You chuckled and gave a small shrug. “Sure. Coffee sounds good.” You started to walk. “Or something.”

He quickly strode to catch up with you. “Got a place in mind?”

You laughed as you looked over at him. “Well, it didn’t seem like you did.”

It could’ve been a much more embarrassing call out if there hadn’t been such a warm look in your eyes. The only thing that he could think to do in the moment was follow you, so that was exactly what he did.

You couldn’t remember the last time that an invitation for a simple cup of coffee had suddenly caused an entire night to slip by. You didn’t even end up drinking all your coffee, too wrapped up in the conversation that you were having with Bucky. Funny that at the start of your evening you’d figured that a night alone was what you’d been needing, and yet sitting across from Bucky at a little café table, going wherever the conversation strayed to, left you feeling better than any number of nights by yourself at a bar or at home.

Bucky was fairly certain that he could talk to you all the way until the sun came back up again. He was also fairly certain that that fact had nothing to do with the caffeine from the coffee he’d had. His cup was empty, but he still found himself toying with it in his hands as the two of you talked. He didn’t know when the last time he got coffee with someone was. At least, someone who wasn’t Steve or Sam or Nat. This felt so foreign and new, yet there was something so familiar about you.

The pair of young twenty-somethings who were working at the coffee shop didn’t exactly tell you both to leave, didn’t exactly kick you out. But you both noticed the way that they were starting to wipe down the counter and tables and you knew better than to be the people who stayed right up until the last minute. Even though this time, you really wanted to. Getting a few more minutes with Bucky almost seemed worth it.

When the two of you were back out on the sidewalk once more, you turned to face him. The jitters you’d had when you left the bar hours before were gone, but there was a new feeling in its place. Similar but different. More excitement, more curiosity, more hope. You didn’t know what to do about it, though, didn’t know what to say to articulate those feelings.

“Well,” you finally said with a soft laugh, “now I really took up your whole night.”

The smile that Bucky gave you was charming enough to nearly have your knees knocking together. “Not the whole night.”

You hummed in amusement. “Then I’ll let you go before it turns into that.”

He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “You’re alright getting home?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I’m only a couple blocks away.”

“I can walk you,” he offered.

You should’ve hesitated at least a little bit, but you didn’t. “That’d be nice.”

The two of you fell into stride beside each other. The first little stint was silent, but not uncomfortably so. You couldn’t speak for Bucky, but you knew that you were trying to figure out what was going to happen when you made it to the main door of your apartment building. You also knew, though, that no amount of overthinking it now was going to make it any easier to navigate then. So, you did what the two of you had been doing successfully for the last few hours, and picked a new topic out of thin air to talk about.

By the time you reached your building, you were walking so close to Bucky that your arm was practically pressed against his. He didn’t seem to mind—it wasn’t as though he was trying to pull away. Every now and then when you laughed, you’d give him a playful little bump, shoulder to shoulder, and Bucky had to fight the urge to drape his arm around you and pull you closer.

Stopping in front of one of the many tall brick buildings on the block, you nodded towards the door before opening your purse to find your keys. “This is me.”

Even though you’d hold him that you were only a couple of blocks away from the café, he still found himself surprised at how quickly you’d arrived. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed that the evening was over so soon. Never mind the fact that the evening had started hours ago, and completely on accident.

It took him a couple seconds longer than it should’ve to realize he was supposed to be saying something to you. “Oh,” he said, trying not to let his disappointment show, “okay.”

You were smiling as your eyes stayed trained on your purse, still fishing around for your keys. “Thank you for, well, all of it I guess,” you punctuated your sentence with a laugh.

He smiled warmly at you even though you weren’t looking at him yet. “No problem.”

“Ah,” you said as you finally found your keyring. You never thought your purse was all that large and yet you never seemed to find what you needed when you needed it. “Right. Well, I’d, um,” you stammered, wanting to ask and say about twenty different things and unable to decide on a single one of them. Taking a breath to get yourself together, you said, “I had a really good time, despite how all of this started,” you laughed for a moment and so did he, “and it’d be, I don’t know, I’d like to see you again…” you trailed off even though you didn’t mean to.

He smiled, relief and excitement battling it out in his chest. “I’d like that.”

Without giving it a second thought, he pulled out his phone and gave it to you, fumbling his way through asking you for your number. He would’ve been more self-conscious about his lack of grace with it if you hadn’t seemed so eager to type in your name and number.

You held his phone back out to him. “So, yeah, let me know when you’re free.”

He reached to take it back from you. There was the briefest moment of hesitation before you let his phone go, one that got him to look up from where your hands were nearly touching and into your eyes. You let go of his phone, and he slipped it back into the pocket of his jeans, but neither of you took your eyes off the other. Bucky couldn’t help but to notice the way that your teeth pulled just slightly at your bottom lip. He found himself opening his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He could’ve let it all die out there, or he could’ve let himself succumb to the nerves of not being able to conjure up something to say, but instead he found himself choosing a third option that he hadn’t even thought was available to him.

Stepping in and closing the tiny strip of space left between you, Bucky pressed his lips to yours. It was gentle, and brief. He pulled away when you’d barely gotten past the shock of him kissing you at all. You saw the way his eyes were searching yours, looking for the cue to either get lost or come back for more. The moment of silence terrified him, almost had him sputtering out an apology.

Then you closed the gap and kissed him again. A little more conviction, a palm resting against his chest. It was a minor miracle that you hadn’t dropped your keys to the ground as he kissed you back. His hand came up and cupped your cheek, palm warm against you despite the chilly night air.

When you pulled away, you couldn’t hide that it’d left you a little breathless. His hand was still cupping your face and it had you smiling wide enough to make your cheeks ache. Fidgeting with the keys in your hand, you forced yourself to speak. You purposely ignored how soft and breathy your voice was.

“You can come up if you want,” you offered.

You were just far enough away from him to see the surprise that crossed his features. “Yeah?”

You nodded, keenly aware of the way his hand felt on your face as you did. “Yeah.”

The slowness of the elevator in your apartment building was usually something that served to be a mild annoyance for you. However, this time, you wished that it would’ve taken longer to climb up to the fifth floor where your apartment was. Hell, you would’ve been fine if it had gotten stuck if it meant you had a few more moments with Bucky keeping you pressed against the wall, his lips capturing yours over and over again.

It was the singular chime that broke the two of you apart, the alert that you’d arrived at your floor. The walk from the elevator door to your apartment door was a short one but it felt tragically long when you had Bucky behind you with his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. You had no idea how you managed to get your key into the lock so that the two of you could get inside, but you did it.

You closed and locked the door behind you once you were inside. Out of habit you reached and flicked the lights on. Bucky still had one hand on the small of your back, using the other to deftly undo the laces on his boots so he could toe them off beside your door where the rest of your shoes had been tossed haphazardly as the weeks had passed by.

You’d hardly dropped your purse and keys off when he was pressed up against you again, his chest flush against your back. You sucked in a tiny gasp as your body melted back into him. You wanted to say something but the second he was pulling the collar of your shirt to the side and pressing his lips to your shoulders, whatever pleasantries you’d been thinking of went completely out the window.

 Even though you knew your apartment like the back of your hand, had navigated through it in the dark and after nights out when you had more than a few drinks, you nearly found yourself stumbling as you walked through the lit-up room with Bucky attached to you.

Once the two of you were in your bedroom, Bucky put his hands on your hips and spun you around so that you were facing him. He wasted no time as he leaned in and kissed your lips, like the few minutes of being unable to had been hours instead. His hands trailed their way up to your face, palms warm and rough to the touch all at once. Keeping his lips on yours, he walked you back towards your bed. You were reaching for the bottom hem of his shirt just as the backs of your legs pressed against the side of your mattress.

Bucky indulged you, assisting you in peeling his shirt off over his head and tossing it aside. Any time that you would’ve spent standing there gawking at him was quickly stolen away as he pressed himself close to you again, firmly but gently getting you back onto the bed.

Every movement felt like it fed so easily into the next. The pair of you were nothing but wandering hands and ragged breaths as you stripped the clothes off each other. The floor was littered with them but neither of you cared. Bucky was down to his boxers, you your bra and panties. He had you pinned underneath him but it didn’t stop his hands from roaming everywhere they could. They wandered across your stomach, up and down your thighs, grazing over your chest. Every touch and graze had you pressing yourself into him more and more, teeth pulling at his bottom lip as you let out little whines and whimpers of encouragement.

You could feel the effect that it had on him. No amount of wanting to feel every inch of you underneath his fingertips could stop him from grinding his hips against yours. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had him feeling so desperate so quickly—he didn’t know if there ever had been a last time.

Like you could hear his thoughts, Bucky felt your fingers curling over the edge of the waistband of his boxers. You started pushing them down his hips and Bucky had no intention of stopping you. He quickly kicked them off the rest of the way before his fingertips dragged down your stomach until they slipped underneath the waistband of your panties. The lightest brush of his fingers had you bucking into his hand and whatever plans he’d had to drag this out no longer mattered. He easily pulled the flimsy fabric down your legs, making quick work of it as you lifted your legs to help.

It took every last shred of Bucky’s self-control to not just slip right into you. The way you had your legs wrapped around his waist would’ve made it so easy to do. He kissed you, neediness bleeding from his lips to yours as his hands continued to trace lines up and down your thighs.

 “Do you have—” Pulling away just enough so that your lips weren’t touching anymore, but not so much that you couldn’t feel his breath on your skin as he spoke. He managed to get out half the question he had before you cut him off.

“Top drawer,” you answered, already knowing where it was going.

The chuckle he let out got a smile out of you. The awkwardness and discomfort that occasionally accompanied first-time hookups was nowhere to be found. He pressed a brisk kiss to your lips before leaning and reaching over for the handle of the top drawer of your nightstand. You took advantage of the momentary position of vulnerability that he was in, lifting your head to kiss and then suck a mark where his neck met his shoulder. You heard the groan he let out, but more than that you could feel it as you kept your lips pressed there.

Him quickly tearing the foil of the condom with his teeth shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, and yet you found yourself staring. He caught it, too, and the smirk on his face would’ve made your knees week if you’d been standing rather than on your back beneath him.

You watched him roll the condom on, biting down so hard on your lip you were surprised that you didn’t draw blood. Your eyes slowly traveled their way back up his torso until you were looking into his. The eagerness, the tension in his body could be felt in all the places the two of you were connected. Even so, he still waited for one more yes from you.

The yes he was waiting for came in the form of you putting your hand on the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss, in the way you wrapped your legs a little tighter around him and pulled him in closer to you. You felt the way that he instantly gave in, slowly pushing into you as you moaned into his mouth at the sensation. You felt the way that he smiled into your kiss as your nails bit down into the flesh of his neck and shoulder.

“Fuck,” he rasped out, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. He took a moment to revel in it, the feeling of being buried into you so that his hips were flush against yours.

Moving your hand from the back of his neck so that it was cupping his chin, you pulled him back into another kiss. You felt each little hum and moan that he let out as he started to thrust into you, his arms on either side of your head caging you in. He kept himself pressed tightly to you, leaving your hands to wander the broad, muscular expanse of his back. The way you moaned his name, the moments when you’d rake your nails down his back, let him know that he was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

He peeled himself off you, separating his chest from yours. You longed for the contact as soon as it was gone, but before you could think too much on it, he moved one of your legs so that it was draped over his shoulder. When he picked up his rhythm once more, you were grabbing onto his hips before you even knew what you were doing, begging him not to stop like he’d ever even dream of that in the first place.

Your leg was starting to tremble against his shoulder. Instinctively he turned and pressed a kiss to the side of your calf as he continued to thrust into you. Your grip on him tightened as you breathlessly moaned, “Just like that.”

A few more thrusts just like that and you were coming undone around him. He soaked in every moment of it, the feeling of you, the way you cried out his name, the way your body arched and tensed before going pliant.

He was chasing right after you, after that same high. He was nearly there and the soft, needy way you whined out, “Bucky,” in the waves of aftershock sent him clean over the edge. His hips stuttered as he came, your name tumbling from his lips. He collapsed against you, face buried in the crook of your neck as your legs went back to looping around his waist, keeping him pulled tight and still inside you.

You weren’t sure if it was your own heartbeat that you were feeling thudding in your chest or his, but you supposed it didn’t matter. Both of you were fighting to catch your breath, bodies practically melting into each other’s. You wrapped your arms around him, hands gentle on his back where just minutes before you’d been digging your nails into the cords of muscle there. He kissed the column of your throat, the little bit of stubble that was growing in feeling extra ticklish in your sensitive state, enough to get you to giggle and twitch at the sensation.

Once he’d gotten a little bit of his breath back, he propped himself up enough to look at you properly. “You okay?”

You laughed, unable to do anything else but that and nod for a moment. Finally, you said, “I’m great, yeah.” It got a chuckle out of him as you reached and trailed your fingertips down his cheek. “You okay?”

He nodded before leaning in and kissing you. “I’m great.” A few more moments passed in comfortable silence, the two of you just taking in the sight and state of each other. You noticed the small shifts in his expression, and you waited for whatever was coming next. “Um,” he looked over towards the door of your bedroom, “where’s your…so I can…”

You laughed, head dropping back against your pillow. “Out the door and to the left.”

He chuckled, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “Thanks. I’ll be, you know, right back.”

You afforded him the illusion of privacy as he searched and grabbed his boxers off the floor and scampered off to your bathroom. You chuckled as you managed to get yourself out of bed, making your way over to your dresser on wobbly legs to you could grab your own shirt to sleep in. You were back in bed and under the covers by the time Bucky came back.

When he got back to your bedside, he reached down and grabbed his shirt off the floor. He didn’t make an immediate move to put it on, instead just holding it loosely in his hand. “I can—”

“Stay,” you didn’t even want him to put the idea of leaving out into the universe. Not after the night the two of you had just had. “I mean,” you laughed softly, “if you want. I’d like that.”

There was no hesitation as he dropped his shirt to the ground. “Okay.”

He easily shimmied down underneath the covers beside you. You curled into him, allowing his arm to slip beneath you and pull you tighter so that your head was resting on his chest. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the thrumming of his heartbeat. You also started to feel not just the tiredness in your muscles from everything that had just happened, but also the exhaustion of how late it was now.

The same tiredness was present in Bucky’s voice as he spoke, words partially mumbled as he spoke them into your hair. “Light’s still on out there.”

“Leave it,” you replied words equally mumbled as you said them with your lips partially pressed against his chest. “I’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

The hum of amusement that he made let you know that he wasn’t going to worry about it now either. Draping his other arm around you, he slipped his hand underneath your shirt so that his hand was splayed across the center of your back and keeping you tight to him. Nestling farther into him, you rested your palm on his chest as you finally let yourself start drifting off to sleep.

(divider by @saradika-graphics 💞)

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @beardburnsupersoldiers @artemiseamoon @late-to-the-party-81 (If you want to be added to any of my taglists please let me know! xo)

[darkjimxn]

Fool's Gold || JJK

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. violence, blood, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

“I heard that she’s a complete airhead.”

Jungkook’s expensive shoes smacked against the pristine white and gold marble floors as he continued to walk through the lavish hallway, hands disappearing behind his pockets while his steps were slow and confident. Most would think he was choosing to ignore the comment, but his closest friend knew better than to rush a man as calculating as Jungkook. 

Instead, Taehyung strolled alongside him, taking in the glittering chandeliers looming over their heads and the intricate designs carved into the white walls that were much too traditional for his taste. Jungkook and Taehyung were nowhere near out of place in the sea of extravagance with their custom suits and shiny black dress shoes. Taehyung, the more simple of the two, had his brown hair parted and pushed back to reveal a blemish free forehead while his grey and black suit complimented the grey specks in his brown irises. 

On the other hand, Jungkook’s black on black outfit adorned two expensive cufflinks and a gold brooch attached to his lapel. Taehyung’s gaze dropped to his black hair, which he noticed had grown in the past month. 

When Taehyung realised that Jungkook wasn’t going to speak, he decided to fill the silence. 

“Like apparently she’s huge on wearing pink and frilly stuff -which I guess is just a girl thing- but still, this is a mafia not a tea party.”

He paused, waiting for his comrade to offer his thoughts, but was met with silence once again. 

“I’ve also heard she’s dumber than a pile of rocks. Barely passed high school and then dropped out of university not even a month in. Her major wasn’t even that hard. Commerce, was it?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed as Jungkook continued to lengthen the silence. 

“And as you already must know, she was also married about a year ago but then was widowed after her husband was killed by a rival gang on the same day. Even though their marriage didn’t even last a full 24 hours, she had been so traumatised by the whole thing that apparently she didn’t even speak for an entire month after the ordeal. Can you imagine how much of a princess she must be for a simple death to shake her that much? She must be a real- come on man, how long are you going to make me go on?”

Jungkook turned his head to offer him a sly grin, “I was wondering when you would reach your limit.”

Taehyung gave him a halfhearted punch to the arm, “you’re such a jerk. Answer my question man. I’m dying to know what she’s actually like.”

He followed Jungkook as he turned into another hallway, curious as to what he thought of her, but his answer had him staring at Jungkook incredulously. 

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung faltered in his step, gaping at the back of the man who continued through the hallway nonchalantly. When the weight of his answer finally processed completely in Taehyung’s mind, he ran forward so that he could walk alongside his friend once again. 

“I think you misunderstood my question,” Taehyung tried again slowly, “I want to know about Lee Y/N, you know, your soon to be wife? The one you’re about to marry right now?”

“What is there to know?” Jungkook commented, mind occupied with a topic of much more importance, “a marriage with her will allow for the unification of two powerful mafia families and will also allow for an heir to be born. Is that not the whole point of marriages for individuals like us?”

“Well yeah, but there’s no harm in getting to know her at least a little bit. Did you even hear about the ‘dumb as rocks’ part when I was rambling?”

“That will only make her easier to control,” he deadpanned.

“Fine, whatever. Is she at least pretty?”

Taehyung’s eyes widened even more when Jungkook didn’t respond, “please tell me you’ve met her at least once. Oh my god, have you even looked at a picture of her?” 

Jungkook's silence was all Taehyung needed to know that the answer was, in fact, no,” I knew I shouldn’t have gone out of the country! My parents kept telling me everything would be fine and they’d take care of the whole thing but you haven’t even met her once? I should’ve made my return flight earlier, then I could’ve-”

Taehyung’s voice faltered as he noticed Jungkook’s distant expression, causing his brows to furrow. He wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, which wasn’t something entirely out of the ordinary, but it usually wasn’t this bad. He sighed as he shifted his gaze to the expensive hall before him. 

“Is this about the Parks?” He asked, noticing his friend’s focus return.

“It’s the Parks and the Mins,” Jungkook admitted, “ever since their alliance, they’ve been getting bold. They made a move on our West docks last week and would have been successful in seizing them if it weren’t for the blackmail I managed to procure at the last minute. But that won’t hold them off for long.”

Taehyung’s head tilted to the side, “you’ve always enjoyed a challenge. Why’s this bothering you so much?”

Jungkook turned into another hallway to finally come face to face with a large pair of grandiose double doors that towered over them. The two men came to a stop, aware that their conversation was now on a timer. 

“I just… have an uneasy feeling,” he said, unable to reveal anymore to Taehyung. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend what he had really witnessed when he visited the docks yesterday.

Taehyung, clueless to Jungkook’s inner turmoil, slapped him on the back, lightening the mood with a grin, “come on man, this is your wedding. You’ll figure everything out later, for now just relax. You deserve it.”

Before he could protest, Taehyung shoved the double doors open to reveal an enormous and crowded wedding hall. The white and gold marble floor stretched across the entire room, while multiple diamonds came together to form a giant chandelier that hung over the hundreds of tables that had been decorated with shiny silverware and pristine white roses. The people were just as decorated as the furniture, with their elegant gowns and glamorous jewellery. 

At the sound of the doors opening, the once chattering crowd silenced, opting to sneak glances at Jungkook and his friend instead. Hushed whispers echoed around the hall as Jungkook straightened his back and held his head high before making his way to the centre of the room. Behind him, Taehyung took his place, his outgoing and extroverted personality tucked away to look just as regal and intimidating as the groom. The crowd began gathering on either side of the aisle, clearly excited for the bride who had been scheduled to appear any second now. 

Most men’s hearts would be racing during a time like this, Jungkook thought distantly, eyes focused on the aisle as well. Marriage to others was supposed to symbolise unwavering love and devotion. But not for him. For him marriage was simply a contract, a means to an end that he hoped would lessen the burden of a number of challenges. In a world like this, there was no such thing as love. 

Only power. 

The sound of the double doors opening pulled him from his thoughts, with two professionally dressed workers fixing them on either side so that they remained open this time. Jungkook watched a pair of women in what seemed like light pink bridesmaid dresses trail behind two girls who couldn’t have been more than five throwing white and light pink flower petals in the air. Behind the entourage was a figure drenched in white. 

You walked slowly into the room, your glimmering white dress trailing behind you as a thick white veil draped over your face and the front of your dress. Jungkook could only make out your hands clutching a small bouquet of white roses while your arm looped around your father’s, who was slowly guiding you down the aisle. Despite the aid, he couldn’t help but notice an uneasiness to your steps and a slight shake in your hands. 

The crowd’s gaze stayed fixed on your figure, drinking in the Jeon Jungkook’s soon to be wife. There were some gasps of astonishment at the beauty of your dress and figure, while there were some gasps of jealousy towards the woman who was taking Jungkook off the market. You didn’t seem to pay them any attention as your head stayed fixed in front of you, focusing on not falling as you continued through the aisle. 

