#friday night cacophony

[synthshenanigans]

If Vol 1 came out a year earlier, there would've been a friday night funkin mod of it

[moonlinos]

I can hear the siren (Siren part I)

♡ Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Camboy!Hyunjin, neighbors AU, strangers to “lovers”

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), sex work, voyeurism if you squint, hate sex kind of?, masturbation, thigh riding, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, Hyunjin’s a bit of an asshole but I love him

♡ Word count: 7.9k

♡ Synopsis: To say your new next-door neighbor is loud would be an understatement. Three times a week, at the same time every night, he will laugh and talk loudly for an hour. After that, like clockwork, a cacophony of his groans and moans will fill your room through your shared wall. He’s most certainly entertaining some hookup, or maybe a girlfriend. You frankly don’t care — all you know is you want your peace and quiet back. But you never would’ve guessed what you would find out upon confronting him.

♡ A/N: Once again, I cannot shut up and this ended up being much longer than I had originally wanted. One day, I will write a one-shot that’s less than 5k words, but today is not that day. I listened to Taeyeon’s Siren while writing this, hence the title. Also think the song’s a little fitting to the story.

part II →

Yet another night, yet another two hours of hearing your next-door neighbor moaning like a porn star for anyone to hear. The thin walls of your apartment, coupled with the fact that your room shared a wall with his own bedroom, make it impossible for you not to hear everything that happens inside his bedroom. Earphones have proven futile in muffling his voice, and you can only distract yourself with mindless YouTube videos for so long before you give up and simply wait for him to finish. Quite literally.

You noticed it was his routine: Fridays and weekends — the nights when he would graciously give the entire building a free show.

But that wasn’t all he did. And that’s what stirs up curiosity inside of you.

An hour before the unholy sounds begin, he spends a significant amount of time simply speaking, laughing loudly, and throwing the occasional suggestive comment here and there. But only his voice can be heard, and considering how damn thin the walls are, you can’t help but wonder why that is. Maybe his hookups aren’t into his long, drawn-out conversations, only there to get fucked and dip as fast as possible. Or perhaps it’s a girlfriend, and he enjoys gagging her. Your mind has had plenty of time to run wild with theories, seeing as he moved about a month ago, starting your own personal version of hell on his very first day.

You complained to your landlord three times now. On the first time, you were dismissed as being too sensitive to noise. Maybe invest in some earplugs, she suggested. The second time, after explaining through gritted teeth that perhaps the entire building could also hear him and it would be wise to give him a warning, she assured you that only your apartment had such complaints — after all, it was only the two of you on that floor. And, on your last attempt before you ultimately gave up, your landlord all but berated you for meddling in your neighbor’s business. She argued he was inside his apartment and could do whatever he desired.

And so, you accepted your fate.

As you walk out of the shower, your bliss at the realization that tonight is a Friday dissipates as soon as it dawns on you that you are in for three days in a row of your neighbor and his antics. You groan, reluctantly making your way toward your bedroom, your body aching after sitting at your desk at work all day. So sleeping on the couch was not an option; your limbs only ached even more the day after you did that to try and escape the raucous noise.

Like clockwork, at exactly ten p.m., his loud voice fills the small space of your bedroom.

“I’m actually going out tonight again, so we have to be quick,” he explains. “But you like it when I’m quick, don’t you? Like when I make you cum so fast you barely have time to understand what’s happening.”

You grimace at his words, burying yourself under your blankets. God.

“I’m going clubbing with a couple of friends,” He continues. “Hopefully, I’ll find a nice girl to take home, hm?”

Crossing out the word Girlfriend on your mental notes, you scoff. What a gentleman he is, letting his hook-up know he’ll have to fuck her fast so he can leave to meet another woman to take home.

“Maybe I’ll record a video for you if she lets me. Would you like that, seeing me fuck another woman? I bet you would.”

What the fuck. The word Girlfriend is added back to your list. Maybe the girl is into that shit, and you’re not one to kink shame so long as everything’s consensual. But you surely didn’t consent to knowing that information. 

Soon enough, his voice drops to a sultry tone, and incessant hums spill from his lips. And the worst part of your night begins.

You hate to admit it — seeing as the guy makes you lose sleep and disturbs your peace since he’s graced the building with his presence — but his dirty talk, when coupled with his groans, becomes far less unpleasant and much more enticing. Every night, you struggle for an hour with the uncomfortable feeling of arousal between your legs, the way he alternates between praises and vulgar words causing a twinge inside of you. But you never dare to masturbate to the sound of his voice — that would be going too far. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you follow your rule of waiting for him to finish whatever it is that he’s doing to then finally touch yourself. As you tightly shut your eyes, you focus on your upcoming work assignments, desperately trying to drown out the sound of his voice. Maybe boring yourself to sleep is your only escape.

“Oh, I know how wet you are just watching me — fuck,” he groans, a breathy scoff leaving his lips. “Don’t even gotta tell me. Just touch yourself, it’s okay.”

Your eyes shoot open as it feels as if he’s fucking talking to you. You shake your head, the awful feeling of embarrassment engulfing you in the privacy of your own bedroom.

“I know you want to,” His voice is unrelenting, reverberating through your dark room, punctuated by heavy sighs. “Do it for me, will you? Touch your pretty cunt for me.”

You feel your clit begin to pulse, and a loud groan escapes from your lips. So loud, in fact, you wonder if he heard you through the thin walls as well.

Fuck it, you tell yourself inwardly, it’s not like the guy will ever know what you’re doing.

The sound of his voice was as silky and dark as velvet, covering you wholly and clouding your judgment with each word. You allow your hand to slip underneath your sleep shorts, gasping as you find the fabric of your panties already soaking simply from hearing his words — almost begging, guiding you to let go of your reservations and touch yourself.

“Just like that. D’you like the sound of my voice?” He asked, voice breathless, a deep groan echoing through the walls. “Like hearing me moan for you? Bet you’d like it even more if I was fucking you.”

Your fingers delicately flick back and forth, teasing your clit, your mind now shamelessly imagining his fingertips, his tongue, his cock, anything he was willing to give you. You’re quick to lose yourself in this imagination, despite not knowing what the man looked like — you soon realize that wasn’t at all important, a dark shadowy figure hovering over you proving to be more than enough for you as you felt a rush of wetness pooling between your thighs when your neighbor let out a louder, guttural noise.

“Fuck, I’d love to be stretching that pussy out,” He chokes out, and you bite your bottom lip to keep from making any noise. You’re now hyper-aware that if you can hear him this loudly, he’d be able to hear you with the same amount of clarity.

Your embarrassment only goes so far, though, as you slip a finger into your cunt, your breath hitching and your eyes fluttering closed to better conjure up the fantasy your mind had been creating. You imagine his long fingers inside you in place of your own, the words he spilled almost nonchalantly being whispered directly into your ears. One finger soon turned into two, then three, the heel of your palm rubbing against your clit as you tilt your hips up. You throw away your last drop of inhibition as you indulge in vivid thoughts, imagining the shape and size of his cock and, most importantly, how it would feel as it filled you up. Your neighbor’s words almost faded into white noise, his grunting the only coherent sound in your ears.

Would he take his time with you, like he always did whenever you heard him? Teasing you for hours as he candidly talked about nothing in particular, rendering you unable to do anything but beg for him? Or would he be hasty, like tonight, his cock abruptly stretching you to the brim, making you feel every inch of his thick length? Would he rather finish on your breasts, your stomach, or maybe your face, taking a picture to keep as a souvenir he could show off to whoever he was with during these nights?

“Come with me,” His voice suddenly became clear once more, deep and hoarse as you imagine his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “Think about how good it’d feel to have me come inside you, stuffing that little cunt while you milk me dry.”

You purse your lips as you feel your release approaching, coaxed purely by his words. The mental image of this stranger painting your insides with his release, all the while his intoxicating voice told you how good you were, how warm and tight you felt enough to have waves of pleasure wash over you, body tensing up as your orgasm surges through you.

As you slowly come down from your high, you feel your consciousness come back to you. Your fingers leave your core as if you were just burned by fire, which is fitting as a feeling of burning embarrassment wraps around you tightly like a vice.

But the worst part is that the shame quickly ebbs away as you hear your neighbor’s chuckle, the laugh of a stranger you had come to almost memorize.

“You know I’m always glad to make you come. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, everything around you falls into a quiet stillness. You faintly hear as he shuts his front door, presumably leaving for that club he had mentioned, and you’re left to lie with your regrets.

This has just crossed a line, and although you couldn’t bring yourself to feel all that guilty, you still knew it was wrong. You had no choice but to confront the cause of your troubles yourself.

Unfortunately, that cause was a person you had just shamelessly fantasized about as you fingered yourself.

The next afternoon, you stand at your neighbor’s door, hesitant to knock. Since he mentioned going clubbing last night, you knew coming by in the morning would be futile, but you also know — sadly, all too well — that Saturday nights are when he’s the loudest, and he only stops well past midnight. You settled for the afternoon, preparing lunch as you rehearsed your words in your head instead of enjoying your weekend.

You knock twice, and that familiar voice soon rings through the door, asking for a moment. A minute later, your neighbor is standing in front of you, holding the door open with sleepy eyes that focus on you. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but surely not a tired-looking tall man with messy black hair wearing a pout on his lips, as if you just rudely disturbed him from his sleep (how ironic). From what you heard during the last month, you were ready to have to face a shirtless fuckboy, a permanent smirk etched onto his lips as he eyed you indifferently. Instead, you’re greeted by soft cheeks and half-closed eyes.

“Yeah?” Your neighbor croaks out, face still heavy with sleep.

You clear your throat, returning to the matter at hand. “I’m your next-door neighbor, I—”

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” he says before you can even finish your rehearsed opening sentence, his lips curling into a small smile. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Somehow, him being so soft is making you hate him even more.

“I wish I could say the same,” you mutter, “Y’know, you’ve been making my life a living hell since you moved in.”

He doesn’t answer, instead running a hand through his hair, the strands falling into place and away from his face. After a small nod, he opens the door all the way.

“Come on in,” he says, promptly walking inside and leaving you standing in the hallway all alone. You have no choice but to follow after him.

He snatches his cup of coffee from the counter, letting out a tired sigh as he collapses onto the couch and takes a big sip. You sit next to him and watch as he swallows slowly, humming contently, and only then speaking again.

“Why is that?”

You hold back another eye roll. “Well, you’re quite noisy at night,” you hesitantly begin, only now grasping just how awkward explaining this situation will be. “On Fridays and on the weekends, you’re… loud.”

And in an instant, you witness a complete shift in his entire demeanor right before your eyes. Like he’s possessed by something, his once sleepy eyes now bore into you with an intense gaze, and his lips curl into the smug grin you were expecting from the start.

“So you can hear me?” He asks as if you hadn’t just told him exactly that. You feel small under the weight of his darkened eyes, but you shrug, doing your best at feigning confidence.

“It’s pretty hard not to hear you,” you answer simply. “We share a wall, in case you didn’t know. I can hear everything you do in your bedroom.”

He raises a brow at your words as if they piqued his interest. But he doesn’t verbalize it; instead, he speaks in that same nonchalant tone you’re used to hearing through your bedroom wall, “You never told me your name. A bit rude, don’t you think?” He offers you his hand. “I’m Hyunjin.”

You scoff but shake his hand regardless, telling him your name with a sigh.

“You know what I think is rude?” You offer him a forced smile. “Keeping your next-door neighbor up all night with how fucking loud you are.”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. His gaze traces a path from your eyes to your lips before lingering on your thighs. You instinctively cross your legs, fingers smoothing down the fabric of your shorts. Locking his gaze with yours once more after a few seconds, he cocks his head to the side.

“So I’ve been keeping you up all night?” He muses, and you feel a warmth spread across your cheeks at the rough rasp in his voice.

It’s almost as if he knows what you did last night and is teasing you.

Although you know that’s impossible, your words still get choked up. Hyunjin was undeniably attractive — whether it was looking as soft as he did while answering the door or as if he could devour you with his gaze alone as he does now. You couldn’t be blamed for feeling flustered, especially after everything you heard this man saying and doing.

“Well,” you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. Showing your outrage at this entire situation is your best bet, so you allow for the anger you felt during all those sleepless nights to seep through your veins. “It’s kinda hard to sleep when you’re moaning like a porn star.”

But Hyunjin fully chuckles at that. “So I sound like a porn star?” He nods with an amused hum. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. Never mind anything you had thought upon seeing him open that door; Hyunjin is everything you thought he would be.

“Look, I didn’t come here to stroke your ego. You’re clearly doing just fine in that regard,” you grumble, and he scoffs beside you, leaning back on the couch with a smug expression you want to slap away from his pretty face. “I came here to ask if you could move whatever it is that you do to the living room, or maybe keep it down. I’m sure that’s not too much to ask.” 

Hyunjin clicks his tongue almost mockingly. “Oh, but it is too much to ask. I can’t really do any of those things. Sorry,” he shrugs, “The building has thin walls. You’re just gonna have to get used to it, I’m afraid.”

You stagger at his words, his lack of common sense seemingly higher than you initially gave him credit for. You’re unsure whether to laugh in sheer disbelief or cuss him out as anger slowly bubbles up inside your chest. How unfairly attractive he looks at the moment isn’t helping your case — he spreads his legs further as he shifts on the couch, bringing his mug up to his full lips and watching you almost uninterestedly with half-lidded eyes.

Fuck this guy.

“What is it you do that’s so important that you can’t at least keep it down? Can’t your girlfriend get off without your obnoxious dirty talk? Is that it?”

Hyunjin shakes his head dismissively. “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Your dates, then. I honestly don’t care.” You roll your eyes, which elicits a small laugh from him. You have never wanted to punch someone so badly, all while also wanting them to rearrange your guts. “Whoever it is, whatever it is that you do, can’t we compromise and you be quiet, at least on Fridays? I get home from work exhausted and have to put up with your shit when all I wanna do is sleep.”

“Ah, but Fridays are the most important nights for me,” Hyunjin tells you with a condescending lilt in his voice. “That’s also not possible, I’m so sorry.”

“I see.” You suck in a deep breath, your eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists on your lap. “Then would it be possible for you to move your… activities to the living room?”

Hyunjin contorts his face, shaking his head while that grin is still etched onto his lips. “Yeah, no, that’s also not possible.”

“You’re extremely inflexible, do you know that?” You blurt out, “I’m not asking that you move out, I’m simply asking that you fuck whoever it is that you fuck every weekend somewhere else.”

His piercing gaze lingers on you briefly, as if he’s carefully considering his next words. Sighing, he sets his mug on the end table and sits up straight.

“Let’s make a deal,” he proposes, carelessly ripping a piece of paper from the open sketchbook that lay on the coffee table and jotting something down. “Tonight, you wait for me to start my activities,” he says with a poorly concealed chuckle. “And then you go on this website. Maybe it’ll clear up some things inside your pretty little head. Can you do that for me?”

He hands you the note, eyes darting down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze. The tone of his voice is the same that echoes through your bedroom during those nights — exactly like the one that coaxed an orgasm out of you just last night, and you absentmindedly squeeze your thighs together.

You need to get out of here.

With a small nod, you swiftly stand back on your feet and walk toward the door of his apartment that was left wide open. You quietly mutter a goodbye as Hyunjin says something about it being a pleasure meeting you, all while amusedly staring at you.

It’s only as you close your front door behind you that you look down at the piece of paper that you subconsciously crumpled up. Scrawled in a messy handwriting is simply a website address:

fivestarcam.com

You furrow your brows, walking toward your bedroom as you rack your brain for how a website could possibly give you answers. It dawns on you, then — all the trouble you went through, and yet, no solution to your problem.

Ultimately, you decide you’ve already wasted too much of your patience on this man today, throwing the piece of paper on your bedside table and going about your day, enjoying the tranquility of your apartment while you can.

Night comes too fast, the sun setting outside unbeknownst to you as you lie on the couch for nearly three hours, your focus solely on the plot of the movie playing on your phone. Soon enough, ten p.m. rolls around, and you drag your tired body toward your bathroom. You take a shower with no rush, knowing full well that by the time you walk into your bedroom, Hyunjin’s activities will already have started.

Sure enough, you’re greeted by a drawled-out groan as soon as you enter your room. With a heavy sigh, you throw yourself onto your bed. Your bedroom had always been comforting, your bed almost like a safe haven from all the stress life threw your way. Yet now it’s simply the place where you lie awake for hours, simultaneously vexed and uncomfortably turned on.

You lie still for a while, Hyunjin’s vulgar chatter like the background music to your spacing out, until you remember the piece of paper he gave you earlier. How would a website clear up any of your confusion? And, more importantly, why should you even care enough to find out? From the little interaction you had with the man, you know for a fact Hyunjin will remain unchanging in his obnoxious ways.

However, you’ve always been too curious for your own good, and the mere prospect of understanding this annoyingly enigmatic man even a tiny bit has you hurriedly picking your laptop off the floor and typing out the website address on your browser. Curiosity killed the cat.

The first thing that greets you is a message asking that you verify being over the age of eighteen. All you have to do is click a button, which seems counterintuitive, but you have little time to worry about that when your screen is filled with preview thumbnails of several live broadcasts.

You’ve heard of camming websites before, of course, but you didn’t know they were still a thing nowadays, what with the rise of Only Fans and other more independent ways to go about making money like this.

Your eyes scan the page with agape lips. Men and women — some in their underwear and some already naked, some showing their faces and some wearing masks. And then, your eyes land on a particular thumbnail. At the Top Cammers of The Month section, on the number one spot, is a fully clothed man with familiar long black hair. Only the bottom of his face can be seen due to his camera angle, but that is more than enough as your gaze fixes on his full lips.

That’s undeniably Hyunjin. Your neighbor, Hyunjin.

Before you can make sense of your actions, your fingers are already hovering above the touchpad as you watch the thumbnail image change into a new one. Curiosity is eating away at you, and you can’t deny that your nosy mind is eager to finally see Hyunjin rather than only hear him.

Ultimately, you decide this is ridiculous.

But your twitching fingers brush against the touchpad just as you move to close your laptop, promptly clicking the live video, your screen now filled with the image of Hyunjin in his bedroom. He’s shirtless now, palming himself through his sweatpants — the same ones he wore this afternoon.

“You wanna know how clubbing went last night?” He says with a grin, and you now understand his incessant talking is merely him answering comments from his viewers. Various different names fly through the right side of your screen, some with tips attached to their comments and some simply drooling over Hyunjin as he essentially sits in front of the camera doing nothing.

A cocky smile is spread on his lips once you shift your attention back to him.

“I guess you’re good at following orders,” he chuckles. You then realize your laptop’s volume is on high, and the speaker’s noise permeates through your wall and into Hyunjin’s bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, and you scramble to find your earphones in your bed.

You’re gnawing on your bottom lip as you plug them in, suddenly too aware of the fact that he can hear you just as well as you can hear him. Hyunjin’s smile shifts into a small laugh, his hand wrapping around his length through his sweatpants, the firm outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You feel a tingling sensation spread through your body, your inner muscles clenching as you watch the way his hand squeezes along the thick outline, the muscles of his stomach contracting as he lets out a broken sigh.

This feels wrong, as if you’re nothing more than a pervert watching Hyunjin for your own pleasure. But then again, it was he who gave you the website address in the first place. Why else would he have done that if not for you to watch him?

“I have a special someone watching tonight,” he murmurs, and you can just imagine his gaze right now — his eyes hooded and piercing, locked onto the camera with the same intensity as when he looked at you earlier today.

Hyunjin’s hand reaches inside his sweatpants, withdrawing his cock from the constraints of the dark fabric before you can make sense of what’s happening. Your gaze remains fixed, unable to look away from the red, swollen head that stands out against his pale skin. With lazy movements, he begins stroking himself, the precum dripping from the tip easing the glide of his hand. You bite the inside of your cheek as more arousal leaks from you, gathering in your panties.

“Hope she likes watching just as much as she liked listening to me last night,” Hyunjin rasps out, and you immediately close your laptop, throwing it to the side before burying your face in your pillow.

He knows you got off to his voice. He has to know.

And, unfortunately, your brain is currently too clouded by lust to function properly, and the only logical solution you can come up with is to go knocking at his door tomorrow.

You stand in front of Hyunjin’s door at the same time as yesterday, a strange blend of anger and curiosity making you knock frantically until he answers with that annoyingly alluring smirk on his lips.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?” Hyunjin asks before you can even utter a word, his voice filled with a goading tone.

You push past him, walking into his apartment with a scowl. “Why did you send me that?”

He only shrugs, closing the door behind him before stretching his arms above his head with a sigh. “Needed you to understand why I can’t just stop doing what I do. It’s my job,” he reasons, “I figured showing you was more effective than telling you.”

A scoff involuntarily falls from your lips, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “So you just sent me to a website full of porn without even asking me if that was okay? I don’t care if that’s your fucking job, I never asked you—”

“Did you stay till the end?” He asks, a lazy grin on his lips as his gaze wanders across your face. Clearly, he’d completely ignored every word that came out of your mouth.

“Hyunjin, are you even listening to me?”

“I was thinking about you, y’know?” He continues, taking a step toward you. “Was really easy to come when I knew you were watching me.” He cages your body against the door with his, both hands resting beside your head. His dark gaze locks onto you, causing your breath to hitch. “All I could think about was how you were secretly listening to me all this time. Such a dirty girl.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. You want to tell him you weren’t secretly listening to him; you were merely thrown into this situation against your will. But his gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips, lingering before roaming over the swell of your breasts, causing your thoughts to blur and your words to die in your throat.

“Kept thinking about how I never heard you,” he says, almost as if he’s wondering aloud. “When was the last time someone fucked you properly?”

His gaze finally travels back up to yours, and the fog of desire clouding his eyes is unmistakable. The moment you knocked on his door, you knew this would happen. You weren’t naïve, and Hyunjin wasn’t stupid; the moment you pushed past him and into his apartment, you both knew where this was going.

“Don’t have time to go on dates,” you murmur as Hyunjin leans down, humming low on his throat.

“Well,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath tickling your face. “You got to listen to me, got to watch me… Don’t you wanna know what it feels like?”

You can only nod, and Hyunjin immediately presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He wedges his knee firmly between your thighs, as if he’s silently demanding that you give in to him. Little does he know you’re already way past that point.

Breaking the kiss, Hyunjin studies your features for a beat, the pad of his thumb gliding across your bottom lip as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“You really want this?” He asks, and you can’t help but feel he does it simply for the pleasure of hearing you beg.

But you happily comply either way.

“Please,” you breathe out, and Hyunjin chuckles, firmly pressing his thumb into your mouth and watching as you wrap your lips around it with a contented hum. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Hyunjin pushes his thigh against your core, the seam of your shorts creating a delicious friction against your clit. You can feel the warmth of his body as he presses up against you, and a sigh falls from your lips, your hands gliding up around his shoulders. You have no reservations left in your body; the only thing replaying inside your mind at the moment is the image of Hyunjin’s cock on your laptop. He was right. You were dying to know what it would feel like.

His strong hands firmly gripped onto your hips, guiding you to move against his thigh, each back-and-forth motion increasing the pressure on your aching clit. It felt too much, yet not enough at the same time. But just as you’re about to plead for more, Hyunjin’s pressing his lips to yours again and swallowing down your voice. His tongue slides against yours, the taste of coffee and smoke lingering in your mouth as he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth, pulling gently before letting go.

You feel your mind go fully hazy as Hyunjin lifts his thigh, bringing you up to your tiptoes, his muscles flexing and prompting you to roll your hips faster, harder.

“Who would’ve thought, huh? Just minutes ago you were acting like I was the worst person alive,” He lets out a low chuckle, amused, and your grip on his neck tightens as you feel the familiar vexation he brings out of you bubble up inside your chest. “Now you’re humping my leg like a bitch in heat.”

“Shut up,” you choke out, your brain too lust-hazed to conjure up a better response. You don’t particularly care what he thinks of you so long as he keeps his bruising grip on your skin, guiding you to roll your hips against him.

Hyunjin trails kisses down the skin of your neck, settling at the dip of your collarbone and sucking on the skin while you eagerly quicken your speed. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin, undoubtedly marking you, while his thigh begins to bounce against your cunt, and you can feel the familiar aching warmth of your orgasm beginning to tighten in your stomach. But just as you’re about to be hit by the release you’re so desperate for, Hyunjin’s hands leave your hips and slide down to your ass, any stimulation you had before coming to a halt as he picks you up and makes his way to the living room.

“What the fuck?” You all but yell, earning you a hearty laugh from Hyunjin. “I was close, you asshole.”

He roughly throws you onto the couch, a condescending pout etched onto his lips.

“But that’s no fun for me, is it, baby?” He hovers over you, spreading your thighs apart and slotting himself between them. In stark contrast to his words, he gently lifts your shirt over your head, feather-light touch sending shivers down your spine. “Greedy girls don’t get to come.”

You feel your insides clenching at his words, and although you despise the effect he has on you, you’re already here, laid out before him, so you might as well indulge him. You gently push Hyunjin back until he sinks into the sofa, legs lazily spread apart and half-lidded eyes fixated on you. As soon as you clutch at his shirt, he promptly tugs it over his head in one fluid motion, and you attach your lips to the bare skin of his stomach, trailing kisses down the expanse of his torso.

You waste no time tugging his sweatpants down and out of your way, his cock now hanging heavily before you, just as pretty as it had seemed on that little screen. Hyunjin’s hand soon wraps around himself, stroking lazily while you watch the precum dribble from his tip. Tentatively, you grab the base of his cock, bringing your tongue to the head and tantalizingly lapping at it. Hyunjin lets out a quiet gasp, his own hand leaving his length and tangling in your hair, guiding you forward toward his cock. You part your lips and suck the head into your waiting mouth, hands now stroking his length at a slow pace while you lick up his slit, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. You hold back a chuckle when you feel him twitch under your touch, a soft whimper falling from his throat.

Hyunjin’s hips buck up into your lips, and you promptly open your jaw wider and slide his whole length down your throat slowly. You weren’t lying when you said you had no time for dates, which is why you find yourself struggling a bit. It truly had been a while since you had a proper fuck, but you would never give Hyunjin the pleasure of hearing you admit it. Breathing through your nose, you’re finally able to move up and down his cock, swallowing all of him. Your eyes well up as his fingers tug harshly at your hair, shoving your mouth back down the entirety of his thick length. A choked-out whimper falls from your throat, and you instinctively move your gaze toward his.

“God,” he rasps out, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and eyebrows knitting together. “You take me so well.”

You promptly remove your lips from him with a loud pop, precum and saliva dribbling down your chin as you struggle to suppress a laugh at the utter indignation on his face.

“I doubt you could fuck me if I let you come,” you shrug, and Hyunjin’s expression softens, a scoff falling from his lips.

Before you can say anything else, he’s already pushed you back onto the couch, easily flipping you over so your face is pressed into the cushion. He snakes a hand under your stomach and lifts your hips, quickly working to rid you of your shorts before pressing his cock against your clothed ass.

He leans down, lips pressed against your ear — much like it was in your fantasy back in your bedroom — and whispers, “You need me that badly? I can feel how soaked you are, and all you did was hump my leg.”

You grumble under your breath, but it goes ignored by Hyunjin as he grips your hips and slides his cock under the fabric of your panties, stroking himself along your soaking slit with a low groan. You can feel your underwear gradually dampen more as his precum mixes with your own arousal, the sheer cloth clinging to his cock with each thrust.

Hyunjin’s hand splayed across your lower back, causing you to arch your body and press your hips back instinctively. He chuckles, hand coming down onto the supper flesh of your ass with no warning, a sharp whimper falling from your lips.

“I told you greedy girls don’t get to come,” He reiterates, clicking his tongue and grabbing a large handful of your ass before tugging your panties down your legs. You quietly hoped the trees outside obscured enough of his window, otherwise you’d be in for some interesting elevator rides with your other neighbors. With a hiss, Hyunjin’s thumb presses against your clit before gliding along your wet folds. “Soaking wet,” he mutters, eyes glazed over while he watches your slick coat his finger.

You simply hum, not wanting to stroke his ego any more than you already had by begging him earlier. But you’re unable to contain the gasp that leaves your lips as he pushes his hips forward, the swollen tip of his cock gliding against your warm core once, twice, all while Hyunjin’s hands travel across your ass and thighs. You’re sure he’ll tease you until you give in and beg, but it seems his facade is quick to crumble. He impatiently wraps a hand around his length, finally guiding himself toward your entrance, seamlessly gliding into you with a heavy sigh.

He stills for a second, gaze transfixed by the way your cunt stretches around his thick cock. Until he suddenly pulls out of you before snapping his hips forward again, then again, until he sets a rhythm of deep, fast strokes that have you rocking back and forth on the couch. Pulling yourself up to rest on your forearms, you choke out a loud moan, Hyunjin’s cock twitching inside you at the sound. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groans, strong arms encircling your body once more, this time pulling you close to him until your back presses against his chest. Hyunjin’s thrusts grew more forceful, the sound of skin slapping together echoing through his small living room as he relentlessly pumped himself into you. His hand wraps in your hair, yanking your head back and humming against your ear, “Go on, you can moan for me,” he hisses, “I know how good it feels.”

Fuck. His ego is surely something you would never get used to.

But you let go, freely groaning at the feeling of his cock pistoning into you. You can feel the curve of his grin against your cheek.

“Like that, I know how much you like it,” he rasps out, “Just as much as you liked touching yourself to my voice like a little slut.”

“Fuck off, you—” you huff, your words cut off by a drawn-out mewl as Hyunjin’s fingers firmly pressed down on your clit, flattening the swollen bud. You couldn’t control yourself after that, desperate whimpers and choked-out moans falling from your lips with each harsh thrust of his hips.

Your sounds seem to stir something inside of him, and his movements grow more erratic, his fingers circling your clit hastily. A crescendo of arousal and pleasure envelops you as more curses tumble from Hyunjin’s lips against your ear, his hand gripping your cheek and pulling you into a messy kiss.

You clench around him, body shaking with the force of your climax as you seek Hyunjin’s arm wrapped around your body for purchase. He continues pounding into you, and you feel yourself squirm, your vision going blurry from the stimulation.

“Gonna come,” he hisses against your lips, “Where do you want it?”

And you’re too far gone at this point, whimpering, “Anywhere you want.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath, pulling out while his hand finds your lower back once more, pushing you onto the couch before flipping your pliant body over so you’re facing him. You watch with hazy eyes as he strokes himself feverishly over your body, his cum soon shooting onto your breasts.

His unreadable gaze lingers on you for a beat and a half before he nonchalantly tucks himself back into his sweatpants and heads toward the hallway. You sit up on the couch, limbs aching, and chuckle to yourself. This was not your proudest moment, but you surely didn’t regret it.

You don’t expect aftercare from someone like him, so you resign yourself to searching for your discarded shirt. But Hyunjin’s tall frame appears before you, towel in hand before you can even stand up. His touch is gentle as he cleans your chest, and although the gesture is somewhat sweet, it feels extremely awkward.

“Really liked fucking you,” he tells you with a grin, “But you gotta leave now. I’m going live later, and I also gotta go to the club tonight, so I have to rest. But it was fun.”

And you simply scoff at his words, rising to your feet to dress yourself as quickly as possible. It was a bit baffling how he could fuck you the way he did, then tell you he’s off to pick up more girls at a club immediately after. But what did you expect? Hyunjin’s ego and arrogance were clear to you from day one.

“Why the fuck do you go clubbing so much, anyway?” You question as you head toward the front door, and Hyunjin chuckles behind you. “Is that your hunting ground or something?”

“You could say that,” he simply says.

As you unlock his door and step out into the hallway, Hyunjin’s voice calls out to you. Turning to look at him, you’re met with that familiar smirk adorning his lips.

“We can do this again anytime you want,” he assures, and the mere thought of letting him touch you again makes you roll your eyes in disdain.

“Yeah right.”

If only you knew then just how awfully torturous it would be to listen to him, knowing what he was doing — most importantly, knowing what it felt like to have him.

Lust completely clouds your judgment when it comes to Hyunjin, and you soon find yourself coming back to his apartment until it becomes an annoyingly pleasurable habit.

Every day, when he hears you get home from work, your phone buzzes with a text asking that you come over and help him ‘warm up for his job.’ The nights of suffering in your bedroom have transformed into watching him from the corner of his room, enthralled with the way he can make himself come on camera so eagerly and later fuck you with just as much vigor.

It’s a nice arrangement, but definitely not one you see yourself in for the long run. Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but you’re not foolish enough to anchor your feelings to someone like him. It’s not his job that’s the problem, but mostly his attitude toward life. He belongs to nobody, while you yearn to belong to someone. Routine is the last thing on his mind, while you revel in its comfort. You could never be with someone like him.

But it is a nice arrangement.

So you find yourself back in his bed again today, his heavy cock in your mouth as he tugs harshly on your hair, painting the back of your throat with his cum. Except this time, he doesn’t immediately ask you to leave.

“What?” You ask, “Don’t you have to go clubbing or something?”

“It’s my day off,” he shrugs, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close and falls back into bed. You furrow your brows, detangling yourself from him.

“Day off? From what, picking up girls?”

Hyunjin chuckles, eyes sleepy. “I work at the club,” he simply says. “I’m a host, I just act like I go clubbing when I talk about it during my lives ‘cause my viewers can be a bit stalkery.”

“What?”

“Have you heard of The Siren?” He asks, and you hum, recalling a faint memory of some of your co-workers mentioning the club in passing. “That’s where I work.”

You nod slowly, still confused. “What exactly does a host do?”

“Well, basically, I get to make money just by making lonely women feel wanted.”

You can’t help but scoff at his crude description. “And do you fuck them?”

“Well, yeah,” he answers like it’s obvious. “It’s part of the job.”

“Fucking hell,” You let out a hearty laugh, to which Hyunjin shoots you a questioning look. “Your sex drive really should be studied.”

His lips upturn into a smirk, and his arms reach for you again, beckoning you back into his embrace. “No need to be jealous, baby. I only fuck them if they’re willing to pay, and I’m expensive.”

You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you into his chest. He threads his fingers through your hair, and you can’t help but feel… awkward.

“You’re kind of an asshole, Hyunjin.”

He hums. “Sure, but you still let me fuck you.”

You two stay that way for a while, his fingers massaging your scalp as he presses a kiss to your head now and then. It feels disorienting, like a sudden shift from everything Hyunjin had been until now. He was never caring or sweet, he never kissed you if you weren’t fucking, and he surely never cuddled you. Your face involuntarily contorts into a grimace.

You detach yourself from him, getting up from the bed and telling him you’ll see him later. But Hyunjin is grabbing at your arm with a smile.

“Come on, don’t be sad,” he giggles as you try to free yourself from his grip. “I’m really not the type of guy you should have fallen for, anyway.”

You still at his words, face contorting into pure befuddlement. “Fallen for? Who the fuck says I’ve fallen for you?”

And Hyunjin simply scoffs, letting go of your arm as his smile shifts into his characteristic grin. “Well, there’s a reason I’m number one among the hosts at The Siren.”

“Hyunjin, those girls aren’t exactly after you for your personality,” you deadpan. “You’re really nothing worth falling for.”

His grin slowly fades, and it’s his turn to have confusion take hold in his eyes. “What?”

You can tell he wasn’t expecting this. Almost as if he was expecting you to have truly fallen for him simply because he… is him. And you can’t help but chuckle at the situation.

“Hyunjin,” you call out to him sweetly, and his gaze is back on you immediately. “You’re a nice fuck, but that’s really it. Don’t worry about me falling for you.”

You can swear you see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but it’s likely only your imagination. He opens his lips to speak but promptly closes them again. He simply stares up at you from where he’s sat on the bed and almost looks sweet. If you didn’t know him, you would undoubtedly be charmed by this convincing facade. You have to give it to him; you do understand why he’s number one at his job.