To Jungkook, it felt like years had passed before you finally reached the small steps leading to the stage he was standing on, your bridesmaids taking their places on the opposite side of where Taehyung was standing. Your father unlooped his arm from yours and stepped back to sit on one of the seats that had been reserved for him, leaving you to hesitantly step onto the stage yourself. Your heel wobbled as you brought your foot forward and Jungkook knew exactly what would happen before it did. 

He watched your heel slip sideways, causing you to careen to your right under the heaviness of your dress. But before you could crash into the large pots of white roses, Jungkook shot forward so that his hand could grab your waist, hoisting you up to prevent you from falling. The crowd swooned at the gesture, murmuring about its romantic nature, though all Jungkook could wonder was how you’ve been surviving in a mafia family for so long. Taehyung had only said you were dumb, not a complete klutz too. 

He could feel the warmth of your delicate hand on his shoulder as he guided you up the steps, only letting go of you once the two of you were facing the patiently waiting priest. Once he had motioned for everyone to sit, he began his sermon in an obnoxiously boring voice. Jungkook had no particular interest in paying attention to a speech he had listened to multiple times growing up. Instead, he took the chance to survey you briefly. With your veil still hiding your face, he could only take in your perfect figure and pristine skin. 

Eventually, the priest asked you to remove your veil, to which you complied slowly. Taehyung came forward, offering to take the bouquet in your hands while your bridesmaids helped you hesitantly lift the soft white cloth over your head. 

A wave of hushed whispers spread throughout the crowd at the sight of your face, one that caught Jungkook off guard. Your eyes had been lined with a light liner, while your lips and cheeks had been made to look dainty. Your hair fell from the top of your head to your shoulders, styled in a way that framed your features and neck. Jungkook noticed a small silver necklace in the shape of a heart resting against your exposed collarbone. 

Your makeup made you look so innocent and… young. Jungkook almost wanted to pull Taehyung’s parents aside and confirm that you really were twenty three and not some nineteen year old. It was a bit of a turn off, he realised, slightly bothered by the fact. As a twenty six year old, he obviously wasn’t into teenagers, so he didn’t know what having a wife that looked like one was going to do for him. 

Then again, he wasn’t marrying you for some kind of gratification. He was marrying you because he needed to form a strong alliance between your father’s gang and his so that he could be, or at the very least appear, stronger than the Mins and Parks. You were nothing more than a path to more power and, aside from upholding his responsibilities as a husband, he would treat you as such.

As the priest continued to drone on, Jungkook continued to analyse your form. He watched your eyes stay focused on the priest before they strayed, hesitantly landing on Jungkook for a split second. When you noticed his gaze already on you, a small squeak sounded from your lips before you quickly shifted your focus forward. With the bouquet of flowers now hanging from Taehyung’s hand, your own fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of you. 

You were apparently everything Taehyung had painted you as earlier, Jungkook thought. Your makeup and mannerisms had an air of exaggerated innocence, while your body language was shy and sheepish. He had no problem imagining you as a weak girl that was so traumatised by the death of your first husband that you couldn’t utter a single word the following month. 

The priest turned to the seated crowd, beckoning anyone that had an issue with the marriage to step forward and speak their mind. Just as Jungkook expected, no one dared make a stand, preferring to cherish the connection between their head and neck instead. Following the silence, you and Jungkook were made to stand facing each other.

Your gaze was fixed on his collar, seemingly too shy to meet Jungkook’s eyes. It only confirmed his suspicions regarding your confidence, or lack thereof. 

Yet, despite your evidently timid nature and lack of intelligence, Jungkook couldn’t help but experience an uncanny feeling lingering at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was his untrusting nature, or maybe he had just been forced to over analyse you during the long and boring sermon. But he could have sworn that there was something about you. Just… something about the way you had trouble meeting his gaze yet seemed to have no problem in scanning Taehyung up and down. For a fraction of a moment, the look in your eyes was almost calculated, as if you had been assessing him. But just as fast as Jungkook thought he saw it, the look disappeared, replaced by a timid and shy gaze once again. It left him questioning whether he had even seen it in the first place, or whether he was letting paranoia see things that weren’t there. 

Finally, the priest turned to the two of you and made you both say your vows outloud. They were the standard vows, Jungkook and you putting no effort in creating a confession that you both knew was ingenuine. Instead, the two of you repeated after him, answering “I do” when the time was right. Jungkook was glad that, despite your seemingly ditzy nature, you hadn’t requested any giant romantic gestures. According to your father, you had even had no problem with Jungkook requesting that there be no kiss at the altar. It made his life a lot easier and truthfully made this entire situation a lot less awkward.

To Jungkook’s relief, the priest finally addressed the crowd once more, ending the sermon on a final note filled with hope and prosperity. He spoke about how the marriage would strengthen the two mafias, mitigating worries relating to attacks from enemies that may wish to harm them. Jungkook had already expected this part of the speech, as he had been the one to tell the priest to say those exact words. 

At the end of the sermon, Jungkook and you were made to walk down the aisle back to where he knew his expensive car was waiting. He turned to you, looping his arm around yours so that you wouldn’t fall again, and guided you down the steps slowly. He noticed that your every step was still wobbly and he could feel your hand shaking as you placed it on his bicep to steady yourself further. But this time, with the veil now draped behind you, he could see the distress in your face as well. Your eyes were wide as you took in the crowd surrounding you, looking as naive as Taehyung had made you out to be. 

Jungkook tried to remind himself of Taehyung’s words. About how you had barely been able to pass high school and then completely dropped out of university a month in. About how your style consisted of pink and frilly clothes that didn’t have much place in the mafia. About how, at this moment, you seemed almost scared of the crowd and attention. 

A girl like that was shy and naive and ditzy. Aside from being slightly irritating, that meant you couldn’t be much of a threat to him or anyone else. If anything your incompetence would be a threat to your own self. Jungkook had nothing to worry about when it came to you. 

So he tried not to be unsettled. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the fact that, despite your apparently innocent and weak nature, your fingers were gripping into his bicep so hard he would no doubt wake up with a bruise tomorrow morning. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the way your shy gaze, which stayed fixed on the floor, would sometimes stray upwards to almost study the crowd around you before quickly darting back to the ground. 

He tried not to be unsettled when you looked up at him to give him a bashful smile, one that the logical part of him agreed looked sweet and innocent enough.

Yet, why did another part of him wonder whether there had been something else lurking behind those seemingly innocent eyes?

-

-

-

The only thing that Jungkook had learned about you from the car ride was that your voice was as light and soft as your appearance. 

The ride in his black car decorated with gleaming small white roses and ribbons had been mostly silent, the two of you making no effort to start a conversation. Jungkook had never been one for small talk, more than content to let Taehyung talk for hours instead. The reason for your lack of conversation, though, was unknown to him. 

It was only when he was speeding through the highway that you had spoken to request that he slow down a bit. Your voice had been soft and timid, as if you were scared that Jungkook would lash out at you for the simple request. Or maybe that was just the way you spoke. Considering your personality, Jungkook wouldn’t find that too hard to believe.

Now the two of you walked through the entrance of his home, your eyes taking in the grandeur of it all. Despite its vastness, Jungkook felt that this was where he felt the most comfortable: between the white and fawn walls, the elaborately designed bannisters, and the creme marble floors. His home had remained the only constant in his life and, because of that, he cherished it immensely. 

There were only a few people that Jungkook had allowed inside, all of whom were people that he trusted with his life. This was the first time, he realised, that someone outside of those few was stepping foot onto the marble floor and laying their eyes on the spiralling staircase. It was an odd feeling, allowing you to enter into what he felt was the only place that truly allowed his mind and body to relax. 

He observed your reaction curiously, taking in your wide eyes. They bounced from one thing to the next, each structure seeming to fascinate you more and more. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were assessing the space, but the logical part of him kept trying to reassure himself that you couldn’t possibly be considered any kind of threat. 

The sound of the door opening behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned around to find Taehyung walking through the doorway, a particular look on his face. Jungkook recognised it right away, causing him to turn to you for a moment while calling over one of the maids. 

“Get her to the bedroom,” Jungkook commanded the maid as Taehyung stepped beside him, “and help her take off her makeup and dress into something comfortable.”

The maid nodded before she began to guide you up the flight of stairs, pointing out a few directions here and there to get you comfortable with the new environment. Jungkook watched you look back at him and Taehyung for a split second, an unreadable look in your eyes, before you faced forward once again and allowed yourself to be dragged away wordlessly. 

Once you had disappeared up the stairs, Jungkook turned to Taehyung with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” He prodded. 

Taehyung glanced at the top of the stairs to make sure you really were gone, “I should be asking you that. What do you think of her?”

Jungkook mulled over his question for a moment, “she seems to be everything you said she is. Although, are you sure-”

“She is one hundred percent twenty three years old. I triple checked that one,” Taehyung said immediately, hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

Jungkook let his hands nestle into his pockets, wondering if he should bring up his other concerns as well. Uptil now, you haven’t actually done or said anything worth garnering suspicion. Jungkook just seemed to be picking up on small things here and there, but he wasn’t sure if those things were just him being paranoid or genuinely things that he should be cautious over. This whole marriage thing was proving to be a lot more confusing than he had initially thought. 

“What is it?” Taehyung asked, noticing his friend’s silence. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but, after earning a questioning look from Taehyung, he relented slightly. 

“How well of a background check did your parents do on her?” Jungkook asked cautiously. He didn’t want Taehyung to know too much of how he was feeling at the moment, in case this was just his mind being overactive, but something in Taehyung’s expression seemed to indicate that he knew a lot more than what Jungkook was letting on. 

“They did a very thorough one, of course,” Taehyung said, eyeing Jungkook knowingly, “you know my parents. If there’s one thing that they’re the best at, it’s uncovering people’s secrets.”

Then he added with a smile, “couldn’t get away with much while growing up because of it.”

Jungkook let his gaze wander around the room, “I just…”

“You’re just suspicious of her,” Taehyung finished, causing Jungkook to look his way, “of course you’re suspicious Jungkook, you’re letting a girl that you’ve never even met before into your house for the first time. It’s a natural reaction, especially considering how untrusting we’ve been conditioned to be since we were young.”

Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back reassuringly, “I was the exact same way when I married Chaewon. Hell, in our first year of being married I even accused her of being a traitor when she was planning a surprise party for my birthday. When she finally told me… man, it took me a whole year to make it up to her. On another note, from a married man to a newly married man, don’t accuse your wife of anything unless you’re a hundred and ten percent sure of it. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.

“Besides, have you seen Y/N? She’s so shy and naive, her own reflection in the mirror must frighten her. I doubt you have anything to worry about, especially after my parents’ background check. Just enjoy yourself, man, it’s your wedding night,” Taehyung said with a knowing smirk. 

Obviously ignoring the suggestive comment, Jungkook nodded, finding logic in Taehyung’s other words. Jungkook had never been married, all of this was new to him. But if Taehyung, who had been married for almost a decade, said feelings like this were normal, then maybe he really was just being overly paranoid about the situation. You’d had a thorough background check done, which revealed nothing, and your personality was quite clear to Jungkook after he’d observed you at the wedding. 

It was time Jungkook started trying to enjoy this marriage as much as he could. He was going to be stuck with you indefinitely, and constantly being suspicious of you was only going to wear him out, especially since you now had access to the only place he allowed himself to be free of the constantly vigilant and calculating mind that came with being the leader of the Jeons. 

Jungkook turned to Taehyung, about to thank him for the insight, but the sound of the door opening once again caused the two to shift their gaze to behind them. The sight of the man walking through the doorway immediately had Jungkook wrinkling his nose in distaste while Taehyung’s expression had become a distant neutral. The man didn’t seem to mind the reactions if he noticed them, casually strolling deeper into the house until he was standing before the two. 

“Jungkook, Taehyung,” Daehyun nodded, the respectful gesture somehow seeming more disrespectful if anything. He had clearly just come back from the wedding, still wearing his black suit and light brown hair styled back, “you just got married, yet I see only Taehyung and no bride. Shall I assume the two of you are running away together?”

The tasteless joke was followed by a deep laugh, one that belonged to neither Jungkook nor Taehyung. Instead they just stared at him with an unamused scowl.

“Relax, it’s only a joke,” he shook his head, gaze wandering the place casually, “I doubt your wife and kid would like the thought of that anyway.”

Taehyung’s jaw ticked at Daehyun’s words. Even if he hadn’t directly threatened or disrespected them in any way, just the mention of his family from his mouth was enough for Taehyung’s gaze to turn icy.

“Careful Daehyun, you’re standing before two mafia leaders,” Taehyung said, voice low and intimidating, “I would be less casual in our presence if I were you.”

To Taehyung and Jungkook’s dismay, Daehyun simply chuckled, “ah yes, but Jungkook and I are cousins. He’ll cut me some slack, won’t he?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, even after Daehyun gave his arm a lighthearted punch. Daehyun was the cousin that Jungkook could never be rid of, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was slimy and tactless and everything Jungkook hated rolled into one unbearable being. Having to give him access to his home, his only place of peace, had been one of the hardest things to do. But at the time, Jungkook had had to make sacrifices and this had been one of them. 

Daehyun, undeterred by his cousin’s lack of response, leaned his arm on Jungkook’s shoulder casually, “congratulations by the way. When I saw your wife’s face- god did she look young! You’re so lucky man, I hope my future wife turns out like that.”

Jungkook grimaced as he suddenly felt the desire to wipe off any remnants of Daehyun’s touch from his suit. Daehyun had attended the same university as Taehyung and Jungkook, yet he had evidently obtained none of the class that they had. Everyday he wondered how the two of them could possibly be related. For the sake of Jungkook’s mental wellbeing, sometimes he liked to imagine Daehyun had actually been adopted and his parents had simply decided not to share that piece of information. 

“I should get going,” Jungkook said stiffly, brushing his cousin’s arm off his shoulder. He fixed his suit as Daehyung smirked at him, likely thinking of Jungkook’s comment as more suggestive than he had actually meant. 

Jungkook faced Taehyung to give him a curt nod before he turned and began walking up the stairs, not bothering to use the fawn iron bannisters on either side of him. He could hear Taehyung taking his leave through the front door, dragging a complaining Daehyun behind him to Jungkook’s satisfaction. The sound of the front door shutting had never sounded so delightful. 

A silence ensued as Jungkook walked through the hallway upstairs, continuing until he paused in front of his bedroom’s door. He couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside the room, so, with a light knock against the white and fawn wood, his hand wrapped around the handle to turn it and finally push the door open. 

The windows displayed an almost set sun, coating the atmosphere in a blanket of dimness. Everything about his bedroom had been changed. His once dark brown and white bed had been switched out for a cream and fawn coloured one, with a bouquet of vibrant red roses sitting atop the fancy and plush duvet, while his black leather couches had been replaced by light cloth ones. The ceiling and walls had been painted white, complimenting the new white and fawn patterned marble floor. His old dresser had also disappeared, a cream coloured dresser twice its size sitting in its place instead. 

Aside from the drastic changes that had been made to his bedroom, no doubt to signify the change that came with marriage, the first thing Jungkook noticed was the maid who was drawing the curtains closed. The room would have fallen into complete darkness if it weren’t for the lamps sitting atop the bedside tables which were emanating a warm light around the space. 

The second thing he noticed was you, who was sitting timidly on the edge of the bed and facing him. Your fingers were playing awkwardly in front of you while your gaze had been fixed on the floor, but at the sound of the door opening, your head raised to look at Jungkook. The sight of your face once again caught him off guard, the lack of makeup revealing a different side of you. 

You no longer looked young. Without the innocent look that had been created with the blushes and the eyeliners and the lip glosses, Jungkook could see the mature shape of your eyes and the defined look of your features. You looked your age now, a lot more maturity prominent in your appearance. 

You were pretty. Jungkook could admit that much now that you didn’t resemble a teenager. He wondered why you had done your makeup like that in the first place. He’d been to many weddings before and none of the brides had been made to look so young. Then again, Taehyung had already told him that, on top of looking innocent and naive, you seemed to dress the part as well. 

“Is something wrong?” Your soft voice asked, eyes blinking innocently up at him. 

Jungkook shook his head, motioning for the maid to leave the room. She gave you both a low bow before scurrying out the doorway, making sure to close the door behind her. 

“No,” he finally answered. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t sure if you were expecting anything to happen tonight, or if you even wanted anything to happen for now. 

His gaze lowered as he mulled over his next actions. You had changed out of your wedding dress into a light pink, mesh lace nightgown that came all the way down to your knees with a silk bow stitched into the centre of your chest, as if your clothes were meant to compensate for the lack of makeup dolling up your features. He almost wanted to raise an eyebrow at you, but you seemed much too fragile to be ridiculed. 

Alternatively, he decided to take an experimental step in your direction, surveying your reaction closely. He watched your fingers close tighter around the duvet on which you sat, your gaze hesitantly darting everywhere but him. That was answer enough for him to know how far you were ready to take it tonight. So instead, he passed the bed, opting instead to drop onto the couch on the far end of the room. While he was facing you, you had to turn your head to keep him in your sights. 

“What would you like to do now?” He asked you, resting an arm over the back of the couch while he crossed an ankle over his knee. 

Your gaze dropped to your lap, watching your fingers fidget against each other nervously. It was almost as if having to answer a question like that had you stressed, which again made Jungkook wonder how you had survived growing up in a mafia family. How could you have been this weak?

“I-I don’t know,” you squeaked, not able to meet his gaze. 

Jungkook sighed, turning his head to the side to survey the room. Technically, the two of you could just call it a night and go to sleep. You were clearly too shy to even speak a word to him, and Jungkook had never been one to beg others for things. Only time would tell how well the two of you would get to know each other. 

But then Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the coffee table in front of him, noticing some sort of gift basket placed in its centre. It was obviously a wedding gift, filled with chocolates, scented candles, roses… and some wine and champagne. Jungkook has always been more of a whiskey guy, but right now he’d take just about anything. 

“Why don’t we have a drink?” He suggested, uncrossing his leg so that he could lean forward and grab the top of the expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He prayed you weren’t one of those people that didn’t drink, your innocent personality couldn’t possibly extend all the way to drinking as well. 

You paused for a moment, taking in the bottle in Jungkook’s hand, before slowly nodding your head, to Jungkook’s relief. 

He beckoned you over with his free hand, “come here.”

You hesitated before slowly pushing yourself off the bed and took small steps towards him. Jungkook waited patiently until you were standing right in front of the couch, hands clasped shyly in front of you while your gaze stayed glued to the floor. He held up the bottle of wine and champagne in front of you, hoping you weren’t so dumb that you wouldn’t understand the question in his actions. Thankfully you studied the two bottles before a shaky hand raised and tapped against the bottle of champagne. 

He pushed the bottle in your direction, forcing you to take it in your own hands, before standing up from the couch. The unexpected action seemed to scare you, causing you to immediately take a timid step backwards while you hugged the bottle to your chest. Jungkook had to suppress a tired, and maybe even slightly annoyed sigh, as he manoeuvred past you. He was trying to be patient, but this was becoming ridiculous. 

“You get that open while I wash up,” he said to you, pointing at the bottle still pressed to your chest, “okay?”

You nodded slowly, allowing him to turn away from you and walk into the joint bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him he let out the sigh he had suppressed earlier. You really were… something. He couldn’t believe he had been suspicious of you earlier when you could barely even function properly, much less be any sort of threat. It was irritating, Jungkook felt, to have someone so incompetent for a wife. He wondered if he would have to break you out of that shell. You were the wife of a mafia leader now after all, you had to keep up at least some air of confidence in the presence of others so that you didn’t make him look weak. 

Jungkook walked over to the sink and turned it on, splashing some cold water on his face before he began brushing his teeth. You were far from his ideal type, and he doubted this marriage would ever stem into whatever Taehyung and Chaewon had going on. Hell, he was wondering how the two of you could ever even produce an heir. You’d probably spontaneously combust if he even tried to touch you. And besides, he didn’t really want to touch you if he was being honest. You reminded him too much of a weak and helpless child, which was obviously a huge turn off. He may have been a mafia leader, but he wasn’t a complete monster. 

Jungkook placed his toothbrush into the holder after spitting into the sink, drying himself off with one of the towels hanging near him. He was about to start changing into more comfortable clothes, only getting as far as unbuttoning the first few buttons of his black collar shirt, before a crashing sound rang from the bedroom. In less than a second he had pushed out of the bathroom, immediately scanning the bedroom before him as his hand automatically sought out the gun at his side. 

It took him a moment to realise the lack of intruders in the room, and then another to take in your completely unharmed form. You were standing with your hands covering your mouth, looking down at the ground. Jungkook followed your gaze to find the champagne bottle rolling along the marble floor, still entirely intact. You had clearly dropped the thing accidentally, causing Jungkook to place his gun back in his waistband.

“I’m s-so sorry,” you squeaked, bending down quickly to pick up the bottle. Suppressing a huff, Jungkook walked over to you to take it from your hands. 

“Here, let me do it,” he said, taking two of the crystal champagne flutes from the gift basket and placing them on the glass coffee table as he sat himself down on the couch, distantly annoyed at the fact that you couldn’t even pour a glass of champagne by yourself. Was this seriously what he was going to have to deal with from now on?

He tipped the bottle, filling both glasses to the brim with the bubbling liquid as you hesitantly sat yourself down on the couch to his left. His gaze fell on you as he was about to offer you one of the flutes, but paused when he noticed the look on your face. For the first time since he met you, you looked almost… excited. Usually your eyes would be downturned and focused on the floor, but this time they were fixed on the crystal glasses before you as if you were eager to taste the expensive liquid. Jungkook made a note of it, tucking it into the back of his mind for later. 