“But…” He trails off, shaking his head. “But I’ll see you again tomorrow, right?”

“Sure,” you shrug. “We can keep fucking until I find something better.”

You run your fingers through his long hair and make your way to the door, leaving him with an expression frozen in bewilderment.

Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but he’ll never be yours.

But that’s not a problem, as you surely will never be his as well.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings

[taegularities]

candles & flames: air | jjk (m)

bonus chapter I: air

Summary: Voices over the grapevine murmur that somebody has been yearning for you who certainly shouldn't. Jungkook is agitated to the core – reacts immediately until something far sweeter overshadows the envy and turns his and your life upside down.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: so much okay let's see; jk is jealousss, mention of a dead parent, daddy issues, pregnancy, birth (no details), kissing, insecurities that are resolved, worries and tears, somebody faints :'), 19th century culture/beliefs/society, short mention of the struggles after birth, a guest appearance!, and a cute baby 💕 jk loves the kiddo so much that his affection makes him cry; explicit sexual content: making out, muchhh teasing, fondling, biting, he loveees her tiddies, oral (f. receiving), he touches himself/masturbation, manhandling, soft dom!koo, big dick!koo, he threatens to tie her up lol, "fck me like you hate me", both hard and soft s/x moments, love spanks, delaying of orgasm, hair pulling, he's roughhhh, fingering, multiple orgasms; pls spot the lil references to the other parts hehe 😁 ➳ wc: 24.4k yay! ➳ a/n: hi hi hiiii. it's been literal months, but we're here again and sharing another piece of our soul. hope y'all like this one, whether you've just arrived here or been here for a while. love you all and as always, let me know what you think!! 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

The quiet hysteria starts with a whisper.

It echoes off the walls that Friday afternoon, seemingly insignificant at first. Most of the whispers are — a cacophony of hisses and sharp tones and hushed nodding.

Uttered between members of the staff, Jungkook catches the conversation coincidentally. He never means to eavesdrop, but these accidental occurrences have revealed one or two things to him before.

Like, what they ate for dinner last night. Or how their sons had learned to read. Jungkook would laugh at stories about neighbours, pout at tragedies of lost family members. But what he hears today is worth neither of those reactions; just mild yet growing confusion.

He wouldn’t have registered a word if he’d left his office a minute later. Wouldn’t have known if he’d opted for his meal thirty seconds earlier.

No. He had to step out now. Cross paths with the staff in this very moment as if it was supposed to happen, coming to a stand in the hallway, mind instantly whirling and eyebrows furrowed. 

The two women, startled by the sudden appearance, freeze at their spot a couple feet from Jungkook’s body. They stare at him as though met with a ghost, eyes trailing from his uncurling fist to the Lord’s unmatchable face — puzzled at the moment.

Abandoning curiosity and the hint of amusement, sudden respect spreads over their countenances, and once they have made sense of the situation, they straighten their backs. Bow a little. One of them a little deeper than the other.

Their eyes are as wide as his; the scene couldn’t be more comedic in the afternoon sun shining through the wide window. Three baffled figures fighting the awkwardness; growing by the second until one of them murmurs, “Lord Jeon.”

Her tone is timid, as if she fears he might’ve heard — which he did, alright. But they don’t dare make an attempt at asking about it, perhaps finally realising that things like these aren’t really their business.

So they only nod again, waiting for the man to react in kind, and then rush past him and down the hall. Jungkook isn’t stupid, though — he knows they won’t stop talking.

And he could confront them. Call them back and demand an explanation, lay out every word he just heard and analyse it with what they know. But he doesn’t. He lets them approach the end of the hallway, turning left at the end of it just a few seconds later.

His body’s balanced weight shifts to his left leg, and he puts both his hands on his hips, curling his lower lip inward and tracing it with his tongue. He knows better than to believe rumours mumbled in the gardens or halls of this place.

Maybe it’d be foolish to overthink just yet. Guess he’ll need to ask you yourself.

But he can’t help but replay the conversation in his mind, gaze wandering out of the window and to the blue sky above. He soaks in the summer, lowers his eyebrows, appetite forgotten as he simply voices—

“Huh.”

Existing in this world with you as the love of his life isn’t easy.

There’s magic to how you move. To the way you slip under the blanket with that enchanting smile. To how you reach for the back of your head, undoing the bow.

For a moment, he can’t keep his eyes from the locks that fall over your shoulder; how you sigh in relief as your scalp finally breathes. And when you lean against the bed frame, pulling your legs up and knees close to you, book in hand, you look endlessly cosy.

Warm and inviting, soft hands holding the novel. Your side profile is tender, lips always a perfect curve. Your mouth moves with the words you read, and you smile whenever a description delights you.

You always live in a dream. You are one, too.

Loving you isn’t easy because you’re a constant source of healthy insanity. Of the burning in his chest, the odd feeling in his stomach, and the yearning in his fingers.

But especially tonight, you evoke something he only ever experiences with you. He did it when he saw you dancing with somebody else two years ago. And feels a sliver of it whenever he catches men staring at you at gatherings.

The emotion boils green inside of him, and somehow, you’ve managed to elicit it more than once. He could swear he never knew of it before he met you. You’re truly a spell; only right now, he wishes he felt something else.

You shut the book suddenly, keeping a finger where you stopped, and look up into his eyes without a warning. He flinches just a little, as if awakening from a dream, and you laugh.

“Will you speak what’s on your mind or just keep staring?” you ask; the tilt of your head is sickeningly sweet.

He improvises — nods towards the novel and wonders, “What is it about?”

“Oh,” you look down, holding it up, “secret affairs. Princess to be betrothed is in love with someone else.”

The situation lacks so much humour that he can’t help but find it funny. He suppresses the sarcastic smirk and the shake of his head, keeping the facade upright as he admits, “That is very brave of the author to thematise.”

Your eyes narrow a little, drenched in confusion. “Well, I mean. A lot of them are. But it’s just words on pages. How many secret affairs do you think happen in actual life?”

More than you’d know. Jungkook has seen enough to understand that lovers often reunite in shadows; or that they betray loved ones when the world goes quiet.

You believe in people, though. You romanticise the world. Assume that cruelty is rare, and that most human beings strive for loyalty and flawlessness.

But he doesn’t say any of it; only shifts closer to your optimistic, angelic warmth, craving your scent. He says, “We were the opposite, weren’t we? Made everyone think we were in love when we still despised each other.”

You cock an eyebrow; he instantly regrets his words, realising how harsh they truly sounded. You might be gentle, but you can be just as fierce, too — so he prepares for some scolding, lips parted.

But you only puff out a breath, freeing the finger trapped between the pages, and put the book aside. Then, you say, “I still despise you.”

Jungkook stares, pausing for a moment, and you let him ogle for another second before you laugh. You grab the still hand on his thigh, lifting it to your lips and press the feather lightest of kisses against its back.

You keep the palm against your cheek, inquiring carefully, “Is something troubling you?”

“No,” he immediately shoots, “no. I just wanted to ask about your novel.”

“Just about the novel?”

“Mhm. Yes.”

“Hmm. Well, yes, that one,” you grace it another glance, “it’s good. A typical story about a royal princess mingling with the stable boy and rejecting the prince.”

Jungkook nods, but you think his pupils widen. Is he imagining a scenario of his own? Not enjoying the storyline? Perhaps.

Because he states, “Disloyalty is quite something. I would,” he pauses, blowing a raspberry, “die if I was the prince.”

He emphasises die with all his tongue’s strength; you huff at the dramatics of the moment, puzzled by the sudden shift in mood. In truth, this is not such an unusual behaviour.

Because more often than not, Jungkook displays interest in your little hobbies. Novels render you sentimental, and you’ve pulled him into the whirling storm of emotions that those stories made you feel before.

Like,

“They won’t accept him because he’s an artist?”

“So he decides to leave instead of fighting for her?”

“Alright, tell me about the first time he tells her he loves her.”

He’ll lean forward, turn to his side, eyes wide, indulging in the narrative. Mirroring your emotions, a sucker for tales and sentiments, albeit barely ever picking up a book voluntarily.

Just today. Today something seems off. The issue he has with the feelings prevalent in the book seem to reach far deeper — to a personal level, it seems.

You start slowly and patiently, shaking your head once before you say, “But you won’t die. I chose my prince wisely, and I do not care for our stable boys,” you pause, lifting a finger with a laugh, “wait. In such a way, I mean. They are actually very kind.”

Jungkook doesn’t appreciate your joke — your suspicion grows. Although he does turn to the side again, elbow digging into the pillow, body closer to yours.

“What about lords?”

Huh. What?

You echo your thoughts, “What?” You wait for only a moment before the space between his eyebrows morphs into a crease, and you mimic the expression. “Alright. Now you’re not making sense anymore.”

It takes another second or two for his drying eyes to blink. The movement is slow, a little frustrated; he looks to his hands. Then up to you; to the wall behind you and back to you.

Then, his Adam’s apple bops, swallowing thickly before he finally reveals, “The maids were talking about some neighbouring man. Lord Jeong or something. Would you happen to know him?”

Jeong? 

Hm…

You think for a moment.

Of course you know him. The town isn’t too far from yours, and the people around here never speak ill of him. In fact, one of your cooks was just praising him a couple weeks ago as you dined without Jungkook during his busy working hours.

The cook kept you company for most of the time, speaking of his pre-Jeon adventures in other towns, with other lords.

You hum before you respond, “I know of a Jeong Yuno. But I have never spoken to him.”

The sigh of relief that Jungkook heaves is immediate. You stare bewildered.

“Good,” he answers, “they were just…”

He scratches his scalp before the hand drops to the mattress with a dull thump. For a distracted moment, he smoothens the already flat baby blue surface, drifting from his original thought.

The light tug at the sheet creates new wrinkles; you watch intently, relaxed and calm. Only, you aren’t sure he feels the same way. Especially when his fingertips shift to the back of your hand, a ghost touch looming over your thumb.

He must have thought about this a lot.

“They were saying that a lord was spreading rumours about how he used to want you and would still not hesitate if you could be his.”

Oh.

“That’s… not a proper thing to announce for a lord,” you sympathise, gaining an instant nod, enhanced by the round, big, brown eyes.

“Yes. It is not. A very outrageous statement to give about a married lady anyway.”

“Mhm…”

You are in full agreement that the words shouldn’t have fallen out of a presumably respected man of the country. Someone as loved and cherished by a community shouldn’t comment on a married couple, even less on the wife of a well-known man.

Jungkook’s father was celebrated around towns and villages — the head of the capital.

It’s just that in this case — you can imagine what occurred. The lord in question relishes a far lesser known reputation than Jungkook. If it’s who you imagine it to be, he must be reigning over a tiny village now. 

You remember that back when you knew him, he was still young, uninterested in his parents’ legacy; seems he has made it far. Though, it seems he hasn’t quite understood the responsibilities that come with royalship.

Shit.

Jungkook notices your fog-shrouded gaze; you probably haven’t blinked in a while. He touches and taps your wrist, pulling back your attention, possibly still tense as he asks, “What?”

When you look at him, he resembles a curious, frightened puppy, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He’s pouting, waiting for an answer, lips parted. He lifts his head off the propped up hand, alerted, and repeats—

“What?”

Waving his concerns off would do nothing, right? You swore to always be transparent — and this issue isn’t big enough to be postponed. In fact, it might only grow if you do choose to stuff it in a chamber.

“You are not talking about Jeong,” you explain, carefully wrapping your fingers around his, “but Jung. Jung Hoseok.”

The curtain of relief falls and gives way to a dark, gloomy night. You know he expected this conversation to be over, for his misunderstanding to turn out as just this. But there’s more behind the maids’ whispers — and he hates it.

“Who?” he asks.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you feel displeased with it.”

“Why would I feel displeased?” Jungkook prods, slowly sitting up. “Is there a reason to?”

Absolutely not. But you also know your husband isn’t the most patient of men when it comes to envy and poison green feelings alike. You still remember the night you confronted his uncle — slivers of jealousy found their way through him even then.

“No,” you admit, “but it is absurd, and I knew you would react like this.”

“Like what? I am calm.”

That he is.

At least the rapid breathing, the voice gaining on pitch, the manner in which he squeezes your hand — they indicate a form of calm unknown to you, alright.

“Jungkook…” you mumble, wiping over the back of his hand with your thumb, trying to calm the grip.

You move on the bed, butt bumping against your book and nearly knocking it to the ground. Tired from the day, you grunt as you get on your knees, watching him follow your body before you finally straddle him.

Jungkook gets into a proper position, heaving himself up until his back is pressed to the bed’s railing. He holds onto your waist to keep your balance, and you shift properly onto his lap.

Once stabilised, your hands hurry to his face, squishing his cheeks just a little as you speak, “I shall make you wiser then?”

“You shall stop teasing me.”

The fiery eyes could throw daggers at you on any other day, but the pout he talks through just makes him look… sweet. Thick eyebrows kiss, and he pulls at one of your hands to lighten the cradling grip around his face.

You angle your head, fond of the soft care, albeit hiding behind an insecurity. There’s flattery in the way his mind created a nonexistent rival — at least, he thinks you’re worth the worship.

You surrender when he blinks, letting out an exasperated breath, “Alright. Remember when I told you I have only fallen in love very few times?”

“At the orphanage.”

His answer shoots out of him as if scripted, and you dare a subtle chuckle. Your thumb brushes against his lips and the mole underneath them; you think that despite his agitation, the gesture soothes his soul.

“Jung Hoseok was one of those people,” you say.

A few buttons of his linen shirt are open, so you see his sun kissed chest heave at the admission. You move a hand down to touch the sculpted skin, warm and immediately comforting under your touch.

“He was the only other Lord I ever dared to mess with, but he wasn’t too important back then yet. And Hoseok… he caught me at a time when I was not yet ready for bigger commitments. Despite my feelings for him.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glistening. Helplessly observing your every move and expression, lost for words as he digests yours. There’s an ego in men that you haven’t understood just yet; fragile at times.

So this piece of information must be activating a thorough thought process in him.

It’s odd. How those once roaming around town are usually the ones affected the most when they actually fall in love. Protective and dedicated to an exceptional degree.

Maybe, however, because his escapades never meant anything at all. And you… You put your heart in someone’s hands once.

“What happened?” Jungkook wonders, puppy stare intact.

You don’t think there’s more to tell — or more for him to know. But a curious mind is a curious mind.

So you tell him, “He wanted more right away. Dedication, marriage, for me to leave my house. And,” you shrug, uncomfortable with memories of a past lover; you want to keep loving and touching your current one, “I couldn’t.”

You’re not sure whether his nerves are calming at all; but you’re satisfied and relieved when he lifts a palm to the small of your back, gaze warm. You keep playing with the collar of the soft linen.

“And now I am happy I didn’t. In hindsight, we were so incredibly different. I mean, people are different, but… we didn’t match at all.”

“Were you…” His voice is so unbearably quiet. So sweet and lovely; the cocky boy from years ago has a delicate heart, and you want it pressed to yours. “Ready when I asked you to marry me?”

Ready? In fact, your skin was tingling with joy; every moment of the day.

You soothe his worries, “I would not be here if I hadn’t been. This,” you raise your fingers to his cheek again, brushing his face with their back, “you. I won’t ever want more. You’re all the dreams I’ve ever dreamt.”

Are you referring to nightly images conjured by a dreamy mind? When you’re fast asleep, barely ever tossing beside him? Because as far as he’s concerned, you follow him even into his daydreams, in your presence and in your absence.

If he told you now, he fears you’d dissipate; you’re a soul with its head in the clouds, and you’ve always appreciated a gesture of romance here and there.

You’re a force of nature, and someone to be desired greatly.

But.

Perhaps that’s what’s troubling him the most right now. And it never has before. He knows you’re captivating, and he’s proud that somebody loves him who’s easy to love, but this time… this time the whispers prevail, and they do something odd to his mind.

He matches your smile, giving into the relief you bring; yet, distressed by his own intrusive thoughts and memories of conversations he’s gathered, he can’t help but let his gaze fall. It floats over your bare neck and clavicles and then drops further to your lap.

A hand on his neck, you opt for a question — he knows by the way you suck in a soft breath, knows every of your motions and their meanings. But before your inquiry tumbles out, he murmurs, “They were saying he wants you back.”

And the worst thing is that you don’t hesitate, immediately nodding. “I heard about it. I uh… the other day I went down to the village and one of them told me her sister was part of the staff over in his town. And they heard others in his mansion say it, apparently.”

Jungkook doesn’t like the ugly, searing hot feeling spreading beneath his chest. It differs entirely from anger or disgust; pure fire burning up his insides and extending to his head.

That you talked about the still rather yearning lord with somebody else isn’t Jungkook’s favourite thought, admittedly. Worse even when you proceed, “He’s unmarried, I’ve heard.”

But what could you do with what you heard? Do you even care?

Jungkook swallows the balls of flames until the vexing sensation burns in his stomach, nearly afraid to ask, “What do you think of that?”

He shouldn’t be, though. Because you’ve proved time and time again who you stand with — yet, it feels like a wanted relief when you, with absolute certainty unmatched, assure, “Nothing. How could that affect my life? I’m here, with you.”

“I…” Jungkook tilts his head, and when he stares back up to you again, you could swear a piece of your heart detaches itself from the rest. Shoots right into his chest. “Am I being stupid?”

And how could it not if the man of your dreams, yours in this and the next lives, usually so composed, wordlessly declares you his kryptonite every single day?

Your eyebrows furrow slightly in unending adoration and worship, and you sigh, touching his cheek, wishing there was a far superior way to showcase affection and love of such tender sort.

“A little,” you admit.

“But… you’ll forgive me for it?”

“Nothing to forgive you for.” You match the tilting motion of his head, but in the opposite direction. You blink slowly. “Except maybe for the fact that you provide so much love without giving much of it to yourself.”

When he downs the knot in his throat again, it feels and looks different. Not the insecure envy from before, but rather a truth spiking his heart.

“…Darling,” he whispers, “why?”

“You know as well as I know that you trust me. That’s not why you’re afraid, right? It’s because you don’t trust yourself.” You remove a strand of dark tresses off his forehead. “We’ll change that.”

You don’t judge him for it, huh? You could. In truth, you could absolutely distance yourself from such an unwanted trait, but you don’t. Combatting it seems easier to you.

Yet, he can’t find a better answer than, “I’m sorry.”

Your husband is a jealous man, but he’s also a fragile man. You’re not allowed to leave him; not because you regard it as a duty to serve as his remedy. But because you made a vow to love him regardless, regardless of fate’s cruelty.

And.

You want to show him what you see through your eyes; what he doesn’t notice through the looking glass.

“Thank you for forgiving me, though?” he then speaks, forming it as a question rather than a statement; though he finds himself pretty soon. “Albeit, I have to say, if you hadn’t, I would’ve found ways for you to do it either wa—”

His promise is broken by your yelp when he presses you in, tickling your waist. He grits his teeth, cuteness aggression kicking in when you call his name, holding onto his face. Your nose inches close to his as he squeezes your hip.

Eyes closing before they open again and he says, “I will never let you go. Never. And let nobody ever have you but me.”

“Aren’t we a little more obsessed tonight?” you jest, watching him shrug his shoulders. “But. I would be mad if you did.”

“My princess…”

There’s something about the breathy tone, filled with growing desire, a not too subtle hint to how the night will inevitably evolve.

It’s insane, how the breathing stagnates when you’re in love; crazy at just the prospect of lips touching.

And once they do, your lungs dry out right away, and you lean back, slowly losing your grip. But he holds you and holds you tighter, eyes aflame with sheer willpower, and then holds you so tight, it hurts…

The kiss is breathtaking, in the truest sense of the word. Goosebumps covering all your flesh, you raise your shoulders, hands in his hair as his wander along the lines of your body. He moves just a little underneath you, but you feel the change so obviously.

Harder, stirring, hot and heavy. And you enhance the effect, continuing the sloppy kisses until he, impatiently, breaks away from the kiss with a quiet moan and opts for your neck.

The break between the change, he uses to focus on his hands. Raises your dress at light-speed, brushing his palms over the curves of your ass. And he doesn’t take too long before he’s snuck his digits further in this complicated position, winding his arm to find your aching heat.

You move forward a little, helping out, so his limb can wrap around you easier, digits floating to the hole. But your decision distracts him; you laugh.

“It’s amusing to you, yes? Having your tits in my face,” he teases, as shameless as ever when he bites and misses your nipple by an inch over your gown.

The free hand pushes the clothing down, freeing one side, reluctant to practise restraint when swollen lips engulf your hard nipple. You whimper immediately as his teeth gently nibble at the nerves, and you tighten your grip around him, head falling back.

“Cannot say it’s not,” you admit, unconsciously toying with the hair in the nape of his neck until you start pulling, barely noticing. He does, however, gasping with a mouthful of your tits. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, an indicator that he doesn’t care; that he enjoys the pleasurable pain if it’s you inflicting it in a moment like this. As a masochist and a pet at times, you won’t disagree.

But you don’t hold the power for too long when he continues with his intentions, finger pressing against your pussy, desperately longing for the garment to disappear. Wanting to sink into you with all his might.

But… endurance. Patience.

You nearly suffocate him in your tits as he caresses your cunt, and then your ass again, only managing to resurface to say, “Pretty girl… weren’t you tired?”

“I was,” you tug at him, wanting him much, much closer, “make me more.”

“More tired?”

“So I sleep better tonight.”

“Sweetheart… you will. I promise you.”

It’s vows like these that stir the last stage of lust in you, so unbridled that it leaks out of each of your pores. You want his trousers off, want them to magically disappear. But sorcery doesn’t exist, and your wish will be impossible to fulfil in this position.

And he notices, reads your thoughts as if floating above your head. “Lift your body?” he kindly demands, holding you for a second until you’re inches over his crotch. He uses the moment to lower his clothing along with the underwear, suddenly half bare.

Oh so bare…

When you look down, you’re met with protruding veins, a length twitching slightly, wanting to lay against his stomach. And you don’t hesitate as you lower yourself again, dragging your clothed pussy over the hardness so recklessly—

But the harsh material of your clothes rubs him wrong, literally, and he whimpers. Should you do it again? You fucking love it when he whines and writhes… but not in such a way.

You don’t want to hurt him. So you oblige. Stop when he digs his nails into your waist, ordering, “Get off, so I can—”

You don’t know what for, but you can imagine, and the thousand possible pictures are more than enough for you to lift yourself off immediately. Carefully, you move away, expecting for him to let you know how to continue, but instead…

Within the blink of an eye, you find yourself flat on your back, flipped over and caged in. Only rising again when he aids you in doing so, just the upper body, just a little. To remove your dress, pulling it over your head and stuffing it in a corner.

You swear the time passes in slow-motion, yet simultaneously paces faster than usual. Because it’s a leisurely blur when you see him discard the last piece of your bed-attire. But a rush when he bares his golden chest and back, laying next to you and starting to kiss your tummy.

It’s so funny because…

You sigh. Nevermind.

You put your attention solely on how he kisses his way down, still next to you, further down until you only see his back and his mane, and somewhere far beneath, hands caressing your thighs. Then spreading them. And then, working up… up towards…

“You’re defeating me today…” you happily conclude, not one to reject a night with him winding under you, but also not one to decline… whatever he’s doing right now.

“You are very welcome.”

Cheeky jerk. You’d snort and roll your eyes if you had the energy and power to. Although, the latter does not stay absent after all, even if the roll of your eyes occurs backwards, mouth open when he parts your folds and touches your swollen nub.

Gauging your reaction, he throws a stare back, just briefly and quickly. He barely flinches when you pierce his skin with your nails, scratching him, biting your lower lip with desperation in your pupils.

And it’s enough for him. Boosts his keenness. You see it in his smirk, and see the desire, the devotion, the appetite in his lost eyes. 

He cocks an eyebrow at you, never bothered by your frequent love-wounds, yet sly when he warns, referring to your nails, “Stop it. I will tie you up if you keep going.”

Is that… a threat or a promise? You’re tempted to test him.

But for now, you wish to indulge further in what he’s initiating, and if you said something right now or provoked him into a pace of change, you’d lose the moment. So you remain still. Or, as much as you manage to.

Not quite when he moves over you, turning the back towards you once more, and—

Is that… oh. No doubt that he just spat right onto your clit, wet, warm and enhancing your greed. And then the damned finger. Touching your thighs as if to tease you, advancing to your cunt slowly, as opposed to the ball of frustration building in your chest and tummy.

“Could you move that up?” you mutter, barely registering how nonsensical you might sound.

But Jungkook knows you inside out, and reads your words as well as your body. Uses the knowledge to torture you some more, sneaking to your folds before he finally touches them, but doesn’t dig in.

Okay…

“Why?” you ask, not expecting an answer. “I’ve been good these days.”

“You’ve been great,” Jungkook retorts, tugging at one of your nether lips as if busying himself, “but I’m just kidding. Who am I to deny you anything?”

“In this situation? Perfectly Jeon Jungkook…”

The unsteady breathing accompanying your statement adds to the comedic aspect of the moment, and he doesn’t hold back when he laughs. Only briefly stopping when he leans down, delivering a chaste kiss to your aching bud.

And then he does the unforgivable, and lifts himself up. Away from you. Entirely.

“What—”

“It’s alright,” he ensures, nodding as if to make it believable for himself, “I am right here. See?”

He crawls — crawls! — towards you, very briefly until he reaches your lips, kissing you with the same filthy mouth that touched your intimate part just a moment ago. His mouth moves against yours just a little, then retracts and then comes back for another shorter kiss.

“Want me to do it?” he asks.

“Do what?”

“Tie you up?” The constant head tilts are killing you, not well for your heart or mind. Even less combined with the sickly sweet smile, so awfully in love. “You didn’t reject the idea and,” another kiss to the corner of your lips, “you’re being so terribly cooperative tonight.”

He says it as if it’s news to him. As if you’re not true-blue every second of the day.

Jerk wants things spelled out to him. Waits as he plays with a lock, face hovering inches from yours, and the tip of his tongue so visibly touching the spot behind his front teeth. 

As you refuse to answer, however, solely for the purpose to gauge what he might do next, he chuckles quietly, inhaling before he says, “Alright. Different idea, then.”

He gets back on his knees, straightening his upper body for a mere moment only before he opens your legs. Positions himself between them. Distances himself from you before finally getting into the desired stance. Stomach-down, hands touching your thighs, parting them with his mouth close to you.

It takes everything in you to not shut your limbs again when the warm breath mingles with your sloppy centre; and you already feel wasted when his tongue darts out. Opens up your pussy a little. Tickles you so lightly.

“Put your hands over your head,” he uses the pause for, haphazardly gesturing into your general direction with his chin, “no touching allowed. And if you endure until I’ve tasted you till the end, I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”

“Put your hands over your head,” he uses the pause for, haphazardly gesturing into your general direction with his chin, “no touching allowed. And if you endure until I’ve tasted you till the end, I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the night.”

The image his words conjure is mesmerising. Yet, you don’t know if that’s the outcome you’re wishing for, or rather the absolute opposite, submitting to him and letting yourself go entirely for his pleasure.

There is no time to think. Your mind isn’t capable of thoughts at all.

Of course not, not if he attaches his mouth to your cunt, wrapping gorgeously soft and swollen lips around your equally soft and swollen ones. He kisses your pussy, drawing back with a smooching sound.

Goes in again, repeats. Then, slowly, adds his tongue. Swirls it around your clit, making your right leg twitch, your body react. A strong hand holds your thigh down, breath falling against you so hotly; the sensation is unlike anything else.

You don’t know how he does it; but you don’t just feel the tickling, endlessly lustful phenomenon where he causes it, but across your body. On your warm skin, in your stomach, in your chest.

You’re light-headed when his tongue flicks over your clit again, and then moves back to your hole; you curl in your toes. For the first time after a long while, you think this won’t take very long.

Digging your nails into your palms, you wet your lower lip with your tongue, uttering, “I’m almost there…”

“Mhm,” he muses with his mouth still licking you up, spreading the warm feeling all over. Then detaches himself to say, “I thought so. I can hear it.”

Knows you too well…

You recognise that he wants to take his time. Your pleasure is his sole purpose, fully focused on your reactions, your sounds, your winding body. But as the two of you deduced, you’re closer to the end than ever.

He kisses your thigh, provides little love-bites, tongue tasting your skin before he dives back in. Breathing in and out through his nose, he buries himself in you, bringing a thumb under his tongue and pushing in just a bit, but not entirely.

At the same time, his other thumb shifts its attention to rolling over your clit. Apparently, he trusts you enough now to not pin your legs to the mattress anymore, doesn’t expect you to give in and touch him, even if you want to. The way you’re holding yourself back, seeking your pleasure and obeying his orders floods pride and immeasurable greed through him.

As he French kisses you thoroughly, you notice when he smiles against your pussy. Even laughs a bit in amusement. Your body moves and lifts when his light but calculated touch toys with your nerves; he follows the insane writhing, glued to you.

And then he pushes a finger inside, pumps a couple times; moves his tongue to your clit. It’s crazy. Crazy. The saliva dripping off his chin when he eats you up, so diligent and powerful, executing this as perfectly as ever.

But it’s neither of these things that make you topple off the edge; not just the fingers or his tongue or how worryingly good he is at this.

But the damn eye contact at the end.

The immediate connection between you, the way he wants to see you, understand your reactions, but simultaneously keep going.

And all that knowledge helps you feel it all over. The contractions coming in waves; the pleasure radiating to every other part of your body. The sense of warmth and tingling experience.

Shit, and the euphoria. The profound relaxation while perceiving the increased heart rate at the same time; your glowing skin and the sweat.

And once you’re done, throat dry from not speaking, only yelling, you breathe, “That was… quick.”

“I am sorry,” he responds, still exhaling against you; you still feel the waves inside your cunt, so it’s hard to listen. “I needed to let my frustration out somewhere.”

You half-roll your eyes, as much as manageable.

“But in exchange… I’ll hold my promise and let you do anything,” he repeats, rubbing your leg and then your sides softly. Slowly moves up to you until his length presses against your heat and his lips align with your mouth. “Can I just first…”

“Love,” you interrupt, “you don’t need to. You don’t need to hold your promise, because I don’t want you to. Not tonight.”

“What?”

“I want you to let it all out,” you confess, ”claim me.”

Because frankly, you see it in his eyes. That he wants to release the beast, too. Of course ready for your ministrations, but yearning to wreck you so desperately. Already in the headspace, affected from the moment he licked you dry and wetter.

“I promised,” he tries, but you shake your head, still breathing stagnantly.

“I… So I… May I?” he still inquires permission, stuttering, so gentle, polite and tormented. “Goodness. I might die.”

You chuckle at the hyperbole, though the sound comes out weak as you still breathe through your craze. As you stare up at him, you think you recognise pure anguish reflecting in his gaze, made visible by the candlelight. Eyebrows kissing, mouth open. 

You feel similar, so you’re not one to turn down the plea.

“Yes, but… I mean it. You don’t need to submit entirely. I want you to do what you want to do.”

Because that’s when he’s the most authentic. And because the statement never poses a risk with Jungkook. Any other man might forsake you, but you could say such a thing a thousand times; even as he seeks his own pleasure, he won’t forget about yours.

And unleash all desperation on you simultaneously.

You want this. You want this.

“Fret not,” he assures, “I will. I am not neglecting either of us.”

Lining himself up, he sits up properly, starting a languid movement of the head of his length up and down your pussy. He means to tease you just a bit longer, wanting to test your reaction to the thickness rubbing between your folds.

But you see the surprise in his face when his cock threatens to slip in the moment it reaches your hole, even though there is no reason for his bafflement. Doesn’t he know what he does to you?

“Oh…” he murmurs, trying again, once again watching just a few inches disappear inside you before he pulls back. “That is… nice.”

In, then out again. Once more, in. Once more, out.

Then a tap of his heavy cock against your pelvis, stroking it in the process for further hardness, and you observe. Fully undisturbed and entirely amazed by what you’re seeing. Every single time.

You let him touch himself, and then close your eyes to listen to his sounds. But he soon leans into you again, whispering to keep them open, and when you do, he uses the proximity to kiss you again.

Harder this time. Moaning as he jerks himself off. A second longer until he brings it back to your pussy, and you raise your back off the mattress a little when he pushes the head in. Whimpering into the kiss, never having him back away.

You grip his shoulders for safety, trying not to go insane, and right before he parts from you, he nods. Asking, “Yes?”

“Please.”

“Shall I?”

“Please start.”

“Start… if you want me to fuck you numb, I will. Right until your mind is vacant of everything else. Will fuck all of me into you. Yes?” You take a shaky breath, barely nodding, but he sees and laughs quietly. “I need every lord to know to keep their hands off just by the way you walk.”

The nod turns into a shake of your head, and as he presses in further, you try to whisper, “That would be… incredibly scandalous, my love.”

“Oh? What difference does it make? The entire house always knows when I do these things with you.”

“Do they—”

“The staff always whispers. And they pay extra attention to you. Always lurking and trying to see if something changes about you. I’ve heard them, you know?”

Oh… oh, you know what he means. Of course you do. Perhaps you’re not the only one dreaming of a blooming future with him, of seeds being planted and growing into this family of yours.

The entire place must be waiting for the announcement to arrive one day.

Right…

“Then…” you start, interrupting yourself to press your lips together, muffling your moan when you feel him bottom out. “Then do not hold back now either. I want you to.”

“To hold myself back?”

“No.”

“Want what then, darling?”

“To fuck my mind numb of thoughts. And my legs of any feeling.”

Abruptly, he pulls out. Then, all of a sudden in again, all at once. You’re cross-eyed when you moan, and he more or less falls onto you as you pull him in, resisting the urge to bite into his shoulder as he nuzzles your neck.

A hand settles under your knee, raising one leg over his waist, starting to move. Messily, he licks and kisses your neck, continuing at your jawline, and then down to your clavicles. Fucks you lovingly enough to light a fire in you.

His hanging strands tickle your skin, damp from the sweat much like his forehead. His greedy sounds are crazy against your collarbones, and then decrease in volume when his lips wrap around your nipple once again.

“Sweetheart,” he mutters.

“Mhh…”

“This is not enough, is it?” No, it isn’t. He barely needs to speak on for you to momentarily shake your head, but he does, and it adds to your madness. “Not enough to disable straight walking…”

“Yes. No, yes—”

You mewl embarrassingly when he slides his cock out again; you see so much more of him outside of you than fucking necessary.

And God. God, you hate it when he presumably accidentally retracts it fully. Silently complaining, you sigh with worried eyebrows, but he finds his way back to you easily. It’d be odd if he didn’t. You suck him in effortlessly.

And he seems to enjoy it. Seems to seek an end to his goal, still keeping his previous question in mind, and then—

Your thighs quiver when he pushes in with all his power, all at once and as deeply as physically possible, and your eyes shut so hard that they hurt.

“Would you look at these tits…” you hear him say, forcing yourself to look at him again, fluttering your eyelids open.

And as sassily as your foggy brain allows, you respond, “I am looking, as well.”

At small, brown, constantly hard nipples. You want to touch them, kiss and bite them. Want to destroy him as much as he’s intending to destroy you. But you can barely move.

How could you if this time, when he returns to his ministrations, he turns entirely, irrevocably, positively merciless.

He gently falls forwards, holding you as he did before, but this time, when he hammers into you, the entire bed shakes. You raise your arm over your head, holding onto the railing for a second, inspecting how far away your head remains from it.

But Jungkook is attentive, and you only notice a second later that his palm is covering your head, keeping it from bumping against the railing. So you remove your hands from it, letting it glide over his smooth back again, sweat-covered and hot now.

He’s a monster, this man. Or perhaps, you make him a monster. You want to believe you’re the sole reason he forgets the universe like this; pounds into you, causing your body to move up and down the mattress, just because you’re the weakest spot he has.

Of course you are. Of course. 

So obvious when he confesses for the millionth time, “I love you.” Muffled, but clearer when he moves to look at you, expression beyond words as he repeats, “I love you so much.”

“And I you, my love.”

Strange. So strange how you never would’ve imagined yourself saying such a thing just a few years ago. How you avoided him, took a different path than him, never voluntarily meeting his eyes.

The words floating between you urge him to slow down for the moment; he attempts to take you in, to memorise you. Lets his eyes flit from your mouth over your nose to your pupils. Touches your cheek.

And the slower pace allows you to speak a bit more properly, even though you can’t help but feel distracted when he drops his head some to peck your skin.

“It… it has not been more than two years, has it? When we still despised each other.”

His kiss burns scars into your shoulder, hotter than hellfire. A raspy voice murmurs, “The world changes in mysterious ways.”

“Mmmh—”

It does. So does your mind. Because why is it that the most utterly sweet romance births the wildest of desires?

“And… Maybe that is what you need to unleash tonight, Kook. Perhaps I need it, too—” You shudder when he hums. His digits are still restless on your face, sliding up and down; not knowing what to caress. “What if you fucked me like you still hated me?”

“I… would that… You want that? I cannot even act as if I hate you, though.”

“Try it. I want you to.”

Jungkook remains speechless for too long, still comprehending your words, clearly torn between adhering to your wishes and worshipping you with the same adoration as you give out.

But as you so faintly mouth a hushed Please, you diffuse something in his brain. Inexplicably, because the rush of sensations, while never absent, feels new each time he touches you.

Perhaps that’s why he never gets enough of you; you hang a new star onto the sky every day, a new moon every night. Alternating every moment and refusing to leave a single one bland.

He’d be damned if he didn’t give the same excitement back to you.

Pushing his body up, he kneels above you, slipping out of you bit by bit as he grips your left knee. He shifts your limb, changing the position until you’re laying sideways, somewhat twisted.

You see the fleeting glimpse of pride as he slides back home and you mewl, soon squinting your eyes shut because shit — whatever you were doing before doesn’t compare to the tightness the shift allows. How your legs are nearly closed, allowing for much more friction.

You’re wrapped around him so fucking well, reminiscent of old key-to-its-lock-metaphors; and he feels infinitely closer to you. Possibly having a harder time than you, even.

The drag of his cock is endless as he begins, still too gentle, but effective enough. Your hands seek a place to hold onto, immediately opting for his leg; but he doesn’t seem to dig the idea as much.

“Let go,” he orders, not quite waiting for you to oblige before he’s captured your arm harshly and removed your touch, pinning it to your hip. “Same as before. No touching or I’ll stop—” The thrust he delivers isn’t quick, but relentless and hard; deep to the hilt. “—this. I don’t care if you cry or complain then.”

Shit…

He’s started. And he’s playing the act well. In your drowsy idiocy, you can’t help but wonder how the two of you would’ve fared if you’d turned your hate into lust much earlier. If you hadn’t used the time to despise each other, but transform it into this kind of energy.

Of course it is stupid to retort to such fantasies. Back then, you were disgusted by his personality, irritated by the way the two of you treated each other. There would’ve been no scenario in which he would’ve landed balls-deep in you.

But fuck, does the image prompt something in you.

You don’t bother for an answer, reckoning that the quiver of your lower lip might suffice, but… seemingly, not for him. Because he presses into your wrist harder before moving it to your back.

Yelping, you nearly stuff your face in the pillow, not entirely realising his next moves until you open your eyes again. See his mouth floating right over your ear. So close to you, pushing your damp hair back, whispering ominously, “Are you not fucking hearing me? Do you not understand?”

“I…” Goddamn it. Is he gritting his teeth? Playing his aggression so well? Or does it derive from the sheer lust he can’t contain? “I hear you. I understand.”

“What did I say?”

“No touching.”

The fingers stroking your strands back are more tender than his words, rewarding you with caresses as he continues just a tad softer, “Was that so difficult?”

He leaves you with another squeeze of your tits, moving his knees on the mattress to draw closer to your body. To bury himself further into you, leaving no spot untouched. And then, perfectly in character, claims, “Looking as pathetic as years ago, aren’t you? Probably dreamed of fucking me then, too.”

Wow—

Regarding the assignment with absolute diligence, it seems.

Even more cruel when he slips out of you so casually, so easily, despite adjusting to the position a mere moment ago. For a good purpose, however — because his digits replace his rock hard, soaked cock not soon after, testing the situation with languidly slow pumps.

They feel so different from his length; so… inadequate. You desire so much more. Back to where you were a minute ago. It’s… so hard not to touch him.

But if you begged for it now, would he give in? Or rather hold onto your previous idea?

You can try.

“Kook…” you whisper carefully, albeit immediately noticing how his breathing overshadows the word. You attempt again, “Kook.” This time, he hears. “Please. Need more? Please.”

“Asking for mercy all of a sudden… you cannot be serious.”

“I…”

“You’re lucky I do, too, you see? Need more.” Firmly, he lets a heavy hand fall to your ass, moving it up before your surprised squeal leaves you, and pushes at your back; your body flat on your stomach. “Or you’d long be sprawled over my lap.”

One of your dangerous traits is that you’re constantly tempted to test him. To act out, to follow his little warnings. Then again, he already provides enough; already at a hundred percent.

Like now, when he returns with the intent to wear you out. Wrecking you from the moment his cock intrudes again, falling in so smoothly that it’s almost embarrassing.

He starts right away. Pants a couple seconds later, matching your squeaks, probably delighted by your desperation as you hold, nearly rip the sheets. 

Tired, he leans in, chest closer to your back, and uses the nape of your neck as leverage to move easier. Wrapping a hand around it, pressing you down, hearing you whine and sniffle against the pillow.

You cannot recall the last time he fucked you this brutally. Snapping against your ass, letting all of the massiveness he sports disappear inside you. You don’t know what surprises you more — his stamina or the fact that you can take him this well at all.

But even Jeon Jungkook has his limits. You hear the approaching end in the way he sounds, breathing irregular and words incoherent. How broken his sounds are, high-pitched and absolutely unhinged. How his thrusts are slower now, indicative of his fatigue.

You know he’s close. But when he doesn’t slow down but stops altogether, you know he doesn’t want to be.

Refusing the orgasm, he pulls out for the nth time, much, much to your chagrin. With a dry throat, perspiring skin and droopy eyes, he delivers a harmless smack to your ass, and says, “Get up. Your turn to work on this.”

And with that, he means making himself comfortable against the back of the bed; letting the muscles of his arms bulge when he lifts them; using both hands to card through his hair, bringing some order into his messy mane.

Then, watching as you sit up, crawling on all fours and nearing his awaiting body.

Your gaze falls to his lap right away as you inch closer. To the shiny, wet member, secured in his fist, moving in it just a little, so as not to explode prematurely. Reserving it for you, and you only.

Such a giant. Towering. Thick enough for you to once again wonder if you can truly fit this inside you. Jungkook is gifted in every way.

And it’s not just the package he’s so proudly touching right now; it’s all of him. The golden skin, the thick thighs, the firm chest and the moles across his body. How his plush lips part further, the more your warmth nears.

Ready for you when you don’t take a seat right away but instead, steer straight towards his mouth, seeking a kiss you so hopelessly need. And for a second, he falls weak to your actions.

Only, until he suddenly yanks you back by your hair, probably reluctantly because…

Even now, his face draws to yours like a magnet, wanting more. Resisting. Extending the misery.

“Sit down,” he instructs, hitting your hanging tits. “Now.”

You do.

You do as quickly as you can; even rolling back your eyes, throwing back your head, unconsciously submitting to the reflex of gripping his shoulders. Bad idea — because he snatches your wrists, working to bring your arms behind your back again. Away from his body.

“Without this. Start.”

You try. You drag your pussy along his cock, up and then back down again; give yourself time to actually take in every little bit of him and how he makes you feel. The muscles of your legs and upper body are in full swing, exhausting your capacities.

But you’ll admit that it’s hard; not because your limbs have turned as wobbly as is usual with this beast, but because you’re awfully out of balance.

As he holds you captive, you’re struggling with the stance, even when he pulls your chest to his, melting the two of you. You don’t voice the difficulty yet, keen on observing his reactions; enduring the tremble of your body.

“So incredibly cooperative,” he repeats, “we make a strong pair, don’t we?”

Tease. Tease. Taking advantage of how much you crave praise.

You cannot pinpoint whether you’re coveting his appetite particularly strongly these days, or whether he’s just now awoken desires unknown to you so far — but his advances leave you salivating. Make you hunger for more.

Odd how you didn’t know you’d enjoy it if he gripped a patch of your hair as he is now, shaking your head, face close enough to you to repeatedly graze his lips against yours. Or that you could tighten around him like this the moment his fingers dig into your cheeks, holding you like an enemy.

“Mmmmh, you are pretty,” he hums, delivering two light slaps to your cheek. He hisses when he feels you constrict again, trapping his cock between your drenched walls, only able to whisper multiple fucked-out, “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

His fitful breathing doesn’t allow for much interruption of his air flow; his chest is heaving and he seems far more spent than he did in the beginning. But he’s never ready to stop or wave the white flag.

Still succumbing to said hurdles when his lips dash forward, instantly blending his taste with yours as his tongue snakes around yours. His lips move against yours with ferocity and determination. Teeth bite your lower lip softly, giving his aggression a soft outlet.

And it seems to you that he might not pull his claws in again tonight, unleashing all the savage fierceness his lust and envy combine into. Perhaps this will turn into the most ruthless night just yet.

But you’re wrong.

And for once tonight, you don’t mind the 180 turn.

Because the moment he surfaces from the kiss to catch his breath, you use the pause to whisper his name. With a gentle shudder, kissing eyebrows and half-open eyes, you bring your forehead to his, and all of a sudden, he lets you go.

You don’t understand why until you look at him again. Blinking innocently, still not touching him properly, but carefully bringing your fingertips to his legs. The crease between your eyebrows vanishes, allowing them to rise, and you echo, “Kookie…?”

That’s all it takes. You might be hallucinating, but you think you see something in him break. Something shifting back into place, as if he’s going through a change, returning to himself after separating from his mind for a bit.

And he slows down. The dizzying brutality of his pounding leaving you drooling turns into something friendlier. A welcome alteration but…

The change in pace surprises you. Not even inspecting his expressions helps you understand what he might be thinking, what he might be intending to do next. He’s unpredictable in moments like these.

He might turn the tides. Or he might return to his demonic self.

What you don’t realise is how your eyes affect his thumping heart so badly; how you emanate sweetness with all of your being, and how you make this played aggression nearly impossible.

Rendered hypnotised, he understands that’s enough for tonight. This isn’t the true nature the two of you share. What was it again in simple, human words, never enough to describe the celestial feeling within?

In love. Devoted. Ready to do anything. And so, so beautiful.

Jungkook cradles your face, gently massaging the back of your head. His thumb touches your cheek as if you’re fragile, careful to keep you together now and forever. You’re tenderness personified; the object of all his desires.

The definition of a treasure to be protected. And you are—

“You’re the kind of person to kill for.” His warmth breathes into your face when his lips ghost in front of yours, words sugary when he admits, “I cannot do this like I hate you. Because I don’t.”

…If there is one thing aside from you that your husband will remain loyal to forever, it’s his feelings. Not only towards you, but everything he regards the world with.

He always claims he hid most of himself before he met you, but you’re convinced he never stopped being the person he is. That he was merely believing in what others wanted him to believe.

That’s all.

Even now, as his touch falls to the small of your back, he refuses to deny the fondness and care that has grown in his heart, right around your name sheltered in there.

You swallow thickly, touching his waist, and shake your head, “Then don’t. Do it just how you mean it.”

He nods, bringing his fingers back to yours and lifting them as he asks, “Would you like to touch me again?”

“Will you let me?”

A kind laugh meets your curious, yet genuine question. He places your hands on his shoulder, jesting, “Imagine… having the power over you to decide whether to let you or not.” 

Bringing his own fingers to your ass, he moves you a bit, and with that, his hardness inside you. “I love it when you are desperate like this, my love. But.” You moan when he urges you to move. “So am I.”

“Jungkook… I’m yours. You can do whatever you want.”

“I can, right? And— in return, I can be whatever you need me to be, too.”

Yours — that’s all. All of him.

The arms you finally touch, up to his shoulders, neck and jaw. The soft lips he’s kept parted ever since you started. The mole on his nose, under his mouth, near his jawline. The kiss he shares with you and the hands clamping at your body.

How he fucks you with a passion you’re certain is reserved for nobody in this world but you. You’re selfish like this; you don’t believe anybody loves like that.

It’s all yours; that’s what you need him to be.

You murmur his name repeatedly, and he pecks your neck dryly. Your sounds change as you near the end, feeling a bubbling sensation in your stomach pleading to be released. Impatiently, you lean back, planting your hands to the mattress, face towards the ceiling.

Jungkook uses the position to latch onto your nipples, fucking you harder now, even if not with the same craze as before. He knows your body; he knows it so well. So you’re not surprised, yet gasping when he brings a finger to your clit, hitting and touching the right stops over and over and over again.

Your body winds on top of him as the chaos inside you unfolds, your shoulders sinking, eyes in the back of your head, upper body so fucking weak. And as he massages circles onto your clit, never rough, and murmurs against your jaw, you lose your mind.

“You’re my love. Gorgeous, beautiful sweetheart. I want to see… this every night.”

Doesn’t he know he will all his life? Doesn’t he know you’ve surrendered every piece of you to him?

Fuck. Fuck—

The knot uncoils the moment he utters the last word, voice dulcet and hazy, so loving and breathy. Your arms give out, threatening to let your body fall, and you rush to find an anchor in his shoulders, holding him, embracing him within a second.

Without a single thought ahead, you blurt, “I’ll— I’ll never want anyone but you. Never.”

“You’re all I know, baby,” he responds in kind, holding you the same, a confession between each kiss to your neck, “I love you. D-did you know? I love you. Love you. Love you so much.”

And God, do you love him.

The waves crashing over you are metres-high, and they’re drowning you ocean-deep. Why does this feel new and crushing every single time? He’s helped you experience this a hundred times. Nobody ever has before.

But you never get used to this. Not to how hard your pussy tightens and loosens over and over again, how your body becomes weightless, needing to be kept upright. How your stomach feels much more free, like you’ve gone through an epiphany.

The world sparkles. You feel ridiculous, alone in your head with these thoughts, but you’re above clouds, and the stars sparkle. What the hell…

“H-how much?” you ask, gripping his black hair, dizzy. 

“You cannot ask me. I have no fucking idea,” he curses, “I wish I could measure it, you see? Wish I could show you better. Tell you. Write it in a book.”

You’re fond of books; but he doesn’t know there’s no need for him to create a story, because he’s one himself. Isn’t he? A chapter after another.

He lifts your face from his shoulder, making you look at him. Pushes your hair back, his stare fond. Crashes his lips against yours again before it’s his turn to let go.

Affected by your contractions, he moans against your cheek, closing his eyes before he’s shooting all that he kept back into you. Hot, wet and sticky, loads of it, requiring multiple pumps until he’s drained.

Then, falls back against the railing with you in tow, hiding in your chest as you keep him close to your heart. You touch his tresses, caressing his scalp, matching his breathing until your bodies wind down.

It takes endless minutes in each other’s arms until the burning sensation all over your skin diminishes.

The room has grown darker now, candles burned halfway through. When you allow yourself a glimpse of him, the shadows are dancing across his features, hiding half his face. The light is so faint where it hits him, a gorgeous weak golden that still doesn’t do his own teint justice.

You can’t believe you get to keep this for a lifetime. That this is the very being you have the honour to wake up next to every single morning. That you’re the only one holding his heart, and that he’s the only one matching your soul.

Is this what it means to share everything with someone? To indulge in something far greater than love.

Which… reminds you…

“Jungkook,” you call, and he hums quietly, smiling through it. Eyelids falling, he listens as you ask, “Kook, do you think I feel— or look different?”

There’s a pause in your hushed conversation, a rise of eyebrows. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d sound a lot more concerned, you reckon. Immediately question your thoughts.

Instead, he sounds weaker, yet confused when he mutters, “…Why?”

“Do I?”

Another break in thought. This time to take you in. To lean in just a little, regard you carefully, to let his eyes drag over your being to detect the change you speak of.

But maybe…

“I think you were quieter these days. In thoughts? I assumed it was the Jung thing. But,” he eventually says, “responsibilities didn’t allow me to be around much either. Did I… miss something?”

Were you quieter? Possibly. 

Saying you were trapped in your thoughts is an understatement; if he’s figured something out without being around, it’s this much. The utter truth, a successful deduction. But was it the Hoseok rumours?

You can’t yet say for sure. So you choose to not say anything at all.

Only, “That might be it.”

“Other than that, however…” he speaks, moving with a grunt. The hands on your hips are gentle as they instruct you to get up; and unbothered by the seed soon flowing out, he urges you to your back, face soon levitating above you. “You’re still the same.”

A creature of habit, he wipes the drying locks out of your face, kissing the tip of your nose. You’re almost entirely sure that you look like a proper mess — but it’s impossible to not believe him when he claims, “Still the same beautiful woman I fell in love with two years ago.” Another kiss to your eyelid. “Stunning darling.”

“Are you still in love with me the same?”

“No,” he immediately blurts, and if you didn’t know him so well, you’d panic, “of course never the same. Always a little more.”

“Mmmh. And I love you.” You touch the smooth surface of his back, drawing figures over the defined muscles. “So. Does this prove that I wouldn’t run away with some lord?”

He puts on the act of a thinker, purposely teasing you until you hit his bicep. Then, “Yes. But does it prove you won’t run away with a stable boy?”

“…I hate you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The laugh he emits is genuine, so different from the troubled voice you heard less than an hour ago. His old jesting self, he refers to your awkward idea before, mentioning, “I know. You surely got that across tonight. And oh, how you kept looking at me. Pure hatre—”

“Shut up. I gave myself to you tonight or you would’ve begged and whimpered—”

“Oh? How so? Tied me up, hm?” he mocks, fingers cautiously following the veins of your arms before he’s caught your wrists again. He lifts them over your head, trapping you again. “Like this?”

You laugh as his lips trace your neck, the tickling sensation not quite the same as the lust spreading before. Helplessly, you surrender, begging, “Alright. Okay. I apologise for saying that! If you keep going, I will be crawling tomorrow.”

“Is that so bad? Not having to tend to so many things?”

“You’d make it worth it, I’m certain.”

He lets you go the very next moment, sighing before he asks, “Do you feel alright? I was worried about going overboard.”

“No, I am more than alright. Dog-tired but… this was perfect. I am a little happy you got jealous. Do you feel better, too?”

“I feel extraordinarily well.” He keeps his mouth open, pondering on saying more, but as you see his mind whir, you reckon another thought has replaced his previous statement. “I was not jealous. Merely worried.”

“…You yourself have said you are a jealous man.”

“Have you got any evidence? I thought so.” Another snicker in a joyous night, setting the mood for your dreams. “But. You are loved by many, and I admire you for that. And objectively I know I will always love you the most, but… it’s scary.”

“Ah… what is, Kook?”

“Knowing that somebody might want to overtake me. To try better or make you reconsider.”

“They couldn’t. I do not have to tell you… you know me and you know I will be here.”

“Good. I know,” he assures, countless infinitesimal sparkles of yearning in his eyes. They glow even in the shadows of candlelight, even without flames. “I really want this with you.”

“What is that?”

“…Everything.”

Everything.

His thoughts are a repetition of your own. A confession of a forever. Which is why you understand so well what he means, not a single explanation necessary. Because you want it all, too.

Of all the facts existing in your realm and universe, this remains one that you could never doubt. And you’re trying to provide him with the same amount of everything, as well. You are.

Which is why the thought of disappointing him is so unbearable for the time being.

So for now, you’d rather avoid it by keeping your mouth shut just for a little longer.

For all the longing touches revealed last night, Jungkook was certain he’d meet a glowing face the next morning. Sparkly, familiar eyes, taking in all hallways despite already knowing them so well, pointing out a new detail each time as you love to do.

For all the affection revealed last night, he was sure he’d eliminated all doubts and sorrows, every piece of thought and afterthought left of the conversation about other lords and past love.

In such a sense, he finds himself cheerful in his office the following day, enduring the staff’s playful ridicules. Grateful about the comfortable atmosphere, the lightness of the morning. His humour runs off the charts and he catches himself snickering about his own jokes.

You left him bright at least. Hopeful and joyful, with a heart filled with so much love and craze that is barely comprehensible for a mortal mind.

When you stroll into his office with your hands folded, his dark gems glitter, lights dancing in his pupils. He didn’t see much of you yet, despite from the tiny moment he left you sleeping in bed, kissing your shoulder and removing the lock off your face.

Tending to his duties, only torn away from you when he was urged to do so.

“Good morning,” you say in your sweetest voice, so small and soft.

And he hears the alteration in your words, so vastly different from last night. But your eyes look somewhat swollen, sleep still apparent in them, so it’s easy to give into the first instinct and blame a short night for your fatigue.

“Good morning, my love,” he responds, silencing as he nears your body, tenderly aligning your fingers and raising yours to his mouth.

As he kisses every knuckle, you ask, “Working so early?”

“Did not choose to,” he murmurs in between pecks. He concludes the gesture with rubbing a thumb ever-so-gently against the back of your hand before he leads your palm to his face. “I can come back to you any moment, though.”

You smile, but the blinking of your eyes is slow, and your reserved stance grows. He finds it odd when you hesitate, but you’re faster than him when you speak, “No, no. I didn’t want to disturb you, please do what you need to do.”

“Then… keep me company?”

“I will, but later, yes? I was thinking of a brief outing.”

It’s not unusual for you to seek fresh air or promenade along a nearby waterfront. Ever since you left town, you’ve grown even fonder of nature. The blossoming flowers, the sun, the summer rain and the rainbows afterwards match your energy.

But your usual light is missing; you don’t look quite downcast, but moreso worried about something. Your chest rises a bit too hard when you breathe in, and the nerves burn hotter when he asks, “Where to?”

“Just nearby. Picking flowers.”

Maybe he’s thinking about it too hard. Maybe you’re honestly just drowsy and opting for the crisp air, hoping for it to clear your mind. And maybe your demeanour will have changed by the time you return.

Might at least just be worth the wait, right?

So he doesn’t intervene with your thoughts, merely nodding. He leans into your tender palm, still resting on his warm cheek, and presses a careful kiss into it, as though a mistake could make you run away.

“Sure,” he concurs at last, “rush back to me. And show me the flowers you collect, alright?”

Which you don’t really oblige to, keeping a safe distance from his yearning, worried heart for an hour or two.

It becomes increasingly difficult to focus on work with you away; inquiring about you doesn’t do much, because how could the staff within these walls know more than he does? Would you confide in them but not in him?

Are you afraid of something?

When the attention drifts off his work eventually and his gaze keeps switching to the view out the window, to a path that you might be walking, he plummets into his chair. Waits. Fiddling. 

“Dojoon,” he calls, immediately met with a guard outside the room, speaking to the stiff, polite form, “has my wife returned yet? Have you seen Aza around?”

Denying his lord’s questions, Dojoon shakes his head, causing Jungkook’s chest to deflate, and informs him that no, he has neither noticed the presence of you nor of your chaperone.

Fitting, a timing so appropriate, because the guard has only nearly finished his sentence and increased Jungkook’s concerns when footsteps echo through the hallway outside. Jungkook cranes his neck momentarily, hoping for an end to his perturbation.

And at last, some deity seems to have heard his prayers, even if, in hindsight, he knows he’ll probably have nothing to worry about. You’ve been away for longer, albeit usually announcing your departure more cheerily and with less uncertainty.

Which, to his pleasure, doesn’t torture your expressions as much anymore as you finally enter the room. The hands are still folded, a shawl wrapped around your back and gracefully falling over your arms.

You’re always so pretty; so stunning that he nearly forgets the issue on hand.

That your folded fingers don’t carry anything.

Which is not too suspicious, it shouldn’t be. You might have handed the flowers to somebody, might have hastened back into his room without thinking of his prior request.

But his paranoid mind has been wreaking havoc lately, and he hates, hates, hates it — yet, can’t stop it.

So he despises the feeling in his chest when he asks, “Where are the flowers?”

“I…” you unfold your hands, inspecting your fingers as if you forgot they were vacant of said bloom. “Staff took them.”

Of course. That’s the most logical option, one he considered. So why…

He inches closer to you, nodding towards Dojoon and signalling for him to leave. As the guard exits right away, Jungkook lightly touches a strand of your hair, tucking it back as he so gently wonders, “Where did you go, baby?” 

“Just out for a while. I told you before.”

“But…” You swallow as he talks, nervous about something and suddenly fidgeting with your way too warm cashmere shawl. Only looking up when he breaks his barriers and asks, “What’s the matter?”

“What?”

“I do not know. You tell me. What’s the matter? Is it because of something we said last night? Or because of…”

There. He said it. Stupid unease that might prove wrong and oh-so-utterly and truly stupid soon.

Of course he’s had this in his mind. But somehow, he’s started to wonder… do you feel okay? Are you ill?

“What?” you echo, shaking your head. “No. What are you saying—”

“Something must be bothering you, I reckon, and you…”

“No, I think I just,” you start, pausing, tonguing your cheek until you turn your body a little. Almost facing the door. “I probably only need more rest. I feel tired and you wore me out so much, you see—”

It’s meant as a joke, and he’s sure he even recognises a smile — but the mood won’t allow for otherwise very welcome jests. Before you can even reach for the door handle, he places a flat hand on the surface of the door, ensuring that Dojoon didn’t leave it ajar even a tiny gap.

Half caged in, you look at him in disbelief, lips slightly parted as you say, “Won’t you let me go out?”

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” The genuine distress in his expression hurts you; just because you’re so fearful of disappointing him, or putting him under more anxiety. No reason, no reason. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. It’s just — he’s been forlorn before. You’ve seen his lows and seen the reasons for it. Waded through parts of his pain with him. The news you want to deliver are merry and colossal, but you don’t know if he’s ready.

And fuck. You’re taking too long to answer, aren’t you?

You are. You see it in his eyes. How they start to burn, how frustration grows so apparent in them. Never replacing the care and worries, but certainly furrowing his eyebrows the way he often does when irritated.

“What’s troubling you?” he tries again, keeping himself from snarling. “Where did you go? Did you… did you see him somewhere? I apologise if I said or did something wrong last night. If I hurt you.”

Keeping himself from snapping. Because your eyes are so big, and your stare so innocent and you look so concerned for him rather than for yourself, and… and…

Other than every reason in this universe, he can’t bear to be mad at you.

“Hm?” he voices.

“No,” you finally reveal, “it’s not him at all.”

“I know… Of course I know. But what is it?”

You blow out air. “I am…”

“Yes,” he interjects when your pause proves longer than a moment, “are you ill? Oh goodness, this is nerve-wracking. I think I might fai—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, both hands dashing to his arms. He’s out of breath, unfiltered craze in his eyes, as if expecting the worst. So you free him of his misery, taking a deep breath, and then, outrightly, reveal, “I’m expecting.”

…The world stills.

You hear it and you feel it; are certain that all movement has ceased, that the birds have halted mid-flight. That the wind has ebbed down. That the people down in the village have frozen in whatever state they were in before.

Selfishly, you believe that the centre of the world has shifted from the sun to right where you’re standing, right where the love of your life has paused. Where he’s looking at you and you only, barely blinking, out of words, lungs as dry as yours.

“My lo—” you start at the same time as he mumbles, “What?”

So you speak on, “I have not been bleeding. I went to consult the doctor and—”

“Outside? Where?” he asks, the memory and logic in his mind so disrupted that he finds himself in a state of utter bafflement and insanity. “Why didn’t you go to the mansion’s—”

“He went to his family for the week. Do you remember?”

“Right… right. What did you… You just went?”

You nod. “Spoke to him about all the things I have been experiencing and he’s certain those are all signs for me expecting… it seems.”

“…You didn’t tell me.”

“Because I wasn’t sure. And I… I know how much this scares you, so I didn’t want to stir chaos in case it turned out to be nothing.”

Which is a truth you weren’t sure you’d be able to spell out. Jungkook has wanted children; he has mentioned it on several occasions. But ever since you fathomed his deepest fears, laying in a fatherless past and a sorrowful childhood, you’ve been careful.

He’s affected. He always has been. And perhaps you’ll see glimpses of those very worries the more your pregnancy advances; let’s see.

For now, however, they don’t seem to roam his mind.

Instead, he shakes his head, hints of an expression creeping onto his face that you know too well. The first sign of approaching tears; of a swelling heart. Of love growing so fondly and fast that it overflows.

Every single tongue-tied reaction gathers in eventual words when he summarises, “I barely know what to say.” And right there it is; underneath his eye, on the apple of his cheek. One single tear. And with it, a breaking voice. “I do not know what to say.”

But he knows what to do. And what he does is tilt his head, sighing into the stuffy air of the office, not bothering to wipe away the tears — and you can’t either as he grips your hands. Smushes them in his. Calls forth your own liquid affection, blurring your vision.

And then you’re pulled off your spot, crushed in a long-overdue embrace. Before you know it, you’re safely secured in his arms, one a snake around your body, the other hand holding the back of your head as if you could disappear.

He hides his lips in your hair, still not able to put his thoughts into words. But he cries silently against you, leftover panic subsiding and giving way to raw sentiments.

“Jung— kook—” you hiccup, and he shakes his head, possibly keeping you from sobbing; yet, not faring better. “I apologise for— for keeping it from y—”

“No. No, you…” he takes a deep breath, and you know without looking that he’s closing his eyes. Putting his chin on top of your head. “You’re the only one who’s ever cared like this. And shielded me like this. How do you care so much? No, I know. Because I do, too…”

His words turn into a murmur, and he swallows a syllable or two, but it doesn’t matter. You hear his heart, and it speaks volumes without him needing to.

You could cry all your life. And you could love all your life.

“So,” he adds, “we are finally growing, yes? You and I and another. The only another we need, right? Fuck the rest of the world.”

You nod against his chest with a broken laugh, palms wandering further up from the small of his back, and you try to hold him as tight as he’s holding you.

There is no need for words and confessions anymore. There is no need for anything at all; just this very thing. And this very touch. These tender sounds of your sobs, ongoing until they turn into a light and quiet mingling of smiles and tear-filled laughter.

“I promise to you,” Jungkook finally says after a minute, his voice calmer, steadier, “I will do anything. Everything.”

Pause. Waiting to collect his thoughts. All those of lords and kings knocked out within a moment.

And then—

“I will do so much better.”

Over the course of the one year you have spent within the same walls as your husband, you haven’t just learned how to share the same home but the same habits, too.

Some are deliberate — reading the Friday newspaper together in the morning; craving eggs on Saturdays; taking walks to wind down from the week on Sundays. They have become a reflex; unspoken activities you indulge in without the other pointing them out anymore.

Others developed accidentally — like, unconsciously counting the windows you pass in the long hallways, because you caught him doing it before. Or, not being able to sleep well unless you have bid each other a good night. Or — in such a case, seeking each other out once the other side of the bed feels too cold.

It’s not rare for Jungkook, who’s still learning to handle responsibilities, to overwork himself deep into the night. At times, you find him at the edge of the bed, still reading a document. On other days, you tap blindly along the walls of the mansion, meeting him in the library.

Tonight, it’s neither.

The place looks eerie, somewhat haunted in the dark. Still adjusting to the darkness, you stroll from room to room idly, trying to make out a light, or a shadow, a sighting of the man you woke up without.

It must be late; or incredibly early. You can’t say when he awoke and skulked off; the sky is still pitch black outside, but sunrise might break in soon.

A few minutes later, akin to an eternity, you finally push the unlocked door to the study, lit by faint flames. Jungkook flinches when it squeaks open and you step in with featherlight steps. He nearly throws the book into the air, catching it as it threatens to slide off his knee.

The gentle heart only calms once it recognises you, taking a deep, shuddering breath in. He isn’t angry; rather delighted to see your figure standing in the dark, in a long, white nightgown and big, worried eyes.

As much as he’s able to perceive from his spot, you look relieved, fingers fiddling, and he doesn’t think he could love anybody more than you, ever. Not when you’re here steering towards your goal, obviously having scoured the mansion to find him.

“You’re so light on your feet, love,” he faux-complains, tutting, “thought you were a ghost.”

“Oh. A pretty ghost?”

“One I’d let haunt me any day.”

You let out a gentle laugh, stepping closer until you’re towering over him, “They say one glows when with child.”

“If you glow any more, then…” he whispers as you take a careful seat on his lap, simultaneously securing you there with an arm and covering his eyes. Charading being blinded by the light.

How dramatic.

Shaking your head, you take a look down to his fingers, following his touch until you’ve opened the shut book to the page his thumb serves as a bookmark for. The cover isn’t particularly telling, a mere title on it too small to read.

The chapter he was reading is an advanced one, the page starting in the middle of an ongoing sentence. but as most stories beloved to dreamy poets go, kindness prevailed in the end.

You don’t ask for the content right away; rather, you wonder, “Jungkook, why are you still up? And here of all places.”

The golden candlelight highlights the fatigue in his eyes — but it makes his heart-stirring smile evident, too. A note of pride resonates in his voice as he lifts the book, holding it towards you as if that doesn’t worsen the lighting drastically.

“It has lullabies and bedtime stories,” he says. You lean in, staring at the right page, and recognise colourful, faded illustrations. “Father used to read them to me. I remember how they shaped me, so I— I wanted to practice, too.”

No matter how many arrows Cupid shoots into your heart, Jungkook always seems to outdo the beneficent god. He’s diligent in watering and growing the affection in you. Tending to your heart — just like that, effortlessly.

Despite your tired mind, your emotions are on overdrive; because of your tired mind, you, in the tone of a statement, repeat, “You were preparing.”

“Is that odd?” he immediately blurts, a little too loud for the room. When you shake your head in denial, he nods in comfort. “I was afraid I was doing too much. This book helped. There is another one on parenting, but,” he reaches for his desk with a groan, putting another, smaller piece on top of the other one, “but I feel like this advice is a given. Look.”

He flips through the pages, halting at one that outlines tips and tricks in imperatives. The first you lay eyes on is already one that proves his point, odd as you read aloud, "An affectionate household works wonders upon a young mind. Remember to, uh— cultivate a serene and harmonious family atmosphere!"

“Fair enough, is it not?” Jungkook jests, shutting the book again.

The smile he flashes, the one you never hesitate to join is a peculiar one. Utterly sweet, undeniably handsome; yet, strange, considering the history the two of you share.

You wonder once again.

When did he become this tender? The boy you knew, smirking so slyly, evil words shot towards you in a group of fellow pals — none of the damaging energy remains today. Today… sitting on this very lap, going into raptures.

Carrying his child.

Then again, people change, but never thoroughly. A basic foundation, the core that one is made of always healthily and steadily remains. Jungkook’s traits, the ones you have learned to love and cherish, were always part of him.

He just needed an outlet. Somebody to practise them on; a lifelong companion to pour the softness onto.

And things never end there. No, they go on and on, a flood of sparkly emotions. Like, when he gets into a more casual conversation now, never quite realising that his little statements are pulling you above clouds.

”I asked some of the staff about their experience with their children. Did you know some of them have young toddlers themselves?”

”Mihee gave me a list of things to be careful about once birth comes around. It sounds painful, darling. You can do it, right?”

”You can. I’ll be there, too. You can certainly do it better than I will, possibly.”