“Take one,” he said as he motioned towards one of the glasses, but to his surprise you hesitantly shook your head. Your expression had turned timid once again, any hint of excitement from earlier entirely gone. He narrowed his eyes at you as he wondered if he had just imagined it. It had barely been there anyway. 

“I don’t drink,” you said in your signature soft tone, not able to meet his gaze. Of course you don’t, Jungkook thought irritatedly, god forbid the princess touch a glass of champagne. He knew the thought was immature, but there was no way he was the most immature person in the room at the moment. 

He pushed himself off the couch, very much aware that his patience was starting to wear thin, “well then I guess we should call it a night.”

But before he could step towards the bed, your hand shot out, clutching the edge of his sleeve with your fingers. He immediately looked down at your still seated form, a question in his eyes. You had to look away for a moment, seemingly collecting your nerves, before you met his gaze once again. 

“Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t,” you said, “I don’t want you not to enjoy yourself because of me. Please stay.”

Jungkook noticed the evident guilt in your eyes as your fingers continued to stay enclosed around the edge of his sleeve. When he didn’t move, you hesitantly leaned forward to gently pick up one of the glasses and then slowly presented it to him. His gaze shifted to the glass in your hand, pausing for only a moment, before he took it from you. He let himself sink back onto the couch as he studied you. 

You continued to sit in your spot on the sofa, posture still timid. Your gaze bounced from one part of the floor to the next, while your expression remained shy. But there was something else lurking behind the expression. If Jungkook focused well enough, he could have sworn the edges of your lips were turned slightly upwards. It was so faint that it might have not even been there, but the more he focused, the more prominent it became to him. 

A naive part of him might have thought it was from being successful in getting him to stay and have the drink, but the more logical part of him had already latched onto an idea, one that refused to be swept to the side any longer. 

His gaze lowered to your collarbone, a glint from the heart-shaped necklace resting over your soft skin catching his attention. Unlike earlier, he noticed that the metal heart was actually a locket, and that its two sides were slightly open. It couldn’t have been ajar by more than a millimetre, but Jungkook still noted it down in his mind.

His gaze then ascended to your face, still a perfect picture of innocence. Your eyes were widened to resemble a curious doe, while your lips were pulled into a timid line. The hands resting in your lap fumbled with each other shyly, really completing the look. 

Finally, his gaze dropped to the drink in his hand. He brought it closer to his face, as if he were about to take a sip, before eyeing the expensive liquid. His gaze fixed on the miniscule bubbles that continued travelled from the bottom of the flute to its surface, causing it to sizzle.

Jungkook slowly leaned forward, keeping his eye on his drink as he brought it away from his lips and instead calmly set it down on the coffee table before him. He then easily pushed himself off of the couch, which caused your brows to jump. There was an apparent question in your expression, one you decided to voice out loud. 

“Is something wrong with the drink?” You asked, voice still soft as your doe eyes looked up at him through your lashes. 

Ignoring the question, Jungkook placed a hand on the edge of the coffee table and slowly pushed it forward so that it was farther away from your seated form. The action caused you to blink. 

“Is everything okay?” You tried again slowly.

But Jungkook then faced you, assessing you for a moment, before he took a few steps in your direction. You had to crane your neck upwards to continue meeting his gaze, his tall form towering over your seated one. This time your brows pulled together, eyes still doe-like, as you continued to question his actions. 

“Jungko-”

Jungkook didn’t let you finish. The second you opened your mouth his large hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your neck, slamming your head into the seat of the couch. You squeaked at the sudden violence, immediately clawing at the fingers now enclosed around your throat. But your efforts were nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s iron hold. 

“J-Jungkook, you’re h-hurting me!” You let out a choked cry, continuing to put up a weak fight against Jungkook. Tears had already started to coat your eyes and run down your cheeks, but Jungkook ignored them completely. He watched you struggle, fascinated by the way you thrashed around like an animal yet every jab at him was weak and ineffective. There was no sign of the strength he had noticed when you had grabbed onto his bicep earlier, so hard that he was sure it would leave a bruise. It was enough to make him grin.

Jungkook lowered his face so that his lips neared your ear, his body still hovering over your smaller form. 

“If you wanted to kill me princess, you’ll have to do a better job than that,” he said, voice low. Your eyes widened even further as you continued to struggle against him, making pitiful noises that didn’t move him in the slightest. 

“K-Kill?! What are y-you talking about?!” You continued to choke out as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your hands had moved to his chest, desperately trying to push him away, yet failing miserably in the process. Jungkook tilted his head at your weak plea, eager to hear what other ways you’d beg him to let you go.

 “P-please-” You began, but then cut yourself off abruptly when your tear-filled gaze met his. You must have seen something in his eyes, because he felt your body slacken, no longer desperate to fight him despite his hold on your neck cutting off your lung’s supply of air. 

Instead you studied him, really studied him. He could see the same calculated look you had used on Taehyung earlier during the wedding. It was as if you were assessing Jungkook, picking out his strengths and weaknesses to figure out how you could use them to your advantage. He watched you weigh options in your head patiently before you finally tilted your head to the side calmly and shot him a look. In response, Jungkook decided to loosen his grip on your throat. He watched you catch your breath for a moment before you spoke. 

“Well, you’re already smarter than the first one,” you commented, but your voice was entirely different. It was no longer soft and timid, rather it was a lot more deep and confident. He watched your expression change in the same manner. Your once wide and innocent looking eyes narrowed into a more matured look, while your lips straightened into more of a dangerously amused grin than a naive pout. 

Then he processed your words. The ‘first one’ had to be your first husband, who Taehyung had explained had been killed on his wedding day. Taehyung had mentioned that a rival gang had been the one to murder him, but the actual one responsible for his death was clear to Jungkook now. 

“Do you make it a hobby to poison your husbands’ drinks on their wedding nights?” He asked, hand still wrapped around your throat. He had situated himself between your legs, his own leg pushing one of yours against the back of the couch while his free hand pushed the other down against the seat of the couch. The position ensured you wouldn’t be able to kick him, while his body hovering over your own seemed to take care of the rest of you. You were smart enough not to try anything anyway, knowing Jungkook’s strength was incomparable to yours.

You shrugged, panting at the limited oxygen entering your lungs, “golf just wasn’t cutting it for me anymore.”

“Golf? How can a weak and helpless girl like you play such a sport?” Jungkook couldn’t help but quip, bordering on mocking you. It only made you grin, clearly no hint of offence in your expression. 

He studied your nonchalant demeanour curiously. You had tried to kill him, and he should send your head back to your father’s doorstep for it. And yet, you couldn’t have looked any less composed with his hand around your neck. Either you were a complete idiot, which seemed much less likely now that he was starting to see your real character, or you believed you had the upper hand in this situation. 

“You’re quite calm for someone I should have killed,” he noted, meaning for it to be a threat. But once again you didn’t seem deterred. In fact, the comment seemed to amuse you even more. 

“Just because you should have me killed doesn’t mean you’ll actually have me killed.”

Jungkook’s brow raised, finding an opportunity to prod you further, “and why won’t I have you killed? Your father sent you here to kill me under the pretence of an alliance. I should start a war for this.”

You nodded, “but you see, my father did send me here to form an alliance. The whole killing you idea was all mine.”

Jungkook scoffed at the lame attempt at a lie, “you expect me to believe that?”

But you scoffed as well, meeting his gaze just as vehemently. It was an odd sight considering you had spent the entire day trying to make yourself small and avoiding his gaze. Yet here you were now, eyes ablaze like a thrashing fire. Not a spontaneously violent fire either, no Jungkook could very easily handle that. You were more like an electrical fire. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had to be cautious around you, and that trusting any word that came out of your mouth was dangerous. 

“Prove it then,” he challenged, tightening his hold on your neck for a moment to remind you of your vulnerability. 

“I don’t need to prove anything,” you said, a hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, “just go ahead and mention to my father that I’m not a complete airhead that’s afraid of her own shadow. He’ll laugh in your face and call you a moron.”

The revelation that your father was just as clueless about your true self as everyone else only confirmed his initial thoughts. It also proved he couldn’t have trusted you to carry out an assassination attempt, meaning your father really did genuinely want an alliance with the Jeons. That was perfect, because Jungkook had certain plans that relied on this partnership. It was a relief that they hadn’t gone to waste.

“If it wasn’t your father’s idea, then why did you poison my drink?” He asked with a raised brow. 

Silence filled the room following his question, one that allowed you both to hear the sounds of the wall clock. He got the feeling that you were contemplating something once again, planning out your next move.

Then you squirmed underneath him, seemingly getting comfortable, but Jungkook knew better than to believe whatever you appeared as. The second your hand went for the gun wedged in his waistband, he grabbed your wrist, pining it against the couch, while the hand that had been around your throat pulled out the matte black weapon. He slowly brought it to your temple with an amused grin.

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have just asked,” he taunted, bringing the gun down so that its barrel lifted your chin, “now, I asked a question princess.”

You huffed, your amusement finally falling to give him a half-hearted glare.

“I want a divorce.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the laugh that sounded from his lips at your straightforwardness. You just tried to kill him, it didn’t take a genius to work out that you weren’t a fan of this marriage and wanted out of it. 

It was an arranged marriage after all, and even though all arranged marriages didn’t equal a forced marriage, technically he couldn’t be certain that this marriage was of your own choice or not. For all he knew, you had some secret lover waiting for you back home, your marriage with Jungkook coming between the star crossed romance. The thought made his jaw tick. He was far from in love with you, but Jungkook tended to be territorial about what was his. And you were his wife at the moment. 

You, on the other hand, seemed surprised by his reaction, as if it was the last thing you expected him to do.

“I mean you obviously want one now too, right?” You asked with your brows furrowed.

Jungkook didn’t respond, and that only seemed to make you more agitated.

“I’m not the wife that you want. You clearly can’t stand me when I have my ditzy front pulled up and you can’t trust me when I don’t.”

Although the points that you were making were true, there was one important factor you were missing, and that was the alliance between the Jeons and the Lees. Jungkook needed this alliance to, at the very least make himself seem like, he was more powerful than the Parks and the Mins. And with their recent moves -with what he saw at the docks just last night- he needed this alliance now more than ever. So while he normally would have had you executed and then sent your head to your father’s doorstep for your little assassination attempt, this time he was going to have to sweep his pride to the side.

Jungkook placed his free hand next to your head as he pushed himself up, choosing instead to stay standing in front of the sofa. His intense gaze dropped to your still form while his gun hung from his fingers firmly. 

“No,” he finally said, causing your brows to jump. 

You quickly pushed yourself off the couch to stand just as he was, but Jungkook didn’t move. With the sofa right behind you, barring you from taking a few steps back, that left you and him standing dangerously close to each other. The bow from your nightgown pressed against his partly unbuttoned black collar shirt, while its edge grazed his dress pants. Jungkook could feel the heat of your breath raise goosebumps from his exposed collarbone. 

“Why not? I’m not the wife that you want.”

He smiled at the bite in your words, finding your frustration amusing, “you’ve got it all wrong. I simply wanted a wife to make the Lees allies, nothing more.”

Like a fire set alight, your eyes flashed in anger, “I won’t change. I’ll still be your idiot wife that will make you look weak.”

It was true that most wives of mafia leaders were strong and confident beings, symbols of their husbands’ power, and that having a wife like you may be a slightly risky choice. But Jungkook was sure his carefully established reputation could take the hit. Besides, although you might make him look weak, your marriage with him would make him far from actually weak. 

“You think divorcing you won’t make me look weak?” Jungkook decided to say, unsure of if he was saying it to play with you more or to make sure you don’t believe your threats are inconveniencing him, “you’ve fooled everyone with your ditzy facade. A divorce will make them think I wasn’t able to tame a naive girl. You think people will accept me as a leader then?”

You didn’t react to the point, giving him the feeling that you might have already known that might pose an issue for him. Perhaps you thought his reputation could take the hit? When Jungkook really thought about it, it probably could have. He’d worked hard to be both feared and respected for years, a divorce like this, while questionable in the eyes of the people under him, could have been pushed under the rug given time. But the alliance was too important to him. 

And that was something he needed to make sure you knew. 

“That means you will continue to be my wife,” he settled, lowering his gaze so that it met yours with unwavering finality, “so you’ll continue to act like it.”

Jungkook felt his voice naturally lower, a hint of a threat evident in his tone, “listen to me well, Y/N. I don’t care if you act like the dumbest woman on Earth or the most sultry. Regardless, what you will act like is my wife. When we’re outside of this bedroom, we will laugh together, we will hug each other, and we will do whatever other damn thing married couples do so that no one doubts this relationship.”

“And if I don’t?” You bit, the speed of your reply making his jaw tick. 

“If you don’t, you can stay locked in this bedroom until you learn how to behave. Understood?”

Your rage couldn’t have been more prominent, with a fierce glare burning right through him and a pair of fisted hands at your sides. Yet Jungkook ignored it all, instead meeting your gaze coolly as he waited for your confirmation. 

It took a long moment to come, so long that Jungkook thought it wasn’t going to come at all. But eventually he noticed you nod your head. It was barely a movement, your head tipping down slightly before resuming its earlier place, but it was enough for him despite your unwavering glare. 

He finally took a few steps back, thrusting the barrel of his gun once again into the waistband of his pants. Your angry form, on the other hand, didn’t move, opting instead to stand perfectly still despite your calves pressing into the sofa behind you. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen onto his forehead away from his face.

“Good, then we’re done here.”

He finally turned away from you, eyeing the door on his left intently. But before he could move towards it, your words made him pause.

“I just tried to kill you,” you commented before he turned to question its randomness. He found you sitting on the sofa once again, an eerily thoughtful look lurking behind your rage-filled eyes, “how will you know I won’t do it again?”

Jungkook tilted his head in response. 

“You can try all you want, princess,” he said, liking the feeling of that nickname on his tongue more and more. It was almost addicting, “but you won’t succeed.”

Then his lips curled into a sly smirk, “after all, what kind of husband would I be if I barred my wife from her hobbies?”

He was able to just barely catch the roll of your eyes before he turned and pushed through the door he had been eyeing earlier, his hands automatically locking it behind him as he casually surveyed his office. The room had been spared from the new gleaming white and fawn furniture which had taken over his bedroom. Instead, it was filled with familiar dark brown.

Refined dark oak wood shelves and cabinets lined the walls except for the wall behind his large desk, which was made up entirely of a bookshelf filled to the brim with various hardcovers. For the sake of matching with the rest of the house, the marble floor had been done a light fawn colour, while another wall was made up of bulletproof glass, its centre having the ability to slide open to reveal a decent sized balcony. 

Jungkook shrugged off his blazer as he made his way to his desk, laying the piece of cloth over the back of his black leather chair, before he opened the glass cabinet behind it. He didn’t need to think much as his fingers expertly curled around an expensive bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass. Before he knew it, he found himself standing outside on his balcony overlooking his estate, one hand holding the crystal glass filled halfway with light brown liquid while the other clutched the iron railing. 

His gaze bounced around his estate for a peaceful moment as he took a sip from his glass, taking in the expanse of the luscious green field bordering the neatly done driveway despite the darkness of the night. In its centre was an intricately designed white fountain spewing water in four different directions, but all of which emptied systematically into the white basin at its base. The estate itself stretched for metres, the gates enclosing the space barely visible from where he was standing. Jungkook’s thoughts bounced around his head just as quickly as his gaze. 

What a day it had been. At first, you’d been a complete idiot, one that had irritated him to no extent with your doe eyes and evident shyness. 

But then you had turned out to be an entirely different species, far from the innocent and ditzy girl he’d labelled you as. You were cunning and feisty and seemingly very much ready for a divorce. 

Jungkook felt the corners of his lips pull upwards into a grin as he took another sip of his whisky.

You were quite the enigma.

But he was going to enjoy the challenge.  

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!

[imaginespazzi]

I have a head canon where Paige has a realization during the overtime video with Jaden Owens that she wants to be with azzi forever and she’s ready for more commitment. Right when the video cuts off Jaden says “it’s like your sharing your life with your best friend”

Can you write a one shot where Paige has this realization after she says that and then she talks to Azzi about it? I’m obsessed with the way you write pazzi!

This is maybe shorter than you wanted and written in about the span of an hour (so unedited) but I kinda fell in love with this, so hopefully it's at least a little bit like you'd hoped for:

“It’s like you're sharing your life with your best friend”

It's been almost half a day since the podcast had filmed and Jaden's words are still echoing through Paige's head, as she lies on her hotel room bed, staring at the bright lights in the ceiling. That nagging voice in her head, exasperatedly telling her you already do share a life with your best friend, sounds a lot like Caroline, Paige thinks. It's not wrong. In between sharing closets and friends, and hopes and dreams, and spending every second they can together, the lines have merged so much that Paige's life feels a lot like PaigeAndAzzi's life.

All her life, Paige has been just a little bit scared of committing to anything except the ball in her hands and the court underneath her feet. She'd made as much clear in the podcast today too when the topic of marriage had come up. In the moment, she'd stuck to her default, that she needed more time, the same line she's been repeating to Azzi for god knows how long. Then Jaden had said those ten words, like it was the most simple thing in the world, and it had felt like Paige's whole way of thinking had come crushing down.

“It’s like you're sharing your life with your best friend”

And it should scare Paige, the realization that she already has that, something so deep, so powerful and yet so fragile, but instead she feels an unprecedented surge of calmness, her constantly moving body, suddenly finding a sense of stillness. If there was ever a feeling she could capture in a bottle, she thinks it might be this one, this feeling of knowing, she's found forever.

It takes about three rings for Azzi to pick up the facetime call. She's leaning against her headboard, hair pulled into a bun, eyes glimmering with sleep. Despite being clearly tired, the smile she has for Paige, just for Paige, is dazzling. And maybe that's why Paige isn't scared. Because if that's the smile she gets for the rest of her life, really it's all she could ever want.

"I thought you'd be out and about in town," Azzi says with a knowing grin.

"Nah," Paige shakes her head, "that's not the life for me anymore."

Azzi raises a questioning eyebrow at the phrasing, head falling back against her pink pillow, "is that so? No more party P?"

"Think I'm ready to settle down. Two kids, a suburban house with a big yard, all of that stuff you know?" and even if she says it with a joking smile, Paige knows that, that's the truth. Maybe not right now right now, but that's the future she wants and she wants it with Azzi.

"No pets?" Azzi asks, playing along as she squints at Paige through the phone.

"Well, I thought Stewie was a given," Paige says slowly and even through the scratchy connection, she hears Azzi's voice hitch at the meaning behind her words.

"Stewie-," Azzi bites her lip nervously, "you see all of that with Stewie?"

"Duh," Paige rolls her eyes dramatically but her heart is beating rapidly, "I can't imagine a future without Stewie. There's no house or two kids without her. Do you think-," it's the blonde's turn to chew at her lips as she stares intently as the brunette on her phone screen, "do you think Stewie would want that too? A life with me? Forever?"

It's been a long time coming, and Azzi has been ever so patient, maybe more patient than Paige had deserved. Maybe, maybe it deserves better than a long-distance facetime call and a conversation disguised using Azzi's dog's name but something about this moment feels right. And Paige wishes Azzi was here next to her, so she could kiss her feelings into the younger girl's skin, mark her with the words you're my forever.

Something wet shimmers against Azzi's eyelashes as the softest smile adorns her face, "I think Stewie would want that a lot. I think she's wanted it for a really long time actually. She was just waiting for you."

"I'm sorry I made her wait so long," sincerity is etched into every syllabus as something a little bit like guilt pools in Paige's stomach, guilt at having denied both of them the chance to just be happy.

"You were worth the wait."

[josephquinnswhore]

refined taste - joel miller x female reader

summary: joel relishes in the taste of you.

word count: 3.2k

content warning: pre-existing relationship, girl dad joel, drinking breastmilk, fingering, humping the bed, male and female ejaculation. mother + father joel. mentions of joel being a hoe pre-outbreak lol. brief mention of age gap, joel cums in his pants.

Times were scarce where you and Joel got to relax.. with no one but the company of each other. That’s what happens when you have a baby—you learn. Hell, most of the time you roamed the house in nothing but one of Joel’s shirts, as you are now. Maria had warned you of what was to come, after her and Tommy’s son was born, he was an absolute nightmare baby. Your and Joel’s daughter, Tilly, was wonderful. She had Joel’s dark hair and his hazel eyes. She looked just like him.

You didn’t mind, not when you could see that she was healing him in a way that you couldn’t. To fill the grief of Sarah. Not to replace her.. but to have a connection that felt the same way. A paternal connection.

Joel is a hands-on father, and he’s honestly incredible. He gently lies Tilly down in her cot.. after she had downed the whole bottle of your warm breast milk. Maria was generous to share over the baby things she no longer needed.

Tilly coos as she falls asleep, her tummy full of milk. For some reason, the bottle was the only way she would take your milk, since she was born she absolutely refused to take your breast. It was hard for you, as you’d heard it was good for her immune system and a way of connecting to the baby. You eventually grew accustomed to bottle feeding, still expressing by hand to relieve your breasts of their ache.

Joel sighs as he lies into bed with you. The sheets wrinkling under the sudden weight.

“Y'know I always wondered what breast milk tastes like.” You wonder aloud. A soft murmur so you don’t wake your daughter.