He tells you he has been working a little less these days; having struggles forming a clear thought. Informs you about his spontaneous and perhaps too early decision of planting a tree just for the child. Explains to you how to not hold a baby, the information courtesy of Mihee.

And then, he kisses your forehead, sucking in a breath as if shivering. He adjusts for a moment, never pushing you off his lap, and then eventually, quietly, admits, “It is so frightening, as well, though, isn’t it?”

“Hm?”

“This… this whole thing.” You gaze at him with gentle worry, suspecting what’s to come, but he misinterprets it for doubt. “I am not anyhow indicating that I don’t want this. Not at all. I wouldn’t want it with anyone but you.”

You nod understandingly, clarifying that you never assumed such. But he continues, “Still, I can’t help but wonder how well I will do.”

You could tell him that it’s a valid and often occurring worry. That no parent-to-be will ever dive into this with full confidence and a pure lack of insecurities. But you know why he’s saying this.

Not everyone has a dead father. Not everyone deals with an abusive household growing up. And not everyone was fed with doubts and deep-rooted issues that provoke such hesitant thoughts.

“Is that why you are reading books on parenting, my love?” you inquire, speaking slowly.

“I would guess so,” he answers, “I want to be there. I’d hate it if I had to leave… you never know what might happen, you know? Or maybe, if I was here, yet tried too hard and then failed in the process—”

“First of all,” you interrupt, “do not make me imagine a life without you. Second of all… we are thinking about it in such a theory. I reckon that… once you hold someone in your arms,” you put your head onto his, keeping him close, the free hand seeking his, “it feels more natural. Love happens naturally.”

“Does it? I have never been a father before.”

You chuckle, “So I hope! But. What was it like to love me? A process? Progress? Were you scared of loving me?”

“I was.” The answer is unexpected. Then again, it’s not. Certainly rapid, though. “You’re an unstoppable force. Of course it is scary to love you. What if one messes up? That’s nothing that can be forgiven.”

“You always speak too highly of me.”

“I am not blinded. I see it clearly and I mean every word. Loving you was frightening, but it developed…” He removes his touch from your fingers, instead tracing up the skin of your arm until his digits skim your elbow; echoing, “Naturally.”

“Mmmh. And does it ever feel like you’re trying too hard?”

“No. You’re right, it doesn’t. It just happens.”

“So,” you whisper, “who’s to say this will be different? And to tell you a secret: You’re doing so amazing loving me. If you can give this one the same amount as you give me, we will be fine.”

He hums, nodding instantly. This must boost his confidence.

He’d be a fool to ever doubt the sentiments he houses for you. He knows he loves you well, because he regards you as worth it. Because he vowed to provide to you what you deserve; the intensity of that adoration will never be subject to confusion.

“I will share another secret with you,” you clear your throat, shifting. “Can you imagine how terrifying it can be for a woman to leave home after so long? How, considering the role of the woman, the thought of living with a man can be intimidating?”

Jungkook’s head sinks in thought. Big eyes fixate on a random spot and a plump, rosy lower lip curls outward, pouting. Another hum before he does a head tilt and confesses, “I haven’t thought about it yet. But… if I had a daughter and she left, I would be scared to death for her well-being.”

“Yes. And she would be, as well. It can be difficult. But to tell you something… Despite my fears and the adjustments I needed to make here, I didn’t fear for my well-being. I knew you’d take good care of me.”

You swallow, sighing when he leans in, lips close to your chest, “And if this is what you consider your nature, Jungkook… Then I do not think you have to worry about anything.”

“Hmmm. This makes so much sense. You are such a bright woman, did you know?” he says, rubbing your arm, then your back. Buries his face in your breasts; his voice vibrates against you as he speaks, “You are everything good. And incredibly smart.”

That’s what he’s saying. The true feelings run much deeper than that; you understand.

The sudden affection that washes over one on the best days. When it overwhelms the senses and dips the air in vibrant shades of pink. Feelings of invincibility and eternal happiness.

Yet, hard, or even impossible, to grasp into appropriate sentences. What Jungkook is doing is merely spitting the most harmless of his love confessions, because his true thoughts cannot be constellated into actual words.

“I love you. I do love you. So, so much,” he mutters, scattered kisses between words a habit now, “and I want to take care of you forever. I will bring you tea. And carry you to bed. I will even cook for you, I do not care about the intensity of effort…”

He’s said that before — delivering whatever you crave, whenever you crave it. To your surprise, the royal you thought spoiled previously has a knack for bringing delicious creations to the table. You know because he gets bored sometimes. Takes some work off the staff’s overworked shoulders.

“Speaking of,” he soon inquires, just as you foresaw, “are you hungry? Are you eating well? We should sneak into the kitchen.”

You shake your head immediately, telling him that eating before sleep does not do well to the stomach. Tell him that it is far too late to hide in the corners of the mansion the way you hid around town when engaged.

That now, it might be much easier to stroll back into your room. Slip under the covers. Smile and talk and drift into sleep.

And you promise that you’re already well fed as long as he fills you with the care your dreamy youth would always read about.

But the clouds you float above dissipate and drop your body into a fall, from heaven to absolute hell.

You’re not sure what you expected from this entire affair; perhaps you should’ve known that carrying and leading a full human being into the world wouldn’t occur so blissfully as the pregnancy itself was. And yes — compared to this, the pregnancy was a bed of roses, no matter how often you whined.

Damn the society around you. The only knowledge you had of this moment came from the few books Jungkook brought you every now and then, his gentle warnings that this might hurt, and the brief conversations you had with your mother about the existence of people.

One or two comments from your doctor here and there.

Oh, it will be all good!

But that’s it, isn’t it? Women do not get informed properly; you do not fully understand the concept of such things until they finally roll around.

And the day you wake up once again with the highest expectations, you finally speak those hopes into existence. As you walk up the stairs shortly after dinner, you feel a liquid drain your legs; confused until your stomach so agonisingly twists. 

A punch to your guts.

The moment it happens, your heartbeat accelerates, its sound echoing in your ears — for the very first second, you fear the worst. Did something go wrong? Is something bad happening?

But it doesn’t seem the case, because the tumult around you suggests otherwise entirely: the royal mansion breaks into an immediate excited bustle. You don’t know how they do it, but word spreads like a wildfire.

As soon as the world starts spinning and you let out one or two groans, slowly turning into yelps of pain, you’re escorted to the empty bedroom. Barely minutes later, you’re accompanied by the doctor residing in your mansion these days.

Jungkook’s doing.

Ordered the physician Sang and the midwife Yumi — yes, both — to spend their days here because this is the time they predicted for the baby to arrive at. Nine months… plus, minus a couple days.

The skies have darkened and the seasons changed. It’s colder now, but you feel hot, tortured by your body temperature as staff members drape more blankets over your body, comfortable pillows under you, water and cloths beside you.

And among the blurring faces you perceive under the growing pain, you don’t see his.

Not now; not a couple minutes later; not even more than half an hour has passed. Have they not informed him? He went out for a stroll, but he couldn’t have gone this far.

Your pleas were whispers before, asking for him, yet somewhat ignored, as if you never uttered them at all. So when the light contractions turn moderate, threatening to worsen over time, you raise your voice, “Where’s my husband?! Are you being serious? Get him o—”

“Lady Jeon,” Yumi calmly starts; your possibly irritated mind perceives the probably neutral tone as condescending, and as such, your title makes you internally cringe. “We cannot.”

“What?”

“Husbands aren’t allowed at childbirth. But—”

“What?!” you repeat, rage redirected from the pain to the person only trying to help. You’ll feel guilty later, you know. “This is his child, too. He’s a goddamn part of th—”

The blunt curses are unlike you, and your brain understands; they understand, too, because they have seen and appreciated your true nature for the past few days. Maybe that’s why they don’t take your outbursts too personally; or maybe because they have done this before.

And you know, you know that whatever bond you share with Jungkook, you probably can’t breach society’s rules and the things it deems inappropriate. You weren’t aware that he wasn’t allowed in here; the books didn’t teach you that.

But you should’ve known.

“The Lord will be with you the moment this is over,” Sang promises, preparing whatever he needs to. You’re barely looking, only praying to the ceiling. “He won’t miss a moment with his child. Now, listen to what I say.”

You do. You are.

It just gets so hard with time; the pauses between the contractions seem to shorten and then they vanish. The intensity grows, each time a little more than before; and every other minute, you’re sure you’ve reached the peak, but you never have.

Then, everything starts spinning, your skin soaked in sweat and the little one moving inside, your vision blurring… have hours passed already?

You don’t know. You don’t care — you want this to be over.

But the warm liquid between your thighs, the urge to push, along with the midwife’s words and reassurances, indicate that you’re almost there.

And that’s when it happens. Not the end of it all. Not the appearance of whoever you’ve been anticipating for so long.

But the aggressive thump at the door, repeated and rapid. It hurls your heart from your chest into your throat, your breathing a little more arhythmic than before and you nearly cannot imagine who might be provoking chaos so close to the end.

Then again, could it truly be such a surprise?

Because when the door opens a slit, a familiar face peeking, something in you stirs so hard that you nearly jump into a standing position, pain be damned. Adrenaline rushes through you as a hand pushes you back again; you must’ve risen a couple inches, calling a name.

“You can at least tell me how she is,” Jungkook’s shaky voice inquires near the door, louder than he probably intends. His words are filled with anxiety, and you know he cried before. “I deserve to know.”

Sang hesitates; even in such an advanced state, you still hear his composed words, as calm as he’s been taught to be. “She’s been bleeding a little. We are, however, taking care of it.”

“…What is a little?”

“Bleeding is a common occurrence. It’s just…” The man clearly leans in, because you hear him a bit worse now, yet well enough to understand why your thighs feel so oddly wet and warm, and you so weak. “Somewhat more than it should be. But she’s nearly done, so it’ll be—”

“No,” Jungkook resists, “this is unspeakably stupid.”

Not the man speaking to him, and not anything about what you’re going through, what so many women a day must be going through.

But the distance — you know. And when you move your head towards the open door, meeting his eyes at just the right moment, almost hidden behind Sang’s figure, they widen. Once again, you know why.

Because he’s snapped.

“Jungkook—” you murmur, and it’s enough.

With a combination of impatient aggression and respectful care for the physician, he pushes past the arm blocking the entry to his own bedroom. Someone in the room catches onto Jungkook’s sleeve, but he shakes it off without ever averting his gaze from you.

Yumi follows her responsibilities without a moment of hesitation, nearly leaning over your body as she warns somewhat shyly even, “You are not allowed to be here, I apologise, but…”

But her message is sharply cut in the air before it even reaches Jungkook, because he finally breaks eye contact with you, instead redirecting the flaming pupils towards her.

You don’t see much else than the bottom of his jaw, but you’ve seen the stare before.

When he manages a business that irritates him. When he gets into a rare but bad argument with you. You saw it when he met his teasing friends again, way after your engagement, ready to mock you. And when he faced the idiocy his uncle committed.

Intimidated, Yumi leans back, nodding just once, probably accepting that should whatever myth about childbirth come to life, it’d be your problem. But Jungkook has always been careful; doesn’t believe in the warnings of infections and other unspeakable things that apparently occur when the husband joins the birthing process.

“You are almost ready to push. Just a bit more,” she informs you instead, taking her place at the end of the bed, taking a glimpse under the blanket over your legs.

You feel it, too. Your body is telling you to.

“This is so stupid,” Jungkook repeats, taking a seat on the chair shoved behind him. His hands seek out yours, clutching it immediately. “Hours of waiting and hoping you’re alright? Incredibly dumb, isn’t it?”

“I know,” you say, faintly nodding, only noticing how much you’re crying when he wipes away a stray tear, “I told them. It’s taking so long, Jungkook…”

“Yes, I figured it might, but… but,” he starts, waterline shimmering, bangs already damp — where did he run from to you? “It will be over and so worth it.”

“Read it in… a book?” He nods, and you chuckle as much as possible. “You’ve been reading so much.”

“More than ever! I have never read so many books before, you know?” He sniffles. “And still nothing prepared me. Do you know what happened, darling?”

He’s fighting tears until he can’t. A single one rolls down his cheek and over his mouth, his smile remaining intact, even if somewhat damaged by the profuse emotions. His lower lip trembles like yours.

You’re in no mindset to answer, but his voice, his words, his touch soothe your heart. Lessen the pain, even though in reality and in theory, they don’t.

How does any woman do this without her beloved?

“Two hours in, and I fainted.”

Immediately, your eyes shoot open, your fingers squeezing his, but before you can utter your worries, he shakes his head and continues, “They kept me in there and guarded me like a child. I was scheming how to escape… climbing out the window.”

He smiles when you laugh again, sniffling again, and concludes, “Then they told me they had heard you were struggling and that you were screaming more often. And the room was so hot, as well — it is winter, for Heaven’s sake! And I just…”

Shaking his head, he emphasises the embarrassment of the moment, aware that you cannot talk much, but guiding you through it nevertheless. Speaking his mouth wound, “You’re the one doing this. I did nothing.”

“You did,” you manage, “it is not the same, but you were there.”

“I was there. But you’re doing this, yet I fainted. I would’ve been with you so much earli—”

His soft conversation is soon interrupted when you scream again, your chin quivering, head thrown back when another excruciating contraction catapults you almost into unconsciousness.

Somebody wipes the sweat off your hot forehead for the millionth time, and finally, finally, you feel something happening.

But Jungkook can’t contain his concerns, an observer who can’t feel any of this, only seeing the love of his life sobbing, yelling, squeezing her eyes shut until they hurt. You hear him ask, “What?”

“Just… blood,” Yumi’s voice answers at the same moment as another pair of hands start massaging your stomach for whatever reason, “just…”

“Is that bad?” Jungkook wants to know, out of breath.

“It’s not great, but it won’t be fatal.”

“What? Is she…” He stops for a second, and you see him looking at you through half-lidded eyes, then back at the headless body, covered by the blanket, “God. Then do something!”

You rub a thumb over the back of his hand, fully breathless, already feeling veins pop as you push. And once more. Then say, “It’s alright. It…it will be alright.”

“I should be telling you that! Is that why they mock men? Huh?” He looks back and forth, and you want to laugh, barely managing to listen as you focus on the pushes. You hear his words faintly, but they help. “I am guessing you are feeling it quite a bit as opposed to me, yes?”

You’re crying harder when you shut your eyes again, back arching, yelling out sarcastic words, “No! N–not feeling a thing!”

Your upper body is killing you. The pressure is unbearable, the sensation burning. Through it all, as you near the finishing line, wishing to skip these minutes, he keeps encouraging, “This is so amazing. Just a little more. Almost… almost do—”

The last word is swallowed, quiet, barely spoken. Maybe because his voice is breaking, too. But maybe, because it’s interrupted by another, much shriller cry of change. Entering a world so new is surely scary.

Somebody knows it even better than you, because the first ever sounds of the baby once it finally emerges heal and break your heart. How can that be? You haven’t even touched it yet.

Then, how are you already caught by such an… odd feeling? Floating somewhere between reality and a dream, not quite realising that you’re actually hearing the crying. Isn’t a child just what you were a while ago, too?

You remember the moment you first met Jungkook so vividly. In the rain, attempting to soothe his sorrows, trying to figure out what misery had ambushed the disconsolate boy.

You were a child back then, too. That wasn’t long ago, was it? Are you really married to the same being now, sharing your all with yet another existence that is yelling away in this very room?

Overwhelmed by someone you only felt and cherished through your own skin, without ever touching, without ever speaking to it? 

“Is it… a girl or a boy?” you want to know.

Jungkook takes a stand, leaving your hand for just a moment, but Yumi and the rest are busy tending to the bloody and fresh child. Wrapping it in a blanket. Holding it carefully. Cutting off the umbilical cord — a relatively young term Jungkook told you about.

“It’s… a girl, Lady Jeon.”

A girl.

Oh God. The father’s beauty. The mother’s wit. A lion-heart and a strong-willed mind. If the two of you are combined, that’s what comes out, doesn’t it?

And all of her, all of what she is is yours. And you’re hers.

Jungkook doesn’t get to inch too close to his flesh and blood, because Yumi turns away; you’re too tired to be angry, albeit a little relieved when she lets you know extra gently, “We’ll just clean her up and get her back to you immediately. You can hold her then.”

You let your arms sink, and Jungkook comes rushing back to you. Instead of grabbing your hand again, he places a palm to your forehead, wiping at it, moving back the hair. The calming gesture helps you wind down, even though you’re nowhere close to being yourself again.

The aftermath of the pain remains, but you’re eternally grateful for the end of the contractions. For the ceasing of your screams. For the temperature coming down, your breathing calming just gradually.

And for—

“Thank you, my love,” you mutter absent-mindedly, noticing when his movements slow down. You’re so dizzy. “For being with me through all this nevertheless. I do not know how they expected me to do it without you.”

“Well… they did not know I read all those books. I mean, you heard it. I’m more or less a certified royal midwife now.”

You can’t help but let out an unexpected snicker, still too exhausted to open both eyes. You crack one of them a split apart, teasing, “My midwife fainted.”

“We have bad days, too. No?”

You hear the actual midwife’s voice jest something in agreement, widening your smile, and state, “Then. In that case, you need to redeem yourself, yes? How— about a crown for our baby?”

When you look at him properly, you see new tears emerge. He’s trying his best not to cry — but with you so close, alive and courageous, and a child weeping away a couple feet from your bed… how could he hold back?

“Well, I was thinking of a nightdress with a tiny crown print. A real crown might be a bit much, don’t you think?”

The counter-jest is already forming on your tongue, something about toys and humility and joy combined into some type of coherent sentence. But as Yumi turns towards you, holding the vulnerable, now calmer baby in her arms so carefully, you lose track of your thoughts.

Even from afar, you hear the tiny sounds. Noises of comfort, remainders of the crying. You see a miniscule hand with petite fingers curling and uncurling before they disappear close to her face, hidden behind the blanket.

You can’t see much more from down here on the bed, sinking into the mattress. You attempt to get up a little, but you still feel faint, taking it step by step until someone from the staff rushes to your side. Helps you sit up.

In that time, Jungkook has already taken upon the offer to hold her first, his stance unbearably and sweetly cautious. As if he’s holding freshly crafted glass. No… much more careful than that.

He draws a breath in, and you see the furrowed eyebrows. The shine in his eyes. How he looks at her with utter, pure, unfiltered, raw affection until he can’t bear it anymore. Averts his gaze for just a second to blink the tears out of his eyes, trying not to let them fall on her face.

His lips remain parted, focusing on breathing, cradling her. You see the knotted ball of a dozen emotions in his stare, each string made of a different sentiment.

Like a fierce protective instinct, surging through him as it does through you. Awe and wonder, marvelling at her delicate features. And a smile, a little laugh, an obvious sign of endless elation. Speechlessness.

Without words, he says—

I’ll keep you safe.

You’re so perfect.

I would die for you.

All summarised in a quiet, “I can’t believe it.”

He’s close to you, and you reach out to him, touching his knee softly with a palm, rubbing until he looks at you. Shooting a curious look, he shakes his head, barely any reason behind, before he says, “She’s curled up. Touching her face.”

“Is she… looking at you?”

“Barely opening her eyes. Just a slit, and… it’s all dark pupils and nothing else, you know? But…” His next breath is shaky, his upper body trembling; the baby with him. You wait patiently, expecting anything but what he says next. “She’s even prettier than you.”

“Shut up,” you immediately blurt, laughter mixed with relief. It’s hard to speak; there’s a clump in your throat. “Yet… it’s so easy to believe you.”

“See?”

He leans in, moving naturally, gracefully, and you widen your arms, ready to welcome her in the first embrace, and once she settles and you get comfortable and lean back again, you realise—

He’s so right.

The slight crack she opened her eyes to. And the small tongue darting out every now and then. A hand on her face, arms close to her body, as if guarding herself. No weight on your arms at all; cheeks that remind you of some fluffy pastry.

You don’t know her yet, but you already know her name. You haven’t spoken to her, but you’ve already internalised the shrill voice. And the face is new to you, but you do already treasure it.

Does she feel the same? It’s crazy… This is crazy.

In theory, you know most newborn babies look similar. You know they sound the same and act the same. You’re aware that they need to be cleaned thoroughly, and that they need to grow into more than this little bundle in your arms.

But, perhaps as a mother, you can’t deny how gorgeous she is.

You already know — already pronounce her the diamond of every season and every year to come.

They say that love opens your eyes to new colours. Unlocks a path to brighter sunrises and clearer nights. They say in every second of loving somebody another star is hung into the sky, shedding more light onto the world.

There’s utter truth to these fairytales and supper anecdotes; but they never quite mention how draining a life as a mother can be, too.

That it’d be torture to your once bright mind; that you’d wake up in pain and beg for sleep and never quite receive it. That you’d realise how mean your mind could be to you after experiencing such heart-shattering worship the moment you saw her first.

The nights are difficult, but Jungkook exerts an effort equal to yours. You’re grateful when he takes a few days off as needed. Constantly shows his appreciation for your hard work and refuses to let you do this alone.

And you both agreed. You want the nanny to interfere as little as possible; want to keep the child’s attention glued to you for the most part, but with a balance that allows her to never shy away from other people, either.

Like, when your and Jungkook’s family visited a while ago; not once did you feel like she couldn’t handle a moment without you. Was switched from one hold to another, moving towards whoever was ready to provide affection.

She’s a social butterfly. Doesn’t fear strangers. But you still help her familiarise herself with you, independent from a nanny who’d enable more of your time to yourself, but less time with your baby.

And neither you nor Jungkook urges for that distance.

It’s never easy.

You’ve cried more often than your fingers can count, on your last legs as you wept into Jungkook’s clothes. Feeling a palm wiping at your tears a dozen times. Motherhood always sounded so gorgeous, but it hurts, too.

Then again…

See, then again, it’s easy to circle back to the metaphor of the sun and the stars, the fresh start to your life that cannot be replaced by any other experience. A million little moments that wrap you into your own bubble. The three of you and nobody else.

They render each of those troubles worthless; you cherish them with an unspeakable vigour, aiding yourself as your exhaustion fades once faced with warm, sunlit afternoons as today’s.

Jungkook offered to watch over her as you wallowed in the breeze and the walk you desired for so long. It’s been too long since you enjoyed the miles outside; steep hills and green fields, accompanied by the sound of birds you yet need to study.

Then down to the village, then another stroll back up again. You sought out tranquil moments, escaping your chores. But when you come back, nothing compares to the sight that meets you.

Damn all these walks.

Because only a fool could resist such an image of your husband lying on your bed, on his back and with his legs crossed, head facing sideways and away from the window. Away from the descending sun. Suhana sprawled right on his upper body. Cheek above his heartbeat, her fingers on Jungkook’s sharp jaw.

A pocket-sized hand holding him close to her.

His proportionally large palms rest on her back and under her little butt, both of them dozing peacefully. She moves with him as his chest rises, but she looks so undeniably at peace — as if there’s no better heaven. And mouth open, like no thunder could wake her.

Suhana’s bangs have grown longer now, hair covering some of the nape of her neck and her forehead. Her lips are rosy; the same shape as his. Even if reluctantly, you have to admit that she looks a lot like him.

You act offended when people remind you of that. Because you vehemently claim you want to see more of yourself in her, and Jungkook always calms you with the forecast that she’ll grow up to be as beautiful as you.

Something he thoroughly fears, however, judging the world’s intentions.

But you must also confess that seeing two pieces of the same gentle soul makes you feel lucky.

You drape your shawl over the chair at the large, wooden desk and step closer to the royal bed. Rest your legs from the excessive walk, laying down right beside him — facing him directly.

Gently, you reach out and graze the apple of his cheek; soon repeating the action with his miniature version before you tuck your hand under your temple. Then, you wait.

She doesn’t stir — as expected. But the tickling touch you left along his face elicits a sigh out of him before he lets out a small sound. Voices something like a harmless groan, along with a quiet smack of his lips that reveals the tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth, and a barely-there crease between his eyebrows.

His hand slides over her mini-body as a protective reaction, an immediate reflex. His eyes flutter open so slowly, just a slit; and when they do, you’re not the first thing he sees. Because they drift straight to her, ensuring that she’s still right where he left her and alright.

And only once he’s gathered that she’s still asleep, he blinks into your direction. They also say that priorities change with a child, no matter the amount of love for the partner; and you can’t blame anybody for this.

He smiles when he realises your presence, only lightly nudging you with his elbow. You move closer as he deduces, “You’re back. Was it…” Loving yawn. “Was it long enough for us to fall asleep?”

“It seems so. What were you two doing?”

“Talking.” Of course. Not an absurd answer by now at all. You nod. “She was explaining to me the existence of the pillow and the sun. Pointing at them. I was listening.”

Jungkook doesn’t ever describe her curiosity as exploration. To him, she’s talking, conversing. Your heart swells as you ask, “Ohhh, yes? What else?”

“I made her toy talk and she liked it, I reckon. Giggled so much that she fell off my lap once.”

The fantasy of the moment makes you break into laughter; you have a handful of questions. Did she get hurt? Did she keep laughing as she fell? Was she out of breath as much as you are when you observe her shenanigans?

You quiet down when she moves, fingers curling in. Shushing yourself and grimacing, you shift your attention back to your husband, taking in his freshly awoken expression before you state, “Your eyes are so swollen, though. And your face is dry.”

As if liquid dried on it.

Attentive assumption, because Jungkook instantly discloses, “Uh… I might’ve cried a bit.”

Oh? Oh no. Not him, too—

You wonder, “Why did you cry, my love?”

“Because she was crying…”

“What? Why?”

“Mmmh…. She’s always touching her face, you know?” You do know. You keep her from squishing her cheeks all the time. “I think she poked her eyes at some point and I mean… it didn’t hurt her at all.” Of course not; you make sure to keep her nails trimmed. “But it was a new sensation for her and her baby brain must’ve thought it hurt. So she started crying.”

“Oh no… and then you cried, as well, huh?”

You reach out to him, clearing his right eye and temple as you swipe away the strands of hair. By now, your language and manner of talking are mixing; you feel the same protective instinct towards both.

He sighs before he continues, “The parenting books said not to. I was supposed to stay calm, so she doesn’t interpret the situation as worse than it was. But I hate seeing her sad. So stupid.”

The position doesn’t allow him to shake his head properly, so he settles with a slow blink of his eyes. Then, he says, “But that made her stop. Look how hard she’s sleeping now. So deceiving!”

“Oh, baby…”

You don’t know what it is; maybe the permanent, lingering, overwhelming fact that this dream is actually your reality. That the three of you are alive and together and undoubtedly part of each other.

Whatever it is, it looks as though he is about to cry again.

“She is so feisty. Reminds me of you,” he whispers. “Right?”

He’s not talking to you, but to her — because she’s opened her eyes and he noticed before you even saw it.

Upon hearing his voice, she moves. Tiny fists stretch out, and she starts kicking slowly against Jungkook’s stomach. Her body winds restlessly, put off by his reaction just for a second when she hits against his body again and he utters, “Owwwh!”

And then, shamelessly, she yawns. 

Coos and gurgles, croaks and caws. The sounds are small and high-pitched, sweet and tender. Curious wonder rests in her eyes as they crack open entirely, adjusting to her surroundings and you suddenly being here when you weren’t before. Not that she remembers.

And…

God, your heart jumps out of your chest, bloody and beating.

Because the very moment she sees you, she smiles in joy. She so often does. Sometimes, as you walk over to her crib at night, shining the candlelight into the space between you, she smiles with barely open eyes, too.

She squeals a little, reaching out for you, and you bring her fingers to your face for a fleeting moment before she retracts them again with a tired giggle. But when she registers her father’s breath, his voice sounding against her ear, she stops again.

Cuddling back in. Right where she wants to be.

No matter how much she loves you, she will never feel the same towards anybody in this world as she does for him. 

He settles his hands on her more firmly, and then sits up with an encouraging, “Aaaand, here we go. Let’s take a look at you.”

He stares at her as he holds her in front of him, and she laughs again, seemingly amused by floating, held by two strong hands. Meaty legs kick in the air until he seats her down between the two of you with a shielding hand on her back.

She can’t fully sit on her own yet, but she always tries. Doesn’t wiggle too much anymore, though. Hits the mattress with her palms playfully.

“I swear… I will die for her,” Jungkook proclaims, moving until he meets her eyes. She looks up in a sudden movement, snickering again when he tickles her a little. Then, he repeats through gritted teeth, “Do you know, hm? I will die for you, I will!”

Before you know it — probably even before she, with her limited attention span, knows it — she’s back at playing. Then, another shift to you; a touch to your cheek. Leaning in, almost falling onto you when you scrunch your nose and kiss the air, communicating with her silently.

As her body attacks your face, an open, amused mouth drooling onto your cheek, you protest. Sitting up, you help her into your lap, and she has the audacity to yawn again.

With a shake of your head, you declare, “Sometimes you act spoiled, alright. Haven’t acted up yet, but I think we should probably feed you now, shouldn’t we?”

“Probably before she starts crying again,” Jungkook agrees.

“Can’t have that. Or you will, as well.”

“Ha-ha. But you know what, I might as well. It was insane.” He tuts, cocking an eyebrow as you prepare to bare your chest. “But if that’s what being with this tiny little thing means, I’ll take it,” leaning in, he returns to his talk with her, “alright? Listen up.”

Somehow, she does. No matter what he says, he manages to flood happiness through her, because she coos again, inhales sharply as she perks up her ears, “I’m serious. I’ll die for you, but only if you do not grow up. Stay like this, yes?”

“Stop it. I need her to grow into a woman like me and save the world.”

“Is that right? She can’t even say Dada yet. Give her some time.”

“Or Mama.”

“Yes. But you know as well as I do what word she’ll start out with.”

Standard banter between parents, you assume. You wouldn’t want it any other way. You prepare for a counter-tease, but then you fare better. “Of course. Something distinguished and eloquent like crown princess, probably.”

Jungkook blows a raspberry, and when tiny Hana mimics the action, spitting in the process, he roars with laughter. His usual child-like, sugary sweet titter, head thrown back and a hand under his chest.

This right here.

This is worth the pain, you think. Despite the hurdles, you think you’ve settled in this job, understood its responsibilities and set goals that will probably enable the life you desire.

Nothing can break this. Right?

As if diving into your thoughts or seeing them floating at the surface of your eyes, Jungkook reaches out, placing a warm palm on your neck. You look into his eyes, half his face dark as he covers the sun falling in from behind him.

If she wasn’t still on your lap, you’d jump into his, cuddle in and stay like this until the hot ball outside sets and rises again. But instead, you keep staring until he says, “We’re doing well. Really, really well.”

You are.

You have made yourself at home with the most tender of men, have gained luxuries and a noble style of living, still sporting a kind and generous heart. Yet, you’ve never been prouder of yourself.

“We are. And you are! See?” you agree cheerfully, touching his knee briefly. “You were so worried. And now— I’m losing her to you. God, just look at this—”

Her eyes must have followed your hand when it caressed his knee a moment ago. Because she crawls out of your lap, squeaking in joy as she targets his. Climbing it until he helps her up and settles in the way you wished to do just a minute ago.

“Mmmh. I guess I’m great at this, yes,” Jungkook concurs, “seems that bad traits aren’t learned after all, hm?”

The environment might be crucial in many cases, but if one inhabits a strong heart and a solid will, nothing can sway you.

Your chest feels as warm as the weather; your mind is as fresh as the breeze. And staring at his set of cheeks as flushed as the roses planted outside, you can’t help but be flooded with inexplicable magic.

You tell him, “You got into this role very easily. And I’m happy you’re happy.”

And he, the effortlessly fitting, second part of your soul, answers without a moment of hesitation and doubt—

“You make it easy to be.”

The bright, opulent room you enter floods back bittersweet memories in soaring waves.

It has been a while since you attended a noble ball like this. They’re cosier where you live. Smaller, the names less known; differing rigorously from events in the main city, in the capital, in the centre of your country.

Your seethingly beloved lorddom where you now reside has a humble and warm note to it; but no matter how thoroughly you might seek quiet peace, it will never bring the same nostalgia your former home does. Where you grew up.

Where you come from. And where Jungkook comes from. That one connection, indicating where the two of you started; your family; the crowds. This is all your life, playing out right in front of you.

As two of the most noted royals entering the hall, all eyes flicker to the two of you. Their gazes are brilliant and their attire posh. His brother, the host of the night, invited the best of the town; or rather, his wife did.

It’s wedding season again, which means that courting and heartache, confusion and intrigue will come back in all the glory you remember. Even now, you see a sliver of all the drama already.

Because no matter where you look, somebody is whispering. Somebody is eyeing another. Mustering the courage to dance with the object of their affection, or hatching a plan how to go down as the most desired of the year.

And from an outsider’s perspective, it’s fun to watch. In hindsight, you wonder if the crowd noticed the tension between Jungkook and you all that time ago; if they tittle-tattled about you, making up rumours or silent bets on what might transpire between you.

They probably did. You don’t recall much of the reactions as much as you do the touches, gazes, the butterflies his existence brought along.

And just as well, you remember the time before — when you’d hide behind your sister as she sought out a partner. Never did you think that the two of you would come out of the season with a beloved like the ones you now cherish.

And never did you think it would be the man who’d stand near those very pillars you’re now passing, a mere boy, keeping his eyes on you, but never saying anything particularly nice or productive.

It was events like these that you attended with him after he posed the question that changed the two of you.

“Let me court you.”

Sleepless nights. Rainy evenings. Swirling on dancefloors, bonding at orphanages, teasing in carriages. Locked rooms, secret conversations, broken hearts. Unexpected secrets and reunions.

Was that your life within a few months?

When people grow bored or notice the indecency of staring, they drift back to their old conversations. Jungkook and you conclude your entry, soon moving to the side. Fearing upcoming talks with people curious about the two of you.

You sigh as you listen to the strings, stress dropping off your shoulders as you say, “I love Hana so much, but… it’s so nice being here with you again.”

“It is,” he agrees, though hesitating, mouth open as if to add something. And then he does, “I do miss her, though.”

You laugh. Of course. “I know you do. I bet she does, too.”

Of course.

She could barely contain herself from babbling constant Dadadadas before you left. And yes, she said it before she learned to pronounce Mama. An insult, considering that you were the one who tended to swollen feet and a weight hanging off your tummy. Building to the moment she’d call for you.

But no! A daddy’s girl through and through. Then again, you are, too.

You do adore her to pieces, as well, but… it’d be a lie if you said you didn’t look forward to a night without a single obligation. Thankfully, the nanny took it upon herself to take care of Suhana tonight, so you are free to roam.

Despite, she’s already two years old now.

She’s been articulating herself clearer these days, so it’s gotten a little — a little! — easier to explain things to her now. She didn’t whine much when you told her you’d be out for a bit, but come back soon.

She must be asleep already anyway. And you hope you can keep your husband’s yearning in bay, too. You understand; it’s hard to leave. Especially as she stood ogling at you before you bid her good night, muttering a teeny tiny, “So pretty,” to you as you presented your gown.

“Mine?” she uttered.

You squinted, puzzled; you spoke her language, but couldn’t decipher this just yet. “…Yours?”

To explain, she nodded, making you understand when she patted her chest with a flat palm. Eyebrows cocking, you voiced, “Ohhhh. Hmmm. Darling, shall we go tomorrow and get you a pretty new dress for the summer?”

She was unspeakably delighted.

“Do you want to dance?” Jungkook asks, a hand already lifting.

For a while, you’d rather watch. It’s custom to dance, but… you’d rather observe the world from a different point of view, see what they used to see. Besides, you don’t enjoy Galop as much, and that’s what the piano is pulling out of the guests right now.

“You want to exhaust yourself already?” you laugh as he shrugs his shoulders. “Hmm. Am I allowed to decline?”

“Well…” he starts, lightly gripping your wrist, thumb touching it sweetly. “Do you have a card that you need to fill?”

“If you were courting me, yes. But I’m already shackled to you, and can’t escape even if I wanted to.”

“Ahhh,” he draws closer, mouth inches from your ears. Acting as if forwarding gossip, but only driving you insane in reality. “So you want to escape?”

“Something’s telling me I should try and see what you’ll do.”

“I mean, go ahead. Not opposed to going full-courti—”

Your laughter overshadows his last syllable, and you push his chest away, careful not to risk a scandal after coming out here after so long. He’s unabashed and would kiss you right here, if you let him.

So you move away, still giggling, and the moment your eyes lift to the guests, you silence. Right there, among the faces, you recognise one in the distance that had long dimmed in your memory.

You haven’t seen him in such a long time. And you didn’t expect it to happen today, either.

The man must have noticed the presence of a direct stare, because he soon looks into your direction at the very same moment. Squints his eyes, the smile adorning his mouth dropping as he spots you and understands who you are. Eyebrows raise. Features always expressive.

You want to grab Jungkook’s arm and flit away, but the man excuses himself from the conversation, idly strolling towards you and not leaving a way to escape anymore.

“Oh shit,” you quietly curse, and Jungkook hears, alarmed instantly.

He widens his doe eyes, so sweet as he looks at you, fingers coming up to pinch your chin as he asks, “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Certainly, just—”

“Oh… I won’t ask if it’s you because I know it is.”

The smooth greetings are accompanied by a surprised call of your name, and when you look back at the person matching the voice, your expressions move to kindness. You don’t want to appear awkward, and you don’t, but you wonder what Jungkook might be thinking.

Smiling, too, as you observe. But this one’s definitely awkward, the friendly kind that can’t do anything else but wait until the question marks have cleared up for him. Right there in his eyes until you enlighten him.

“It has been ages,” the man in front of you chimes.

“It has been. Years!”

You turn to Jungkook, an introduction sitting on your tongue, but he beats you to it. Still weirdly smiling, as amiable as ever, he asks, “Do you know each other?”

And the man, heart-shaped lips rising back to a smile, apologises immediately, “Ah, yes, yes, yes. My manners. I am Lord Jung. Jung Hoseok.”

He bows, missing the way Jungkook’s mouth parts, eyes blinking nearly unimpressed until— his features become defined all of a sudden, jaw far sharper than usual. Akin to a razor.

He’s not liking this.

“Ah,” Jungkook mutters, returning to the sociable expression that households drill into their children for years. “I am Jeon Jungkook.”

If anybody knew him as well as you do, they’d realise much sooner than later that he’d rather switch the situation with an easier one. But you can’t say any of it yet. You only listen as your past flame says, “You settled so well.”

Of course he knows. You guess after the craze over two years ago, he soon found out what the truth really held. You only reply, “I did.”

“Married life suits you!”

“Thank you, Hoseok! What about you, have you—”

“Oh, actually I—”

He seems much more cheerful about this than you imagined. Then again, what did you think? His life has probably changed now and the sentiments his heart once tended to evaporated. Everyone moves on at some point.

And he sounds genuinely happy for you.

But that’s not how Jungkook seems to perceive it. Because to your chagrin, he interrupts the man facing you, and you immediately hold your breath, already preparing a couple warning words when he starts—

“It is rude of me, but may I perhaps interrupt?” Hoseok silences upon Jungkook’s words, listening attentively, and you ready yourself for more teeth-grinding. “I apologise for being so impudent and straight-forward, but… this is uncomfortable to me because—”

“Jungkook—” you cut, trying to save the situation.

“I know, I just do not wish to let feelings out on anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Hmm…

“Uncomfortable?” Hoseok repeats, watching Jungkook’s Adam’s apple move as he swallows. Ponders over the words hanging in the air, and when none of the two of you speak on, Hoseok finally understands. “Oh! Ohhhh…”

He snaps a finger, and you resist the urge to slap your face. You know you’ll laugh about it in a couple hours; in truth, you don’t care if it might get odd for you because in all pure honesty, the situation has the potential to turn into comedy gold.

But Jungkook has an envious fibre; one to occur rarely, but when it does, he doesn’t hide it. To him, you’re the most striking creature to exist; in his opinion, everybody should be in love with you.

Yet, the thought of you with someone who he might consider better than him is unbearable.

For a second, you consider lifting your frock and storming to the entrance, or a room upstairs and to squish Jungkook’s cheeks between your palms. To make crystal clear who your heart thumps for, to bring back the confidence he’s built in the marriage with you.

But you restrain yourself when Hoseok speaks, “I understand. Back then, I actually hoped to see you at some point because I know what you are talking about.”

Jungkook reacts, “You are?”

“I think so. Is it not about the shenanigans people crafted a few years ago?”

Two and a half years now, to be exact.

“Yes, I apologise,” you chime in, “they shouldn’t have spoken about you or your personal feelings. But I thought you knew I had married and—”

“No, I,” he says, flushing, raising a hand in objection, “I— this is what I wanted to explain, so the two of you never find yourselves despising me.”

Oh god.

“The thing is that,” he hesitates. If you didn’t know his heart better, you’d assume he’s teasing you. But he scratches his temple, scrambling for words. “One of my staff came to my mansion with me as we settled there. He lived in this town before as well. Like you and I did.”

He looks to the side as if he could find that friend here, but then soon lets his eyes drift over you and Jungkook again, continuing, “He had heard stories about… what we used to be.”

“Right,” you add.

“He asked me about it. And my best guess is that somebody must have heard and interpreted that I was still yearning for those sentiments. But I wasn’t. I had a secret fiancée for the longest. I never told anyone until the wedding day neared. So…”

It takes a moment. Then another.

You think back to the reactions each of you had two years ago; how it spread throughout the mansion and spawned chaos in your bedroom. In any good or bad way, and yet.

And when realisation finally trickles in, a big of course ghosting through your minds, Jungkook and you both voice a simultaneous, “Oh.”

You should’ve known. Then again, didn’t you? Didn’t both of you doubt the truth behind the rumours, yet believing what a collective of people said? You guess, once more than one person claims a thing, it becomes more plausible.

No matter that it never was.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” Hoseok emphasises, “it’s not how I felt. Certainly not. I just never thought you’d believe it, or,” God, how stupid, “as a happy married woman, care. So I never bothered reaching out. We both have our homes, right?”

His fingers touch almost shyly, another smile flashing to defuse the situation. You’ll definitely laugh about this later. But right now, you only feel heat in your face, desiring to chase your staff throughout the mansion until they tire out.

Damn it.

“We did. We do.” You put an ashamed hand to your stomach. That feels funny. Weird. “I actually have a daughter now.”

Good change to lighten the moment. You shoot Jungkook a look; his cheeks are as flushed as you expected. But Hoseok does well in playing along, latching onto the new topic effortlessly and naturally.

“Oh, you do? I have a son as well. Maybe yours and he could be friends.” You nod as he talks, grateful for his kindness. “Another’s on the way for us, and Soo swears she can feel it’s a girl this time.”

“That’s so lovely, Hoseok,” is all you need to say. You might not feel towards him as you used to. Whatever flame the two of you ignited all that time ago has long been extinguished, but you always wish the best for him. “That is honestly so lovely. I’m happy for you.”

One single nod, smile reaching his eyes. Then, no more beating around the bush, the end of the conversation already overdue when he says, “Enjoy the night. Don’t ever trust anyone but your own eyes and ears, yes?”

“Yes… you as well, Lord Jung.”

And then he walks away. Leaves the two of you in silence.

Lips tight, eyes on the ground, nearly dissociating until you nod. Then you raise your lips. And then laugh. Chuckling with a shaking head and a hand lifting hand. Touching your hot forehead as you say, “I feel stupid.”

“And I feel stupid…” Jungkook finally speaks, his first words after a while.

“Did we really argue about this years ago?”

“Well, before you reprimand me, I need to defend myself and remind you that the argument worked for us that night, not against us. Did Suhana come from it or what?”

“Do the math, Jungkook! I told you about the pregnancy already a day after. Suspected it that night, too.” You giggle again, amused by his dumbfounded expression. “You know what? Maybe I could use that dance now.”

“Ah? Thought the lady would be rejecting me tonight. That would’ve robbed much of my honour.”

“Shut up, you envious fool. Either you’ll come and sway with me or I’ll never let you forget it.”

“You won’t. Either way.”

You don’t respond with much other than another beam and an accepting palm in his. You don’t need to.

In the end, Hoseok didn’t make a difference. Guess you would’ve lived either way, just the way you are, content and in love and eternally blissful to all obstacles. The evil of the word and sorrow fear you, not vice versa.

Because it’s him. It’s you.

And her. The three of you; three pieces of the same heart.

Or perhaps— perhaps it’s you who’s doing the math all wrong.

yoooo!! it took a while, but we're finally back. as summer and vacation near, i will have a lot more time to write again, so sit tight and look forward to more content, like entertainer and cmi (ofc these two, as well). i really really hope you liked it. some parts were written under a bad migraine and exhaustion, but i hope i could still deliver the emotions well.

and love you all!! thank you for still being here with me :') and stay healthy and happy, don't overwork yourself! hopefully this one could serve as a bit of relaxation. if you liked it, don't forget to let me know as always, no matter if you just arrived here or have been here for some time. and like, reblog, comment as well! you knowww how much i cherish all the words ever sent hehe <3

[carmenized-onions]

Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                    Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

 You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.   

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

[communicationthroughlyrics]

No One's Around to Judge Me

College parties, they were your least favorite thing to do. And yet, here you are, your best friend ditched you, and the person you want to talk to the least shows up.

A/N: Seb is kinda a creep, Kate is off in La-La land. AU, frenemies sorta deal. Fingering, smutty stuff. Have fun, y'all!

3.7K Word Count

Will Never Let You Go This Time

Bodies were pressed against bodies, music blared, and the air was thick with the heady scent of sweat, jungle juice, and cheap beer. There was a cacophony of voices as people talked and yelled all over the room. Currently hiding yourself in the corner of a large living room, you watched the mass of people in various states of intoxication interact. Kate, your best friend, had long since left your side, and she was now dancing with Clint, to try and make her love interest jealous. You looked down at the liquid in your plastic cup, swirling the offensive liquor around what remained of the ice. The party scene was far from your thing, but Kate insisted you needed a break and to meet someone. 

Part of the reason you didn't want to come, was because you knew that Natasha Romanoff would certainly be present. You had been the best of friends growing up, but something changed towards the end of middle school, and by the time you were both attending high school, she made your life hell. You simply could not stand Natasha; clearly, the feelings were mutual.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone moving through the crowd, their figure familiar even from behind. Your stomach clenched as you recognized her long, lean legs and how she moved with such confidence and grace. It was her. Natasha. You briefly considered making a run for it, but the thought of leaving a very inebriated Kate behind, and possibly causing a scene, made you hesitate. Unfortunately, Natasha caught your gaze - the devilish smirk on her face made your gut drop.

She made her way over to you, weaving expertly between the people on the floor and the couches. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, revealing her delicate, pale neck, and her sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were a piercing shade of green, surrounded by smoky makeup. She looked you up and down, an amused smile curving her lips. "Well, well, well," she drawled, her raspy voice like cutting through the air. "Look who's here."

You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even though you wanted to cross your arms defensively. "Natasha," you replied, tilting your head to the side. "I wish I could say I'm surprised."

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side as well. "And why is that?" she asked.

You shrugged, feigning indifference. "I guess I thought you'd have better things to do on a Friday night than come to parties where the only reason people even know who you are is because your daddy's rich."

Natasha's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, really?" she drawled. "And what about you, Y/N? What do you do for fun? Hide in your little corner over here, nursing that disgusting concoction?" She gestured dismissively at your drink. "Or do you just spend your nights wishing you were someone else?" She held her finger to her chin, mocking you in a fake contemplation pose. "Oh! I know, you just want to spend your Friday night wallowing in self-pity and wondering why no one loves you?"

Her words stung, but you refused to let her see that. You forced a derisive laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, Natasha," you said, rolling your eyes. "You're really not that clever. But I guess I should thank you for reminding me why I hated having you around in the first place."

She leaned in closer, her face mere inches from yours. You could feel her breath on your cheek, and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. "You know, Y/N," she purred, her voice a low purr, "I've always wondered why we ever called you 'Little Miss Perfect' in school." She smiled, her teeth a sharp white line against her dark lips. "I mean, you were always so..." She paused, seeming to search for the right word. "...insignificant."

The venom in her voice was unmistakable, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, to not let her see the hurt in your eyes. "Well, Natasha," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, "I guess some people just aren't cut out for the spotlight."

Her smile widened, and she leaned even closer, her lips almost brushing against your ear. "Oh, really?" she hissed. "And what about you, Y/N? Do you think you could handle it?" She paused, her breath hot against your skin. "I mean, you could always try to be more like me. You know, do something with your life besides sit around and wait for people to notice you." With that, Natasha turned and walked away, the crowd of pulsing bodies swallowing her as you caught your breath.

You glanced down, noticing that your cup was almost empty. You needed another drink.

As you made your way back to the makeshift bar, you couldn't help but overhear a group of girls talking about you. "Oh my God, did you see the way she was looking at her?" one of them whispered. "I swear, those two should just fuck and get it over with." You rolled your eyes and tried to ignore them.

You had just reached the bar when you felt a familiar presence behind you. "Y/N," a deep voice rumbled, and you turned to find yourself face-to-face with Sebastian. His dark hair was disheveled, his eyes hooded with lids, and he was wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off his toned arms and chest. "I've been looking for you," he said, his lips curving into a cocky smile. "I thought we could dance, maybe?"

You hesitated for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby. "Sure," you said, deciding to play along. "Why not?" Sebastian led you onto the dance floor, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close. The music throbbed against your skin, and the crowd around you blurred into a sea of moving bodies. You were slowly losing yourself in the music and the feeling of the party around you. 

The familiar feeling of someone's gaze brought you from your slightly drunken haze. Sebastian was still behind you, his arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand clinging to his cheap beer. You scanned the room, trying to find the source. You finally found it, Natasha glaring at you from across the room. You sent her a wry smirk, grinding yourself further onto Seb, just to prove a point.

He groaned into your ear, the sound making your stomach churn. "Oh, you like that, huh?" he growled, his lips moving against your ear. "You want more?" He pulled you closer, his hips grinding against yours as he expertly mimicked your movements. The feel of him pressed against you, the heat of his skin, made you instantly regret this decision. You glanced back over at Natasha, hoping to catch her reaction. She looked...disgusted. Maybe a little jealous. It was hard to tell with her expression. But it didn't matter. You had nothing to prove to her. Nothing at all.

Finally, Tony stood in the middle of the room, teetering on the back of the sofa, cupping his hands around his mouth to make his voice louder.

"Alright, everyone! Time for a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven! If you want to ‘press your luck’, meet me upstairs!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the thrill of the unknown clearly getting to them. You exchanged a glance with Sebastian, both of you seeming to share the same thought. "I... I'm gonna get a drink," you said, trying to slip away so you wouldn't have to be upstairs. You thought you had slipped away successfully, but a firm grip directed you back towards the stairs. 

"Nuh-uh, Y/N, we go upstairs!" a very, very drunk Kate signals towards the direction that a few partygoers were heading.

You roll your eyes, trying to think of a way out of this as you trail after them. The second floor of the house is dimly lit, with only a few scattered lights to guide the way. The floorboards creak underfoot as you and the others make your way down the hall. You hear the sound of laughter and muffled moaning coming from one of the rooms, and your stomach does a flip. Great. This is just what you need. You pause outside a closed door, apparently waiting for an invitation inside.

Kate barges in, the intrusion causing everyone to look at you. Sebastian grins at you, his lips curving into a wolfish smile as you enter the room with Kate. Natasha rolls her eyes, Clint seems to be the only somewhat sober person here.

"Rules are simple, people!" Tony started.

"Oh, fuck the rules!" a drunk guy yelled out, and everyone laughed.

"Ah ah!" Tony shushed the roar quickly, clearing his throat before he continued. "We are going to mix this up a little bit." He smirked as he looked around. "Let's make this interesting. I'll be blindfolding all of you. You will all put your name in the bowl, so you'll be paired up randomly. I will guide you into one of the closets around the room with your partner. The catch? You'll have to rely on nothing but your senses and instincts to explore each other. No talking, no peeking! I will sound an air horn to start the clock!"

As the crowd cheered and the bowl began to fill with folded paper, you felt a sudden hand on your shoulder. It was Clint. "Hey, if you get paired up with Sebastian..." he trailed off, glancing at you meaningfully, "just remember, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

You nodded, trying to muster up a smile. "I know," you said, more confidently than you felt. Inside, your stomach was in knots. You couldn't believe you'd come up here for this. You scribbled your name onto a piece of paper, and as you stepped back from the bowl, a black cloth was placed over your eyes. A pair of hands pushed you towards another part of the room. You could hear the rustling of the paper as Tony picked the first pairing, ushering them into a closet.

All you could hear was more rustling, grunting, and shuffling as more people were ushered into various rooms and closets upstairs. Finally, a rough pair of hands guided you into the room where you were about to waste 7 minutes of your life. You could hear someone else shuffling around, but you couldn't tell who it was. 

Tony's muffled voice rang out, reminding everyone that they could not remove the blindfold and not talk.

You could feel the heat emanating from your partner beside you, as they shuffled closer. the air horn sounded, and they were pressed up against you. Their deft hands feel around you, once they find your body, they begin to feel around you, grasping at your hips, before drifting upwards. They were soft, gentle, but firm. They were most definitely sure of what they were doing. You soon felt thier hot breath on your neck as they leaned into you.

They placed their hands on your chest and began to slide them upwards. The feel of their skin against yours was electric. They gently traced the line of your jaw, and up to your ear, where they nibbled on it gently. You shivered at the sensation and leaned into their touch. They continued their exploration, their hands moving lower, cupping your bottom before sliding up between your legs. Their fingers were so warm, so soft. You were thankful when you could tell that this wasn't Sebastian. The lack of overly musky cologne made you sure of that. Your senses were soon overtaken by the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. 

You gasped as a hand grasped at your breast, tweaking the nipple as the feeling of a pierced tongue was dragged across your neck, gently nipping and sucking at it as you let out a breathy, raspy exhale.

As your partner continued their exploration, their hands gliding over your stomach and lower, you couldn't help but wonder who it was. The heat from their body was intoxicating, their touch was sending shivers throughout your bodies. You felt a tug at the waistband of your pants, and then a warm hand sliding between your legs, teasing at your folds.

With a gasp, you arched your back, pressing closer to them as their fingers found their way inside you. The sensation was overwhelmingly good, and you found yourself quietly moaning into the darkness that surrounded you. The warmth of their breath on your neck and the feel of their lips against your skin sent shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around thier neck, feeling the hair that was down past thier shoulders. Of the guys that were up here, there was only one person who had hair long enough, but this person was definitely NOT Thor.

Their touch was expert, their fingers knowing just how to stroke you, tease you. They slipped a finger inside you, finding your entrance and pressing against it, before slowly, carefully, beginning to thrust. The sensation was incredible, and you could feel your body beginning to respond, your hips beginning to move in time with theirs. You could feel your orgasm building, a tightening deep inside you, as your partner continued to touch you, their lips moving lower, sucking and teasing at your nipple. You cried out, wanting to release. Your partner continued to move, their fingers still inside you, their mouth finding yours in a hot, hungry kiss. They pulled away, finally, and you could feel them smiling against your cheek.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to kiss you," they whispered, their voice so close that you could feel the breath against your ear. "You taste so good." You could hear them sucking off thier fingers, a groan leaving you that was quickly muffled by thier mouth. The hand that had been inside you slid down, finding your entrance once more, and slowly pushed back in. It was so slick, so warm, and it felt so good. You arched your back, moaning into the kiss as your hips began to move in time with theirs. The sensation was overwhelming, your body on fire with desire. They continued to kiss you, their tongue dancing with yours, their teeth nipping gently at your lower lip.

The feeling was incredible, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building deep inside you, your muscles tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. Your partner seemed to sense this too, as they began to thrust harder, faster, their hand gripping you tightly. You cried out, your body shuddering as the release finally came, wracking through you in waves. They held you close, their body pressed against yours, their lips still moving against yours as you came down from the high.

"I know you're not allowed to see, but I want you to look at me." They whispered, their voice husky and low. You could feel the heat from their breath against your neck. You hesitated for a moment, but when they gently pushed your head to the side, you felt their fingers slip free of you. You reached up, feeling blindly for their face as thier hands found yours. You could feel that they were smiling, and you both began to slide the blindfolds off. Of course, the room was dark, but with the tiniest bit of light creeping from under the door.

As your eyes adjusted to the new level of light, your eyes shifted to the person, the woman before you. Your stomach dropped when you realized it was Natasha.

"I knew it," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "I could tell it was you, even though I couldn't see." She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. "I've wanted this for so long."

You felt a mixture of emotions as you kissed her back. Part of you was surprised and confused, while another part felt a strange sense of rightness. Despite the circumstances, you couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of her body pressed against yours. Her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you let out a small moan into her mouth.

As you continued to kiss, you became aware of the weight of her breasts against your chest. She shifted her hips, grinding against you, and you felt a familiar stirring in your own sex. It had been so long since you'd been intimate with anyone, and the desire was overwhelming. You reached down, cupping her through her pants, feeling her warmth and causing her to moan. She arched her back, pressing herself against your hand, and a shudder ran through her body.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavily. "I can't believe this is happening," you whispered, your fingers still exploring her body.

She smiled, running her hands up and down your back. "Believe it," she said, her voice low and husky. "I've wanted this for so long."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but wonder what had changed. Had she always felt this way about you, or was it simply the confined situation that had brought them to this point? You didn't care. All that mattered was the way she made you feel, the heat that seemed to radiate from her body whenever she was close.

"N...Nat?" you whispered, tilting your head towards her. "How? How long, I mean?"

She smiled, running her fingers through your hair. "It's been building for a while," she admitted. "But I think it started when our parents sent us both to that summer camp in middle school."

You felt a pang of memory at that. It had been a terrible time for both of you. The other kids had teased you relentlessly, calling you names and making fun of your differences. But it had been worse for Natasha. She'd been the only other kid there who was as... unique as you. You'd spent a lot of time together, talking and confiding in each other. Even then, you'd felt a connection with her.

"Yeah?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What happened then?"

She laughed softly, the sound musical and inviting. "Oh, you know, the usual teenage hormones. I just... started noticing you differently, I guess." She paused, her eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. "And then, then I got scared." she continued. "I was scared of my parents, scared what Yelena would think, what you would think. So I decided it would be better to cut you out. Distance myself, make you hate me. Clearly, that worked." she chuckled, leaning down and nudging you with her nose.

You felt your cheeks flush at her words, the weight of what she was saying settling heavily in your chest. "I'm sorry I was such a jerk to you," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I never meant to hurt you."

Natasha's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought she might cry. But then she smiled, shaking her head. "It's okay," she said, her voice steady. "I was pretty nasty to you too." She leaned in, pressing her lips against yours again, her tongue dancing with yours in a newfound intimacy.

You wrapped your arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the desire growing between you. You slid your hands down her back, cupping her bottom, and she moaned into your mouth. Her hips moved against yours, grinding against you. The air horn sounded, and you groaned at the interruption.

"We'll have to continue this later," she whispered, breaking the kiss and breathing heavily. "There's still so much I want to do with you." Her fingers traced circles on your chest, and you could feel yourself blush. Suddenly, the door was ripped open, drowning the space you were just occupying in light. You both squinted, turning your faces away from the light.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Tony quipped a cocky smirk etched on his face as he eyed you wrapped around Natasha, your sworn enemy.

You gulped nervously, trying to find the words to explain yourself. "Uh... We, uh... we were just, you know..." You trailed off, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Natasha cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. "We were just having a friendly conversation, that's all." She shot you a sidelong glance, her expression a mixture of amusement and worry.

"Uh huh, sure..." Tony started. "You were having a friendly conversation, and I'm a virgin."

You cringed at his bluntness, but Natasha seemed to take it in stride. "Well, we were just having fun," she said, her tone defensive. "There's no harm in that." With that, Tony nodded, walking away. Nat turned and looked at you, her eyes holding a glint you could no longer hate.

"Look, I know it was... unexpected," she started, running her fingers through her hair. "But I've been feeling this way for a while now, and I just... I couldn't hold it back any longer." She paused, her lips parting as she let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, or if I hurt you in any way. That was never my intention."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You knew she was telling the truth; you could see it in her eyes. "I'm sorry too," you said, finally finding the courage to speak. "I've always felt some sort of way about you, Natty," you whispered, and a shy smile shot across her face at the use of her childhood nickname. "I'm glad this happened."

She leaned forward, her lips meeting yours once more. The kiss was soft and tender, a far cry from their earlier passion. You could feel the weight of the past few minutes lifting from your shoulders as you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her close. As the others filed back into the room, you didn't care who saw you or what they thought.

[yorsgirl]

Angels like you

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: A chance meeting with a stranger in a bar leaves you wishing for more. For the first time in a while, fate decides to bless you.

Tropes: Smut, mild fluff, One night stand AU

Warnings: Intoxication, strong language, explicit smut, fellatio, cunnilingus, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, implied shower sex, No curse AU, implied age gap, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word count: 3.6k

Divider credits: @saradika-graphics

Disaster of a date is what you call it.

No, you aren't exaggerating. It is genuinely a disaster.

Firstly, your date arrives half an hour late at the chosen restaurant. While you could empathize it to be the possibility of being a communal issue (something which afflicts Tokyo often) what you found intolerable was the amount of arrogance he exuded upon his arrival. A mere apology or any excuse would have sufficed; you received none. Instead, he got seated opposite you and proceeded to criticize the restaurant's ambiance, lamenting over and over how there were far better options for this meet-up.

Secondly, if it wasn't evident from the dreadful outset of the date, it certainly did when the lack of chemistry started to show its fangs. His tastes exuded extravagance while you stood as a mere pedestrian before such opulence.

No sooner did the meal conclude and you stepped out of the commolex that you swiftly informed him about an urgent matter with your roommate for which you had to leave immediately.

Pathetic lie? Certainly.

Whether he saw through it or not, it eluded you. Yet, you were grateful that he didn't probe further and let you walk off on your own. Maybe, he isn't wholly irredeemable. Or maybe, his impression of this date wasn't so far from yours.

You'll find the answer to that some other day.

The cool liquor cascades down your throat, leaving a searing trail in its wake. Seated on a stool of a bar you frequented with your friends, you drown out the cacophony of noises permeating from the crowd under the guise of alcohol. Most of the disturbances emanate from the boisterous fraternity boys who're seated at the further end of the bar. Its irritating enough that your evening has been a lamentable failure on top of that you can't even find peace.

You could surely go back to your dorms but it's a Friday night and your roommate is working on something that requires her to bring in some friends (one of the reasons the date was set for tonight). Thus, your chance at peace will remain zero. You lose track of how many shots of liquors have passed your lips as the bartender places another drink of the same in front of you.

Five? No- maybe six? You reach for the shot glass, momentarily muddling your count and starting anew. Typically you don't drink this recklessly but today you do, considering you've to pull yourself back to your dorm later, this is a bad idea.

The bartender presents you with another drink - white wine, something you didn't order. You raise a quizzical eyebrow and he gestures to your side. All of a sudden, you're very much aware of the stranger sitting next to you. 

Though the alcohol in your system makes it difficult to focus your gaze, its difficult to look past someone with such a captivating visage, ivory locks falling over his brow and eyes tinted with a hue of azure which glows under the artificial neon light. A couple of years older than you but he looks undeniably handsome. Chiseled jawline and thin lips which look too soft for their own good. Clad in a grey dress shirt and q pair of blue trousers; he doesn't look any less than a celebrity. With the top two buttons left open, it gives you a generous view of his collar and toned chest which peeks out. Despite being seated next to you, he exudes an aura of confidence which only accentuates the palpable height difference between you both. 

You blink and a boyish grin tugs on his lips as he tilts his head to the side. "Hello there," He gestures to the drink placed before you. "Think you can use one of that."

Fuck- that voice.

You momentarily shut your eyes before reopening them, glancing at the drink with suspicion. His face can act as a good bait to hide his true motives but you know better. Men can never be trusted. Especially when they are dober and you aren't.

"I'd rather not-"

"You seem like you need something lighter."

"I am fine with this," You raise your shot glass to your lips before downing it. The substantial liquid leaves a bitter aftertaste and you suppress the urge to cringe.

"Now, easy there," He snickers. "Just cause you got dumped-"

"I wasn't dumped."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Then a case of forbidden romance? Not allowed to meet your love like Juliet?"

"Would've been so much nice if she just listened to her parents," A sarcastic smile plays on your lips. "A hell lot of less drama and a lot more lives would be saved."

"Not a fan of Shakespeare, I see." He comments, the corner of his lip quirks up.

"The last thing I want to do on a Friday night is talk about medieval literature." You concede and he nods.

"Fair enough." For a second, the man stays silent and you are again back to your solitude. The next, he speaks again, "Then what brings you here, tonight? A pretty girl like yourself shouldn't be alone."

You pinch your lips, recalling the awful date you were stuck into, only moments prior. You sigh, pushing your shot glass away. "I went to a date and... it was terrible."

"Oh," He sounds genuinely surprised but doesn't comment on it. 

Well, that gives him brownie points. You rest your palm on the back of your hand, shifting your gaze which lands on him. Icy blue eyes stare back at you with an intensity that flushes your cheek red. You instantly look away.

A coy smirk slips on his lips before he starts, "Here's an idea. How about I make this evening better, eh? Let me buy you a drink."

Your breath hitches. Did he just- You scrutinize your eyes and the skip of a heartbeat eludes you. The offer doesn't sound bad but in an alcohol-induced state, you need to be aware of who you put your trust in. "And why do you offer this act of service?"

"Angels like you deserve all acts of service," He says softly, ending it with a wink.

And- oh Goodness...

"So what do you say, Angel?"

You drum your fingers over the countertop. Weighing the pros and cons of the situation. For all you know, he can be just another creep but till now he hadn't made any advances to make you uncomfortable, so there goes that. Plus, if he's offering then why don't you indulge? 

You find yourself nodding and he grins. Moments later a glass of white wine is clasped in your hands, similar one with the same drink in his. You raise up the glass and he follows suit, bringing it closer till they clink; sound drowned out from the music and external chatters.

"Thanks," You say after taking a sip. "What's your name?" 

"Gojo Satoru but just call me Satoru," He replies. You nod, saying his name a few times to get the gist of it. His eyes shine with amusement, he asks "And you, Angel?"

A sly smile curves up your lips as you tilt your head to the side, "Just call for me Angel for now."

Satoru smirks and your eyes meet again. Drunk individuals and loud frat boys long forgotten as you find yourself captivated just by his gaze alone. His eyes rake over your figure but you find yourself less guarded. The tension emancipates, he must be feeling it too. Is this the part where you say something? Or do you wait for him to start speaking?

In that trance it is that Satoru hands you another drink, fingertips lingering on yours for a second too long before they glide away. In that trance it is that he speaks again, and you find yourself answering. In that trance it is that conversations swing back and forth with equivalent quips from each side which incites a chuckle here and there. You find yourself letting your guard down as he indulges you in stories of his life. It could be the alcohol for that you find yourself being interested. Or maybe its him that just knows how to create a safe space around him – somewhere you could be just yourself.

You swallow a lump as you find yourself leaning towards him. His knee touches your thigh, the skin contact sends a electrifying spark through you. No sooner did you realize that it happened that you realized he was getting down from the bar stool. A pang of disappointment courses through you but you don't let it show on your face.

Then, the unexpected happens.

Satoru takes your hand in his, the warmth of it enclosing your cold one in a way that you didn't want to let go. He tugs at it, a suggestive glint in his eyes as he looks at you; something which must be gleaming in yours too.

"Will you run away with me?"

.

You blame it on the alcohol when it happens.

"Will you run away with me?"

Of course, you said yes.

Of course, you let him lead you out of the bar filled with people only a drink away from collapsing.

Of course, you stepped into Hotel de Elysium with him.

And of course, you let him kiss you once you were alone in the room.

Satoru's lips move in a sync against yours, he walks you backwards until your back is pressed to the wall. He parts a hair's breath away, eyelashes flutter as he takes in your flushed state – parted glistening lips and cheeks tinted with a red hue. You are a bit tipsy to carefully note any change in his visage. Yet, through the blur you are damn sure that you see him smirk.

His mouth presses on yours again and what starts as a soft, slow paced kiss transitions into a fiery, fervent liplock in a matter of seconds. Arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangle in the locks of his hair.

You hear him groan in your mouth when you tug on the strands and your lips curl up.

Satoru glides his hand down the curves of your body, finally resting on one of your breast. He kneads it over the fabric of your dress inciting a moan from you. His lips trail down to your jaw and neck, sucking on the sensitive skin of the juncture. Your body tingles with sparks flowing through your veins and you involuntarily lean into his touch.

You have to give it to him that Satoru is a damn good multitasker. For while he is busy nibbling and leaving hickeys on your neck, he reaches to unzip your dress, pulling down the neckline as the garment pools near your ankles.

He momentarily detaches his lips from you, looking down at your, now exposed, body. "Fuck– Angel, you're gorgeous." The words of praise and the lust burning in his eyes are enough to send a shiver down your spine. Thoughts jumbled and your lack of sobriety allows you to not be that embarrassed. He pulls you flush against him, holding you by the hip and his lips come down on your again.

"Mhm, yeah–" You moan into his mouth as his tongue prods and engages in a rhythmic dance with your own.

Not the one to back down, after you part, you instantly reach to undo his belt. He chuckles, "Eager, are we?"

"Yes," No need to lie when the tension is already sky high. Switching both of your places, you fall to your knees and unzip his pants. The bulge of his cock straining against his briefs causes you to widen your eyes. His member springs out and for a second, you lose your mind. He's big. Both in length and girth, mushroom tip tinted with a blush pink. Maybe you have had seen others before but you're damn sure he is one of the biggest you'll know.

"Like what you see, Angel?" His voice drips with arrogance and boy- don't you hate that? Yet, too drunk on lust with a short circuited brain can barely think, you answer by swirling your tongue on his tip before latching onto it.

"Shit," Satoru curses under his breath, fisting a handful of hair to establish a grip. "Yeah, Angel. Ah– like that"

You bob your head up and down, taking him in as much as your mouth allows. His head tips back, swallowing a lump in his throat which is unfortunately not enough to hide his moans. You lick and suck him like a child eating a lollipop, stroking the base of his cock as your fingers run over the erogenous veins.

You're sure he is enjoying himself. Even more when you gagged on his cock and more when you lool up at him, fluttering your eyelashes – feigning innocence.

Your determination to give him the best head ever gets rewarded soon after.

Clothes discarded and back pressed on the creased, silken sheets, Satoru works his tongue on your aching cunt like a starving man getting his first meal in days. He swipes and nibbles over your erectile bud, pushing two fingers inside as your walls clamp down on his digits, enthusiastically.

"Ahh– Satoru, ngh– yeah," The moan induced gasp incited from his skillful mouth makes your back arch, pushing yourself into his mouth. You could feel him smirk against your pussy, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin as he firmly holds you in place via your thighs.

You are light headed and you don't even register the string of curses that flow out of your mouth. The only sensation is how he delves into your folds, rough hands pressing on your thighs and the need to release all of your pent-up tension.

You're close. Your muscles are twitching. So close. He's eating you out so well, swiping your spots and folds that you wonder if your fingers will satisfy you again.