Joel's eyebrows rise in surprise at your sudden statement, a mix of amusement and mild shock on his face. He chuckles softly, his voice filled with a hint of disbelief.

"Oh really?" he playfully retorts, trying to hide a smirk. "Well, I can tell you it's quite distinct."

He pauses for a moment, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks, before continuing with a teasing tone, "Though I can't claim to be an expert taster."

“Then how do you know?” You ask, a confused expression on your face.

Joel's smirk widens slightly, the playful banter continuing between the two of you. He raises an eyebrow, his voice carrying a hint of mischief.

"I happen to have certain experiences with it," he replies with a feigned air of nonchalance, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of devilishness.

You laugh softly. “Oh, so it’s a fetish of yours then?”

Joel chuckles softly, enjoying the lightheartedness in your voice. His expression softens slightly, his eyes gleaming with a mix of humour and affection.

"I wouldn’t necessarily call it a fetish," he clarifies with a hint of a smile on his lips, "but let's just say I’ve had my moments. You know, like any man who's been around the block.”

A gasp leaves your lips, part shock and part confirmation. “So you were a whore before the outbreak?” You’d assumed he would’ve been a ladies man anyway, looking at the old photo of him before the outbreak.. he was a hunk, even then.

Joel's expression turns serious as he addresses your question, his tone softening. He realises the weight of his past actions and the impact they had on him and others.

"It's true, I was," he confirms, his voice filled with a sense of regret. "Back then, I was not the man I am now. I was more wild, more reckless. The world was a different place, and I made some choices I'm not proud of."

A faux gasp of surprise leaves your lips, and you raise a hand to your chest. “I can’t believe I’m marrying the town bike of Texas!”

Joel's jaw drops slightly at your playful remark, a mix of surprise and amusement crossing his face. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if trying to process the teasing.

"Hey, you better watch it," he retorts, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I may have been the town bike, but you're the one marrying me. Who's the real crazy one here, hmm?"

“Probably the guy that’s tasted breast milk before his fiancé that’s actually got breastmilk?” You retort.

Joel's eyes widen at your teasing remark, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the flush of red.

"Okay, okay, you got me there," he admits, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "But in my defence, it was research. Purely for scientific purposes, you know."

The laughter that leaves your lips is followed by a low snort. “You’re ridiculous…. Well maybe I can help you with your.. peculiar study.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued by your offer. He gazes at you for a moment, gauging your sincerity before responding.

"Oh yeah? You feeling generous, are you?" He teases, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Well, I suppose I could use a volunteer for my, ahem, 'study.' Just don’t go spreading rumours about me now."

You bite your lip to stop your smile. “I’ll be sure to hold my tongue whenever I feel like making fun of you.”

Joel smiles, his eyes gleaming with affection and a hint of playful mischief. He leans in closer, his voice slightly huskier as he responds.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, his words filled with warmth. "I know you wouldn't." He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, his gaze fixated on your face, as if he can't take his eyes off you.

A small drop of milk leaks through one of Joel’s shirts you wore and your face heats up, but you take the opportunity to tease him. You lift your shirt and swipe a drip of milk falling from your nipple, and pop your finger in your mouth, tasting your breast milk. You raise an eyebrow. “Huh.. not bad..”

Joel’s eyes widen slightly as he watches you taste your own milk, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. He can’t help but chuckle softly at your reaction.

"That’s all? Just ‘huh’? I thought I was gonna get some more details," he teasingly responds, his voice carrying a hint of playful disappointment. "Don’t leave me hanging here. How does it taste?"

“You’re more than welcome to test it yourself, mister scientist..”

Joel blinks once, his cheeks flushing with a hint of a blush at your suggestion. He can’t help but chuckle softly, the idea a bit new and unexpected, but not unwelcome.

“Well, I suppose I could be a good scientific partner and contribute to my.. study," he replies with a hint of a smile, his voice a little husky.

He reaches out, gently lifting the material of his own shirt that you wore, exposing your breasts with one hand, and leans in closer, his warm breath grazing your nipple.

A whimper leaves your lips as Joel latches onto your nipple, suckling softly at first to let you adjust to the new feeling, then when the milk starts to flow; he starts suckling desperately, using his hands to help express the milk.

Well; it certainly did seem like he’d done this before.

The tips of your fingers caress his scalp, as his ministrations grow more desperate, you gently tug on the greying locks, he draws a breathless whine from you.

Your touch sends a shiver down Joel's spine, intensifying the connection between you. His mind and body are consumed by the sensations swirling around him. He moves his hands to your hips, gently pulling you closer as he continues to suckle on your breast, the taste of milk fueling his passion. The sound of your whimper only serves to heighten his arousal, his desire for you growing with each passing moment.

“You’re a selfish man Joel.. gonna drain me dry.”

Joel's body tightens at your words, a mix of desire and restraint filling his mind. He pulls away from your breast, his lips leaving a trail of warm kisses along your sternum before he finally speaks.

"You taste divine, you know that?" He whispers, his voice husky and filled with passion. "I might get addicted to this."

“Don’t get greedy now sweetheart.” You tsk him in a mock condescending tone.

Joel chuckles softly, his hands tracing gentle patterns on your hips as he whispers, "I don’t intend to. But you’re tempting me, you know that?”

His eyes gleam with desire, the passion evident in his gaze. "You’re so captivating. I can’t help but want more of you. I hope you’re prepared for it."

Giggling, your fingers play with his hair. “So.. what’s the verdict—Mr scientist? How does it taste?”

Joel smiles, his eyes filled with warmth and affection as he responds, "Ah, the scientific results."

He pauses, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Well, it tastes wonderful. Sweet, with a hint of earthy goodness. And the texture, smooth and creamy. Not to mention the effect it has on me."

He leans in, a devilish grin spreading across his face. "But I think I’ll need more time to conduct further research."

You hum. “Tastes like sugar water to me. Seems like you’re.. undecided.”

Joel laughs softly, shaking his head in playful disagreement. He nuzzles his face against your neck, his voice filled with teasing desire.

"Oh, come on, you can do better than that. It's not sugar water. It's unique and delicious. I'm not undecided. I'm just thorough, sweetheart. I need more... samples. For science, of course."

“Oh right—if it’s for science.. by all means, go ahead.”

An eager smile spreads across Joel's face, his body pressing closer against you. His eyes gleam with desire, a mix of playful mischief and affection. He leans in, his voice filled with a husky rasp as he whispers against your neck.

"Perfect. I promise to be... thorough."

It feels more sensitive than it did the first time.

Joel's smile widens against your skin as he hears your whine, his body reacting instinctively to the sound. His mouth presses gently against your breast, his tongue coaxing out more milk as he suckles hungrily. His hand begins to massage gently, his grip firm but tender, his touches designed to elicit more of those delightful sounds from you.

Joel becomes more intense with his mouth and tongue, lapping at you, his teeth gently graze at the sensitive skin of your nipple and you moan softly.

A sudden movement catches your attention, the bed shakes a little, and you’re curious—so you look. His hips are desperately rutting against the bed, he groans against your flesh.

As Joel's mouth continues it’s ministrations, exploring your body with increasing intensity, his hips involuntarily rocking in rhythm with your moans and whimpers.

The sensations swirling between you only seem to intensify, the connection between you growing more intimate and powerful. Your voice, the sound of your pleasure, fuels his desire, his touches and kisses growing more urgent and desperate.

“Joel..” you whine, an octave higher than normal. Almost begging for something.. more.

Joel's ears perk up at the sound of his name, his mind consumed by the intimacy of the moment. He can tell that you need more, that you're on the verge of something intense. His mouth moves hungrily across your skin, his teeth grazing softly as one of his hands slide down your body.

His fingers slide down between your cunt—it’s soaking his fingers, the pad of his thumb begins to swirl softly against your clit, teasing you at first. He drags his other fingers down into your hole, pumping in and out. Your head hits the pillow, hips bucking upward as you whine in approval.

As he hears the sharp inhale that escapes your lips, he knows he's found the spot that makes you quiver. His touches grow more deliberate, each stroke sending a shiver of pleasure through you, his touch knowing precisely how to ignite the fire he's been fueling.

You tremble at the sensation of the two most sensitive parts of you both being worked simultaneously. His mouth is lapping desperately at your breast, your sensitive nipple is perked and dribbling milk. Joel doesn’t let a single droplet go to waste. The feeling of his thick fingers pumping into the spongey flesh of your cunt makes you clench around him, his thumb remains in it’s steady pace of working your clit.

Joel's eyes are fixated on your face, watching every tiny expression and reaction to his touch. Witnessing the way you tremble beneath him only serves to heighten his own desire. The intensity of the simultaneous stimulation is nearly overwhelming for you, and he takes full advantage of the moment. His mouth lingers on your breast, his tongue exploring and teasing as his fingers continue their seductive dance on your precious cunt that’s soaking his fingers, determined to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

You curl your fingers in his greying hair, pulling taut as you fall apart, feeling it all at once, the sensations overwhelm you in a delicious symphony of overstimulation. Then, as coil that had been winding tighter with every pump of his fingers, every lap of his tongue.. it snapped. The quickest orgasm of your life.

By far, the most intense, too. Your toes curl into the bedsheets and your legs try to close at the feeling of sensitivity. Your cunt clenches around his fingers at it coats the thick digits with your cum. A ringing sound warbles through your ears, breath struggling to regulate as you huff quickly, desperate to get oxygen to your lungs after Joel ripped it from you.

Joel's body tightens in response to the way you pull at his hair, a mix of excitement and pleasure surging through him. As your body quivers in release, he continues his ministrations, each slowed stroke designed to prolong your bliss. He can feel the intensity of your pleasure, the way your body convulse and clench, and it fills him with a sense of satisfaction. He watches as you surrender to the moment, his touch gentle yet deliberate, guiding you through the waves of ecstasy until you come back down.

Joel falls apart at the sight of your parted lips and pinched brows—relishing in the intimate and ecstasy of his actions.

The bed vibrates as Joel desperately ruts against the mattress, hearing you fall apart, feeling your cum coat his fingers..

Joel's own release follows shortly after yours, the intensity of the moment overwhelming his senses. He continues to move against the mattress, the friction of his body against it adds to the intoxicating mix of sensations. He finds release in the rhythm of your breaths, the tremble of your skin, and the sound of his name on your lips. As he climaxes, his grip on your body tightens, his gasps and moans mingling with yours in the heat of the moment.

He couldn’t help the way his weeping cock finally exploded inside of his jeans.

You’re wide eyed as you realise Joel had just cum in his jeans, he pants heavily, groaning against your skin as he pulls away from your breast, resting his sweaty forehead against your warm chest.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling as he tries to calm his racing heart. He can feel the heat in his cheeks and he glances up at you, realising the mess he had made.

“Did you just..” you trail off.

He lets out a sheepish chuckle, his voice filled with a hint of embarrassment.

"Oh...well, that was unexpected. Guess I got a little carried away."

“A little? You think?” Your eyebrow is raised. But you’re not upset, not even a little. It was.. flattering, honestly.

Joel laughs again, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and fondness. He looks up at you, a softness in his gaze as he responds.

“Alright, maybe more than a little. Can you blame me though? The sight of you in the throes of passion...it's a sight I can't resist. I couldn't help myself.”

You smile softly, admiring the redness in his cheeks.

“I love you. Even if you were the town bike back in the day.”

Joel's expression softens at your words, a deep affection shining in his eyes. He reaches up, gently cupping your cheek in his calloused hand.

"And I love you, more than anything.” He responds, his voice filled with sincerity. He pauses for a moment, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. "And as for being the town bike...well, let's just say that's a reputation I'm grateful to have left behind. You're the only one I have eyes for now."

His words were truthful, and it entices a smile, knowing he was serious even in your playful banter.

“Good. Cause I’m not sharing my soon to be husband.” You murmur into his hair.

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, a surge of warmth spreading through his body. He returns your smile, his eyes gleaming with love and contentment.

“You have nothing to worry about, sweetheart,” he reassures you, his voice laced with affection. “I'm all yours. Body, heart, and soul. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend the rest of my life with than you."

Your other breast, that was left unattended to, starts to leak from being so engorged. As if weeping that it didn’t get any attention.

Joel notices the leaking breast, a flicker of desire in his eyes. He watches as it leaks and dribbles down your torso, leaving a sticky trail.

"Hmm...it seems like this sweet girl is in need of some attention too," he comments, his voice low and husky. He gently cups your breast, massaging it gently. "Can't have you leaking all over the place, right?"

A whimper leaves your dry lips. “Such a greedy man.”

Joel chuckles softly, his eyes meeting yours with a heated gaze.

"Can you blame me, sweetheart? You're simply irresistible," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing teasing circles on your breast. "Every part of you is so alluring. I couldn't resist if I tried."

You roll your eyes in a playful manner. “Just save some for the baby.”

Joel's smile widens, his eyes softening as he leans in to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. "Of course. Just because I can't get enough of you doesn't mean I'll deprive our little one.”

"We'll just have to find ways to share you, hm?" he whispers, nuzzling his face against your neck. "But rest assured, I'll never let either of you go hungry."

You hum as his facial hair scratches against your soft skin.

Joel's stubble brushes against your skin, it’s roughness adds a delightful contrast to the softness of your neck. He nuzzles further into you, relishing the intimacy of the moment.

"You're just so damn irresistible," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "The way you react to my touch...it drives me crazy.”

Joel's body presses closer to yours, his need evident as his arousal grows stronger. He groans, the sound a mixture of pleasure and frustration.

"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" He mutters, his voice husky and breathless. "The way you affect me...it's hard to hold back sometimes."

You grin cheekily. “Keep up baby. You have a good few decades left. I’ll have to keep you on your toes, eh?”

Joel laughs softly, the sound a mix of amusement and affection. "You cheeky little minx," he teases, his eyes gleaming with adoration. "I should be the one keeping you on your toes, given I'm the older and wiser one. But I reckon keeping up with you will keep me young in spirit."

You laugh. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

Joel chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Years of experience, sweetheart. You learn a few things along the way." His fingers lightly trace across your cheek, a tender gesture that complements his teasing words.

"Besides, when it comes to you, I always have something clever to say. How else am I supposed to keep up with your wit and sass?"

“I just hope little Tilly doesn’t grow up to have your sense of humour, cause then we’ll be in trouble.”

Joel grins against the soft skin of your breast. “Ain’t that the truth.”

[b1tcht0p1a]

Feelings - Monster Trio

Fem! reader, but there is more gender-neutral wording in both Luffy's and Zoro's parts. Sanji does, too, but I was thinking more feminine. Don't worry, I will be making a male! reader one eventually. Rewrite of this post!

Luffy doesn’t come off as the most intelligent or aware of a lot. He’s smarter than he lets on sometimes. He's had crushes during his childhood and is well aware of what a relationship is. But he hasn't explored anything close to a romantic. It's unimportant to him, but that doesn't mean he's never considered it. It wasn't often, but these thoughts started up more often when you came crashing into his life. Especially after he got to know you better.

He figured that he liked you but shrugged it off at first. It was a small thing, it would probably disappear at some point.

But he was wrong, he found himself talking about you. From something big you did with him and the crew or a small thing you did that he found funny.

He'll do this when he knows you're not around to hear. He's not embarrassed about what he's saying. He just doesn't want to make things uncomfortable for you.

And even after repeated attempts to get him to even hint at this crush of his, he doesn't. And you're oblivious to the whole thing.

So when he finally comes around and just admits what he feels, you're blindsided. But once thinking back on some things, you understand completely.

You were on the deck, chilling and just enjoying the sun after several days of overcast. Everyone was enjoying themselves, relaxing like yourself, or doing some activity. You're in your own world, not paying attention to anyone, when the sun's warmth suddenly disappears. Cracking open an eye reveals Luffy staring down at you and picking his nose. "Can I help you?" He shrugs his shoulders, his finger still digging in his nose. He pulls it out and inspects his finger before wiping it on his shorts. "Don't know, just kinda felt like coming over here."

"Oh, why don't you sit down?"

"Ehh, no, I'm good. Just wanted to say you're pretty and that I like you." "Oh? Thanks-" "As in, I want to date you." He walks away after that, probably to return to whatever he was doing before or to annoy Sanji for lunch. You're stunned momentarily, mind wandering as you think.

Getting over how sudden the confession was, and thinking back on how he treats you; he was obvious with his feelings.

Checking on you first after fights, even if he's pretty injured. Coming to find you and hanging around you even if you aren't doing something 'fun'. Most of the time, he'll ask a question about what you're doing before walking away. The rare times he would stay, he would simply watch. Only a question or two here or there.

He also tends to listen to you better. Like, ask him to do something for you and he'll do it. (Most of the time, occasionally he won't)

Anyways, if you approach him and talk to him about what he said, he'll repeat himself. No shame. He felt ready.

He doesn't expect you to return his sentiment but does hope that you feel the same. At the end of the day, he wants to have you in his life. Significant other or not.

Oh? You feel the same? He heard you just give him a second. The words are reaching his brain.

He's overjoyed, he's laughing and wrapping you in a hug. He's running around the ship telling everyone. He still has you held in his arms the whole time.

Zoro is very special. He knows things, but fuck is he emotionally constipated. He tolerates you more than the others, aside from Luffy. He's capable of showing and experiencing emotions; he's not as stoic as people think. But he doesn't like expressing things that might make him seem weak. He hates crying; he hates romantic feelings. Even though he tolerates you, he dislikes being around you because you make him feel weak. He can't have that.

When he first realized his little crush on you; he started to push you away.

Only to stop doing this because it made him feel worse for pushing you away.

His crush is obvious by the way. He'll do things for you that he wouldn't do the others. And also if you get him talking about you, he has a lot of things to say. All good, promise.

He likes to hover a lot when out on an island. He says he doesn't but he is. He also manages not to get lost while with you. Which is strange.

Please don't talk to him about his feelings. He will get mad and walk away. Let him do it himself, and act surprised.

You just returned from a little shopping trip on the most recent island. Everyone went out, getting much-needed supplies but also some more indulgent things. You went off to shop, wanting to see what this island had to offer. Zoro, of course, had followed you. Standing right behind you, arms crossed and looking more like a bodyguard than anything. It's intimidating and some vendors seemed too eager to sell you things. Even at a high discount. Sure, it's nice not having to spend a bunch of money on something you really like, but the feeling of being rushed makes it hard to comfortably buy things. But overall, your trip was successful, and Zoro was 'begrudgingly' carrying it back to the ship for you. It was silent as you walked back to the ship. You had decided to take a scenic route back to the docks. Enjoying the vibrant colors of the town. It gave a perfect opportunity to speak to Zoro alone. You had been aware of his feelings and returned them. You had wanted to talk to him about it. Thinking it was best to do it away from the other, you waited to get him alone. The island stop provided a good moment. So when the docks came into view, you stopped walking. So did Zoro, though he was confused as to why you stopped.

"The ship is right there, why'd you stop?"

"I want to ask you something..."

"Okay? Why'd you stop, though?" You sigh deeply. You have to take your next steps carefully. Zoro is special. Being blunt felt right.

"Everyone keeps saying you have a crush on me. Yes or no?" He drops everything in his arms and stares at you blankly. Then you see it, he becomes flustered.

"You’re an idiot. What the hell makes you think that?" He stomps off before you can even answer. You had to carry everything back.

He ignores you for the rest of the day. Refusing to even glance at you during dinner.

He’s still visibly flushed btw.

He will come around later either that night or the next day. Begrudgingly apologizing of course.

He’s honestly expecting to get turned down so he starts talking as if you don’t like him back.

Dumbfounded when that’s not the case. Smiles at you before it quickly drops.

The others only know because you told them. There’s not much of a difference between dating and friendship. Just more affection.

Sanji, despite being the emotional person he is, doesn’t know how he really feels. He loves women. Which makes it hard to discern genuine thoughts from his perverted thoughts. And at first, that's what it very much seems like. A man with a little too much to say about feminine individuals. He understands that he finds you attractive, but there's something else there. This tight feeling in his chest makes it feel like he can't breathe. He's scared.

He's not as confident serving you as he is with Robin or Nami. He needs everything 100% perfect.

Because of these feelings, he tends to cook meals that he knows will please or thinks will please you. He lives for your praise.

He'd say things like "I love you..." or "Marry me...". Anything that he also says to Robin or Nami. It's less tossed out as it is with them.

Despite his typical nature, he can converse with women or feminine people in general without being his usual self. So he'd ask for help; it's new, and he wants to address it as soon as possible.

He is a lot softer leading up to his confession. More genuine smiles and compliments. Like small things. He's observant.

'Did you do something new? You look lovely today!' 'Wow! Those colors really make your eyes pop.'

Sanji had been acting strange the past few days. His normal pervertedness had mellowed into something actually sweet. He wasn't as tense, and he spoke softer than he would Robin or Nami. When he wasn't cooking or catering to people's needs, he often sat with you. Talking about interests, hobbies, anything about you. It was late, way after dinner. Everyone was off getting ready for bed. Other than you and Sanji. All his cleaning was done, thanks to your help. Now, you're both sat at the head of the boat. Both staring into the water, talking about random things. Surprisingly, the topic turned to the future and love. He's standing close, his face soft as he speaks. "I fear that my normal behavior might have ruined my chances." "Well, if it's anything, you've made leaps and bounds with that shit since. At least towards me." Sanji hesitates momentarily, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing it into the wind. He turns so he faces you. "Yeah, because it's you." The world has never been clearer.

Just pretend you are blind pls. He was so obvious with it that he thought you knew. But realized you didn't when yall would talk.

He almost walks off after saying that but waits.