"Ahh– fuck," You curse aloud, the wave of pleasure washing over you.

You don't get a second of rest after you come down from your high. Satoru is hovering over you, hard cock pressing on your thighs as he looks for a condom before you shun him, "We don't need that, I am on the pill."

"Are you sure?" He asks again, concern pooling in his irises.

"Yes," You nod in conformation and he takes his cock in his hand, positioning himself in front of your entrance. He coats the tip with the essence of your pleasure and hence, plunges in.

The gasp that escapes and your widened eyes are enough evidence of how much and how good he stretches you out. He yanks out the all before shoving back inside your cavern again. Each stroke pushes him deeper into your depths as your folds welcome him graciously.

A fire burns in your body as both of you indulge in this dance of your own. Wanton moans and curses escaping your lips which you pay no heed. "Yes- Ahh Satoru– like that- ahh."

A sheen of sweat marks itself on his body, beads glistening down his well-defined abs. He interlaces his fingers with yours, holding you firmly against him while he continues to move inside of you.

"Shit– Angel, gnnh– feel s'good." Pupils dilated, messy hair and groan induced with pleasure. He looks at you with an amalgam of emotions, none of which you can read with your stupor as he keeps on fucking you dumb.

Mouth open wide, you try to breath in as much. Each stroke hammering right upto your chest, he fills you up so perfectly that it has your eyes rolling back in your head. Making you feel like a virgin all over, your velvet walls suck him in eagerly

The room reeks of lust and sex, filled with you and your partner's pleasure filled sounds. You feel your insides twitch and soon you let out a scream, milking him with your cum. Only a few strokes later, he empties himself inside you.

You feel him collapse beside you. For a minute, both of you lie there silently, staring at the ceiling and letting the exhaustion slide of off you.

The smell of sweat reaches your nostrils and you cringe, "I'll take a shower." Sitting up, you attempt to rise, before that Satoru takes a hold of your wrist. You glance back, "Hm?"

"I'll come with you." Said so, he gets up as well. He holds you by the waist, helping you walk to the bathroom.

White tiled walls and floor greet you, skin feeling awfully cold against the hard surface. You turn on the shower handle, the sprinklers pour down water on your tensed body and you sigh in relief. Satoru stands beside you, the water runs over his skin as well, drenching each sinew and crevice of physique in it's droplets. You take a harmless peek at him, must not be to your surprise but he's staring back at you.

Only the water pouring from the shower head emanates the bathroom.

Yet with the droplets running over you, it would be ironic to say that the spark still burns. But it does. And oh well- Satoru's lips presses over yours again and you response with equal fervour. Pushing you back against the wall, he holds you by the waist, other hand reaching down to grope your ass.

He pulls away, looking down at you with the same glint in his eyes which he had at the bar.

"Ready for round two?"

Blame it on the alcohol again.

Of course, you said yes.

.

You wake up alone.

Greeted by the splitting headache as you wince trying to sit up on the sheets. When did you fell asleep, yesternight? Well... you don't know that either.

Glancing around you find your belongings, neatly kept at one corner of the bed. A frown falls on you seeing only your pair of clothes kept aside.

Satoru and his belongings are gone.

Sluggishly you put your feet down on the cool tile. That's when your sight falls on the nightstand. A glass of water and a packet of Antacids rests on the table. Only after you have taken the medication did you notice a note kept under the glass.

Hey, some urgent work came up so I'll be leaving early. I could've woken you up but you looked so peaceful that I can't. Order breakfast if you want and don't worry, all the bill's on me.

I had a good time, last night. Thank you, Angel.

–S. Gojo

.

The weekend passes by a bit too fast and before you know it, monday rolls in.

Last year of college and nothing can go wrong until your professors decides to torment the students by asking them to make three files – project, practical and investigatory – for the semester exams like last year. Fingers crossed, you just wish fate doesn't play you this time around.

Currently, you sit beside your best friend in your university classroom as she prattles about her weekend. You keep up with her conversation, speaking in between when the moment calls for. Though your attention should be on her, it relays back to Satoru and that fateful night.

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'll ever end up having a one night stand but- oh well... here you are.

It's easily one of the best sex you had in the longest time and you can't help but hope for more. Satoru seemed to just know how to make it work and damn, you were addicted after one taste. And the way he called you Angel made your stomach churn in a way- unexplainable.

Is it a bad idea if you decide to show up in the very same bar, the next Friday? Is it bad that you are hoping to meet him again?

You snicker inwardly before pouring all of your attention back to your friend.

"–and on my way to class, I saw this handsome hunk in the hallway and Girl- I was just..." She breaths out, hearts twinkling in her eyes.

"Good grace," You sigh. "You're smitten, now who's this new one who caught your eye?"

She sheepishly smiles and starts to fill you all the details then ranges to his looks. "I saw him in the corridors, talking to Principal Yaga. He was like so tall and he's got blue eyes, like oh my god- more perfect combination just can't exist."

A smile quirks up your lips at her enthusiasm, "Ask him out then."

She sighs, "I wish."

"Why?"

A frown etches on her brow, "Cause he's supposed to be our new professor."

"Wow," You breath out, almost sarcastically. "Your choices are... spectacular."

She shoots you a scowl and you snort in return. Folding her hands over her chest, she speaks, "You'd be smitten if you see– Oh my God! That's him." She points behind you and on cue you hear another voice echo in the classroom.

"Good morning, Class. I am your good looking teacher Gojo Satoru."

Wait- that name, that voice...

Instantly, you crane your neck towards the direction of the voice and- may God help you.

Oh fuck!

"Oh fuck!" Your friend gushes from beside you. Though the curses match, both of you share antagonistic emotions.

And there he is, your one night stand or maybe now, your new professor.

Satoru's eyes scan the classroom before they stop their train on a familiar face, so does his steps halt. His eyes widen like he has seen a ghost.

You are pretty sure, your expression mirrors him as well. And you don't know how but you do hear him muttering under his breath.

"Seriously?"

Seriously.

Fate truly does hate you (love you).

[thedevilrisen]

Prompt Poll - One

Jack Hughes x sister!Y/N

Prompt: “You don’t have to tell me anything, we can just sit here”

Description: Jack’s sister has relationship troubles, Jack knows what she needs.

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Would be greatly appreciated if you could reblog. I love talking to people so say 'Hi' if you want to. Feel Free to send in requests as well. I'm happy to write for most hockey players.

Warnings: Crying, swearing, thats probably it! Mainly just good brother Jack fluff.

-Sincerely thedevilrisen.

-:-

Wet sniffles and the front door opening and closing with a quiet click an hour before it was suppose to is something that concerns three exceptionally protective brothers very much.

Quinn was the first to launch into action, tearing off the couch and toward the sound that scares them all half to death. Their sister, crying.

Before he could even leave the room in walked a sodden, puffy cheeked, red eyed girl. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead and across the sides of her neck.

"What the hell happened?" asked Luke, half hysterical. Turning around on the couch, bug-eyed at sight of his normally well-put together sister a wet shivering, mess?

"Nothing Luke."

"Well that's bullshit." the troubled boy shot back.

"Lukey, just calm it for a second." Jack asked, significantly calmer than both of the other boys.

"No, Jack, Luke's completely correct in his statement!" Quinn, normally level headed, fired off. "She's crying and home way too early aren't you meant to be at Jessie's?"

"I'm not crying Quinn! I'm cold and Jessie is at her dad's!" the young girl warbled. "I'm going bed. Goodnight."

"Like hell you are!" the oldest shouted. "You're going to sit and tell us the truth."

She hated the way Quinn spat the word truth like he knew she'd been lying to them. She hadn't been lying per-se, not to all of them and not in great amounts, just leaving out certain details.

"Y/N, it's okay go upstairs and sleep if you would like to." Jack spoke sternly, more so at Quinn then at then now shivering girl standing meekly at the bottom of the staircase.

"Jack! Are you with us or against us?" Luke stated betrayed, the slight recognition in his features as he slowly realises his older brother's nonchalant-ness.

"I'm on neither side. If she doesn't feel comfortable talking then I don't think we need to pry." Jack continued, trying to diffuse the situation.

"What do you know." Luke's eyes narrowed along with his accusatory remark.

"Nothing more than you do." Jack stated calmly. He wasn’t fond of hiding information from his brothers especially when it involved their sister. He had his reasons though.

-

Jack’s Friday night plans did not consist of comforting his devastated sister.

A quiet shuffle of footsteps along the carpet in the hallway was barely noticeable amidst the cacophony of a summer storm. Light crept slowly into Jack’s room.

“Jacky?” an unreasonably timid voice asked into the darkness.

“mh- ompf.” he had grumbled, back digging into his phone which had been lost when he drifted off. “what’s up kid?”

"can i talk to you please?" she had mumbled through the small gap.

"yeah," he hoisted himself up from the bed. "come in kid, what's going on?"

"ihaveaboyfriend." she spoke at lightning speed. standing by the door apprehensively almost like she was ready to run if she needed.

slowly comprehending jack blinked drearily. "im sorry what?"

taking a deep breath she took a few steps and sat on the end of the bed. "i have a boyfriend," she spoke solemnly.

"shouldn't that be a happy thing?"

"he stood me up three nights in a row."

"ah, a not so happy thing." jack mumbled now realising the gravity of the situation.

"no.”

“what can i do to help?” Jack sighed. at this statement the smaller girl launched into his arms.

“don’t tell Quinn or Luke.” she cried into his chest.

“is there something else you need to tell me?”

“I do, but not now.” the girl crawled up closer to the head board with her brother and tucked herself under he arm.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, we can just sit here.”

“Thanks Jacky.”

-:-

This is probably the most half-assed thing ive ever wrote. im terribly sorry. 👍

if anyone cares i will be putting out the next prompt post later today and something about the au im creating!

find the prompt list for requests here.

[delicatebarness]

wildflower ridge ranch | chapter one

Summary: An encounter at a bar leads to confrontation, and old feelings between you and JB resurface.

Warning: Violence | Sexual Objectification | Controlling Family Dynamics | Tension

Word Count: 2043

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: This was meant to be the prologue but I decided to change the order last night, so I thought I might as well post this chapter since it's already written.- Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

A cacophony of music, laughter, and a distant clinking of glasses was exactly what you needed. You’d been looking forward to this Friday night all week– getting out of that house, away from the ranch, and the constant watchful eye of your daddy and brothers. It wasn’t often you got to come out; when you did, you tried to make the most of it.

Of course, your daddy wouldn’t have let you come if it weren’t for the fact that Curtis and Johnny were out tonight too. It took some convincing, but when Curtis promised to keep an eye on you, Daddy finally gave in.

“She’s with her brothers, she’ll be fine,” your mama muttered to him as they watched you close the door behind you. And now there you were, surrounded by a noisy crowd, and dim lighting. 

Off with their friends, you weren’t too worried about Curtis and Johnny watching you too closely– busy talking about who knows what, and probably ranch business. There was nothing you cared about at that moment, you just wanted to dance. 

The wooden boards creaked under your boots as you moved, the fast, upbeat music pulling you onto the dance floor. You couldn’t help but smile as you found your friends among the crowd, and the thick air filled with the smell of beer, and sweat. Letting the music take over, you lose yourself in the rhythm, laughing and spinning around. 

Somewhere in the background was JB, you didn’t know his eyes were watching you the entire night. Or, see how they followed you across the room as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression etched across his face as he watched.

His jaw tightened every time another man got too close to you on the dance floor, and he gripped his beer a little harder whenever you shot a smile toward someone who wasn’t him.

“My god, what I would give to ride that piece of ass,” a slurred voice behind him sneered. 

JB turned stiffly, his eyes darkening a deep shade of blue as he caught sight of the moron responsible for the comment– a city slicker, all polo shirt buttoned-up and filled with arrogance. Hearing the guy continue to talk, louder this time, it was clear he was speaking about you, and didn’t know what kind of trouble he’d just started.

Without hesitation or thought, JB made his way across the bar, boots thudding heavily with each step. Curtis called his name, but he didn’t stop. Grabbing the guy by the collar, he saw red as he yanked him to his feet. 

There was a tense silence as the confrontation escalated. By then, you watched with alarm as JB’s grip on the man’s collar tightened.

“You talk about her like that again, and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body,” JB growled, low and dangerous. Fury burned within his eyes. The city slicker’s arrogance was palpable, and a grin spread across his lips.

“You think you scare me, cowboy?” The man sneered, disdain dripping from his voice.

JB clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, trust fund.” 

A punch landed hard, knocking JB off balance– the city slicker’s friend, who had been observing from the bar, swung into JB’s side. Rushing towards the chaos, Curtis and Johnny were by JB’s side. From there, everything spiraled out of control. 

Now grinning with twisted satisfaction, the city slicker’s friend had made the mistake of thinking he had the upper hand. But, the whole bar knew, JB and the Rogers boys were far from intimidated. 

“You wanna go, too?” Johnny growled, his fists clenching as he stared down another one of their friends. “Come on, then. Let’s get this started.” 

Patrons scattered, and the laughter was replaced with the clattering of furniture. A barstool came flying through the air, narrowly missing you as you ducked behind a table. Fists flew, and bodies crashed into each other. 

Curtis embodied calm fury, casually grabbing a nearby chair and swinging it at one of the city slicker’s friends. The man was sent sprawling into a group of onlookers. Johnny, however, was in the thick of it, trading blows with anyone who flew one, movements fluid and precise as he knocked the opponents backward.

Meanwhile, JB was locked in a brutal exchange with the city slicker– surprisingly who was resilient. They grappled and traded punches, yet as JB’s fury took over the city slicker’s smirk faded.

Just as the fight seemed to reach its peak, Bucked landed another solid blow to the guy, sending him sprawling. He was outmatched and tried to scramble to his feet, but Johnny quickly restrained him. Curtis and a few others started pushing the remainder of the city slicker’s friends toward the exit. 

Seeing an opportunity, you ran toward JB, who was now catching his breath, eyes scanning the bar and surveying the damage.

“James,” you softly urged his name, your eyes widened and pleaded as you looked up at him.

He understood immediately, and without needing any further words, he nodded. Making his way toward the door, his hand absentmindedly brushed your arm lightly, leading you toward your brothers.

As you all stepped outside, the night air hit you like a cool wave. The distant sound of sirens reminded you that the sheriff would likely be arriving soon. 

Parked just outside, Curtis’ Cadillac Escalade felt like a haven of normalcy, and you settled into the back seat, with JB following close behind.

Johnny, still catching his breath, chuckled as he turned around from the passenger seat, a hint of a grin on his face. “Well, that was one for the books.” 

The beams of the headlights swept across the familiar silhouette of the house as Curtis pulled into the long driveway of the ranch. As the engine clicked softly in the silence, you tried to calm your racing heart. There was still the faint smell of beer and sweat in the air, mingling with the scent of the earthy ranch as Curtis turned off the headlights. 

JB hadn’t said much since the fight, his arm rested on the back of the seat, not close enough to touch but you could feel the warmth of his body. The tension between you was undeniable.

Curtis stretched with a groan, leather creaking underneath him as he shifted in his seat. “Ari’s not gonna be happy about this,” he muttered, pushing open the door. 

Johnny shot you a quick glance, your twin's brow furrowed. “You alright? That was… a lot.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “I’m fine. Just glad it’s over.” Johnny didn’t look entirely convinced, but nevertheless, he shrugged before stepping out of the car, following Curtis’ lead.

As your brothers made their way toward the house, you and JB lingered by the car, enveloped in a stillness. Neither one of you spoke for a moment, stretching out the quiet.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered finally, glancing up at him. The faint glow of the moonlight caught on the scruff of his jaw. 

Turning his head slightly, he met your gaze. “Didn’t like the way he was talkin’ about you.” 

The weight behind his words was something more than anger, you could see it as his blue eyes softened. He had never been the type to let anyone disrespect you, but this was different. This fight wasn’t because of what the guy said– he jumped into it because he needed it.

Your throat felt tight as you swallowed hard. “I can handle myself, James.” 

“I know, darlin’” he replied, his voice low. “That doesn’t mean I’m gonna stand around and let anyone treat you like that.” 

The words hung in the air, with a heavy intensity. That same protectiveness that once made your heart race, back when things were different between you two. Back when you were more than just the boss’s daughter and another ranch hand. But, that had been around six years ago, and a lot had happened since then.

Shifting on your feet, you suddenly felt exposed under his gaze. It was as if he could still see the parts of you no one else could– the parts you only shared with him.

“You don’t have to protect me anymore, James.” you softly said, the words filled with all the history between you.

His jaw tightened as he looked at you. “Old habits, I guess,” he muttered under his breath, but there was something that made you think tonight wasn’t just about old habits. 

This tension wasn’t new to either of you– it had always been there, it even stayed after things ended. Yet, tonight felt different. There was a rawness, a pull that neither of you could ever ignore, no matter how much, or hard you tried. 

During that summer it felt like nothing could touch you, between sneaking around, stolen kisses behind the stables, and whispered promises under the stars. You both had been so careful, and it was as if you had carved out a little piece of happiness just for yourselves. However, the reality of your life, your daddy’s expectations, ranch pressure, it had all been too much. And whatever it was that you and JB thought you could have all fallen apart that night when the truth almost came out. 

After that, before anyone found out, you ended things. You both decided it was better to break your own hearts than let your family do it for you. But the feelings never disappeared, they were still buried deep, simmering beneath the surface. 

Resting his hand on the roof of the car, he turned to face you fully before leaning in just a little. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough for the memories of the times you had once shared this proximity to come rushing back. 

“You should go inside before they start askin’ questions,” he said firmly.

As your heart pounded in your chest, you bit your lip. You wanted to stay and ask him what this all meant, if maybe after everything, you could try again. But, the rationale Rogers’ part of you knew better. It knew that, whatever this was between you two, it couldn’t happen. Not at the ranch, not with your daddy and brothers watching your every move. 

“Goodnight, James,” you whispered, making no move to leave.

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer, he reached up as if to cup your cheek or brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. But, the connection never came, instead, he dropped his hand and straightened up. Stepping back, he added a distance between you, but not so much that you couldn’t feel the pull between you. 

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbed as if he wanted to say more but he was holding back. Unspoken words always hung between you both, a wall of restraint. 

“I’ll see you around, darlin’” he muttered, his voice almost hollow.

As you walked away from him and toward the house, you could feel his eyes on you. You glanced back one last time as you reached the porch, your breathing catching as you saw him standing watching by the car, still.

There was no wave or call out after you. He just stood as a silent figure in the moonlight, waiting until you were safely inside. 

A flicker of movement inside caught JB’s eye. Up in one of the upstairs windows, hidden by the curtains partially was your Daddy– Mr Steve Rogers. He was watching the whole exchange, the silent conversation between you two, with his arms crossed, and his usual stern face now etched with a knowing look. 

JB could tell by the way the man stood, that he wasn’t pleased. This was not the first time he had caught you and JB sharing moments, especially like this one.

When he spotted your daddy, JB’s entire body stiffened, clenching his jaw for a second. And, at that moment, he stepped away from the window, leaving a clear message as he disappeared into the shadows of the house: whatever this was, it had to stop.

---

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[ivyodessa]

Hellcheer Anniversary Week Day Two - Friday Night Football Game

"T-I-G-E-R-S! GO TIGERS GO!" the squad yelled in unison while Tina and Rochelle did double front handsprings in the front. The two of them grabbing pompoms and rejoining the group for the final cheer.

Chrissy was in the center of it all, smiling and yelling as loud as she could with her squad. Hers. She was the captain now, the responsibility passed down to her at the beginning of senior year just a month ago.

The Homecoming game was the first big night to show off everything they'd been working on during cheer camp this past summer and the first few games of the season. Try as she might though, her focus kept getting stuck on a figure clad in black sitting at the very top of the bleachers smiling down at her.

Their pompoms pumped the air as they gave their final chant "GO, FIGHT, WIN!" and before she knew it, the announcer was welcoming the marching band and color guard to the field. Halftime finally, thank goodness.

She looked up to the top of the stands and expected to find a lanky metalhead with a Cheshire grin, but his spot was suspiciously empty.

Chrissy turned to Abby Lancaster, one of their best flyers, "I'm gonna get a drink from concessions, I'll be right back!" and walked off before the girl could even give an affirmative nod.

She made her way through the crowd of people milling around as the show began and found a small gap to crawl underneath the bleachers. It wasn't long before she saw the glowing cherry of a lone cigarette in the darkness.

"T-I-G-E-R-S! GO TIGERS GO!" Eddie cheered in a high, girlish voice while waving his arms in an uncoordinated attempt at a cheer routine. "You looked pretty good out there, princess," he chuckled warmly, flicking the cigarette aside.

"Oh yeah?" she said with sweet smile. "You think we can cheer them all the way to the championships?" She made her way to him and placed her hands on his chest, gazing up at him adoringly.

"Can you? Absolutely yes. Do I want you to? Fuck no. I want these fuckers to lose every game. I hate having to sacrifice Friday nights with my girl." His girl. Eddie Munson's secret girlfriend. The thought always set her cheeks ablaze.

"If I'm your girl why haven't you kissed me yet?" she pouted playfully.

With a smile he cradled her face and leaned down for a gentle kiss. A kiss that quickly turned heated. Her hands made their way to his hair, scraping his scalp and pulling a moan from him that she swallowed down eagerly. His hands inevitably made their way under her cheer skirt, squeezing and kneading her ass as his teeth and tongue turned her brain into fuzzy television static.

Somehow she broke away from their kiss, panting and still holding onto a fistful of his hair. She stared at his kiss swollen lips and then looked up into the rich chocolate of his wide eyes, a perfect shaft of light from the bright field lights illuminating the warm, brown canyons found in his irises. The cacophony of sound around them didn't even seem to touch them here in this private dark place.

She touched her forehead to his. "I missed you," she whispered desperately, her heart still beating erratically from their kiss.

"You're telling me," he huffed out a laugh, "Longest fucking week of my life."

She toyed with the chain around his neck, "But we're together now. And I plan on sneaking under the bleachers with you every game, just so you know."

He smiled and looked deeply into her eyes, "Whatever you want, princess."

She pulled on his necklace, bringing his face infinitesimally closer until their lips almost touched, "Just you, always you," she whispered.

[caniibeyourfavorite]

bad decisions part 2 || Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Summary: the beginning of yours and Rafe’s relationship (this takes place during the time where Sarah and John B aren’t dating). You and Rafe start dating, eventually leading to your first time

warnings: 18+, smut, slight angst, some curse words, mentions of drinking, just fanfiction, minors do not interact

author’s note: English is my second language (and I wrote this in the middle of the night) so please ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes

“Where do you think you’re going?” John B asked you. Your older brother had always been so over protective.

“I’m going out,” you shrugged casually, trying to walk past John B and leave the house.

“Where are you going?” John B asked, stopping you again.

“Bye!” You called out to him as you walked out the door and waving, ignoring his question.

You were going over to the kook’s part of the island, and the reason you didn’t tell your brother that is because the car in front of your house belonged to Rafe Cameron. He was waiting there for you in his car, grinning when he saw you walk up to him. He got out of the car to open up the passenger seat door for you.

“Thanks,” you smiled at him, a bit surprised at how polite he was being. “You’re welcome, princess,” Rafe replied, letting you get into the seat before closing the door for you, and the nickname made you roll your eyes.

You two went out to one of the restaurants in town that belonged to one of the richest kooks in town. You had never been there before, you didn’t even know the name of the restaurant. As a pogue and a Routledge, you were always intimated by these sorts of places. It wasn’t too fancy, considering it was still the outer banks, but there was still no way you could afford anything there.

“Rafe…” you trailed off, a bit nervous as you whispered to him, “I don’t have enough money to even afford the fries here…”

“Relax, I brought you here, of course I’m paying for our date,” Rafe said as if it was obvious, but also like he really didn’t like making you worry. Trying to read Rafe Cameron was way more difficult than you could have ever imagined.

You two spent the rest of the afternoon together, talking. It was surprising, actually. You would have never thought that a kook and a pogue like yourself would have anything in common that you could talk about for an hour. You talked about everything you two could think of. He asked you about your hobbies, so you told him about how you loved surfing, making jewelry, and saving turtles with Kiara. You didn’t know what to expect from the date, but it was actually amazing.

Afterwards he drove you home and asked you if you wanted to come to a party with him on Friday in a few weeks. You knew it would be a kook party, what other party would Rafe Cameron go to? And as much as you didn’t want to be in a house full of arrogant kooks, you were seriously starting to like Rafe.

You two spent every day before the party going on dates, and every day he surprised you with how nice and charming he actually was. During those days, your brother, John B, still disapproved of you hanging out with kooks, and then livid when he found out you were dating Rafe. But you really didn’t care what John B thought.

When you and Rafe entered the house, the first thing that you noticed was the cacophony of music and voices and random kooks breaking expensive things. You also noticed all the different types of alcohol that this house had, and how the kook teens wasted all of it so carelessly. The air was thick with a mix of sweat, expensive perfume, and the scent of alcohol. You weaved through the groups of teens, following Rafe to wherever he was leading you.

He introduced you to his friends Topper and Kelce, and then his sister Sarah. They all joked about what you were doing with Rafe, Sarah even said you could do better before walking off to some other group with Topper. All their comments made Rafe tense up. But those were better than all of the stares and whispers from everyone else, all directed at you. Kooks wondering who invited the pogue into the party, how you got to date Rafe Cameron, and why you thought you were welcome there. Any time Rafe would hear someone make a comment about you, his grip on your hand got tighter, more protective.

People, who Rafe knew, would come up to you two and ask him things like, “where’d you even find this girl?” They would laugh, and some pretended like they were only kidding, but you knew they weren’t. You knew you didn’t belong at this party, that you didn’t belong with any of these kooks. And you didn’t want to belong with any of them anyway, so why did their words still affect you?

Maybe part of you was hoping you and Rafe would make a good couple, maybe you could actually work. You knew it was a stupid idea, a look and a pogue.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore, and so you began to walk away from Rafe, brushing past the crowd of people distracting him. But of course he noticed you leaving. You struggled to get past everyone and were just about to walk out the door.

“Where are you going?” And of course you recognized his voice. Rafe was standing there in front of you when you turned around.

“I’m leaving,” you said simply, but his hold on your wrist prevented you from turning around and heading out the door.

“I can see that, so why? Where you going?” Rafe asked, and for a moment there you could’ve sworn he sounded disappointed.

“Home,” you answered, and the look on Rafe’s face almost made you feel bad. He let go of his grip on your arm.

“Why?” Rafe asked, visibly confused.

“I just don’t think I should stay,” you said quietly, avoiding eye contact with him, “it’s not like anyone really wants me here anyway…”

“I want you here,” Rafe said, scoffing as if you were being ridiculous.

You didn’t say anything so he continued talking, “don’t tell me it’s about that shit those drunk idiots said.”

“Well… they’re not wrong…” you trailed off, still not looking Rafe in the eye.

Rafe gently grabbed hold of your chin, lifting you head up so you’d look him in the eye, and told you, “yeah, they are.”

You rolled your eyes at Rafe, not really believing him, so he kissed you. Since you guys started dating, you’ve kissed before, but this kiss was different. He leaned down so he could be closer to you, and the kiss was so passionate you almost forgot about everything and everyone in the world. You forgot about the stares, the comments, the mean jokes, the kooks, and the pogues. In that moment, it was just you and Rafe. Once you finally pulled away from the kiss, you were slightly out of breath and Rafe was smirking at you.

“How ‘bout, we leave this stupid party and go back to my place,” Rafe suggested, and as stupid as it might’ve seemed to anyone else, you said yes.

——————————————smut below—————————————

Rafe drove you back to his house, and luckily his parents were out of the obx for some sort of business that you didn’t really understand. Once you were in the house, Rafe immediately pulled you in to another passionate kiss.

He pinned you against a wall, only breaking the kiss to whisper to you, “jump.” That way your legs were wrapped around Rafe’s waist and he could carry you to his bedroom.

He gently placed you in front of his king sized bed, letting you get on it by yourself. He then followed you, moving your head so he could kiss your neck.

“Rafe… I um… I’ve never actually…” you stuttered nervously, making Rafe pull away from your neck.

“Do you want to stop?” Rafe asked gently when he realized, looking at you and trying to read your face as he waited for your answer.

You thought about it, but you knew how much you wanted him, how much you needed him. “No, I wanna keep going.”

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll be nice and gentle with you, I promise,” Rafe whispered before going back to kissing your neck.

It was like Rafe knew all the right places in your neck to kiss you, making you whimper. You felt so shy and embarrassed that you really did try to be quiet, but Rafe wanted to hear you.

You felt him tug on the hem of your shirt. “Off,” he breathed between kisses and nips to your throat. “I want this off, princess.”

You blinked once, a bit nervous, before doing what Rafe told you to. You pushed him off of you just a bit, that way you could lift yourself up before you peeled the fabric from your chest. At first you wanted to make Rafe anticipate you, but as soon as you started taking your time he gave you this look that made you squirm. 

As you slowly took off your bra, your heart began to race and you Rafe was resisting the urge to do it himself.

But once he could finally see you, he nearly groaned. “Oh, good fucking girl… good girl...” 

He began to suck bruises into each part and curve of your breast before teasing the nipple with his tongue, then moving to the other breast and repeating his actions. You knew he was trying to be gentle with you, but the slow and teasing agony was killing you.

Rafe trailed kisses down your body, finally reaching your thighs and taking off your shorts, making you whimper again. “Rafe…”

He slowly began tracing the hem of your panties, teasing you before whispering, “promise me you won’t listen to the stupid shit those kooks say.”

You nodded, but Rafe gave your thigh a squeeze so you whispered, “I promise, Rafey…”

“Rafey?” Rafe repeated with a raised eyebrow before chuckling, running his finger up and down your covered core, watching you grow even more needy for him, smirking when he heard your small whimpers. “As long as I can keep calling you princess, fine, keep calling me ‘Rafey’.”

You looked away, squirming when Rafe began to take your panties off, so he gave your thigh another squeeze in order to regain your attention, “I want you to look at me, princess…”

You looked at Rafe, watching as he took off his clothes, smirking when he saw the way you were staring at him. His fingers finally reached to pull aside your panties, plunging his wet digits into your heat. You immediately cover your mouth with your hand, not wanting Rafe to hear you moan due to embarrassment.

“Come on, princess, let me hear you moan for me,” Rafe groaned, his movements beginning to speed up more and more.

It felt so different than anything you imagined, the pleasure so intense, and Rafe did it so easily. His signature smirk never left his face as he watched you squirm in his grasp, clutching onto the bed sheets as if they were your lifeline. You could feel your pussy squeeze around his fingers and he groaned.

“Fuck you’re so tight. You gonna let me give you your first orgasm, hm sweetheart?” You let out another breathy moan at Rafe’s words. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make your first time worth it, baby,” He purred in your ear and you felt your own body melt to his touch.

All you could do was moan and whimper as you felt him curl his fingers, and you rolled your eyes back when he prodded at that spot that had you jolting forward with a long moan. Rafe grinned wickedly at your reaction. He was clearly enjoying the way you gave him such innocent but lewd expressions that he couldn’t help but want to ravish you entirely. 

“Stop moving those legs or I might just have to tie you up, princess,” Rafe’s words were a warning, teasing you for how much you were squirming.

“Stop t-teasing…” you whined, giving Rafe a glare, and pouting up at him. He thought you looked adorable like this. 

Rafe leaned in towards you to place hot-mouthed kisses across your neck again. You mewled at his touch as you felt his lips move along your body as he kissed and licked your smooth skin. Your breath hitched when he left a hickie on your neck, squeezing around his fingers even more now. You felt his breath against you and in a way it was comforting. Your hands reached up to knot into his hair, pushing him impossibly closer towards you. His fingers never stopped their movements, each thrust causing a jolt of pleasure to sing through your body.  

“C’mon doll, cum all over my fingers,let me see you make a mess of yourself like a good girl, I wanna stretch you out, get you all nice and ready for me before I fuck you with my cock.” He purrs and it’s all you needed before you began spasming around his digits. You feel a gush of liquid spray from your pussy and you gasp, not used to that sensation. Your entire body ached as you orgasmed, shaking with pleasure as you moaned continuously. 

Rafe smirked at the mess you’ve made, sliding his fingers out and gathering all your liquid before pushing it into his mouth, tasting your cum as if it was something he had been waiting for. 

“Tastes so good, baby,” Rafe chuckled at your flushed face, leaning down to kiss you, and you could sort of taste yourself on his lips, making you squirm again.

“You sure about this, princess?” Rafe asked you, making sure you were ready and not uncomfortable, as if you hadn’t spent this entire time moaning in pleasure for him.

“Yes,” you whispered, still panting a bit and trying to regain control of your breathing.

Your eyes widened when you felt his cock prod your entrance. Your eyes locked with his and Rafe had a familiar cocky glint in his eye. He took his time before he bottomed out, groaning as he watched your eyes roll back. His cock stretched you out, even after he fingered you earlier. The mere thickness and size of him alone made you clench around Rafe. His cock practically forced you open, prying your insides apart, causing tears to form in your eyes. 

Rafe noticed and leaned in closer to you, kissing those tears that fell down your face, one of his hands going to hold yours as a form of comfort as he cooed in your ear, “I know, baby, I’m sorry, I promise it’ll feel really good, okay?”

You nodded, brain fuzzy as all you could think about was Rafe.

You threw your head back onto his pillows as his cock fucked into you. At first he started slow, but eventually his movements began to speed up. His thrusts began to grow more relentless, needing to feel you cum around him. When you looked at Rafe you could see some of his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and he reached his hand up to push his locks out of his eyes. 

Rafe then moved his legs over his shoulders, making his cock hit at a different angle causing you to be in a new position, tears of pleasure spilling down your flushed cheeks, your nails gripping onto his shoulders. He grinned and burried his head into your shoulder, fucking you even harder than before, knowing that he could since you already adjusted you him.

“Go ahead, baby, cum, cum all over my cock, good girl,” His breath was hot on your ear and you felt yourself melt he praised you. Somehow, this orgasm was even stronger than the last, and you were gushing all over him, body throttling as you felt strangled sobs leave your throat, all of Rafe’s name.

Rafe kept pounding into you, cock brushing against your walls as he chased his own orgasm, curse words and praise falling from his lips, “Such a good fuckin’ girl-Keep squeezing me like that, baby.”

You felt his cock twitch inside of you and suddenly you felt heat make its way into your pussy. You gripped onto him tighter, pulling him impossibly closer as your hips raise. He practically flooded your walls, making you feel relieved at the fact that you were on birth control. 

Your body was exhausted and you still barely managed to catch your breath as Rafe was still tucked into the crook of your neck.

“That…that was… wow...” You mumbled under your breath, unable to stop the words for escaping your lips.

And although you didn’t realize it then, you were starting to really fall in love with Rafe Cameron.

That was probably the stupidest thing you had ever done.

————————————————————————————————

quick note: that was my first time writing real smut so be nice pls also I’m really starting to like writing this story

[synthshenanigans]

So with this

And this

https://www.tumblr.com/annes-shenanigans/723547917550600192/themosseccentric?source=share

I made this

Its only an idea/sketch of it & they might change but the idea is there!