Crys when you share the same sentiment.

Gladly tells everyone over dinner. Only for Zoro to say some dumb shit.

Nami and Robin are very happy for you, though. They were tired of Sanji's whining to them.

As stated above, this is a rewrite of this post. Do not plagiarize or reupload my content to any other site or blog.

Luffy 574 Zoro 606 Sanji 468

[okwonyo]

﹙ ✉️ ﹚ ──THAT’S MY GIRL. in which ⸝ ㅤ𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀’𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽.

엔하이픈 희승 ⠀ ノ⠀ female reader 7OO inspo ；non-idol au fluff established relationship ⠀⎯⠀⠀ pet-names skinship kissing ⠀， recueil . . .

ᙏ̤̫ ！wrote this while listening to ‘that’s my girl’ by frank sativa ^_^

is soft melody that buzzes into the calm air. the rythm goes up in a gentle manner while you delicately put the dishes in the sink. the night is still pretty young and you tell yourself that you or heeseung would take care of it later. the latter, that will most definitely be the one doing the dishes, increases slightly the sound of the speaker in the living room.

too occupied throwing to the bin the used tissues remaining on table to even hear your boyfriend’s footsteps coming from behind you. the realization only hits you when you hear his fingers clacking to the beat of the music, so naturally — you can tell he loves that song. he body moves towards you as he dances, a sly smile showing up on his face.

his hips moves along the melody, he cups your head gently and the music’s lyrics are heard. “that’s my girl,” he sings, well rather speaks, to you.

the gentle and sweet, yet endeared annoyed you give him makes him all warm inside. he delicately put his lips on yours, you reciprocate the action tenderly while posing your hands on his exposed forearms, due to his rolled up sleves, then on his blue jeans’ belt. he holds you as if you are his whole world while he kisses you, because you are.

he loves the way you kiss him; it’s so sweet, so comforting, so pretty and so you. he loves how you grip onto his belt, how you end up holding his hips, how you nose brushes against his. he never wants to change a thing, about you. you don’t need to change a thing baby, frank sativa sings, can you please stay the same, baby? heeseung knows how he feels.

during the kiss, his hands find yours. then, when he pulls away he holds them firmly, encouraging you to dance with a look. a enamored pride fills his body when he watches the way you move. although you claim that you cannot dance, the natural groove you were born with makes you swing your hips in a charming manner, “that’s my girl”, he hypes you up after a chorus of encouraging ‘ay,ay’ accompanied by your timid laughters.

you let him pull you close, you ear against his chest. you can feel his heart beating while he puts his hand on your lower back. his hold on your hand is hanging in the hair, as if it was a royal prom. “can you just be my girl?” he hums the lyrics. his cheeks against your temp and his lips perfectly brushing against your skin.

both slow dancing along the music. getting lost in each other warmth. tonight, it’s only you and him in that kitchen. he thinks you are perfect, the most perfect anyone can wish. how can i even trust the world? sativa asks, as if he reads into heeseung’s mind. he pulls you impossibly closer to his embrace, your scent drives him a bit crazy.

he barely even feels the pressure your feet put on his accidentally, far too lost in nothing else but you. you chuckle an apology and he giggles it off. no, i would never judge you, girl, sativa assures to his dulcinea— your boyfriend couldn’t agree more. “you,” he starts humming the song, a bit too eagerly, a bit too early. you giggle at his mistake, tilting your head up to him and you laugh more when he looks straight before him, avoiding you eyes. still, blushing a bit and giggling with you too. the next time, he he hugs your shoulders, you hug his waist, your chest get pressed against him and he rocks your body to the side.l, , “you know that you deserve the world.”

the sound ends on a soft sound, you think you like it. no, you know you love it. because he thinks about you while listening to it, his girl. the sweet lover pulls away from you, coordinated to your moves. you both hold each other’s end, stepping away from each other as much as the grip can allow. just like in the princess movies, he pulls you back again and you twirl on your feet. your back hits his chest, whipsers in your ear “my baby,” then he gives you a wet cheek kiss.

he stills end up doing the dishes that night.

[darsynia]

Adversarial 1/? (Bucky/Mechanic!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | RO ROLL MASTERLIST | gif by @dailybuckybarnes

Summary: The textbooks all say that finding your soulmate feels like figuring out your place in the world, something you’ve always thought was utter bullshit, but--

…but your soulmate has a mechanical arm

Word Count/Warnings: 4,000 | explicit sex

As 2/7 of my birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, adVERsarial is a Soulmate AU 'enemies to lovers' with a brash, outspoken f!reader. Stay tuned for more, and feel free to drop a comment if you'd like to be on the tag list!

Excerpt:

“Are you the lead mechanic? Stark said I could find them here.”

“I am, and I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little bummed out that those aren’t the words written all over my mitt, here,” you tell Captain America, holding up your (grime-covered, unreadable) left hand.

A ripple of… something tugs his eyebrow upward for a few seconds, and he smiles politely. “I get that a lot.”

You feel the burn of triumph in your chest and move in for the killing blow. “Oh really? I wish you’d kept a list, Rogers, because I’d love to meet more female mechanics.”

Adversarial

Your soulmate can go straight to hell.

First of all, your Words are written on your fucking hand, and it almost takes up the whole thing! Who the fuck thought that was okay?

Schools don’t let you cover your hands, did your jerkface soulmate ever think of that? No? Classic.

Oh, and then there are the bullies. So. Many. Bullies. Telling the new kids to come up and say the words to greet you was predictable, but exploiting teachers’ inherent laziness-- ‘but Mrs. DoNothing, I was just reading the words off her hand!’ --was icing on the shit sundae.

You graduated from that hellhole, moved as far away as possible, and got a job that would cover you in gunk so you wouldn’t have to think about your Words every single day.

Now it’s seven years later and your boss asks you to come along on his fancy-ass job at the Avenger Hideout in upstate New York. You’re sure you’ll be kicked to the curb when you meet Stark himself, though. The man is snark incarnate, and you can rarely pass up an opportunity to mouth off.

“‘Sit down and shut up if you want to stay alive,’” he quotes, right after the handshake. The smug look on his face is warranted, because working with the Avengers is one of the few times your soulmate words apply to regular life.

“Yeah I’ll stay standing if it’s all the same to you,” you smile, with too many teeth and everything. You usually choose something more spicy, but you really want this job. Besides, Stark’s soulmark words are well known, so you don’t have to speak to history here.

“As long as you keep your death wish to yourself like everyone else in the asylum, we’re cool. Welcome aboard.”

The Avengers Compound is pretty sweet, actually, and your coworkers don’t seem like the typical stooges. It takes almost a month to persuade them that you really do enjoy the dirtiest, toughest jobs, and after that everything is smooth, filthy sailing. It’s always a good day if you end it needing a long, hot shower and half a bottle of degreasing soap.

There’s an iPad mounted within floor-view for people to text you if they need something. It doubles as your personal DJ, so when the sound cuts out, you slide your ass out from underneath the Quinjet you were servicing to find a pair of boots standing next to it. As you rise gracefully (read: clamber) to your feet, their owner speaks.

“Are you the lead mechanic? Stark said I could find them here.”

“I am, and I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little bummed out that those aren’t the words written all over my mitt, here,” you tell Captain America, holding up your (grime-covered, unreadable) left hand.

A ripple of… something tugs his eyebrow upward for a few seconds, and he smiles politely. “I get that a lot.���

You feel the burn of triumph in your chest and move in for the killing blow. “Oh really? I wish you’d kept a list, Rogers, because I’d love to meet more female mechanics.”

Until this point, he’d been holding himself like the soldier that he is, with the same stiff courtesy you’d seen from his rare television appearances. That all falls away, now. Rogers clears his throat, hitting his fisted hand on his chest as though knocking loose his initial impression of you, then extends that hand out for you to shake.

Your eyebrows skyrocket at just how much grease he’ll end up with if he goes through it, but Captain America’s outstretched hand doesn’t waver.

It’s time for you to knock loose your first impression. You give him a respectful nod and grasp his hand firmly. The grip slips as you shake, but you don’t offer any apology, and Rogers doesn’t seem to need one, not even when there’s a squishing sound as you both disengage. You take pity on the man and snag him a blue towel from your workbench.

“So, what do you need that Stark couldn’t Lord it down here and ask for himself?”

The towel is doing nothing. “We’ve got a mission coming up that will involve some repair work mid-way. Refugee camp in the middle of a regional conflict, with aggressors who like to send self-destructive drones to ruin our day. Army thinks it’s cheaper if it’s us, and not them.” He gestures towards your large tool bag. “We’d like to get in, get fixed back up, and get out in a hurry, and Stark says you’re the…” he pauses.

“Say it.”

“‘Gremlin’ for the job,” he says, apologetically offering back the newly-soiled towel with his still-soiled hand.

“Sounds about right. Have his Jeeves give me the details, yeah?” You start whistling as you scooch back down to finish up the job you’d been working on when Rogers had come in. It takes a not-inconsiderable amount of time for him to walk back out, and you count that as a win.

They were… not kidding about the danger of the mission.

The trip out had been unpleasant as hell, gaining you some unwanted on-the-job experience with what it’s like being motion-sick under fire. As expected, the vehicle is hit by two diligent little destructo-bots, but you take care of the first one handily. Getting the second off and its damage mitigated is made more difficult by the urgency in the comms.

The team is on the way with the refugees in tow, and they want to take off as soon as they get back. Doing that with unknown damage is a terrible idea.

“All right, you heat-seeking little bot-barnacle, you ARE coming off, even if I have to pry off a panel of the ship to do it!” you snap, five minutes later. You're bluffing, since can’t even tell if the damned thing’s done any damage or if the sum total of its effect is ‘skewering the hull and sitting there smug as hell about it.’ The team is getting closer and closer, and the pounding of your heart is so loud you can hear it like a drumbeat in your ears.

They turn out to be footfalls, not your heartbeat.

A metal hand appears out of utterly nowhere and grabs the attack drone, ripping it out of the hull and throwing it with enough force to send it a half mile away. You’re left with your mouth hanging open as the owner of the hand (the arm. It’s an arm, and it’s the most gorgeous piece of machinery you’ve ever, ever seen) turns to face you. He’s wearing tactical gear and a sour expression, and every one of your blood vessels have converted themselves to gasoline at the very sight of him.

“That’s quite an arm you’ve got, soldier,” you quip.

His face twists into fierce fury as he points to the ramp leading into the Quinjet. “Sit down and shut up if you want to stay alive.”

For once in your life, you do what you’re told without complaint or combativeness. The phrase ‘internal combustion’ has never been so apt. The textbooks all say that finding your soulmate feels like figuring out your place in the world, something you’ve always thought was utter bullshit, but--

…but your soulmate has a mechanical arm.

The rest of the team shows up mere seconds later, and from there you’re caught up in the whirlwind of weight balancing, choosing what to ditch to fit every last person in the vehicle. For a few crazy minutes, it seems your grouchy soulmate might be left behind to fend for himself (you have no idea who he is, but you’re completely certain this man could wipe out the entire platoon that Rogers says is heading their way), but you and Stark figure out an overspeed hack that can work for just long enough to get somewhere safe.

You’re too busy keeping your ride in the air to think about anything else, and once you’re all back on solid ground, disembarking is a madhouse. You and Stark are the last two off the thing. He flips up his helmet and gives you one of his thousand-watt smiles.

“Great job today. Forgot to tell you Barnes was with us for this one.”

“Barnes?” you ask, distractedly running your calloused fingers over the rift where the perfect man had pulled out the drone. It looks like a patch might work, rather than having to get a piece machined. 

“James 'Bucky' Barnes. The Vodka Popsicle?” Stark comes over and makes a show of frowning at the way you’re just shrugging. “See, if you were fun, you’d be pretending you have no idea so you can milk me of all the good nicknames.”

The soulmate thing is burning a fuse in the back of your mind, and you don’t have enough left in your tank to banter. “I really don’t know, Motor Mouth. I just kept my head down and did my job.”

You smack the hull of the Quinjet and start toward the elevator bank, secretly pleased with your own stupid nickname. ‘Barnes’ sounds familiar, but you can’t place the name.

“Come on, CS, you had to have seen his arm!”

This stops you in your tracks so quickly you can almost hear the record scratch sound. Right at that moment, you realize where you heard the name Bucky Barnes: in your high school history class! This has to be fake, some stupid Superhero hazing or something.

You spin on your heel, about to accuse Stark of only remembering the name because he had a hot teacher that day, but at the very last minute you remember his father was a WWII war hero. Fine, you can go with 'snark overload' instead. “Friend of your dad’s, then? What happened? Time machine?”

“Fascist Russian trauma, actually,” he says, herding you into the elevator. “JARVIS, can you take over? I need to fly home to the Missus.”

“Wait, Stark--” He’s in the air before you can finish objecting.

One enlightening elevator ride later, you make your way to your workshop in a trance. This whole thing is a coincidence. It has to be. The man has gone through hell, vanquished hell, joined its army only to claw his way out... and his reward is what?

You?

“Took you long enough,” a voice says from the darkest corner of the space. You don’t have to guess who it is. There’s only one person it could be.

“That’s funny as hell in context, you know that?” Shit. Even to your own ears, you sound defensive. “Look,” you rush to add. “I picked this job to keep my Words to myself as much as possible, and I’ll keep doing that. I don’t want anything from you.”

You’re lying. You want a look at his arm like you want coffee in the morning, like you want air in your lungs after a brutal run. If he were anyone else you’d be planning a charm offensive, and you’re not what most people would describe as charming.

“One problem,” Barnes says, stepping out of the shadows with his flesh hand outstretched toward you. It’s so cinematic you forget he’s basically danger incarnate-- and then he makes contact.

Pleasure sizzles up from his grip on your wrist, skin to skin, soul to soul. It’s mind-numbing in the same way as the aftermath of an orgasm, so similar that you stumble a little bit when he lets go only seconds later. You’ve only read about Sensitivity or seen it depicted in movies, and neither did the full glory of it justice.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t look affected at all. “Yeah. One hell of a weakness.” 

You go from shaken to pissed faster than the Quinjet hits cruise speed. “Get the fuck out, then! My workshop is invite only.”

“Is that right?” Barnes asks, insultingly unphased. Your arms are crossed, and he just glares right into your eyes and taps one perfectly articulated metal finger on the newly silver Words on your hand. “Stark’s AI updated our medical files. If you’re unconscious, this gets me into your hospital room. That’s invitation enough.”

Fucking great. “Well, either knock me out or fuck off, then, Barnes. I have work left to do.” Your gut is twisted metal right now, jagged and raw from disappointment and desperation. This man is a legend, a warrior with a marvel of machinery for an arm and a past that would make the devil blush. He doesn't want you, and he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t. With misery staining your heart black as old oil, you stalk over to the nearest workbench before he can tell how upset you are. 

“It’s not personal,” he says flatly.

Soulmate words are as personal as it gets, which means he’s saying it to fire you up. You won’t rise to the bait. Most people are uncomfortable with silence, but you use it as a weapon. The minutes tick by as you clean off the work table, with no other sound than the clink of metal on metal and the slide of heavy tools on the hard, solid surface. 

Soon, all that’s left is a bucket half full of sand. At least this is simple and easy to understand; a cheap, abundant material used for friction, stability, and sometimes even a mold to pour hot metal into. As you burn away your fury with your impossible soulmate staring silent holes into your back, you wonder whether you’re half as valuable to him as this.

“Look. I don’t want or need--”

You shove the bucket off the side of the work table and spin around, your next words practically exploding out of your chest. “You think I don’t know that? I get it. I’m nobody. Neither of us want--” He’s advancing on you and you hop up onto the surface of the workbench, primed to kick, scratch, and scream if he tries to melt your brain again with your goddamned soulmate connection. 

“Jesus. Just-- stay inside, will you?”

With those cryptic words, Bucky Barnes walks out.

You’re speechless, and the worst part is how much your body is craving the glorious, drugging feeling of his touch on your skin.

JARVIS calls out your name just as you force yourself to assess the sand mess you’ve tantrumed everywhere. Your ‘what?’ is as short and annoyed as you can make it.

I thought you ought to know that Sergeant Barnes spent his time after leaving the Quinjet checking on your safety. He requested I adjust the camera angle to more fully catch the doorway to your room, requested the visitor logs--

“Which you denied, yes? Yes?” you snap, gripping the broom handle like it’s your soulmate’s neck.

Of course. Despite his assertion, mutual consent is required for such things, barring a formal, legal relationship.

“For the record, it’s bullshit that it took until 1973 for that.”

I heartily agree. As I was saying, Sgt. Barnes took it upon himself to--

“Blah blah safety, you win the award for meddling, JARVIS, but what I really need from you is a magical ability to clean up this mess.”

Deepest apologies, but there is a purpose to this endeavor. The door to your suite did not meet Sgt. Barnes expectations, regarding your safety on-site.

“What the hell are you-- Wait.” You drop the broom and head out, speaking angrily up at the ceiling as you stalk down the hallway. “Tell me there’s still a door there, JARVIS.”

I’m afraid I cannot.

“Yeah, you should be afraid!” you hiss. “Tell me where he is or I’ll take a blowtorch to the wiring in the server room.”

Stark’s damned AI doesn’t even have the grace to sound concerned. 

I see why some say you have a fiery temper. Sgt. Barnes is in one of the basement sparring rooms. Shall I arrange for an elevator?

“I’ll walk, thanks.”

The bank of exercise rooms is open to everyone on campus, and the doors only close when there’s someone in there. That makes it easy to figure out where to knock.

The door swings open, and your mouth runs dry.

Barnes is sweaty, wearing only a black tank and tight pants, and the harsh hallway light glistens on the metal of his arm. You’re completely certain that touching it will feel just as good as the skin-to-skin contact earlier. You drift forward, captivated, and the door shuts behind you. The clicking sound brings you back to furious reality.

Through gritted teeth, you say, “You. Owe. Me. A. Door.”

He scoffs silently, looking you up and down as if gauging how little effort he’d have to expend against you in a fight. “Stark owes you a door. I just proved that.”

“What the fuck gives you the right--”

Barnes interrupts not with words, but with quick, jerky movements at his waist, unbuckling, unzipping, and shoving. He slaps the flat of his palm against the Words on his bare thigh and says, “This. Every single woman I came in contact with was in danger. You’re not secure here.” He strips the pants off completely and throws them into the corner of the room before advancing on you, somehow just as menacing in briefs and a tank. “Not until we get this out of our systems.”

He’s lithe as a cat, and you’re only able to stumble back a few inches and scrunch your eyes shut before he encircles your wrist with one hand. 

The cool metal is soothing despite being inexorable. You suck in a surprised breath and open your eyes just in time to watch the clever shit that is your soulmate dip his head to kiss you.

The pleasure is sudden and devastating. Your heart seizes up, stutters, and starts sending napalm through your veins as he walks you back against the wall and presses the full length of his body against yours. If each touch is a contact high, these kisses are full-throttle erotic warfare, with your brain offline and your hindbrain keening. You 'fight back' with everything you have, fingernails scratching at the back of his neck, teeth grazing his inner lip, all with your Words pulsing encouragement on the back of your hand.

If you’re not careful, this soulmate bond will acid-etch the narcotic joy of this moment right into your heart.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Barnes lets out a deep groan and pulls back to look you directly in the eyes. “This is a strategy, not a relationship.”

You’re touch-drunk, but you’re not in love. “Look, Deathsquad, I only want you for your arm.”

Barnes’ smile is like the sun coming up, damn him. “Fuck me enough to get past Sensitivity and I’ll let you have a whole afternoon with it.” As if to emphasize how much you’d both enjoy that plan, he slides his flesh hand past your waistband and grabs your ass, holding you steady for the twist of his hips.

Your smarts are offline, your lungs are at half capacity, your cunt is criminally empty, and you fully understand how people end up falling for stranger soulmates, if this is what Sensitivity does to a person. 

“Fine,” you snap, hoping to hell you sound less needy than you feel.

The two of you glare at each other for a charged second, and then there’s a race to strip the rest of your clothes off. Not even sixty whole seconds later you’re kneeling on a thick floor mat, more nervous and excited than you’ve ever been in your life, damn him. Barnes comes up behind to set a warm, drugging hand on your hip, and then it’s bliss, sexual rapture from the very first thrust.

“Fuck, that’s insane,” he rasps into your ear, his right hand coming down hard on the mat beside you as he curls over and into you. “Perfect,” Barnes breathes, the word almost a whine, like he’d tried to hold it back and couldn’t. 

You’re almost at white-out, already seconds away from the kind of orgasm that rearranges a girl’s blood chemistry, but you can’t let this one go. Arching your back and leaning to the side, you rock your hips in a cadence that unbalances the two of you just enough to force him to brace with his left, instead. You’re moaning insult-adjacent nonsense syllables now, but you gather enough willpower to clutch his metal hand with your marked one.

“Now it’s perfect,” you grit out.

Barnes’ sexy chuckle in your ear sends you into a black-out orgasm for the ages.

You wake up alone, which feels like a statement, but you notice when you roll over that you’re not sticky. The clothes you’d torn off and thrown in wild abandon are folded next to you, too. You scramble to put them on, stepping curiously into the shared adjoining bathroom to find a wet washcloth draped over the towel rack and a sticky note marked with a large B on the mirror.

“Don’t get sentimental on me, asshole,” you mutter as you snatch it off.