[chosclub]

After Last Night, 𝟏

PAIRING — choso ° f!reader GENRE — one night stand au!smut WORD COUNT — 6.1k (side eye) WARNINGS — cunnilingus (f!reader receiving) º penetration º 18+ smut! CONSPECTUS — After spending too long mulling over a breakup, you decide to join your friends to the bar they frequent, hoping for a new beginning and the guitar-playing, angel-voiced singer looks like a good contender. PARTS º 𝟷 º 𝟸 (coming soon)

A/N: If you were thinking to yourself:

"Damn, I wish I had a soundtrack-like playlist to listen to as I read",

We might intergalactically connected

It’s right here

Listen in order (obviously)

☆

According to the multiverse theory, there are infinite amounts of you, they all diverge upon different branches made up of decisions and indecisions. But out of infinity, there exist two current versions of you that are living simultaneously at almost midnight. One is curled up in bed, luminated only by your lamp, blurry light like a warm blanket as you scroll on your phone, eyes brimming with exhaustion. The other is squished between dancing, drunk bodies, in a dress slowly riding up your thighs, sticky, sweaty and exhausted. If your fate lay in your hands like a magic orb, every decision only decided by you, the beholder, you’d pick the first reality; To be half-asleep, in bed, alone but in good company. However, it’s been months since you got dumped and–

“I just thought to myself, fuck it yanno? Life’s too short to care about some man!” You shout over the blaring music to Maki, who seems to be completely in her own world, eyes shut, face jungled by her hair as her head sways side to side.

“Yeah! Fuck men!” To your surprise she shouts back, reaching out her drink to clash against yours and chug in solidarity. A cacophony of voices from your friends join in, shouting the same. Can’t count how many of these moments have happened up to this point, some with complete strangers, most with the girls who dragged you out in the first place. The burning that initially rested in the back of your throat is no longer there, replaced by the insatiable desire for more – more drinks, more dancing, louder music, more excitement – fast forwarding through a movie and trying to fit in as much as possible. 

This rush of adrenaline has taken over you like a quenched beast, thirsty for more energy in any form it can latch on to, you decide to take a lesson from Maki’s book, closing your eyes, trying to absorb the music into your fingertips and arteries. Granted it’s been…a while since you’ve gotten to have a night like this, relationships sneakily take it out of you, it’s apparent your tolerance has depleted and the expectations for a Friday-night-out for everyone is your wannabe-alcohol-blackout-bender. 

The bar your friends frequent is a small one but always lively, the building feels like it’s going to spill over with the amount of people that fill up the dance floor, the bar, the patio. Moreover, Nobara offhandedly mentioned a hottie (her words) that plays with his band every weekend. 

There’s a newfound feeling, a thought that screams within you to disregard the fear of what could happen next — you have no one to answer to, no man in the corner telling you your dress is too short, no policing on what fun you could have. It’s an epiphany, only amplified by the alcohol that takes over your whole body, swaying your hips more deliberately, leaning comfortably into the air, lifting you and everyone else up until the entire dance floor floats. 

In an instant, the bubble is poked, atoms popped and disintegrated into the air; you have the ball and a football player just hungrily tackled you for it. Except you’re at a bar and a tall shadow of a being just bumped into your shoulder with a rushed force like you were the gate blocking his way through.

His hands hover over your shoulders as he floats through behind your back. “Shit! I'm so sorry!” He’s stopped to, presumably, only check if your brain is still intact inside your skull before he sets to rush through the rest of the crowd. The linger feels like an eternity to you, two paradoxes standing still among the dancing crowd that elevates around them. He’s almost made it to the stage when you come back down to Earth, leaving you standing still, without words. Another you would’ve cussed him out, grabbed him by the collar of his white shirt and brought him close to your nose to spill threats straight into his nostrils, this you only stares as he maneuvers from behind everyone, spilling an occasional excuse me you can only decipher from the movement of his lips.  

You watch as he props his foot onto the edge of the stage, a leap he climbs over with ease. He props his guitar over his shoulder, resting his hand on the strings. He stands over the crowd like a giant, the murky clouds drifting at his shoulders, he stares intently down at the people that seldom notice his band’s presence, sans one. The lights are dancing along his frame, pink purple blues illuminating his visage. His hair is split in two spiky buns, only a few strands that frame his face, his eyes dark with seriousness, a stripe the color of his eyes tattooed across his nose. 

The music drifts, dragging a series of groans, cheers, boos with it as he enters the indigo lights. 

He stands alone, adjusting his guitar and stepping closer to the mic. The lights dim a cool blue, leaving him as the center of attention, the focus. 

He steps on one of the pedals by his feet and begins to play a riff on his guitar. It’s a slow intro, already having captivated the audience, who have begun swaying to the entrancing melody.

He’s closed his eyes at this point, dipping his head down causing the loose strands to stand still on the tip of his nose and cheeks. His chest rises slowly in preparation, he leans closer to the mic, lips just grazing the metal grid of the mic head. He joins the melody and God, his voice is fucking angelic. He’s entered his own world now, paying no mind to the captivated crowd at his feet. His voice is raspy but strong, he’s singing as if the next verse is his last, the grate of his throat transforming the cringy 90s song he covers into an emotional ballad. You remember the melody, blasting from your older brother’s CD player, chorus bleeding from his room into yours until you banged a fist against the shared wall, signal for him to turn the volume down.

Your friends emerge from the rest of the crowd behind you to join the statue they left behind, watching, gazing at the dark-haired, angel-voiced performer. 

“No fucking way, is this Boyz II Men?” Nobara calls, propping her elbow on your shoulder like a pigeon landing on a limestone sculpture. 

“Yeah,” is the only word you can muster. 

She nods, “I’m into it.” The rest of you nod in unison like ogling robots, all at the command of the singer. Everything else sounded blurry, except for his voice. He’s reached the chorus, belting the notes, occasionally letting the audience peak at his irises, flooded in the iridescent indigo light. 

“I used to hate this song but–” A sentence left unfinished, floating with the air particles because whatever you say is no match for his melody and the way it has enchanted the crowd. 

The song concludes, the crowd enveloping him in cheers as his other band mates emerge from the crowd, picking up their respective instruments and talking amongst one another. Maybe it is the wow-factor of the band or maybe they are from outer space but you notice their uniquely styled hair; The bassist looks like a sea urchin, hairspray-locked spikes peeking out from his head of hair, the one with a mint-green detailed guitar next to him, pastel pink hair washed out by the dazzling white spotlight. The main act, the lead, listening to the two conclude a quick soundcheck, two buns lazily hanging on his head, the strands of hair slowly being picked up by the soft breeze of the ceiling fans and being dropped back on his forehead. 

The bassist begins striking a weighty, groovy riff and like a stack of dominoes, the background track and the guitarist follow lead. The pink haired boy inches his foot to his pedal board, tapping one slightly and his guitar begins to sound gritty; It’s a beat you can’t help but bop your head to. The lead singer’s voice has also taken a new approach from the ballad-singing, emotional sound before. This time, he’s closer to the mic, head dipping down so his irises glare forward and his voice swings in a way you’ve never heard before, left fingers carefully changing chords. His confidence and slight smirk drive a stake through your chest, heart pumping blood to get any other body part other than your head to move. His ability to soften his voice in falsetto for the pre-chorus leaves you captivated because holy shit he’s good. And holy shit are the three of them coordinated. 

The pink haired guitarist quickly taps a different pedal on his board, the bassist immediately playing a different riff, one heavier, more viscous. The slow riffs from the mint-green guitar send the crowd slowly swinging, bopping their heads. The singer adapts as well, grabbing the mic stand with one hand; You can’t tell if the wavelengths traveling from the bass guitar to you are affecting gravity itself, if the three of them smoothly transitioning to the slower part of the song, or if standing for so long has made you light-headed, but you’d bet the triple digits in your savings account that the raven haired, two spike buns singer glanced into your eyes. 

You exhale at the slight exchange, two stars orbiting a galaxy and only for a nanosecond meeting at a conjunction; When you blink, his eyes are closed as the other two band members begin singing the background vocals, leaving the lead to show off more of his falsetto.

—☆

The alcohol that was streaming through your veins has died down, only leaving behind heavy eyelids and a fuzzy view of everyone dancing. You and your friends linger around the bar, your elbow propped up on the wood, your only crutch to stay awake. The people have begun to fizzle out, the band playing earlier taking a break, the speakers booming with 2010s R&B. 

You wish you would’ve seen him approaching, like an entity identifiable by their silhouette, the shadow growing bigger and bigger behind you. 

“Hi,” he begins and before you can turn around to acknowledge the greeting, he continues, “I’m really sorry about bumping into you earlier.” 

It is then you turn your head from the rest of the conversation, catching a glimpse of the girls as they stare as if they’ve seen a being and are too scared to tell you that it’s about to devour you first. 

Now that he’s closer, he’s taller. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug, smiling, “I mean surely you could’ve navigated a crowded venue better but who’s to say?”

He has the same gaze from earlier, iridescent eyes unafraid to maintain eye-contact. He smiles and purses his lips to the side as a terrible cover up for his smirk. 

“Settle it with me and let me buy you a drink then.” 

You try to play it cool, but you’ve already used up all the shrugs and he’s already leaned his elbow against the bar, cocking his head to the side; He’s made himself comfortable because he already knows the answer. The other girls have already left, you see Nobara’s amber hair from your peripheral standing outside with Maki and Mai. 

All the confidence and allure you can convey to him, trying your hardest to mirror him – “Sure.” 

He turns to face the drinks, the only time you can look at him meticulously without him noticing. You stare at the tendons on his neck, his white shirt that hangs loosely on his form as he leans closer to the bar to get a bartender’s attention. Your gaze makes its way down, defined muscles outlining the shape of his arm, he rests his left on the bar and his right he holds by his face, a soft wave to catch the eye of the bartender who has his back turned to the both of you. You don’t dare look down further. He turns his head to you just in time before your eyes can make it past his waistline.

You blink at the bartender who stares expectantly back at you – An unsuspecting passer-by that watched you gawk at the spiked-bun singer. 

“A vodka cranberry, please,” 80% cranberry, you wish to add because you want to spare tomorrow-you the turmoil, she’s dealing with enough from the sleep-deprivation as it is. The bartender glances back at him, asking if he’s starting a tab or closing it off. He drives the inside of his cheek between his teeth before requesting to close it. 

Once the bartender has turned, tending to more drinks and drunken orders, the raven haired boy turns to you, leaning temple against his palm.

“I love your drink of choice –” He tips his head forward slightly, pausing for you to fill in the blank.

“____” 

“I love your drink of choice, ____”

“What did you get?” You pause as well, waiting for him to give a part of himself, an equal trade so that even if every memory from tonight diminishes tomorrow, each other’s names will remain. 

“Choso,” He reaches the arm he was balancing his temple on to shake your hand, you giggle at the sudden formality and he smiles expectantly, like he knew that’s the reaction the gesture would ensue, “A whiskey neat.” 

“Oh, simple, I like it.” 

The bartender comes back with the two drinks,  one a radiant rouge, the other a brooding umber. He leaves the checkbook for Choso to fill out and departs once again.

You take a sip of your drink, the bitter taste of vodka hitting your bottom lip; As if by telekinesis, the bartender had taken the ratio you thought of and flipped completely.

You exhale a biting breath. “Damn, that’s so strong.” 

“You don’t like it?” Choso looks at you as he takes a sip of his drink, lips tipping the edge of the glass back. You can’t help but stare, wishing you were the drink. He swallows a sip back without even wincing. 

“Not how I’d make it, I guess.”

He raises his brows, “You bartend?”

“Yeah, a few blocks down.” You nod, “I guess on my days off, I come to spend money here instead of getting the drinks for free at my own workplace.” 

He smiles, “Makes me feel fateful you chose tonight to blow your money on a 200% markup.”

You shrug, “of course, anytime.” 

— ☆

The cold fall air is nipping so late at night, you try your best not to stumble over the cobble, shamelessly hanging on to Choso’s arm as he tries not to stumble over you dragging his body down. It’s nearing 1 a.m. and the music booming from the bar suddenly turns off, drunken bodies shuffling out and trying to figure out where to venture to next.

“Who lives closer?” You suggest. You glance up, expectant, and although you reach his shoulder, it still feels like Choso towers over you. He turns his head slightly towards you, but the eyes are what lock in with yours, waterlines lifting as he smirks. 

“What’re you trying to whore me out? We just met!” He exclaims. Panic almost rushes to your chest before he quickly chuckles, “Fuck dude, I’m totally kidding, I’m sorry. My apartment’s nearby if you’re willing to walk a bit.” 

You exhale, nodding because he seized all your words from you. 

The night envelops you both in her dark embrace, mid-October wind pulling your coat back as you use your hand to cover any part of your face you can keep warm. You and Choso try not to stumble and you try not to turn and look at him as he walks, his eyes focused straight ahead, jaw lightly clenched trying to bear against the wind. His hair flowing behind him exposes part of his face you hadn’t seen yet, soft pale skin, he looks different, his tattoo more in view despite the color of it partly blending with the night sky. 

His apartment is a few blocks away from the bar, a duplex he says he shares with his bandmates, Yuji and Megumi. The road is quiet, streets lined with cars and the glowing of streetlights is the only warmth you two can seek out in the cold. From the outside, the duplex is brick-lined, bay-windows on the first floor that overlook the street; You can see a warm light radiating from a lamp left on inside. 

You reach the top of the steps, Choso unhooking his arm from your hold and fishing through his jacket. The keys jingle as he inserts one and opens the door, allowing you to enter first into the warmth. The living room is eccentric, a long lamp reaching over the couch, orbs that illuminate the room hanging from the metal. The couch is caramel colored leather, lined with pillows on each side, matching the side chair and the walnut wood of the table. A fireplace faces the couch and everywhere, everywhere, on the floor, on the bookshelves, propped against the coffee table, are vinyl records, they line the player, they cover the table.

“Wow,” You exhale a breath, face vibrating with warmth, “this is an insanely nice place.”

“I know, right? We’ve been renting it for a while, got extremely lucky.” Choso floats in behind, hanging his jacket on the coat hanger and heads for the kitchen. “You want anything?”

You turn to face him and the kitchen, a large bar counter lined with stools and next to it, a dining table. These guys really like lamps, you think to yourself, eyes glancing at a small lamp on the corner of the counter. “Water, please.”

Choso nods and you both turn in sync, him towards the cabinets and you to your left to look at the bar cart that’s placed in between the living room and the walkway to the kitchen. You gander at the alcohol, accessories, and the fancy, when-the-guests-are-here glasses. When Choso approaches from around the counter, he asks, “just water?” 

“My liver’s going to give out by tomorrow,” you cringe at the thought, tomorrow-you hungover, tired, and miserable. “But you do have all the ingredients for a mojito, and it is one of my favorite drinks.”

“Can I watch you make it?” You look at him and there it is again; his intense gaze, looking straight at you as if there was nothing else in the world that could keep you out of his sight. All you can do is nod. 

You grab the muddler, container of mint leaves, and rum; Choso reaches from behind you to grab the syrup and you both set the ingredients on the counter. He opens the fridge, grabbing ice and a container of cut strawberries. 

“Could these work?” He holds the container up.

You shrug, “haven’t tried that before.” 

You add the leaves to a tall glass as he grabs a cutting board and begins to cube the strawberries. You’re side by side working in sync but you can’t help but glance at the way his veins protrude from his forearm even when he’s relaxed, how muscular his arms look, the overhead lighting shading in the valleys of his forearm, making the muscle bulge in the light. Your chest tightens watching him glide the knife across the stem of a strawberry, angling the knife to cut the fruit into smaller pieces. Unlike him, you’ve been enjoying the secret glances you get at him rather than the blazing eye-contact. It’s a game you’re unsure he would participate in, an act you don’t want him to catch you in, a secret between you and yourself; In this moment the only person that gets to secretly admire the valleys of his muscles is you. 

Frankly, staring at Choso had already built up a demand of sexual frustration that you are taking out on the mint, extracting every last drop that you don’t notice when he slides the cutting board full of glistening, cubed strawberries towards you. You hope he doesn’t notice how much you’re torturing the mint, the creased leaves sticking to the glass. But you also hope he does.

He announces he’ll be back, departing from the counter and disappearing to the living room. You don’t want to turn back to follow him with your eyes, the desire bubbling inside you like a geyser. Instead, you can hear him shuffling, stop, then hear a record crackle as he lowers the needle. 

He’s back at your side, watching you intently split the batch of strawberries in two, adding them to their respective glasses, and smashing them as well. You can feel his quiet stare on your shoulder as the record begins to play. You almost laugh when the music floods the room; He’s queued slow songs, full of bass that have your body vibrating trying not to bop your head or move your body. The room is filled with honey, it radiates from the soft yellow lighting, it flows from the record player and sticks to every corner and has begun flooding to the ceiling until everything is tinted yellow. 

After adding ice, you reach for the double-sided jigger he pulled from one of the drawers, measuring the simple syrup on one side, pouring into the glass, and rum on the other side. 

“Oh, fuck, almost forgot,” he states, startling you in your state of thought about his body. He opens the fridge again, grabbing a lime and a half-consumed bottle of club soda. He slices the lime between his hands, handing one half to you to squeeze the juice out of. Your knuckles turn white at the intensity of the squeeze, all the frustration from his gaze, his confidence, his voice, traveling to your forearm. He hands you the other half for the second glass and then the chilled soda. After pouring, you give both the glasses a stir, sliding one towards him. 

He doesn’t waste time tipping the glass back and taking a sip. You have to divert your eyes to the dishwasher to not stare at the way his collar bones come into view and the way the tendons on his neck project. 

He exhales a quiet breath. “____, this is so fucking good,” he says, making your eyes switch back to him as the edge of your glass is steady on your lip, not quite ready to tip over. “I saw you pour in the rum but I can barely taste it.” Dangerous, he adds, grinning. God he’s almost making your eyelid twitch. 

You finally swallow back a sip. 

“I’m glad you like it.” You smile, amidst the warmth, the music, the soft lightening, his compliment striked out, making your cheeks warm; You have to look down out of even more embarrassment that he noticed a compliment so simple made you blush. 

Maybe the pent up nervousness has affected your depth perception because when you look back up, you swear he’s hovered closer. He holds the glass to his lips again, slowly indulging another gulp and staring directly into your retinas. His gaze is so fierce you can’t help but stare right back; His tattoo is in full view when he sets the glass back down, empty, the well of it rouge with strawberry nectar. The music that’s continued to play isn’t helping either, the way he has his arm extended on the counter, biceps stretched, isn’t helping at all. The record spins. The song that plays intros with a guitar solo which leads you back to him, thinking of his fingers strumming each individual string under the iridescent lights.

There’s a soft crackle as the record halts. It catches you off guard, eyes deflecting as you watch the needle automatically lift and levitate back to its place. 

From your peripheral, Choso hangs his head down before sliding his hand off the counter and turning to flip the record over. You chug back the rest of your drink quickly, head dipping forward again to admire his back and the way his white shirt hangs from his shoulders to his waist. You watch him take each side of the record in his palms and give it a flip. Then pick the needle between his fingers and hover it over the record. Then pause. Then turn. Then all of the sudden, he’s walking at a quicker pace, wider strides, back to you. You catch a last glimpse of his dark irises before he’s grabbed the side of your face and enveloped your lips in his. His lips are soft, cold from the ice, bitter from the alcohol, but tender nonetheless. His right hand travels underneath your coat to your hip, pulling your body forward by the flesh. He lightly sucks on your bottom lip before pulling away. Eyes blown out like supernovas, breathless, he says, 

“I had to kiss you,” the words spill from his lips in a rush like he was going to die if he didn’t get to taste your lips. 

You’re still both attached at the hip, a branch splitting in two, his breath reaching the tip of your nose, his eyes gazing into yours in expectancy. You lean forward once more and take his lips in yours again – If the universe were to collapse in on itself, what a way to go making out with Choso. This time, he kisses with fervor. His hand leaves your cheek to slide to the back of your neck and gently tangle his fingers in a handful of your hair. His tongue prods at your lips, pushing against the flesh to meet yours. The sensation of his tongue simultaneous with the way he drives your lip between his teeth has you letting out a whine into his mouth. At this, Choso’s nails dig into the flesh of your hip. 

Fuck, he softly groans, beginning to walk backwards and dragging you with him – you willingly follow like he’s holding you by the leash. You can’t let go of his lips the same way he can’t let go of his hands from your body; The feeling of him so close has sparked the fuse that’s slowly begun to inch closer and closer to the dynamite. The way he holds you steadily as you almost trip over his feet fills your chest with warmth, filling every crevice with color and making you lightheaded. You’ve wandered into a bedroom, his, unable to let go of each other and almost tumble in front of the bed. You slip your shoes off using your opposite ankle, detaching your lips from Choso’s to take a breath. He’s breathing loudly, his chest rising with every inhale, the hair on top of his head inflating and deflating when he exhales. 

“Kiss me again,” he breathes, waiting. And you do. He’s kissing you passionately, jaw wider, unafraid. His tongue slides on yours in passing as he slips his on the soft and slick side of your bottom lip. Your hands begin to stray over each other’s bodies and he pulls you close again. The tip of his hardening cock prods your groin shamelessly. He spins you both, your back now facing the bed; He lets his hands wander down from your neck to the zipper of your dress, dragging the fastener down the metal teeth agonizingly slow. Your dress loosens when the zipper reaches the end and he slides the fabric from your shoulders. You’re standing before him, almost naked, vulnerable. He’s staring and you have to look away, knowing the heat that flows through your temples isn’t because of the mojito. He backs you slowly onto the mattress, the lamp on the bedside table is a low light, the equivalent of a candle or the shade of moonlight when it’s a full moon, enough to keep the shadows of your bodies hidden but enough to appreciate what you can see and feel of Choso. With your distraction of the amount of lighting in the room, Choso has already lifted his shirt from his shoulders and hovers over you. His pale torso is wide, you can see the scales of his side abs, the shadows of his abdomen contrasted by the light. His right bicep is by your ear now and he leans down to meet your lips again. 

Your hands reach the stretch of his sweatpants, sliding your thumbs underneath the band and the rest of your fingers slide the pants down his thighs, he has to wiggle his leg to toss the fabric on the floor, making you laugh. He smiles. 

Choso brings his chest close to yours, reaching his hands underneath your back to unclasp your bra. It feels freeing when he takes the garment and tosses it to the side of you and begins to pepper kisses onto your neck. You’ve both fully committed now, there was no room for pointless mind reading; When he reaches your collarbone and sucks on the skin, you think you’d be stupid not to understand his feelings. He’s wandering down further, confident as he delves deeper into the anatomy of your body. He kisses the valley between your breasts, settling on a particular spot to leave a deep purple mark. He takes one of your tits in his mouth, licking the soft and sensitive skin around the nipple and suckling on the bud. The feeling leaves you whimpering, taking a handful of his hair and pushing him closer to your skin, trying to burrow him inside you forever. 

He doesn’t succumb to your pressure, traveling down the valley of your stomach to your underwear, he slides his palms up your thighs and slides the panties off. Without wasting any time, his mouth is on your core, licking whatever nectar has begun to seep out. A hot summer’s day and he divulges on an overripe apricot, sinking his tongue against the slit, sucking every drop of the juice out. You moan, the wonderful feeling is heat to your core, you can feel his cock harden against the flesh of your thigh. Yet, he keeps going, grabbing your leg to make sure it stays open for him. A part of you wonders if he’s even breathing, his mouth busy on the flesh of your cunt and his nose reaching your clit, you wonder if he’s too focused on your pleasure to breathe. His tongue peeks inside your walls, then retrieving to lick up your slit and repeating. You’re on the cusp of an orgasm, muscles clenching, when he takes his middle finger, sliding it in the soft flesh. His hands are cold, they cool you down like melting ice cubes when he touches you. The feeling of his tongue and finger is overwhelming but you don’t want it to cease. You feel an orgasm coming on, afraid if he adds another digit, you’ll combust like the death of a thousand stars. He looks up the hill of your body, watching the tendons on your neck stretch as you lean your head back against the covers, your stomach heaving up and down. Without a sense of control, he moans into you watching you relish every moment. He slips a second finger, a silence in the room between your soft whimpers all you can hear is a gush. He picks up his pace slightly, leaving you melting into the bed. Breathless and whimpering, your orgasm flows through you like thrashing waves kissing the shore. 

Every muscle in your body contracts and relaxes, you feel Choso plant soft kisses on your inner thighs. His lips are soft, relaxing you and bringing you back down to Earth. He floats back up to you, looking into your eyes, you can barely open them to look at him properly. He hovers over your lips, kissing them, softly sliding his tongue to yours, you can feel the moisture on his chin and practically taste yourself on his lips. 

You’re eager to continue, relish in his pleasure like he relished in yours. You don’t want the night to end, to conjunct at one point and diverge from each other forever. You’re trying to signal to Choso that you can continue, trying to kiss him harder, tougher. You reach your hand down to his briefs, the soft fabric slightly wet with pre-cum. He smiles into your teeth in response,

“You want to keep going?” He asks. You nod, licking his bottom lip. He begins to lift himself off of you, leaning over to his bedside to try and scavenge a box of condoms. 

You reach for his shoulder, “I got an implant,” smiling almost encouragingly. He laughs, it’s short but it sounds heavenly, a complete contrast from the brazen persona you’ve gotten to know tonight. He slides his briefs down his legs. He leans closer to the side of your head, driving your earlobe between his teeth. You take his divergence from your face to grab a hold of his cock and guide it to your entrance. 

The feeling of your orgasm is still remnant, overwhelming as Choso’s dick fills your walls but your desire to continue overrides any discomfort you have. He groans softly against the nape of your neck, dragging his hand to your hair and gently grasping a handful. You feel so good, he whines, his whimper a low and deep moan, sexy, leading you to close your eyes and drive your hips further against his. 

With each thrust, the movement between his push and yours makes a slush sound, sap spilling against him, it’s almost embarrassing, almost, because you swear it makes Choso’s cock even harder in you. 

Choso fucks you slow but hard. Venus observa. He feels so captured by your cunt, that he’s lost all other motor functions, his lips lazily and sloppily kiss and lick your neck, your face, your ear, he’s lost complete control, shamelessly groaning against your cheek. The sounds that come out of his throat only drive you closer and closer to your release. You whine and moan against his ear, his cock burrowed in you in perfect fit, your hands stray to his shoulders, then back, digging your nails in as he drives into you deeper. He reaches one of his hands down your stomach, pressing a finger against your clit and stimulating the area in rhythm with his thrusts. You clench your muscles against him in preparation for your orgasm, Fuck, he draws out the word, groaning at the feeling of your folds tightening against his dick. You orgasm almost simultaneously, you first, arching against him and yelping an ah! at the intensity. The air is popping like bright stars, you salivate at the feeling of spilling on his cock. Choso follows you, coming in you, adding to the complete mess he’s made. 

He stays on top of you, his skin warm against yours, until you feel him inhale and slide off your stomach. You open your eyes, retinas embracing the warm light; when you turn to face Choso, his eyes are closed, the light pours on him like golden nectar. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not asleep,” he smiles, breathing slowly and softly. You think for a moment, eyes drifting to his torso, tattoos etched at his ribcage and abs. 

“When’s the last time you had sex before this?”

He scrunches his nose, trying hard not to laugh. “Actually, I am asleep.” 

You chuckle breathlessly, “I’m only wondering, I promise. It’s been six months for me.”

“Ooh, close enough. Almost a year.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, trying to remain inconspicuous to the surprise. No offense to Choso, on the contrary, you think someone so attractive would have a line out the door. 

He opens his eyes, indigo retinas flooding with light and you can tell by the slow blinks, the way his eyes are almost squinting that he’s tired. “Have you ever been to the small restaurant on Second street, a couple blocks down? They have a great breakfast.” 

“I don’t think so, no.”

“We should go.” He pauses, awaiting a reaction, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you smile, Choso’s fatigue drifting to you. 

He leans and hovers over you, clicking the lamp switch off and dragging his blankets over the two of you. Even with the light turned off, you can see the silhouette of his body, covered by the blankets, scooting closer to your warmth. You’re staring at the moon reflecting out the window, hearing Choso’s breathing slow, too tired to think a single thought. 

[tosomeonessomeone]

Ocean.

words・2.1K/pairings・Hyunjin x reader / genres・angst, fluff? / warnings・ none His recent Instagram post sparked my inspiration, and when I heard the song "Oceans" by Jeena, I felt it resonated perfectly.

In the heart of Paris, a city that pulses with life even in the quiet hours, I found myself standing by the Pont Neuf, the oldest standing bridge across the Seine. The streets around me buzzed with activity as people hurried to their destinations, their voices blending into a cacophony of sounds that filled the air.

Under the enchanting veil of a Friday night, the sky above Paris shimmered with the twinkling lights of countless stars. And there, amidst the urban hustle and bustle, I stood alone, a solitary figure bathed in the gentle glow of the streetlights.

With the ancient stones of the Pont Neuf beneath my feet, I looked up, my eyes drawn to the celestial marvel of Jupiter, gleaming brightly in the expanse of the night sky. Its presence seemed to hold a silent promise of adventure, beckoning me to lose myself in the mysteries of the universe.

As the cool breeze swept through the streets, carrying with it the faint scent of the Seine, I felt a sense of tranquility wash over me. For in that fleeting moment, beneath the canopy of stars, I was reminded of the beauty that exists in the quiet moments of solitude.

The city lights danced around me, casting shadows that played along the cobblestone streets. And as I stood by the bridge, entranced by the timeless beauty of Paris at night, I found solace in the simple act of being, embracing the vastness of the universe that stretched out before me.

As September draws to a close, memories flood your mind like waves crashing against the shore. It was during this same month that you first met Hyunjin, a passionate soul whose fire burned fiercely. Your encounter sparked something within you, a flicker of hope that perhaps you could weather the seasons together.

Seated in a cozy cafe on a crisp September evening, you find yourself lost in reverie, thoughts drifting back to that fateful day. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the gentle hum of conversation around you, setting the stage for reflection.

Suddenly, the cafe door swings open, and Hyunjin breezes in with an infectious energy that lights up the room. Spotting you sitting by the window lost in thought, Hyunjin approaches with a warm smile.

"Hey there! Mind if I join you?" Hyunjin's voice carries a playful charm that instantly lifts your spirits.

Surprised but delighted by Hyunjin's arrival, you welcome him with open arms. As Hyunjin settles into the seat opposite, a sense of nostalgia fills the air, tinged with the magic of your first meeting.

Lost in conversation, you and Hyunjin reminisce about that unforgettable day, recalling the autumn leaves and the crisp September breeze that brought you together.

*A year ago*

As September painted France with the vibrant hues of autumn, you found yourself strolling through the corridors of a museum, captivated by the masterpieces adorning its walls. The air was alive with the whispers of history, each brushstroke telling a story of its own.

Lost in the beauty of the artwork, you paused before a particularly striking piece, your eyes tracing the intricate details with reverence. It was then that you noticed someone beside you, equally engrossed in the painting's allure.

"Quite breathtaking, isn't it?" a voice remarked, drawing your attention away from the canvas. You turned to find a stranger standing beside you, his eyes alight with the same admiration that mirrored your own.

You offered a tentative smile, struck by the familiarity in his gaze. "Absolutely mesmerizing," you replied, unable to tear your gaze away from the artwork's magnetic pull.

The stranger nodded in agreement, a shared appreciation for art bridging the gap between you. "I've always been drawn to the way artists capture the essence of life within their work," he remarked, his voice soft yet impassioned.

"Likewise," you replied, feeling a connection spark between you like a flame in the darkness. "There's something profoundly beautiful about the way art transcends time and space, speaking to the soul in ways words cannot."

The stranger's eyes sparkled with intrigue, a silent invitation to delve deeper into the mysteries of the art world. "I couldn't agree more," he said, a hint of curiosity coloring his tone. "Do you come here often?"

You shook your head, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "No, actually. This is my first time visiting this museum. I suppose I was drawn here by the allure of the unknown."

The stranger's lips curved into a smile, his gaze warm and inviting. "A fellow seeker of the unknown," he remarked, his words tinged with amusement. "Well, I'm glad our paths have crossed today."

And in that moment, amidst the hallowed halls of the museum, you knew that your encounter was more than mere chance. It was the beginning of a journey filled with shared passions, whispered conversations, and the timeless beauty of art that would bind your hearts together in the months and years to come.

"And the way you smiled when our eyes first met," you muse, your voice tinged with fondness. "It felt like the beginning of something special."

Hyunjin nods in agreement, his eyes alight with affection. "It definitely was special. You brought so much light into my life, you know? I never expected to meet someone like you."

The warmth of Hyunjin's words envelops you, filling your heart with gratitude for the serendipitous encounter that changed your life forever.

Your hands intertwine across the table, a silent promise of solidarity and love. "Here's to weathering the seasons together, through every storm and every sunset," Hyunjin declares, his gaze unwavering.

"Cheers to that, my dear," you echo, your heart overflowing with love. In that moment, as you share a tender smile, you know that your bond is stronger than any memory and that your love will endure through the changing seasons of life.

But as time passed, your relationship with Hyunjin became tumultuous, marked by tears and turmoil. His intensity mirrored a raging fire, while you, like the ocean, sought to soothe and calm. Yet, despite your efforts, he remained locked in a cycle of passion and pain.

One evening, as the weight of the tension between you hung heavy in the air, you found yourselves sitting across from each other in the dimly lit confines of your shared apartment.

Hyunjin's brows furrowed with frustration as he paced back and forth, his movements agitated like flames dancing in the wind. "I just don't understand why you can't see things from my perspective," he exclaimed, his voice laced with exasperation.

You watched him, the ache in your heart matching the intensity of his words. "Hyunjin, I'm trying," you replied softly, your voice a gentle whisper against the storm brewing within him. "But we can't keep living like this, constantly at odds with each other."

He turned to face you, his eyes ablaze with emotion. "I know, I know," he muttered, his tone heavy with regret. "But it's like I can't control it. The fire inside me, it just consumes everything in its path."

Your heart ached at his words, the depth of his pain echoing in the caverns of your soul. "I understand, Hyunjin," you murmured, reaching out to touch his trembling hand. "But we need to find a way to break free from this cycle, to find peace amidst the chaos."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping with the weight of the world upon them. "I don't know if I can," he admitted, his voice raw with vulnerability. "But I don't want to lose you, either."

Tears glistened in your eyes as you met his gaze, the ocean of your emotions crashing against the shores of his fiery resolve. "We don't have to have all the answers right now," you said softly, your words a lifeline in the darkness. "But we can start by facing this together, one step at a time."

And in that moment, amidst the tempest of emotions that raged within you both, you found solace in the knowledge that love, like the ocean, has the power to quench even the fiercest of flames.

His words echoed in your mind as you recalled the depth of your connection, the highs and lows that defined your love. Hyunjin’s fiery temperament clashed with your tranquil nature, leaving you both adrift in a sea of emotions.

In the midst of a heated exchange, Hyunjin's voice reverberated with frustration, pleading for understanding. "Why can't you see things from my perspective, huh? You're always so calm, so distant!" he exclaimed, his tone filled with desperation.

Attempting to maintain composure, you responded in measured tones, urging for a more peaceful resolution. "Hyunjin, yelling won't solve anything. We need to talk about this calmly," you reasoned, hoping to soothe the rising tension.

Yet, Hyunjin's anguish persisted, his words a poignant reflection of his inner turmoil. "But you never understand! You never feel the way I do!" he lamented, his voice tinged with sorrow.

Reaching out with empathy, you acknowledged the struggle of navigating differences in temperament. "I do understand, Hyunjin. I just express it differently. We're different, but that's what makes us work, isn't it?" you offered, seeking common ground amidst the discord.

Amidst the emotional turbulence, Hyunjin confessed his feelings of isolation, expressing the weight of his emotions. "It's hard, though. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in my own emotions," he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare.

As the echoes of your conversation lingered in the air, you couldn't help but feel the gravity of the moment. You couldn’t stay in the suffocating atmosphere of your shared studio any longer. With a heavy heart and a mind clouded with uncertainty, you stepped out into the cool night air, walking aimlessly through the labyrinthine streets of the city until you found yourself standing on a bridge.