Crankshaft:  Don’t get sentimental on me.  Wednesday at 4? B

The words are printed, even the B, meaning that while you laid there naked and insensate, he’d gone and printed something out instead of just waking you up. On top of that outrage, someone’s told him your nickname, which for some stupid reason feels more intimate than anything that just happened. It’s something that’s just yours, not influenced by stupid-ass destiny genetics, and if he tries to use it verbally, you’ll… you’ll… You sigh. There’s not one thing you can do to influence this guy, except possibly make him angry that you exist at all.

One big Sensitivity-struck security risk, that’s what you are.

You’re about to crumple up the note when you see it’s got something else hand drawn on the back, a sequence of numbers and letters in a jagged sort of rectangle. The shape looks familiar, but you’re sated and stupid after however long without caffeine. You gather up your things and make the walk of shame back to your apartment, realizing when you’re almost there that the fucking door is probably still missing.

It’s not. There’s already a brand-new door there, and on it is another sticky note. This one’s just the hand drawn shape and accompanying symbols. You snatch it up and go inside, vindictively locking the door with both locks until you remember Barnes’ whole thing about safety.

With a sour feeling in your stomach from doing exactly what he’d want you to, you lay both notes down to examine the shapes, finally sketching them out on a third piece of paper.

The numbers and letters work out to be a room and floor number, probably for his rooms here at the compound

Combined, the shapes look just like the plating for his metal arm

You refuse to be taken in by this, even if it is right up your alley.

“JARVIS?”

At your service, Miss.

“Will you locate a small, neutral space for a… meeting between myself and Sgt. Barnes tomorrow at four, and let both of us know the location once you’re finished?” There’s no way in hell you’re doing anything that even hints at girlfriend behavior with this guy, so no bedrooms. What’s between you is literally just biology, nothing more.

If you insist.

“I do. And don’t use my nickname with him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

The singing in your veins makes a good opposing argument, but that’s just biology again, and you won’t be swayed by it. The only thing you’ll be swayed by is his marvel of arm engineering. Everything else is just window dressing to help get you through the absurd pleasure-bond shit that comes with soulmate biology.

You skip dinner and go to bed early, dreaming all night of the purr of Barnes’ muscles over and against you, the gravel-drag of his stubble on your skin, and the hum of an engine starting to rev.

to be continued...

[sephtissss]

Every now and again, I think about the perfect court, the “ideal” complete one with Riko, Kevin, Neil, Jean, and Andrew. Since reading tsc I’ve been obsessed with the tragedy of it all, everything that could’ve been and at the same time could never have been. Maybe Kevin and Jean could’ve been a thing, maybe Jean and Neil, but it never would have been healthy. Not in an environment like that. It never would’ve ended well. Like imagine the story here: 5 kids, raised in the spotlight. The whole world has their eyes on them. They’re talented, they’re handsome, they’re family, they’re perfect. They’re exactly what every exy fan wants to be, and they’re all destined for greatness. But what no one else sees is the abuse, the fear, the desperation, the codependency, the stifling silence, the insurmountable pressure, the unhealthy attachments to each other and to exy because if they don’t latch on to it all they’ll drown under it instead. Nothing good could ever last in that environment. And so over time it all crashes and burns. Exy’s greatest stars, the brightest future, imploding so drastically and painfully that there was no chance the world couldn’t notice. They’ll tear each other to shreds in their desperation for something real, something safe, something good that doesn’t exist. It’ll get more violent, more dangerous, more painful and one by one, each member of the court would leave, whether they made it out or died trying (or died without trying at all). And by the end, there’s nothing for the world to do but sit and watch them fall. In the wake of it all, one thought would pass through everyone’s heads. They were supposed to be perfect.

Idk, I find the tragedy of the Perfect Court fascinating. There’s something so captivating about something doomed from the start.

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 12

Part 12:

"Your apartment smells funny," Liana said as she entered the building and moved towards the main window. "We can buy a rug for the living room. Do you want one?" she asked after walking around the rooms in Patrick’s apartment. It was small. Living room, kitchen, bedroom, and a bathroom. It had been a month since she settled in the Oxford dorms. Patrick had arrived three days ago, and this was the first time they were meeting.

"Hey Amanda. I missed you too." Patrick leaned against the bedroom doorframe, watching her with amusement. She just couldn’t help it. She had to fix something. She would always find something that needed tidying and organizing. He had learned not to argue with this trait from a young age. He had learned that if he refused, she would withdraw into herself, and it would bother her until she could do something about it.

"Hey." She smiled genuinely and hugged him. Patrick looked almost the same as she remembered. Jet-lagged but pleased with his choices for a change. "Hey..." he refused to let go of her, inhaling her scent deeply like he always did when she allowed him.

"You're here." She took a step back and examined him, as if not believing it was really happening. As if she had been waiting her whole life for this moment. That’s how Patrick decided to interpret her facial expression, even if that’s not what reality was showing him. He would take the current smile any day over another day where she was at a certain point on the map and he was on the other side of the world. "So many possibilities, Amanda." He couldn’t stop smiling. "Let's find you a rug and some pillows for the couch, okay?" she replied, trying to solve the current problem she had found for herself; his apartment.

They wandered around London for hours. Stopped for lunch at a small Italian restaurant. Went into a small museum and did some window shopping at brand stores neither of them could afford. Liana’s laughter filled the space occasionally. A sound Patrick prayed to dream about when he would be alone without her scrutinizing gaze around.

As the sun set, they sat on the grass in a park near Liana’s dorms, each holding an ice cream cone. "I think I found a job," she said, trying to eat as much of the ice cream as she could before it melted completely. "Where?" he asked with curiosity. "There’s a cafeteria in Oxford that sells smoothies and other things that pretentious people willing to pay unreasonable amounts. I’ll probably start next week." She smiled, pleased with herself. "Will you be able to balance it with your studies?" he asked. "I have to try. My parents were barely willing to keep paying for my studies as long as I'm not at Stanford, and I don’t want to take an actual loan just to be able to pay for food. It feels unnecessary and lazy." She shrugged, as if it was self-evident.

"You're tough. You’ll make it. When do classes start?" he asked. "In a week. I’m stressed. But a friend of my roommate, Flor, is starting with me, and I met her. She seems nice." Liana chatted about people she had met in the past month. "You're nice." Patrick smiled his characteristic smile when he tried to dodge the implications of what he was saying. It was a toothy grin that included a dimple. It usually highlighted his eyes, showing something mischievous that at age 20 should have started to fade. But not with Patrick. "You're a jerk." Liana rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder, which automatically made him grab her hand.

Liana couldn’t help but think about Art. About the fact that it was the same gesture. Art had held her just like that at the Christmas party. She pulled her hand back and cleared her throat for a moment. Not wanting to change the atmosphere too much but feeling the shift anyway.

Patrick felt the change too, but it was like background noise. He understood something happened but didn’t know what. This wasn’t the first time he touched Liana. You could say he was a touchy person by nature. It wasn’t new and didn’t characterize just his relationship with her. "What just happened?" he asked with a chuckle, as if it wasn’t really important. As if it wasn’t serious. As if he could breathe properly and wasn’t trying to correct the mistake he made a moment ago. As if he wouldn’t do anything to make her laugh again and not look at him with furrowed brows.

"Nothing. It’s getting late. Shall we go?" she asked, with a smile that didn’t reach her ears. One that showed teeth but not all of them. One that hid from him what she really felt. He hated that smile.

"Patrick! You'll have ants in your house!" Liana scolded. No, she wasn’t just scolding; she was fuming. Three months had passed since Patrick moved to London. His coach, Kirk Fucking Morcich, was objectively the best coach he had ever had. He had improved tremendously. From the moment Patrick decided to take tennis seriously and not just as a way to avoid a real job, he started seeing results.

He still had to attend the annoying courses his parents signed him up for. But he had already won a tournament in Europe. Something he didn’t think would happen, and certainly not so soon.

His parents were proud of him. A strange feeling. An almost unfamiliar feeling. His mother called him and actually said those words, “Hey Pat, your dad and I read about you in the paper. Well done.” And he wanted to find something bad and start a fight because he didn’t know any other way to talk to his mother, but he said “thanks” quietly and felt himself blush. Like a little boy needing a kind word from an adult who was never really responsible. Not for what mattered.

“You can’t just leave your food out like this, Pat.” Liana interrupted his train of thought. “It’s not that bad.” He responded with an eye roll. “Patrick, it’s moldy. It’s been sitting on your table with actual mold. How am I supposed to wash this? It’s disgusting!” she fumed. Her cheeks were red, and her hand moved quickly over her nose.

“You don’t have to wash it. Did I ask you to wash it? Just throw the plate away; I have more plates.” He rolled his eyes again. “Why can’t you take anything seriously?!” Liana nearly stomped her foot. “Did we get married or something? Because this relationship doesn’t have the benefits of marriage, you just yell at me after I haven’t been home for a week.” He sighed and sat on the couch, officially tired of this argument. “No, Patrick, we didn’t get married, and sorry I don’t want you to die of dysentery while you’re living alone.” She shot back, and he heard the plate land in the sink. “So instead of throwing it away, you decided to break it?” He started getting angry too, because lately, that’s how all their conversations looked. Conversations about why he didn’t wash dishes, why he left the milk out, why he didn’t water the plant she bought him, why he didn’t show up at the bar her friend worked at, why he didn’t.

And he just wanted to tell her that if she acted like he was her boyfriend, then she should let him touch her the way he wanted to touch her. But they hadn’t had that conversation yet. He hadn’t told her that when he wasn’t thinking about tennis, he was thinking about her, and to be honest, if he wasn’t thinking about those two things, he was thinking about Art. And he knew she was thinking about Art too. And maybe they needed to have a conversation about fucking Art.

“I didn’t break it. Calm down.” She muttered. Liana had managed to somehow find herself in London. She couldn’t say that about any other period in her life. She enjoyed her studies and had met quite a few new people. People she liked being around. People she wasn’t embarrassed around and felt comfortable drinking wine with. She was a person who enjoyed wine now. Some might say Liana had grown up. She would agree with them.

One time, after drinking wine with her new friends, she called Art. She would say it didn’t happen until her dying day. She wouldn’t have anyone to say it to because he didn’t answer, and she didn’t plan on going around telling the world she drunkenly called Art Donaldson. It was embarrassing.

Patrick was always busy. Tennis. Fucking tennis. She hated tennis so much, and as someone who didn’t even know how to hold a racket properly, she couldn’t escape this terrible game.

So as close as Patrick had been during these months, he was still far away. She had hoped so much that he would be an integral part of this experience. That he would love London as much as she loved London, but he just loved playing tennis in London, and she was losing to the ball and racket again and again throughout her life. “I haven’t seen you in a week. Why are you mad at me?” Patrick stood up, moving towards the kitchen, leaning against the door in his characteristic way. “I’m not mad at you.” She rolled her eyes, her back to him, trying to wash the plate he ruined with food he didn’t clean up in time. “This is pointless.” She muttered to herself. “That passive-aggressive vibe might work with Art. It doesn’t work on me. Either tell me why you’re mad or let me go rest.” He said, not taking his piercing gaze off her back.

“Do you want me to leave?” She turned to him. Her expression made it clear she was hurt. She completely ignored the comment about Art. Patrick didn’t want to keep ignoring comments about Art. “I want you to tell me what you want from me, Liana. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request.” He started moving towards her. “I don’t want anything from you, Patrick. You’re my friend. We came here together, and I care about you. That’s all.” She shrugged and looked everywhere in the room except his face.

“Liana.” He stood in front of her, demanding. Something in his tone made her look directly at him. “What?” Her voice was quiet. She hated her voice. Why did she always sound so desperate?! “Why are we fighting about dishes when you don’t live here? You understand that’s ridiculous?” He asked, not letting go and not changing his tone out of pity for her soft voice. “I’m not fighting with you. I want you to be reasonable. Do you think I enjoy playing mommy with you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and folding her arms beneath her chest.

Patrick stared at her chest. He didn’t even try to hide it. Fuck it. “You can’t act like we’re sleeping together while not sleeping with me. That’s absurd.” He realized he had said it only when he saw her eyes widen and her face turn red. “You think I’m hitting on you, Patrick? Is that what you think this is?” She asked, her voice unsteady. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. God. Why is this happening to her? “Eat from your disgusting plate with mold for all I care. I won’t say a word.” She said and tried to move past him. It was her cue to leave before this conversation escalated. He pulled her back with a quick but not overly forceful hand movement. She knew he had a lot more strength in him. She knew he was fire. In the pair Fire and Ice, he would always be Fire. “Patrick.” Her weak voice almost whispered. “You’re not hitting on me?” He asked, also in a low voice. He seemed relatively calm considering the storm of emotions within him.

Patrick decided he had nothing more to lose. He was improving. He was maturing. He asked his parents for help. He had moved halfway across the world to be close to her. He was becoming the best version of himself. And to be honest, Patrick knew that if Liana had settled for the mediocre and basic version of Art, there was no reason he shouldn’t at least try. So Patrick decided to try.

“No...” She bit her lip and looked at him without breaking eye contact. “Bullshit.” He laughed. He just laughed in her face and didn’t release his hold. “You’re walking around my apartment, dressed in short clothes in fucking December in London. Getting mad about plates. Liana. Even you can’t be that naive about what this does to me after a week of a tournament. A grueling week of victories without anyone to celebrate my success.” He considered kissing her neck at that moment. He thinks she would let him. Now, looking at her, he was sure she would let him do whatever he wanted with her. And he was a greedy bastard. He wanted everything.

“Liana. Look at me.” He demanded. Not letting go. She looked. “Why are we fighting?” He asked. The stern tone made her blink. “I missed you.” She said, defeated.

“It’s really hard when you’re supposedly here but not really here, and I know you’re here for tennis, but I wanted you to be here for me too, and it’s okay if we have separate lives here, I do too—” Patrick cut off her endless ramblings because he knew she wouldn’t stop talking if it was up to her. His lips found hers, and his hands held the back of her head. and somehow she actually kissed him back.

The feeling of Patrick’s lips on hers was different from the feeling of Art’s lips. Liana hated herself for comparing him to Art. She wondered if every person who will kiss her would automatically be compared to the person who hurt her the most. She wondered if that’s how she would live the rest of her life. And during these existential thoughts, she realized the bitter truth. Art Donaldson would be a part of her forever.

“Pat. Wait. We can’t. We can’t do this.” She put a small hand on his chest, and he took a step back. Because when a girl told Patrick she wanted to stop, he stopped. “Why can’t we?” He didn’t look amused. He looked angry and hungry and tired, all in the once. In the same body movements. “You know why” Liana sighed.

Silence fell in his kitchen.

"You don't owe him anything," Patrick stated. This time he felt like he's the one who could stomp his foot like a kid in the middle of a tantrum.

"I know." She bit her lip.

"I don't owe him anything," he said, this time not looking at her. Because if she saw his face, she'd know he was lying to himself. Liana always saw him. She saw him stripped of defenses. And his biggest defense right now was tied to the girl in front of him and the fact that they both missed Art. And he did owe him the love of his life.

Because Liana still didn't know what Patrick and Art both knew clearly; Patrick had won. She would be his the moment he decided so.

"Liana. Please let me kiss you." His voice was weak, and his gaze shifted to her. His eyes still screamed fire. Fire. Fire. Danger. Run. Fire. Stay away. Get closer. Fire. Danger. Fire. "Liana." He said again, closer now, breathing the same air she breathed. The air she exhaled entered his lungs. He moved his hand back to her neck. The other hand, unashamedly, grabbed her ass in a half-pinch. It was a grip that didn't retreat, didn't regret, didn't shy away. As if he was born to hold her exactly like this. Exactly how he wanted. "Patrick." She didn't recognize the sound that escaped her mouth out of surprise, but she recognized Patrick's smile just a second before his lips were on hers again. Patrick had decided.

Hey thereeee It's London and it's Patrick's time to shine. What are we feeling about everything? Talk to me. I'm dying to know what you're thinking as usual.

taglist: @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[mishy-mashy]

Kudo makes funny facial expressions

[pizzapottah]

homecoming

summary: it's been almost three years. can james make up for the lost time?

pairing: james potter x slytherin!slughorn!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 5.4k

warnings: language, injuries, the marauders' usual stupidity....

author's note: oof. this was a whole lot of work. i know this was supposed to be much longer, but there's a specific part (the one about james and reader getting together) that i just could not manage to finish. this can count as last chapter, but if i manage i will finish the other about them being in love and blah blah blah. unfortunately i am in a terrible writer's block so i don't know when or if i'll be able to finish it.

as always, my requests are open, so please feel free to request anything. bridgerton, hotd, got, hp, pjo.... ANYTHING. please help me get out of this writer's block lol. enjoy the reading even if i'm not really satisfied with it and, as always, english is not my first language, so constructive criticism is pleasantly accepted.

runaway | homecoming

James is utterly, unmistakably and without any doubt going to fail Potions. 

It’s not his fault - not really. He doesn’t actually like Potions. He took the class, even after fifth year, for two reasons: his father and Lily Evans. The latter is the same reason why, right now, he’s failing it. 

Fleamont, his father and a renowed potionist, looked so happy when James passed with the grades needed to take the class for the last two years. He didn’t actually think of taking it, but he looked at him like he expected him to do it and- it’s not like his parents ever forced him to do something he didn’t want to, but he was just so happy. James told himself that he could take Potions for just two more years if it meant them being so proud about it. 

Besides, there was Lily Evans in the class. How could he deny himself of even more hours spent in her presence? 

Well, guess what? Slughorn doesn’t grade based on who stares the longest time at Lily, apparently. 

James stares at the burning red T on the parchment of his assignment. Troll. Until now, he thought that this achievement wasn’t within his reach, both because the grade Troll always sounds like an urban legend when other people talk about it and because he never had anything under Acceptable in his assignments. When Sirius hears about this, I’ll never hear the end of it. He didn’t even think Slughorn was able to put less than A, always too kind to his students. 

“Man, what did you do to get Troll?” Marlene whispers beside him, frowning at his paper. James peeks at her test; a green O stands in the same place where his T is. “I suck at Potions, Potter, suck. And my dad surely didn’t invent the Sleekeazy’s Hair potion, so, tell me, did you do it on purpose? There’s no other reasonable explanation.” 

The bell rings; the students immediately get up, happily chatting about the good grades that apparently everyone but him got, and James finds himself putting away his things without the usual vigor, already dreading the time when his friends will inevitably find out. Slughorn approaches him, taking pity for a boy which he saw grow up. 

“Potter, it’s not the end of the world, don’t worry.” he tries to reassure, but his eyes say something else. They say ‘How the hell did you manage to take a T in my class?’ “I’m, erm, I’m sure you’ll be able to get better.” he looks at Lily, on the other side of the class, like he’s trying desperately to help him. “Evans, maybe you could give him some lessons?”

Lily sends an apologetic look at the professor, then a glare at James. “Sorry, professor. I would, but not for him.” She bids him goodbye and exits the class, Snape right after her. As Slughorn turns again to look at his students, he’s clearly concerned. “Merlin, Potter. What did you do to get Evans to hate you?”

He dramatically sighs. “I don’t know, professor. If you happen to find out, please let me know.”

The man sighs, taking out a napkin from his pocket and gently patting his forehead. “You have to get better, Potter. If you fail as a student, that means I fail as a teacher, too. Godric… this is the first Troll of my career. What will your dad think of me if you fail my class?”

James isn’t sure he wants to know. He’s never disappointed his parents before. “We have to find you a tutor, Potter, and a good one. I can’t give you extra lessons, I’m already busy enough as I am…” Yes, with the Slug Club, James almost replies; but then Slughorn looks like he just had the idea of the century.

“But of course!” he exclaims, happy to have found a solution. “My granddaughter!” he says your name, and James suddenly feels like a soldier being sent back to war. “She’s a year younger, but she knows everything, you see, I made sure of it… she’s more understanding of this subject than some licensed potionists out there, she could help you a lot, yes, yes… and you were friends, am I wrong? Good, good, she already knows you, I’m sure she won’t refuse…”

James is actually sure you will refuse. 

Why? Because the last time you ever talked to each other, it ended up with a broken arm, a broken nose and two bruised egos. And even if technically, it wasn’t his fault, it doesn’t mean that your friendship magically mended itself over the years. 

You two never interacted at school after what Remus calls The Accident, not really - the only form of contact you’d had was from Quidditch, where you were both playing as Chasers in your respective Houses, and more often than not during games happened to hit each other in a not-so-fair way. More than often professor McGonagall herself had to reprove him - and not only him, but Sirius too - for playing an unfair game. And when they tried to protest, saying that you surely weren’t innocent either, she just huffed. 

“Miss Slughorn is not my responsibility; she’s professor Slughorn’s, and I’m sure he will make her understand her mistakes and she will not try again. But it is my duty to punish you for your deplorable behavior and lack of sporting spirit!”

It seems like McGonagall’s reprimanding did little, because Quidditch games become carnages. 

It feels like Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry is at its peak, and suddenly the violence reaches the school, too, and hallways are no longer safe from the squabbles of the students. Students who hang each other upside down and constantly cause fights to break out, ruining the usual peace of Hogwarts. 

It looks like the teachers aren't really sure how to handle it. Dumbledore gives a long, heartbreaking speech about friendship, loyalty and helping each other, but it doesn't help much; a search for whoever told Dumbledore about the fights is started between the Houses, with the intention of… well, not making them say anything about it next time. 

It honestly feels like war. Even Hufflepuffs start to attack to avoid being attacked - that's what happens when you constantly get picked on because you don't defend yourself, you guess. 

Nobody is safe, but it's like between Gryffindor and Slytherin there's a feud. It was always there, ever since Godric and Salazar created their Houses, but it's getting out of hand.

The straw that breaks the camel's back is the last game of the year, fought between those two Houses. 

In the first ten minutes, already three players were on the ground and wailing in pain. After a threat to disqualify anyone who dared to cheat from Madame Hooch, the game went on without much problems for a while; that was until James saw the golden snitch. Because apparently, you saw it too.

You both launch at the snitch, who keeps flying, unbothered, and even if you want to make James fall off the broom in the most violent way possible, you're able to hold yourself back. You follow the snitch, almost shoulder to shoulder, hands stretched out to catch the little flying bead.

A quaffle almost cuts your heads off. Thrown off balance, James falters for a moment, slowing down, and gives you some advantage; you clearly see the snitch going under the stands of Ravenclaw, creating a hole in the big banners of the House. You don’t really have time to think - you just go for it. 

You speed towards the banner and tear an ever bigger rip on the poor Ravenclaw flag. James is fast to get back on your tail, though, barely dodging the wood beams that are holding together the structure. And suddenly you’re shoulder to shoulder again - for real, this time  - pushing each other. Hooch can’t see what you’re doing, anyways. 

It takes a moment to adjust to the lack of good lighting, but then you see it: the golden snitch, speeding right in front of you, blinking in the little light, almost mocking you. You hold your hand in front of you, and already can imagine the victory - oh, suck it, Gryffindors-

The snitch takes an abrupt turn, hitting James right on the nose, knocking him out and making him fall from the broom. Except, before he actually falls off, he manages to take a hold of the cloak of your uniform, taking you down with him.

Meanwhile, Madame Hooch notices that not only one, but both Chasers just disappeared in thin air. “Black!” she yells, not really thinking about the fact that there’s two Black in the pitch right now, “Go and tell them to get out from under the stands, dear Merlin…” 

Regulus and Sirius speed at the same time towards the rip on the banner, which now is basically a full-on opening to under the stands, clanking shoulders in the process. 

You don't think you've ever felt pain like this before. Your left arm is throbbing, feeling like it’s going to fall off any minute now, and your head has never hurt so much since you can remember. A sob falls out of your lips before you can hold it in, and suddenly you’re crying out in pain, not really knowing what to do. James is hovering over you the second you start sobbing, worried as you’ve never seen him, taking a hold of your face as gently as he can. Blood is gushing out of his nose, going over his chin and staining both your uniforms. His glasses lay somewhere near, surely broken. 

“What hurts? Is it- oh dear Merlin, your arm, it’s-” well, if not even James, who suffered countless Quidditch injuries over the years, can describe the condition of your arm, then it’s probably not something you’d ever wish upon your worst enemy. 

You try to regain your self-control, even if your sight is blurry from the tears and your voice feels like it’s gone. Then, before you can try to say anything, yells come from the direction in which you both just came.

“I told you, she was looking at me!”

“Yeah, dumbass, like we weren’t side to side when she yelled our surname!” 

“Aren’t you tired of always following me? It’s a miracle you didn’t convince the Hat to put you in Gryffindor, you little rat-”

“Oh, so I’m a rat? What about your friend that literally turns into one?” “I see Snivellus has filled you in with the details-”

“You know, it’s pretty given since one of your friends could possibly hurt us just because the moon is big-”

“Remus wouldn’t hurt a fly, you little shi-”

They both come to a stop once they see you two, looking like a living crime scene, but even then they don’t really stop arguing - they never will, probably. Regulus is by your side in a moment, pushing away James, all the while screaming at his brother. “Why do you always have to be like this? Can’t you just shut up for once, you son of a-” “We’ve got the same parents, dipshit!”

“No we don’t! According to your words, you found me in a dumpster, remember?”

Sirius winces. For what is maybe the first time in years, he looks sorry. “Aw, c’mon now. You know I was kidding.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that now, but you didn’t tell that to the Gryffindors that started teasing me about it, nor did you try to correct them.” Regulus stares at your arm, who is in an unnatural position, and starts asserting the damage. “Merlin. Can you get up on your own? C’mon, I’ll help you,”

He helps you get up and wipes away your tears, while your sobs reduce to muffled sniffs, and takes your broom from where it fell so that you can return to the pitch. “We’ve gotta take you to the infirmary, it’s not looking good…” he spares a look at James, “And maybe you should visit Madam Pomfrey too, Potter, but if you die from blood loss I’m sure we’ll manage just fine without you.”

As Reg helps you stabilize yourself on the broom and to get back out there, James feels completely numb. 

He once was the one that managed to make you stop crying, that helped you back up on your feet when you fell and scraped your knee. The one you’d look for when you searched for help, comfort or someone to talk to. Now, as he watches you fly away with Regulus, who holds a hand on your back to keep you stable, he barely hears the screams of the students in the stands and the words of Sirius, who’s trying to snap him out of his daze. 

“James? Hey, mate, you okay? You’re covered in blood.”

He barely even sees him - his vision is clouded with tears, tears that he desperately tries to hold back. Taking a deep breath, he collects the remnants of his glasses and takes his broom, knowing that if he talks, he’ll start sobbing. But Sirius doesn’t get the memo. 

“Did she throw you off? I bet she did, but karma has your back. She deserved it, believe me, she had to learn her lesson in a way or another.” James hopes that he stops there, because the guilt’s already eating him alive and he just wants to lie down and let the floor swallow him whole. Hearing Sirius insult you for something you had no fault in doesn’t help the already disastrous situation. But his friend apparently still has many things to say left in his repertory. “She has to be terrible to befriend by brother. Saw how she was crying, like she’s the victim? I swear-”

“Could you please fucking shut that trap, man?” James bursts. “I made her fall, okay? It’s my fault she was hurt. Stop insulting her.”

Sirius glares at him. “What is your problem, man?”

“What is my problem? My problem?” James laughs in disbelief, tears streaming down his face. “My problem is that you always think you know what’s going on, don’t you?” 

His friend is about to reply, but he doesn’t let him. “No you don’t! You have no idea what we went through together, nor what happened between us, nor what person she is! So you have no right to criticize her for everything she does, even when she has no fault in the matter!”

James ends up in the infirmary with a fractured nose, barely two beds away from you, who actually have no intention of talking to him at all, and made sure he knew that. You stayed there a lot more days than him, but your friends visited every time they were able to, bringing sweets and flowers. They also skillfully ignored James, who instead laid there sulking while you got pampered by Lily. 

He did try to talk to you after you were dismissed from the medical ward, at least to say sorry for having broken your arm, but you ignored him with all your might. Regulus became your mediator, always telling him off, never leaving your side when he saw James near.

Him and Sirius didn’t talk for a while, but it didn’t last long. Soon they got back to talking like normal, never addressing the things that were said during that game. Sirius stopped talking about you, going as far as avoiding his brother too to not cause any more damage than he already did. 

He made a last, desperate attempt at your forgiveness by writing you a letter - I know you don’t want to talk to me, but if you ever happen to need a friend, i’ll always be there for you - and sending it to you with his owl.

You never replied. 

That was a year ago, and that’s also why James is sure you’ll say no. 

Except you say yes. 

James is at Sprout’s class when Slughorn knocks and pokes his head in. “I’m sorry, Pomona, could I borrow Potter for a moment?”

Professor Sprout stares disappointed but not surprised at James, motioning for him to go. “You better not have set the Slytherin dormitories on fire again, Potter,” she hisses. Slughorn happily shakes his head, “Ah, don’t worry, Pomona, he still hasn’t done it again, I’m here just to discuss a little something with him.”

Once he’s out of the class, Slughorn happily takes out a letter from his pocket and gives it to him. “My granddaughter agreed to give you lessons, and gave me some days and times that go with her schedule. She’s often busy studying for the O.W.L.s, as you surely know, so it’s a tight fit, but I’m certain you’ll manage.”

James is honestly dumbfounded. All this time ignoring him, acting like he didn’t exist, and suddenly you’re aware of him and his struggles? He must be dreaming. He opens the letter and reads the schedule:

Monday — 18:00 - 19:00

Wednesday — 15:00 - 16:30

Friday — 11:00 - 12:30

Sunday — 13:00 - 15:30

You must have read his weekly schedule, too, because it all strangely fits well with his lessons. Under the voice Sunday, there’s a little note: All lessons will take place in the library, except for Sunday, when we’ll go to professor Slughorn’s class to practice the actual making of the potions. 

The idea of spending so much of his free time making potions is almost revolting, but the thought of making it up to you makes it all worth it. He’ll spend time with you - almost eight hours a week - until his grades are decent enough or you get tired of him. I won’t let it happen, he promises to himself. You won’t get tired of him, and if he has to seal Sirius’ mouth shut to keep you around, then he gladly will.

He comes back to the class with a triumphant smile plastered on his face, making his friends frown - even if no one is more confused than professor Sprout. “Potter, are you alright?” she asks, worriedly. Usually when he got called out of class it was because of some prank gone wrong, so it wasn’t strange for the teachers to just take their time to yell at him. He nods, shining with anticipation. “Never been better, professor.”

“You didn’t set the Slytherin dormitories on fire, did you?”

“Absolutely not, professor.”

“A- alright.”

But it’s only when he notices that James stopped looking at Lily Evans that Sirius actually gets worried. He bumps his shoulder, whispering, “What did Slughorn tell you?” he waves him off, “Nothing important, I’ve got extra lessons in Potions.” He still hasn’t told any of the Marauders about the Troll, and he’s surprised himself on how well he managed to keep the secret. Even more surprised at Marlene for not telling anyone - he’ll probably have to buy her something as a thank you, as she rarely does something for him for free. 

James spends the rest of the week waiting for Monday, often thinking about it with a dreamy look on his face, always making his friends frown and then check if Lily was around. Strangely, more often than not she wasn’t even in the same room.

Monday eventually rolls around, and James has never been happier to enter the library. He may have entered it like, two times since first year, but as of now he’s ready to live in it if it means seeing you more. 

He waits at one of the tables feeling like an idiot, and maybe he is, but also a lucky one. You’re late by almost ten minutes, and he thinks that this may be the first time a girl stands him up. 

But, surprisingly enough, you show up. 

You're with Regulus - and that makes him seethe, but he's ready to make a point of bearing his presence if that's the price to pay to get you back. 

Talking about you; your hands are full of books that stand in a shaky pile leaning on your chest. You're chatting with your friend, your brows furrowed, the strap of your bag almost falling off of your shoulder. You notice James, then, and as he grins, your brows furrow even deeper. You look tired - he’s not really surprised, he remembers the struggle of the O.W.L.s; he’s surprised that you’re able to stand up, as he vividly recalls not being able to do that last year in this same period of time. 

“Potter,” you and Regulus greet at the same time. You let the books fall on the table, huffing, and he interjects, “For you it’s James,” he replies smiling cheerfully. Then he turns to Regulus, frowning, “To you, it is Potter.”

The boy rolls his eyes, “Yeah, that’s what I called you. Even if to me, you’re Dickhead.”

You blink, not amused, at James. “Keep insulting my friends and I’ll do my best to make you fail Potions.”

James lets out a squeal. “Please don’t.”

The first lesson is strange. There’s tension in the air - maybe it’s just the glares that Regulus and James are sending each other the whole time - but it feels refreshing to have your presence near again. You don’t even seem to hate him anymore; you just act… indifferent. You don’t laugh at his jokes, not even when he bashes Sirius - even if he sees Regulus holding himself back from laughing - and just explain everything he did wrong in his assignments to him, explaining some concepts and basics. 

Once the clock ticks to 19 o’clock, you’re already putting your things away, chatting with Regulus about dinner; you barely spare James a glance as you exit the library, He’s feeling lost - suddenly he would like to ask his little self how he would feel about you not being friends with him anymore. He’s sure that eight-years-old James would cry for a week straight and then beg on his knees for forgiveness, and is also sure that you probably wouldn’t have forgiven him nonetheless. 

But that’s okay. He never liked easy challenges. 

If it wasn’t for your grades in Transfiguration, you would have happily let James rot in the depths of Hell. 

When your grandfather asked you to please help the Potter boy, you had been against it. Refusing profusely, like your life depended on it; you promised to yourself you’d never let him back in your life, not after he pulled that stunt on the Quidditch pitch, a stunt of which your grandad is still blissfully unaware of. But then again, Horace Slughorn is still Horace Slughorn, and he pulled one of his many favors like you were one of his prizes on the nightstand. 

One of his many friends is, apparently, the inspector for the Transfiguration trial of the O.W.L.s. He promises that he can make him give you an O on the only subject you’re barely Acceptable in. 

It’s wrong. Maybe. But it would be stupid to pass down an opportunity like this just because of a personal grudge. You’re not ready to ruin your whole grade sheet just by refusing. Because of what? Of a boy? Not happening.

So you have to agree, and your grandfather is eager to shower you in kisses and hugs, gushing about how you saved his career. You’re pretty sure the Troll hurts James more than him, but choose not to say anything about it. You go through your schedule and his - just so that he can’t complain about the time and start arguing with you again - and manage to find some hours where the both of you are free, even if it was pretty hard considering all the study groups you took part of in preparation for the O.W.L.s. 

The first lesson is unbearable. He tried so hard to be funny and he didn’t even understand that to you, he is not. You don’t think he will ever be to you again. Everytime he opened his mouth you just thought about every time that he called you stupid just because you were making friends on your own, friends that he didn’t like. 

You know that sometimes kids say stupid things, wrong things, just because they are kids and don’t really know the real weight of words. Maybe he regretted it, as Remus often tells you; in-fact, despite the bad experience with his friends, Lupin actually became somewhat of a friend to you, sometimes updating you on James’ life. 

(“He broke his ankle going down the stairs,” he told you once. You had snorted, “Really? I wish it was his face.” 

He actually laughed. 

Sometimes you think Remus is too smart for the Marauders; too sensitive to be with friends like them. But you don’t dare to say anything, because if you did, you’d be no better than James.) 

Thankfully on Tuesday there’s no lesson, but you do have a study session with some Ravenclaws to put together Sprout’s notes to try to understand whatever the fuck she taught last lesson. On your way to the garden, it’s actually Remus that stops you. 

He looks terrible. His eyes are red, his hair mussled, and his uniform looks more wrinkled than usual. “Please, just get this over with,” he pleads, and for a moment, you think he’s about to fall to his knees and beg you. You blink. “Get over with what?”

His left eye twitches. “Do you have any idea of what I went through last night, woman?”

You raise an eyebrow at his antics. “No. Should I?” 

He lets out a scream that holds all the stress of sixth year in it, and that makes many students in the hallway turn to glare at him. “Your bloody student! He talked my ear off all night! All night! I didn’t get a blink of sleep, he made sure to usurp my bunk and knew how to keep me there! I have an important test today, and I swear, if I fail it, I’m gonna say to McGonagall that it’s your fault!”

You gasp. “But I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, tell that to James, because he probably hasn’t understood that your lack of response to his jokes isn’t because you’re reminiscing about your friendship, but because you simply don't find them funny!”

You notice something and try to stop him. “Remus-”

“He spent hours talking about how he’s so happy to finally be able to be friends with you again! Hours! I haven’t slept in three days because of my exams and now this! Could you just tell him that you didn’t agree to the lessons because you want to be friends with him again, please?”

“Uh…” the voice comes from behind him and Remus freezes, recognizing James’ voice. Your face is contorted into a frown, knowing that you tried your best to warn him. You don’t care about the fact that he heard that you have no intention of becoming friends with him again; you care about the fact that he has heard one of his friends talking about him like this.

How ironic is it that he warned me so much about my friends, but the first one to dismiss his feelings like that is one of his closest friends? 

Remus pales. James’s usual tan complexion is a bit paler than usual, too; it probably isn’t nice hearing all your thoughts and hopes being screamed in the hallway, for anyone to hear. “James, I…”

But he’s already going the opposite direction, and you’re pretty sure that you saw tears in his eyes. Remus runs after him, spluttering a spring of apologies, and then they both disappear behind the walls of the Castle. 

Pandora, who was near there when Remus started shouting, approaches you. “What happened?”

You sigh. For the first time in years, you feel bad for James - maybe you even pity him. And that is not a good thing. “Dunno, Dora,” you mutter, deep in thought. “Men are strange creatures.”

Xenophilius Lovegood passes by, and Pandora sighs dramatically. “Oh, don’t tell me.” 

You almost expect James not to show up to the lesson the day after, but he does. He does and this time he’s silent, not joking around, only opening his mouth to ask you questions. Now, you do pity him; you know he has really bonded with the Marauders. James is one of those people who manage to be friends with everybody, but not actually friends; he doesn’t bond that easily. He has a lot of acquaintances and knows nearly every student, yes, but he can count on the fingers of his hands the people he actually considers to be his friends.

It’s strange how you know so many things about him, even after all this time. You fear you may never be able to forget them; that James will remain etched on your brain, a stain in your younger years that never managed to go away. 

“I’m sorry about what happened yesterday.” you mutter, not even knowing where the words came from. He looks surprised, not expecting them either from you, not after all that Remus said. 

“Yeah,” he blurts out. “I… should’ve expected it, actually. S’not like you have ever actually shown interest in me after… y’know.”

Your thoughts go back to the letter he wrote you: I know you don’t want to talk to me, but if you ever happen to need a friend, i’ll always be there for you. You know it’s not much, but you think that maybe, just maybe, you can put your grudge away for a moment, just because he really looks like he needs a friend right now, and since Remus at the moment is out of the picture, Peter isn’t really good with these types of things and Sirius is… well, Sirius, maybe you need to step in. 

You hastily get up, going around the table and sitting right beside him. “Remus said things he didn’t think in a moment of stress,” you try to console him. He’s flushed from when you sat down next to him, probably not expecting this move from you, but pleasantly surprised. 

He blinks at you for a moment, and you almost want to take everything back. But then he smiles, a smile so tender that it could melt ice. “You always tried to make me feel better when we were younger, too,” he sniffs. You put a tentative hand on his shoulder, “We can try being friends again, James, and I mean it. But this time the Marauders have to stay out of it. You, of course, can stay friends with them, but you have to understand that I've got friends out of us just as much as you have friends out of us.”

He nods, but then his lower lip trembles and his eyes shine with tears. “You know,” he starts, stammering, “I don’t think anyone gets me like you understood me.”

Of course they don't, you want to say. Something like our friendship happens one time in a lifetime, James. You don’t get to grow up with your best friend every day. James sniffs, “Sirius maybe comes close to it. But I can’t talk to him about you because that’s when he starts to not understand me. Remus… well, I found out yesterday that he actually can’t stand my constant yapping. Peter always looks at me like I’m crazy.” he suddenly looks up, an alarmed look on his face. “Am I? Crazy, I mean.”

You wince. “I mean, you look sane enough to me.” no he doesn't, his eyes are blood-shot and he looks like he hasn't had a moment to relax since yesterday. But you can't just say that to him. “James, I think you rely too much on your friends. Usually it's a good thing - it means you trust them and all - but sometimes you just have to make decisions by yourself. Remus can listen to you all you want, but he can't solve your problems for you.”

You know that him and Remus will probably resolve and then get back to their friendship like nothing happened, but James looks at you with eyes full of unshed tears. He looks like a baby deer. “Are we solved?” 

You melt. “We can be.”

[lazyjellyfish300]

Only we know 💭💥🕷️

Miguel O'Hara x gn! Spider Reader

Synopsis: a request for my lovely @swiftyangx12 🖤🖤🖤 TY FOR REQUESTING and your patience 😩😩" How about Miguel and Spider![Reader] attend at a Comic Con back in [Reader]’s world?

The plot for this one is [Reader] signed up to participate in a cosplay competition and they invited Miguel as their moral support (and he took that opportunity since he has a huge crush on them and they also like him back so they can show off their work). I’m thinking of them dressed up as Jinx from LOL Arcane series."

Word count: 2.6k whoops

CW: SLIGHT SUGGESTIVE, MINORS DNI, FLUFFY FRIENDS TO LOVERS

@1-900-venusluvs @thatone-writer

-----

You documented your location, voice recording your mission notes as you drew up an orange portal back to Earth 928, tossing the bound anomaly through it like a sack of potatoes before you followed shortly afterwards, leaving the senior citizens at the retirement home with higher blood pressure and jaws on the floor.

Another day on the job complete.

Few things kept you motivated like having a big event marked on your calendar. This summer's item was going to be Comic Con, held in your dimension Earth 108-13. You were particularly looking forward to this one since you took a leap of faith and signed up for a cosplay competition. Also, you and your friends splurged a little bit and got tickets to the one in Las Vegas, meaning there would be a whole weekend of partying and things to do besides just the Con.

As a gamer, one of your favorite series recently came out, Arcane, which was based on a game called League of Legends you had been a long time player of, and the fandom at this time was buzzing. You had planned out your costume to coincide with the trending media and cosplay as Jinx, one of the main characters of Arcane and a playable champion in the game.

No offense to your two friends you were going with, but they had recently crossed over into dating territory, and you weren't exactly all over the idea of third wheeling for an entire weekend, especially in a place as fun as Vegas.

You had someone in mind you were going to invite. And if you weren't misreading the banter and subtle signs you were holding onto like an oath for several months, then you were quite certain he was going to say yes.

---

Spider Society HQ, Earth-928

Miguel doesn't turn much from his monitors that he's locked onto in a dead pan stare, watching the same Vulture sniffing candles at a TJ Maxx for the millionth time in a row. But his neck nearly breaks when he hears the familiar and most welcome sound of your voice.

"Hey, Migs."

"H-Hey! *Cough* I mean....hi."