In the quiet of the night, with only the soft murmur of the river below to keep you company, you found solace in the solitude. The city lights shimmered like distant stars, casting fleeting shadows upon the rippling surface of the water.

As you stood there, the weight of your shared history with Hyunjin hung heavy in the air, tugging at the edges of your consciousness. You couldn’t help but contemplate the depths of your bond, the intricate threads that kept you tethered together even in the midst of turmoil.

In the silence of the night, you longed for peace—for a moment of respite from the storm that raged within your hearts. The bridge stretched out before you like a lifeline, offering a fleeting glimpse of serenity amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

With each passing moment, you felt the weight of the world slowly lifting from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of clarity and resolve. You knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but in that solitary moment beneath the starlit sky, you found the strength to face whatever lay ahead.

As you stood there, alone yet not entirely alone, you whispered a silent prayer into the night, hoping for a glimmer of hope to guide you through the darkness, and a beacon of light to lead you back to the shores of peace and tranquility.

With each whispered prayer, you surrendered to the mysteries of the universe, trusting that in its infinite wisdom, it would guide you towards the shores of peace and understanding. For beneath the canopy of stars, amidst the vastness of the cosmos, you found solace in the certainty that your love was a force as timeless and enduring as the universe itself.

You knew, deep within your heart, that this moment of solace wasn't the end of the journey. In the midst of turmoil, clarity whispered to you, reminding you of the intricate dance between your calming waves and his fierce fire.

Standing beneath the starlit sky, engulfed in the tumult of your emotions, a familiar presence by your side stirred your senses. Though no words were exchanged, you sensed his presence, an unspoken acknowledgment of your shared turmoil.

Tears welled in your eyes, silent messengers of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. And then, in the stillness of the night, Hyunjin stood before you, his silhouette a reassuring beacon amidst the darkness.

Gently, almost instinctively, he reached for your hand, his touch a balm to your wounded soul. With a tenderness that spoke volumes, he drew you into his embrace, enveloping you in the warmth of his love.

In that moment, as his arms encircled you, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, a fleeting respite from the storm that raged within. In his embrace, you found solace, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of your emotions.

And as you nestled against his chest, the weight of the world melted away, replaced by the quiet comfort of his presence. For in that sacred embrace, you knew that together, you could weather any storm, navigate any tempest that threatened to tear you apart.

[trulybetty]

love & happiness

x. lucien masterlist | x. main masterlist

pairing: lucien flores x f!reader word count: 3,404 warnings: M | spoilers? no clue, as I've been trying to keep spoiler-free about the movie, barely edited as usual - cigarettes, alcohol, one mention of the reader wearing denim shorts, no descriptions of the reader's body estimated reading time: 18 minutes summary: it's always the same familiar dance when you run into lucien ao3: linked

... if you want to know what song is playing on the jukebox

The jukebox stuttered to life, the scratch of a needle trying to find home until it finally kicked in, and the mellow voice of Al Green filled the room. You didn’t have to look up to know Lucien was watching you, but you still did. It was impossible not to, even when you had every intention of ignoring him. He was leaning against the end of the bar, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, it’s smoke curling lazily up toward the ceiling fans.

You watched as he stubbed out his smoke in an ashtray tinged yellow through years of use, brimming with butts and drained the remaining gin from his glass, his dark eyes fixed on you before he beckoned you with a simple curl of his finger. The bar’s dim lighting, a flicker of bulbs on the threat of burning out, cast his face in shadows, the light highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the mischievous glint in his gaze.

You squirmed in your seat as muscle memory kicked in, the worn cracked leather beneath you cool against your thighs, a chilled shiver tracing the length of your spine. The bar as a cacophony of sounds: the clink of glasses, the murmur of slurred conversations, and the occasional raucous laugh that sliced through the haze of cigarette smoke an the scent of stale beer.

Before the internal debate of whether you should get up could kick in, you threw back the remainder of your drink, making your excuses. You stood, feeling his gaze travelling over the course of your body, and linger appreciatively as you crossed the bar.

Calling it a bar was a very loose interpretation of the place you were in that Friday night. It would be generous by any stretch of the imagination to even call it a dive bar. It was a step-down and then perhaps two more below that. The cracked vinyl on the booths, the wallpaper peeling to reveal the cover-up jobs of years gone by, the perpetual stickiness of the floor that clung to your shoes with each step, and the stale cigarette smoke smell that refused to leave—it all just combined together in a symphony of decay.

You could see Lucien swallow hard as you approached, the sway of your hips not missed as his dark eyes locked onto yours, his gaze as intense as it was unreadable. Finally reaching him he snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you close until you were firmly pressed up against him.

“Dance with me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, the faint smell of gin mingling with the tobacco from his cigarette. The simple request sent a jolt through you, only magnified by the press of his body against yours.

You shivered despite yourself, your body reacting as if on instinct to the presence of his. The rational part of your mind knew this was dangerous territory. But rationality had little sway where Lucien was concerned.

You allowed him to guide you backwards to the empty tiny vinyl-tiled dance floor, the black and white squares out of place amongst the varied coloured booths, mismatched acquirements through various means and several decades. As you eyed the old jukebox in the corner, its missing buttons and cracked screen fought their way through its automatic shuffle as you tried to ignore the warning bells in your head.

The vinyl record could be heard over the din of the patrons and while its sound was scratchy through worn-out speakers, the smooth bars of ‘Love and Happiness’ filled the room as his hand pressed into the small of your back. It sent feelings you knew you had no right feeling but made the rational side of your brain syrupy, finding it harder to fight against the heat between you and against the warm summer heat that the bars aircon just couldn’t take on as you melted into Lucien’s embrace.

Out of habit and muscle memory, you rested your head against his shoulder, you could smell the heat on his skin, a balmy smell in contrast to the lingering traces of tobacco on his breath. The feight flecks of gold that ringed his dark eyes that you would only have noticed if you had studied him so closely as you had done, and you secretly hoped no one else ever would get as close to him to take note of these small characteristics.

The rough pads of his fingers against your bare skin sent a surge of adrenaline through your body, your heart pounded in your chest as the woozy blues of the guitar kicked in and the song came into its own and his lips brushed over your forehead that sent sparks shooting down your spine.

“I've missed you, doll,” he murmured into your ear, as he swayed, his body moving with a grace that didn’t match his ragged exterior.

It felt dangerously right, being back in his arms. You knew you shouldn’t allow yourself to get swept up in the moment, to fall prey to desires that would only lead to familiar heartbreak. But as the alcohol buzzed in your veins and with the warmth of Lucien’s body pressed against yours you knew you were fooling yourself into thinking there was a chance to put a stop to all of this when you were already pulled in, hook, line and sinker.

“You put this on the jukebox didn’t you?” you asked, trying to ignore what he’d said.

You felt the laugh rumble in his chest before you heard it, “What makes you think that?”

Lucien had always been a good dancer when he wanted to, his hips fell effortlessly into the beat and brought yours with it. The feel of him pressed against you, his thigh slotting between your legs as you moved was a tantalizing reminder of all the nights spent tangled together, stolen kisses in dark hallways and hushed whispers in the quiet of the night. His movements languid and so smooth that they had you catching your breath each time his thigh pressed further between your legs.

“Perhaps because you’re a predictable romantic,” you retorted as you opened your eyes to look up at him, already picturing the small smirk on his face before seeing it etched into his scruffy features, his dark brown eyes twinkling wickedly.

He chuckled, his lips brushing against your temple, “I deserve that,” he said, the smoky timbre of his voice always stoking the flame.

The heat from his body combined with the sticky humidity of the bar, created a dizzying cocktail that made your pulse quicken even more. The clamour of the bar faded into a backdrop, as if the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of you. The creaking fans overhead and the flicker of the bars neon signs outside the grimy windows cast erratic shadows masking the majority of the other patrons. Adding almost a cinematic quality to the moment as if you were watching yourself from afar, waiting to see if this would play out as tragedy or a unexpected unspecified reconciliation.

“This is our song,” you murmured against his chest, your words almost muffled by the silk of his shirt.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his hand still roaming along your back, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your top to caress the bare skin at the small of your back before they dared to skim the waistband of your denim shorts, fingers skimming the soft cotton of your underwear. The simple touch sent another jolt down your spine, your body reacted to him, the same way it always had.

“Just because it’s our song doll, doesn’t mean I put it on,” he muttered, his lips brushing your earlobe, his voice a husky whisper that sent goosebumps dancing down your skin. His hot breath sent chills down your neck, making you pull him closer.

“Liar,” you challenged, you also knew too well that he was always sentimental about the little things, like this being the song that was playing when the two of you first met.

Emboldened you nipped at his ear eliciting a guttural groan from him under his breath. His fingers tightening their hold on your hip as his other on your back managed to pull you even closer, feeling the press of him against you had you biting your lip.

The moment felt like it was suspended in time, the low buzz of the background noise of the bar fading, leaving just the two of you and the music inside a bubble. His fingers continued their exploration, drawing circles now, venturing ever so slightly further each time, testing your resolve.

“And what if I am?” he challenged, a teasing edge to his voice that you knew all too well, “What are you going to do about it?”

“You never could resist me when I was right,” you whispered, watching as his eyes closed as your fingers at his neck played with the curls he’d let grow in since the last time you saw him.

“And you always know exactly how to push my buttons,” Lucien replied, his voice a melodic seductive tone that felt like honey on your skin as his lips grazed the shell of your ear.

You tugged gently at the dark mop of curls, eliciting a soft moan from Lucien as his face burrowed further into the crook of your neck as his hands tightened their grip around you, pulling you further into the heat and heartbeat that promised so much more than just a dance.

“You're playing with fire, doll,” he warned, his voice a gruff murmur that mingled with the din of the bar.

You traced your fingers down the rough stubble on his cheek, the sensation contrasting with the slick of sweat that had begun to form, “Maybe,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, lost in the heady mix of his cologne and the musty air of the bar.

You could feel his laugh against your neck, a rumble of amusement that only further stirred the heat between your hips. His hand traced a path down the curve of your spine, firm and possessive, as if he could anchor you in the tumultuous sea of emotions swirling between the two of you.

“Careful,” Lucien's voice was a low whisper, playful yet serious, his smirk palpable against your skin. “You might get burned.”

You rolled your eyes as he pulled back, the glint in his eyes and the rich laugh he let out rang out above the ambient noise of the bar. Sweet and thick like a drizzle of honey on your senses, you felt the lick of the flames you knew you had no business feeling spreading between your hips.

You looped your arms around his neck to bring his face back down to yours. His dark eyes sought out permission from you, his lips ghosting yours, an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You knew this was a dangerous game, if you crossed this line — no, you mentally shook your head, you crossed that line when you allowed him to beckon you to the floor. Possibly even so far across any semblance of a line when you first crossed paths so long ago, the two of you irreparably intertwined thanks to an inconsequential night and a blind twist of luck.

So maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was his fingers squeezing your hips like he could sense your thoughts. He always seemed to know, always one step ahead of you pulling on that string that tied you both together. The one that you both knew you could and probably should cut, but always found an excuse not to sever.

“Lucien,” you breathed out, the two of you continuing to sway to the music.

“What?” He replied the dim lighting of the bar catching the chain around his neck, St. Anthony staring back at you from the base of his neck. You were afraid to look back up, but again, with little to no protest your body moved without conscious effort, and you found yourself getting lost in the depth of his dark brown eyes. There was an irresistible invitation that lay there, and you knew you were falling again for this man whose love was both intoxicating and devastating in its intensity.

“I—” you stammered, struggling to find your voice to list the excuses why you couldn’t do this, the lies that would end this dance between you two. But when the words came to you, just there on your lips urging to be let free but before you could do anything they evaporated like wisps of smoke into the haze.

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses were nothing but a muffled echo in your mind. The muggy heat between you continued to grow along with the pressure growing between your hips you could no longer ignore the more his leg pushed between your legs, sweat beaded at your neck and trickled down the small of your back.

Your tongue heavy in your mouth you forced yourself to find your voice, sounding foreign you croaked out, “We shouldn’t be doing this Luce.”

“And yet, here we are,” he countered, his thumb tracing circles over your hipbone. His words hung in the air between you, daring you to challenge him.

But no challenge came.

His mouth was on yours, hot and insistent. Lucien tasted like smoke and the faint hint of the lime that had been in his drink.

The music seemed to envelop you, the strum of the guitar melding with the warmth and humidity all conspiring to pull you into a false sense of security. The room spun slightly, as if the earth had tilted off of its axis and you weren’t sure if it was the drinks, the heat, or just Lucien. You bit your lip, he always had this effect on you. Could always upend your senses without any effort.

His lips were hungry and held no signs of the clumsiness that should come from two people reacquainting, but your body knew how to mould to his as his did to yours. There was an ease to him; a familiarity that your body never—could never—forget, no matter how many times you told yourself to forget. A lie you whispered repeatedly into the quiet corners of your mind—you laughed to yourself internally, it was a futile effort because Lucien had always been imprinted in your deepest parts ever since that first shared fleeting glance years ago.

The pressure building between your hips was almost at a boiling point, only encouraged by his thigh that managed to slot between your thighs while his arm that snaked around your waist pulled you even closer causing you to catch your breath meaning you bit down on his lip eliciting a moan that vibrated on your tongue from Lucien.

A flush of heat spread across your body and you wanted nothing more than to melt into Lucien, give in to him as his hands roamed further down your back, his fingers tracing the line of your vertebra like stepping stones to the cliff edge of temptation. He was a flame that burnt bright and reckless, every brush of his lips stoked the fire deep within you that was past boiling point.

In that moment you wanted it all. You wanted him. You wanted to melt into him and give no care to the what haves or the what ifs. You wanted to feel his lips on the places that throbbed and begged to be touched. You wanted him between your legs, your fingers in his curls tugging when his tongue reached just—that—right—spot. You wanted the lazy sex in the morning when the two of you refused to face the day ahead.

Most of all you wanted the promise of him, of you—the two of you, that you deep down knew you couldn’t be. The universe had told you on more than one occasion, this wasn’t meant to be, the passion between you sparked like wildfire, devouring everything in its path. Flames that burnt too brightly leaving only embers in its wake and a hollow sadness that settled heavily in your heart.

“Luce,” you gasped into his mouth, your hands stilling in their entanglement of his short curls that only ever looked like he’d just crawled out of bed. He chuckled—a low warm sound that vibrated through you basking you in a warmth that you wanted to wrap yourself in. His laugh always felt like a shared secret, something specially for you and only you.

His thumbs continued to rub at your hips making it hard for you to find your voice and a sense of what was happening. Your song was still playing, yet this moment felt like it had expanded into hours. All sense of space and time blurred as he pressed closer, his hot breath sending shivers down your neck.

“You’re thinking again,” Lucien murmured against your lips and you were afraid to look up, afraid you’d be caught in the dark brown pools of his eyes and forget to breathe.

Your name was a whisper on your ear and and your final undoing.

Fuck the universe.

The song was nearing its end, the final chords playing out and with the taste of uncertainty laced with the alcohol from Lucien's tongue on your mouth—the alcohol he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, but sobriety and Lucien were two parallel lines that refused to meet. Despite the last rational thought that screamed caution, you found the words leaving your lips before you could pull back.

“Do you want to get out of here?” The invitation hung between you, bold and reckless.

You braved his eyes, dark and intense, they searched your face as if to find something in your expression confirming that this was real, just like you looking to hold onto something, anything, before you could doubt your offer. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face, one that told you he was every bit aware as you were that this was not a good idea.

“Lead the way,” he said, his voice steady, but his hand, the one that slipped into your hand your fingers entwined, the one that led you from the dance floor, trembled just enough to tell you he was just as affected as you were.

He stopped long enough to throw a couple of bills on the bar—enough to cover both your tabs—and nodded to the bartender, a silent transaction that spoke maybe of many other nights such as this. He lead you to the exit door past the jukebox that had then moved onto another song, something more upbeat drawing the attention of the bar’s patrons allowing the two of you to slip out unnoticed.

The street outside was quiet, the chaotic buzz of the bar fading into a muted backdrop as the door swung shut behind you. Stepping out into the night, the cool air hit your heated skin, a stark contrast to the stifling heat inside. But it did nothing to calm the heat that had spread and settled across your body, nerve endings firing. Nor the fast beat of your heart that pounded in your chest as you led him across the parking lot.

Aside from the dull beat of the music inside, outside of the bar the streets were quiet, eerily so, as if the universe was holding its breath watching you both as if it now had relinquished control and was just as eagerly waiting to see what would happen. He squeezed your hand tighter as eventually he walked in step with you, allowing him to pull you closer.

He looked at you, a smirk again playing on his lips and without breaking his stride he kissed the crown of your head. That smirk on his lips softened into a genuine smile, glancing back at you with a spark in his eyes that made you want to stop there and then under the street lights and commit that look, commit him, to your memory.

The night stretched before you, a promise yet to be broken. Neither of you dared speak as you walked, neither wanting to break the illusion of the reality of what that moment between you truly was.

[glowing-blue-feathermage]

happy dadwc friday, feather! from the like a moth to a flame prompt list: “I just want to be close to you. As close as you allow me to be.” + fenders <3

thank you for the prompt lovely! this isn't a completely literal use of the wording but I think I captured the spirit of it! For @dadrunkwriting !

The Deep Roads echoed, driving home the vastness of the stone tomb with every shift of rock, drip of water and disembodied voice. There shouldn’t be voices down here. Something groaned in the distance—a deep, reverberating sound like a bellow of pain, cut off with a slam that shook the ground. Anders flinched, the toe of his boot catching the lip of a crack in the stone floor and making him stumble forward. He caught himself with a hand on the damp, rough-hewn wall. They were in a side tunnel, attempting to find another path back to the surface, having lost the slavers they were chasing hours ago. From the cacophony of screams they’d heard earlier, something else had found them.

Without realizing it, Anders had closed much of the distance between himself and Fenris, the center of their small, exhausted band. It startled him badly when Fenris spoke, despite the fact that his voice was low and soft. “I can feel you breathing down my neck, mage.” Anders glared at his back. “I can’t help myself,” he simpered in a wistful tone. “I just want to be close to you.”

Hawke, leading their single-file party, snorted softly, shaking her head. Fenris grunted, which Anders had learned could mean anything, but he gave Anders a strange, searching look over his shoulder that made Anders avert his eyes, cheeks warm. They walked for what felt like hours, with Anders concentrating on the space between he and Fenris. Every time it started to shrink, he slowed his step, and every time the distance grew he felt the heaviness of the Deep Roads all the more. When had the Tevinter fugitive who despised mages started to make him feel safe? When had his instincts overridden logic?

When they finally stopped for the night, it was easier to ignore him, to let Fenris exist at the periphery of his awareness. They all had roles in camp, well-established and well-practiced. Fenris and Hawke secured their perimeter, Varric set up bedrolls, Anders started a smokeless magical fire and conjured water for their evening stew. 

The evening routine went too quickly for Anders. He needed the normalcy of sharing a meal and subdued conversation and making plans. It was his turn for first watch, and he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. 

It was less than an hour after dinner when his companions began to drift off. First Hawke, then Varric, and finally Fenris stood from his place opposite Anders at the fire. Anders forced himself not to watch him move toward his tent, not to admire the feline grace or long for the feeling of home, safe. He knew that was as much Justice as anything in his own heart. Wasn’t it? Wraithlike, Fenris was suddenly beside him, seated cross-legged on the stone. Anders stared at him in surprise, confused. “It’s my watch,” he said at last, when Fenris didn’t offer anything.

“The night is long,” was his cryptic response. Anders continued to stare, finding no clues in Fenris’s expression. In the absence of a better script, he resorted to humor. “Admit it. You’re ready to hear my manifesto.” “The night is not that long,” Fenris growled, and Anders caught his breath at the very real hint of a smile at one corner of the elf’s lips. “I can talk fast.” Fenris finally turned a glower on him. “I thought you just wanted to be close to me,” he said in his nasally, obnoxiously familiar imitation of Anders’ voice. His tone became gruff again when he added, “That’s the perfect way to make me leave.” Anders shut his mouth, turning his face away and trying to smother a surprised and delighted smile. He’d seen Hawke and Fenris talking earlier at the edge of camp, out of earshot, had seen Fenris glance at him again in a pensive way that Anders realized he’d seen a lot of over the last few months. Because he truly didn’t want to run Fenris off, he said something stupid. “I see. You just want to be close to me.” 

He nearly bit his own tongue the moment the words were out of his mouth, flushing with regret and waiting for Fenris to bite his head off. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Fenris asked with a sigh, giving him a weary glance. Instead of springing up to leave, he stretched his long legs out and, Anders thought, shifted a little closer. Closer than he’d ever let Anders sit before. Heart hammering, Anders’ tongue kept moving. “I can be made to—” “Mage.” “Hm?”

“Be quiet. And I will help you keep the darkness at bay.”

Anders shut his mouth again, so quickly he heard his teeth click. He realized in that moment why Fenris was here, what he’d noticed in their trek through the Deep Roads. Their many treks through tunnels and caves over the years: that Anders was afraid of heavy spaces and echoes in the dark.

After a long moment of silence that Anders couldn’t find words to fill, he inched just a tiny bit closer to Fenris, and when he wasn’t rebuffed, just a bit more. Their arms touched, the sweet song of lyrium a strange and unique comfort.

It was longer still before Anders realized Fenris’s only reaction to the sensation of his bare skin against Anders’ was a soft sigh.

[wuahae]

liminal space [11:32, friday]

xu minghao x f!reader; one-sided jun x f!reader

wc: 3.1k notes: college!au, soft angst, unrequited love, strangers(?) to friends(?) to ??, y'all i really don't know, feedback is very appreciated!

— in which you've hidden yourself away, hoping for someone to see. and then someone does.

warm light seeps through the crack beneath the door, scattering across the carpet in the darkness of your room. the noise on the other side comes muffled, music from soonyoung’s shitty playlist (he had called dibs, this time) blurring together with the cacophony of voices outside. briefly, there’s a loud cheer that rings through the house; junhui must have won his first round of beer pong of the night, judging by the whoops that followed.

sat on the floor at the foot of your bed, you bring your knees closer to your chest, tucking your chin in as you try to block out the sound. it’s almost a feat, how you managed to get yourself in this position every single time.

last month, you had told yourself you would really do it this time, that you would stand your ground and tell jun no, you wouldn’t be at the party he was hosting the following friday, or maybe ‘host it somewhere else this time.’ but then he’d looked at you with pleading eyes, expectation shamelessly displayed across his face, and your resolve crumpled like wet tissue paper.

and now here you were, hiding in your room after managing to slip away from all the commotion. it was the closest to peace and quiet you would get, for the rest of the night.

(you should have just gone with wonwoo and jihoon when they offered. they’d even given you a poorly veiled pitying look before they left.)

jun probably doesn’t even notice, you think wryly, picking at a loose tuft from the carpet. you’re sure your absence is far from sorely missed, especially with all the company they had over, not to mention the extra buzz and energy that comes with the alcohol. it’s especially why jun’s insistence on your attendance never quite makes sense to you, even after all this time—not that it really mattered.

junhui would always ask. you would always say yes.

a knock on the door makes your head jolt up. scrambling to your feet, you call out at the unexpected intrusion, tepid hope latching onto your heart. did jun finally prove you wrong? “yes?”

“it’s me,” the voice says, the quiet tone somehow carrying through the door. “minghao.”

the hope disappears as fast as it came. ah.

squashing the embarrassment that comes after predictable disappointment, you walk to the door and turn the knob slowly, peeking out from behind the open sliver. your eyes try to adjust to the sudden light. “hi.”

a polite smile. “hey.”

a long silence stretches between the two of you, even with the noise still blasting from the living room. you shift onto another foot, playing with the doorknob as a nervous habit. “…what’s up?”

“i texted wonwoo, he said you might have some hangover medicine in your room.”

“oh, i think i do,” you contemplate, pursing your lips in thought. “let me check, though.”

you turn, only to hesitate by the doorway when you look back. minghao is still looking at you. the doorknob twists once. “do you, um,” you offer awkwardly, “want to come in?”

he shrugs. “sure.”

the hinge creaks slightly as he opens it further to enter, along with a quiet click as it closes shut. you flip on your desk lamp, filling the room with a soft glow. rifling through your desk drawers, you try to ignore the way he hovers somewhere a distance behind you, shoulders bunched to shrink away from the awkwardness.

it always feels like uncharted territory with minghao, like you’re treading on a lake thinly frozen over. you’ve known him for the whole year, ever since jun first introduced you to the rest of his friends, but you don’t even think you’ve spoken more than twenty words to him in that time.

you don’t know if it’s for the lack of trying (you’ve befriended the rest of jun’s group just fine), but there was something about minghao that stilted your ability to talk to him—not that he seemed particularly interested to bridge the gap either. you supposed it wasn’t anything you were fighting for; it was something comfortable you’d come to terms with long ago, this vague acquaintanceship you’ve let remain stagnant.

you were just never really sure what to say with him.

“oh, here,” you say, holding up a bottle of nausea pills. “did you want the painkillers too?”

minghao shakes his head. “no, that’s okay, just the nausea’s good.”

you squint at him, bottle rattling as you hand it over. “i thought you were d.d. tonight?”

“i am,” minghao replies, something exasperated coloring his features. “these are for the people in the car.”

ah, you mouth. “better than a trash bag for each person?”

his lips press into a thin line, stressed at just the thought. “we’re bringing the bags just in case. i am not cleaning puke out of my car this time.”

you let out a soft laugh at that. “at least soonyoung lives here. one less person you have to worry about.”

minghao sighs, looking down at the bottle. “i’m grateful for that every single day.”

“unfortunately, that just means his mess turns into my mess,” you joke, taking a seat on the floor. your arms wrap around your legs again, curled back up to your chest.

minghao tilts his head. “wonwoo and jihoon don’t help out when they get back?”

“well,” you rescind, “our mess. but they’re usually too tired when they come back to handle whatever happens before the sun rises.”

minghao huffs out a laugh. “at least there’s only one messy drunk living with you.”

“ha, at least.”

a beat of silence. music continues to play muffled from the living room, the sound of clattering cups and ping pongs bouncing off the wooden floor.

“it’s quiet in here,” minghao comments, looking around.

nodding, you give him a tentative smile. “yeah, surprisingly.”

another beat of silence. soonyoung gets hold of the karaoke mic and starts his singing domination till dawn—or until he passes out.

“how’s the party?” you ask, immediately cringing. small talk was never your strong suite.

“it’s good,” minghao nods absently. “standard. it doesn’t seem like you’re enjoying much of it, though.”

tensing, you look up at him. in the lowlight, your eyes try to adjust his frame into focus. you try to imagine what it would be like to look at him wholly in the light, to know what the parts of him covered by shadows looked like. the way his hair rested at the nape of his neck, the shade of his eyes, where the slopes of his features began and ended. could you ever really figure him out? would you ever really know?

“is that rhetorical?” you end up saying, after a brief pause.

“just an observation.”

“yeah, well.” your hand finds its way back to the carpet, picking at the loose tuft again. “there never really is much for me out there anyway.”

“you really think so?”

you give minghao a wry smile. “i think i’ve tried to deny it for too long to not think so.”

an expression flits across minghao’s face, too quick for you to see what it resembled in the dark, before he points to the spot next to you. “can i sit? i think i’d like some peace and quiet myself, too.”

befuddled, it suddenly dawns on you as you scooch over slightly to make room that this was the longest conversation you’ve ever had with minghao. you can’t even manage a verbal response in your surprise, settling for a jerky nod before he plops down next to you.

neither of you say anything after that, sitting quietly as the clock ticks by. you try glancing at him, but you whip your head away before he can notice. you really didn’t think it would ever get this far; maybe you should have said no—(stop, you silently rebuke yourself. that’s rude to even think about.)

“can i be honest?” you try instead, breaking the silence.

minghao turns his head to face you. “hm?”

you bite your lip, contemplating on how to phrase it. “i’m just kind of surprised. you know, that you wanted to stay.”

“at the party?”

“no, like…” you resist a sigh, forcing the words out thin and pressed. hell. “in my room. with me.”

“what?” he raises a quizzical brow. “why?”

“i don’t know,” you confess. it seems stupid when you say it out loud. “i thought you didn’t like me, or something.”

minghao pauses. “what’s there not to like?”

you bite your tongue, enough for it to hurt and taste the metal. “no, nevermind. forget i said anything.”

“no, seriously,” he insists, and it’s something you’ve never heard from minghao before. gentle, but firm, like he won’t let it go until you tell him the truth. “what’s there not to like?”

but you can’t tell him the truth; you can’t lie to him either. there isn’t much you know what to say, when it comes to anything you haven’t already specifically curated per occasion. maybe that was why it was so hard with minghao—you could never tell what he wanted you to be.

“everyone sees it, you know,” minghao continues. “how much you care. it’s why they like being around you. they all see you as a good friend.”

your gaze shifts to the ground, giving a dry smile as you curl further into yourself. you almost want to laugh. “everyone, huh?” 

from a few familiar chords, you hear soonyoung starting his encore rendition of ‘don’t stop believing,’ with the extra tambourines and all. it almost does a good enough job of filling in the silence that hangs in the air, if only you couldn’t feel the hesitation from minghao before he speaks again.

“but you like him, right?”

“what?”

“jun. you like him.”

you whip your head towards him, eyes widening. “what?”

minghao has the decency to look at least somewhat apologetic about his bluntness, but it does nothing to quell your panic as you scramble to deny his accusation. except, the defense dies on your lips when you remember it’s not so much an accusation as it is a statement. you like jun. you know it, and he knows it too.

“how—how did you know?”

he gives you a borderline sheepish look. “it’s kind of hard not to tell.”

i seriously want to die, you moan internally, head falling back between your knees. “are you serious? is it just some open secret then?”

the ground might as well open and swallow you whole. maybe if you were lucky you’d walk outside and the zombie apocalypse would have started and you would never have to worry about this again—

“i think i’m the only one who knows, though.”

you stop. “oh.”

“yeah.”

“i thought you said it was obvious.”

“it is.”

something builds up in your chest, about to explode. “so why—”

“it is, when you know where to look.”

you open your mouth to say something in response, but you don’t even know where to start. all that really comes out is a little noise in the back of your throat, half of an objection that can’t even make its way past your lips before minghao continues.

“you’re not the only one that watches, you know.” your eyes flick to his, but once your eyes meet it feels more like he’s looking at you. like he’s latched onto you and you don’t know how to have him let go. minghao has your loose thread between his fingers, and he pulls gently. “maybe no one else notices, but we’ve been around each other long enough for me to see how you look at jun.”

your breath catches. “and how do i look at him?” (the question is less for minghao and more for yourself.)

“you’re the first one to see him arrive and the last to see him go.”

it’s strange. you never once thought you would ever end up in this position with minghao, much less tonight, where you had come into it determined to hide yourself away. and yet here you were, talking to him for what might as well be the first time with frayed edges and bared thread.

“what,” you try to deflect, a strained smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “a friend can’t do that?”

minghao gives you a pointed look, almost exasperated, as if waiting for that thread to finish pulling loose. “i think we both know friends don’t look at each other like that.”

you don’t think you have minghao figured out (your only solace is that you don’t think he has you totally figured out either), but he’s coming into focus for you, little by little. it’s why you allow that final stitch to unravel, loose thread pooling at your feet. “just me though, right? he, on the other hand, looks at me like a friend just fine.”

he hums. “you think so?”

you breathe out a short laugh, too realistic to be anything but bitter. “why else do you think jun asked me to live with a bunch of other guys? there’s no way he could think of me as anything more than a friend after that.”

there’s a pause, the type you’ve learned during the course of this night that means you need to prepare for what minghao’s about to say next. “then why’d you say yes?”

poignant. hard-hitting. you still don’t really know what to say in response when he asks you questions like these. there isn’t really much you can tell him either, not without sounding pathetic.

(junhui would ask. you would always say yes. you recognize the weight of this more than anyone.)

and as self-aware as you are, you also know that you just can’t say no to jun. not when you’ve loved him ever since he’d gotten all scratched up trying to feed the little kittens hiding in the schoolyard bushes back when you were 14, not when you’ve been with him through it all—the fake sick-days, the last-minute cram sessions the morning before a test, the time you’d opened the door on a sunday evening and he’d stood there mud-covered and scrape-kneed holding out a single four-leaf clover to you. because you had said you’d wanted it, because he wanted to be a reason for your good luck.

yet time passes and it stops for no one, and while jun has taken it in full stride, friendly and magnetic to everyone he chances upon, the same cannot be said for you. no matter how hard he tries to drag you along to every occasion, you realize it will always be just that—his hand tugging you along, you will always be watching him from behind.

“he’s my friend.” it echoes empty. you’re sure minghao can hear it too. “nothing can really change that.”

no steps forward and no steps back, you’re stuck in this liminal space, trapped in the memory of being that girl who cried for hours after she accidentally stepped on a snail on a rainy day, the girl who wanted that four-leaf clover because she was scared to go to a school without jun there next to her.

sometimes, you wonder if jun knows how you feel about these types of things and he tries to drag you along with it anyway. maybe it’s his silly idea of exposure therapy, that if he brings you to enough of these events and introduces you to enough new people that you’ll finally grow and change with him. but you’re not really changing, you’re just trying—for jun, who still doesn’t realize the smile you give him every time you say ‘yes’ is pressed and designed specifically to make him happy.

but minghao looks at you, really looks at you, and asks, “but you want it to? change, i mean.”

you draw in a short breath, quiet. “i don’t know.”

“then…” his eyes shine, distinct in the lowlight. “do you want to change?”

gnawing on your bottom lip, you rip your gaze away, staring back to the floor. you’ve thought about it over and over, especially on nights where you’ve hidden yourself away. a part of you wants to keep being that person, the one you know that jun will keep coming back to. it’s familiar, it’s what he knows, and there’s a security in that, for both you and him. you know what it means to change, to not necessarily be the person that falls into step with jun—and as much as you’ve wanted to be that for as long as you can remember, you want to start moving past that, even if it means you’ll grow into a person jun won’t recognize anymore.

“maybe,” you say finally, like defeat in the admittance. “i think i’m just tired.”

there’s a brief moment of silence, one where the weight of your answer rests heavy. minghao opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, seokmin’s loud voice bounces through the house, resonating.

“myunghooo where are you…! let’s go hoooome!”

minghao gives you an apologetic smile instead, shuffling to his feet. “i’m sorry, i think that’s my cue to go.”

“ah, no, you’re good,” you respond hurriedly, standing up after him and rushing to the door to open it for him. “i’m sure i’ve kept you here long enough.”

“hey,” he says, right as you twist the doorknob. there’s a gentle reminder in his gaze. “i wanted to stay.”

something lodges in your throat, something you’re not sure how to even verbalize, but you’re saved by another holler.

“myuuuunghoooooo!”

“coming!” minghao calls out, before turning to you. “i’ll see you later, okay?”

yeah, you mean to say, but the word gets caught between breath and speech as you look at him go. with the door open, the bright hallway light scatters throughout your entire room, the warm light from your desk lamp and the hallway blurring together into one; and yet, minghao comes into focus, all at once.

“minghao,” you interrupt, right as he steps foot out the doorway. he looks back at you, curious. “thank you,” you wring your fingers together. “for listening to me.”

minghao smiles, a slight quirk of his lips. “of course.”

as you watch him turn around, you think that this is the end of it, but then he pauses, for just another second. you blink, waiting.

“whether you choose to or not,” he says, and your mind flashes back to your previous conversation. if you want to change, if you truly want to let go of jun. “i’ll always be here, if you need anyone to listen.”

after the night has come to a close, when you’ve finished cleaning up the house and everyone has gone to bed, your mind swims with the memory of his words, the echo of the conversation still rushes in your ears.

and you think you might just hold him to that.

tbc.

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