His face morphs back into all business, but with just a hint of pleasantness that he only seemed to allow to bubble underneath the surface with just you. And it made your heart stop every time.

You smile at him, removing your mask, your face glistening with the sweat of a successful mission. Miguel feels his heart leap in his chest.

The afterglow sure suited you and he felt it a little bit more difficult than usual to be in your presence. Nevertheless, he didn't crack.

"Mysterio has been stowed successfully in sector 4." You say proudly, lightly panting as your breath caught up to you.

"Good, good." Miguel's lips pulled into a smile of admiration and gratitude. "I appreciate you doing that despite it being such a moment's notice."

"Ah, well it was a Moose-sterio, actually. So he went down easier than a normal Mysterio." You chuckle, casually perching yourself on Miguel's desk.

Miguel can't help but crack a smile at that. "How did he find himself at the retirement home anyway?"

"Beats me." You hum. "Maybe one of the residents hunted his family when he was younger and was out for long, overdue, revenge served cold."

Miguel shakes his head. "Now, that's a dark thought." He pauses. "But I'm afraid the moose vendetta pales in comparison to the need for multiverse stability. How do you say that plural anyway, is it mooses? Meese?"

"Nah, moose." You chuckle, kicking your legs. "One of those weird ones where the singular is the same as the plural."

"An anomaly." Miguel quips.

"Is it ever not possible for you to talk about work?" You give him an incredulous look, but still keeping the same air of playfulness.

"Old habits die hard." Miguel hums.

You notice he's gradually made his way closer to you, a little off guard when you raise your head to look at him and he's less than a foot away. Your lips part and Miguel clears his throat, turning his attention to the monitor behind you.

You slowly breathe out, that was the closest he's probably been to you the whole time you've known him. You could've sworn if the tension hung in the air any longer than it would've resulted in a kiss that finally unmasked the elephant that sure was doing its best to draw attention away from itself in the room. How you wanted him and, (unknown to you) how much he wanted you just as badly.

You figure now is a good time to ask.

"You have any plans next month the weekend of the 22nd?"

Miguel raises an eyebrow. "I don't, same Spider business as usual, why?"

"Come to the Vegas Comic Con with me. My other two friends are going but they're a couple and I'm not trying to be the odd one out all weekend."

"Vegas?" Miguel feels his pulse steadily increase. He had been to Vegas only once, and that was when he was recruiting Ben Reilly, not really having any time to pause and sightsee.

Partying and going out in public spaces wasn't exactly his thing, but the freeing feeling of being out in the city at night did kind of make him curious. He thought gambling was for chumps but he enjoyed a good card game. Maybe Vegas could be one of those "one and done" things. Just to say he had the experience.

"Yeah." You smile. "I mean, not to make it weird or anything. I just figure you need a break and I'm supposed to be cosplaying and I'm used to having at least one person tag along for moral support but-."

"I'll come."

"You....really?" You smile brightly at him, trying to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Miguel sighs. "Yeah I'll come to this... convention, as you put it."

"You don't know how excited I am right now. It's going to be fun! And you gotta dress up with me too." You smirk, your mind suddenly coming alight with all these fun ideas you and Miguel could try out.

But, Miguel is already eagerly waiting to pop that bubble, "I don't wear costumes."

You raise your eyebrows, "You wear one every day!"

"It's a suit, not a costume." He crosses his arms."There's a difference. Who are you dressing up as anyway?"

"Jinx from Arcane." You answer proudly.

"What's a Jinx?"

"Jinx is a person, silly. She's from a TV show called Arcane which is based off this game I play called League of Legends."

"Never heard of it."

"Just watch it on Netflix! There's only one season, nine episodes. It's one of those you can binge really quick."

Miguel huffs a little in amusement at that. "Okay I might watch this show, but I'm still not putting on a damn costume."

"Alright, wise guy." You cross your arms. "If you're not gonna dress up, you'll still at least come with me, right?"

Miguel smirks at you, leaning in a little closer. "Wouldn't miss this weirdo convention with you for the world."

----

Miguel's bloodshot eyes blinked with a heavy stare as the final episode of Arcane concluded, leaving his eye bag expression reflecting back to him on his dark TV.

He was definitely not beating the down bad allegations for you anytime soon, which Peter, Hobie, and Pav loved to so graciously point out every time they could.

-----

The down badness raised to another degree entirely though at the sight of you in your Jinx cosplay in your Vegas hotel room.

Blue wig with the two long braids true to the character running down your shoulders, body art design on your midriff and right arm to mimic Jinx's tattoos, some ripped up purplish-maroon capris, a black crop top and leather accessories to accent the look on your arms, reminiscent of a sort of edgy steampunk vibe, with combat boots and some magenta colored contacts on your eyes, making you seem even more otherworldly and ethereal.

Miguel can't stop gawking, his feelings ranging from awe, to admiration, to pure want, to sudden jealousy at the realization that other people, (most likely hundreds since you were a contestant after all) will get to lay eyes on you all day like this.

Luckily, you're too anxious and proud of yourself to notice, examining yourself in the mirror for any details that might be off, but you could see none, turning and giving him that signature smile of yours that makes the tops of his ears turn red.

"Y-you look great." He manages to say, in a tone that he only hopes disguises his obvious affection and wordless effect you have on him.

His disguise is completely transparent, however, but you try and mask your obvious flattery and slight giddiness at his reaction. "Thanks, Mig."

But, you're horrible at pretending, too, a fact that he mentally seizes with both hands, stuffing in his back pocket for later with a dizzy look of admiration when your back is turned.

Once you're wholly satisfied with the look, and both ready to go, you and Miguel and your friends hit the Vegas strip, Miguel trying to keep his cool as neck after neck turns as you walk by.

Once at Comic Con, you end up losing your friends, off in a world of their own as a newly formed couple, leaving just you and Miguel alone.

Miguel's eyes soften when you take a picture of your passes hanging from matching lanyards side by side angled at the ground with both pairs of your shoes in the shot and post it to your social media stories, realizing you have every intention of showing him off.

You feel fuzzy on the inside when you get stopped for pictures with fellow attendees, giving you numerous compliments at how good you look and chatting about how much they love Jinx and they're so stoked to see such a well done cosplay. (That $500 charge to the arts and crafts store was Soo worth it)

Your favorite photo op was meeting someone with an equally wicked Vi cosplay, standing side by side in a way that looked like you both were copy pasted from the show itself.

Miguel gets mistaken for your boyfriend dozens of times, but he doesn't correct them once, just a little smile on his face as he plays photographer, butterflies in your stomach as he walks a little closer next to you, halfway shielding you in a chivalristic manner from all the extra attention as though he was your personal bodyguard.

You stop by booth after booth, politely conversing with the various artists, actors, and writers, collecting more stickers for your laptop, buying a t shirt, some adorable pins here and there. Like a kid in a candy shop, you take in and gravitate towards every one of your interests and medias you adore like a moth to a flame. Miguel endears himself even more to you with your little Oohs and Aaahs.

You notice Miguel's a little starstruck when he sees one of his favorite comic book writers as a kid, letting him know he can go for a photo op if he wants since you both have the all access tickets, smiling at how cute and nervous he looks as he approaches the writer, scooting a little closer and popping a little awkward thumbs up at the camera. Still, he comes out looking just as photogenic and gorgeous as ever. You shake your head with a smile.

Soon, it's time for the competition. You bounce your leg nervously as you sit in your chair on the stage, feeling what seems like a millions pairs of eyes boring into you, but then you catch Miguel in the audience, both of you the only two people in the room as your gaze stays anchored on him the whole time, nearly missing the announcement from the host that you were awarded first place. Miguel stands and claps loudly as he uses his fingers to whistle, leaving you with a smile that could break your cheeks.

After a successful Con and maybe a couple more bags of merch than you should have indulged in (Miguel being responsible for at least 2 of those, getting you a couple stuffies and t shirts as his congratulations for sweeping the competition away), it was time to have some fun on the town and see what Vegas had to offer.

You got matching drinks from the Hello Kitty cafe, went to the M&M's world (Miguel nearly had a stroke from being surrounded by so much sugar), and the shark reef aquarium. You could have sworn his finger brushed against yours a couple of times when you both were zoned out in the shark tunnel, completely lost in an oceanic world together with no plans to return, until a group of over-zealous and unsupervised 7 year olds nearly knocked him over.

You even convinced him to just try the slot machines once, not even waiting for his cash out coupon for 40 cents to print out before he was yanking you by the arm out of there while you were wheezing with laughter.

Sharing a 12 pack of cheeseburger sliders at White Castle (Miguel had like 8 of them), and some freshly cooked french fries, dashed with the tiniest bit of salt.

Now, you were watching the fountains at the Bellagio, both of your hands creeping closer and closer together as the show went on, until both of your arms were wrapped around each other. Your head was against his chest as the fanfare blasted in the speakers and the gorgeous aqua, teal and fuschia lights of the water lit up the Vegas sky overhead in a spectacular display like a starry watercolor painting.

The mood of the night suddenly felt extremely peaceful, and sensual, a tranquil moment between you and Miguel. Honest feelings underneath the surface that were begging to be released at long last.

You turned your head to find him already staring,

"Miguel, I...."

Before his lips already met yours in the sweetest first kiss, the water splashing behind you in front of the well lit Bellagio, the shooting colors akin to the fireworks bursting inside your heart, before you both gently break it, foreheads still pressed against the other.

"I'm-"

"In love with you?" He asks softly as he brings a thumb to your cheek, tracing the tiniest circle before he kisses you again.

"I absolutely am."

You both get lost inside this out of world experience, kissing each other underneath the warm, nighttime lights of Vegas, still dressed in your Jinx costume, both pairs of arms locked around the other, hearts stirring in your chest as you cement this moment permanently into memory.

You Uber back to your hotel, no longer staying in separate rooms with evening plans of all-night snuggles, binging another series together that you've been meaning to show him, and, if you are both still awake, maybe convincing him to run down to the lobby together for late night snacks from the 24 hour food court in your hotel, and room service waffles in the morning.

Two lovebirds brought together at last by the nighttime lights of Vegas, and all because of a little Comic Con.

A special love rooted in friendship with a sacred meaning only the two of you know about, that playful look in each other's eyes as you open the door to his hotel room, another portal to a cozy world for you two to get lost in as it softly clicks behind you.

---

[goquokka00]

The Little Things (Jeongin Ver.)

The small things he does every day that make you feel oh, so special.

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

|Helps You Dress |

We're all probably aware that Jeongin is extremely well dressed. Hell, even the other members have clarified that sometimes they go to Jeongin for fashion opinions and advice. And a lot of times, you do the same. Either that, or Jeongin will offer help if he sees you're struggling.

Jeongin will go to your closet with you and look through your clothes to try and find something that'll fit what you're aiming for. If it's for a study session at the library, he'll find a comfier set of clothes for it. If it's for a family gathering at a fancy restaurant, he'll make sure you look phenomenal. If it's for a double date with you and Jeongin and a friend and her significant other, he'll make sure that both of you are matching outfits.

I also think that sometimes, Jeongin will dress you in his own clothing, too. Not all the time, just whenever you're going to something you're not really looking forward to or will just be lounging around the house with him. Jeongin loves his clothes, yes, but he loves them even more when they're on you.

| Comes For Cuddles |

Jeongin isn't one for cuddles. We all know this. If his members try to hug and coddle him, he always tries to maneuver out of it. And I think for the most part, Jeongin wouldn't really want to cuddle you a whole lot either at first, just because it's who he is. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you, it's just a Jeongin thing.

However, there are definitely going to be moments when Jeongin will want cuddles, and will come to you for them. You stopped going to him for them, because he was always super reluctant, and figured if he wanted them, he'd come. And he did. Usually, it's when he's had a rough patch at work or is just straight exhausted. He'll come over to you and lay on top of you, resting his head on your chest and nuzzling you while hugging your torso, humming at the soft scratches you give his head.

I also firmly stand by the belief that Jeongin will do this around the other Kids, too. Literally for no other reason than to make them all upset and jealous because you're getting all of these Jeongin cuddles and kisses and affection and they're not. They'll definitely grumble about it, all while Jeongin has this smug look on his face. He just finds pleasure in making his Hyungs upset.

| Video Games |

After watching Jeongin play Among Us on Chan's computer, I think that you and he would play a LOT of video games together. Anything from on the Nintendo Switch to a Playstation, even on a laptop, the two of you would play plenty of games, sometimes even with certain things on the line. Stuff like, "Loser has to do dishes", or "If I win, you have to give me a back massage."

The competitive play would definitely be a thing, but I also think you guys would have a lot of Co-op games that you guys would play, too. Things like Bread and Fred, Among Us (if one of you isn't on a different side), It Takes Two, things like that.

I also think that y'all would 100% play games like Animal Crossing or Minecraft. You and Jeongin work way too hard on your world/islands, and always have to run ideas by each other. Those games are also great ways to stay in contact when Jeongin's on tour. Sure, a Stray Kid besides Jeongin will sometimes join your Minecraft server, but Jeongin usually kills them as punishment for joining his server that was specifically for him and his love.

| Misunderstandings |

If you're someone who's soft spoken, I feel like misunderstandings would happen a lot. Even if you weren't soft spoken, I feel like this would still happen. A lot. More or less, it's literally just Jeongin only half-listening, and hearing you say something completely different than what was actually said.

Other times, it might just be that you as him to do something, and he hears what you say, but he thinks of it in a completely different way than what you meant. "I thought you wanted me to fill the printer! I did!" "Yeah, with ink!" "And I did that!" "Jeongin, printer ink!" "...oh."

I don't think that you'd ever get mad at him though, mainly because if he does end up slipping up big time, he'll buy whatever he broke or take the time to actually do what you asked, and then will proceed to apologize profusely while cuddling you because he feels really, really, REALLY bad.

| At-Home Facials |

Honestly, because all of the guys are into facials, I think this could happen with any of them. But for whatever reason, I could see this being a Jeongin thing the most. Whether you're the one pestering him that you wanna do a facial together, or if he's the one pestering, it happens a lot.

Sometimes, it's just the two of you wearing face masks while eating instant noodles and watching TV. And that's always fun, and Jeongin really enjoyed those. You do too, because it's cheap and doesn't take a whole lot of effort to complete. Not to mention that you two always got to cuddle up on the couch.

Other times, you and Jeongin go all out. Doing multiple masks, placing cucumbers on the eyes, steaming faces with hot towels, massaging faces (and Jeongin squishing your cheeks while commenting on how cute you are), all of it. Jeongin will usually buy all of the supplies, because going out is his idea. But you two do end up feeling awesome after.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

[e-the-village-cryptid]

I can't stop thinking about how utterly alone Bix is. Even surrounded by the tight-knit community of Ferrix, she is so isolated and lonely in terms of actual human connection.

As far as we can tell, she has no family. She's not older than her late 20s, but her parents are implied to be dead, seeing as she inherited their salyard. She's been running the place on her own for years, hired Timm a little while ago, started dating him probably since she's so busy she doesn't even have the time to meet anyone else. She avoids him as much as possible, she doesn't tell him anything about her life, and she only comes and finds him when she's been drinking and she can't sleep, uses him more as a distraction than a companion.

Her relationship with Cassian, once so close in their youth, has become strained and distant and he only shows up every few months, only when he needs to ask a favor. And in response, she pushes him away too, rejects his attempts to ignore the distance that's grown between them, not with any bitterness or anger, just a deep, exhausted sadness.

She smiles and greets her neighbors as she walks by, but the smile drops as soon as she passes. They all know her, but they don't know her, really.

Salman Paak knows the most about her operation, but even he doesn't know the details. He's not really involved; Bix was the only one to use the radio, and Salman met Luthen only once, then turned the operation over to Bix. Bix and Salman have a friendship that extends beyond just business, but they hardly ever get to talk; the first thing he says when Bix walks into his shop in episode one is that he hasn't seen her lately. She has ties to Brasso and Maarva and others in the community as well, but hardly sees them either.

Whenever we see her, she's perpetually in motion, always busy, always worried, always finding something to do with her hands, or somewhere to go, always having to do something, just to avoid the prospect of being still with her thoughts. She keeps moving to avoid that terrible quiet, keeps the noise dialed up as much as possible, just staying ahead of that crushing loneliness that envelops her life even when she's surrounded by people.

And of course, that's just the beginning.

She may not be thriving, but she's surviving, she's holding herself together, she's keeping an iron grip on whatever stability she can find in her life. But then— Timm's betrayal. And before she has time to process that, his lifeless body is tumbling down the steps before her eyes, and she can't reach him, and she's alone, and there's blood in her eyes and her head is spinning with a fresh concussion, and she's alone, and he's dead, and she's alone.

But eventually the Paaks find her and release her and drag her away and she drags herself up and cleans up the mess and tries to piece the shards of her life back together. And when Cassian shows up at her door, even knowing how dangerous it is, how the whole city is crawling with soldiers looking for him, she can't summon urgency or anger or fear. She's just too exhausted. There's only tiredness in her voice when she tells him he can't be here, only blunt resignation as she tells him of the dangers, only sadness and bone-deep exhaustion at this same distance, this same pattern, as he leaves again.

So she keeps going. And she takes care of Maarva and Maarva is dying but she takes care of Maarva and she tries to contact Cassian to tell him and she knows it's a hopeless, dangerous mission but she does it anyway. And so she's cut off from her only off-world connection as the radio is shut down forever, set adrift, but there's no time to think about it, because then she's being dragged into an interrogation room. And there's Salman, tortured and unconscious, being dragged away for execution, and the guilt is enormous, it's all her fault, but how could she have known that the punishment for owning a radio, just owning a radio that someone else used, would be to be tortured and killed, but of course it's still all her fault and the guilt is consuming but there's no time to feel it, she locks it away as she locks eyes with Dedra, channeling everything into the defiance she'll need to make it through this.

But there's no making it through this. There's no way to maintain her resistance or her dignity or even her mind and body, not as they were before. And when she's been alone with this torment for weeks, when can hardly stand, can hardly speak, her only solace is the distant beat of a funeral drum and the words of a dead friend. And then she's on a ship away from the only community she's ever known, her and Brasso and Wilmon and Bee and Jezzi all together but all alone, not looking at one another, not speaking to one another, just exhausted, just processing more than anyone could process in a lifetime.

And now what? Even as she heals physically, even as she can walk and speak again and begin to look forward, how can she possibly explain what she's been through? This torture that no one has heard of before, that left no marks save for the deep scars on her psyche, that sounds so implausible she almost questions the reality of it all herself. How can she possibly explain? Would they even believe her? What if they don't believe her? What if they don't understand? Or maybe it's even worse if they do, if they look at her with pity, if they treat her like she's fragile, if they speak to her like they don't quite know what to say.

Where can she go? She has to go back to Ferrix, there's no other option, she feels the pull of those ties that can never be broken. And yet, even with that deep need to return, what is there to return to? Most of the people she cared about there are dead. The idea of rebuilding her old life is almost laughable, how could anything ever be normal again? Could she even be normal again? This mind, this body hardly feel like her own now.

And yet one thing is always unchanging: she is still alone, always alone, just the same as before.

[anchorandrope]

happy pride to my hands your hands tied up like two ships i don't care what people say when we're together oh i will carry over fire and water for your love the script was written and i could not change a thing i said hey it's alright if it makes you feel alive and every jaw drops when she's in those jeans there will always be the kind that criticize but i know yes i know we'll be alright so i built you a house from a broken home i'm all yours i've got no control no control it's been so long it's been so long maybe we're fireproof used to sing about being free but now he's changed his mind if you like to do the things you know that we shouldn't do then baby i'm perfect the priest thinks it's the devil my mum thinks it's the flu but girl it's only you for your eyes only i'll show you my heart the summertime and butterflies all belong to your creation so many nights i thought it over told myself i kinda like her but there was something missing in her eyes same lips red same eyes blue same white shirt couple more tattoos wherever i go you bring me home in a black dress she's such an actress yeah so you can cut me up and kiss me harder you can be the pill to ease the pain im just like you if you only knew now i'm asking my friends how to say i'm sorry they say lad give it time there's no need to worry i know that you're scared because i'm so open breathe me in breathe me out i don't know if i could ever go without i get so lost inside your eyes would you believe it? so bright sometimes shine i'm not ever going back don't blame me for falling i was just a little boy i couldn't want you anymore kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor staring at the ceiling two weeks and i'll be home we were only kids just tryna work it out wonder what they'd think if they could see us now i've been looking back a lot lately me and you is all i ever know and it's been ages different stages come so far from princess park waiting to wrap your legs around me and i know you hate to smoke without me cause you're the only one when it's said and done and i'm too tired to be tough just wanna be loved by you it's a church of brunt romances and i'm too far gone to pray in a strange way we're all in this together been this way forever you're not the only one but i'd follow you to any place if it's hollywood or bishopsgate i'm coming too if i was a bluebird i would fly to you stay green a little while you bring blue lights to dreams do you think i'm cool too? or am i too into you? maple syrup coffee pancakes for two you lay with him as you stay in the daydream you feel a fool you're back at it again i take you with me every time i go away in a hotel usin' someone else's name when we're finished saying nothing can we please get back to lovin'? i don't wanna face the music but i still wanna dance with you but the friends we make the love it takes is worth is worth is worth it all the time my heart might be broken but i won't be broken down you and me until the end wakin' up to start again fabricated fairytales bring a new world to life there were problems in this empty bottle at the bottom but we drained all that you should be startin' at the sky the birds just passin' by love spent my whole life thinking i had to change

[inspo]