#innocent zero x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cityselcouth · 2 months ago

Text

for research purposes

pairing: caleb x reader

summary: how on earth were you supposed to write a good sex scene with almost zero experience? good thing your best friend was always willing to lend you a helping hand.

themes: childhood best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits, college! au, slowburn, humour, fluff, angst, petnames, profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, explicit sexual content (oral fem receiving, fingering, nipple play, protected + unprotected sex, clothed sex), porn with so much plot, they're both down bad asf

word count: 25k

lyns notes: its been so long since i've written a full length fic like this, and it ended up being so much longer than I anticipated but please don't get scared by the wc 😭 its so self indulgent because i love caleb and I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy! <3

This was utterly insane, even for you.

The idea started small, though you supposed you couldn’t ever classify it as innocent. At the time, it had been just a flicker, a fleeting thought that slipped through the cracks of your composure. You were in your best friend's dorm, lounging on his bed like it was your own as you complained.

“I’ve been stuck for weeks now. It’s like I’ve lost the ability to write.”

Caleb glanced over at you from his desk, leaning back in his plush chair as the movement of his fingers over the laptop keyboard stilled for a moment. The expression you received was familiar, you had been on the receiving end of it for years now. One of his lips quirked up, deep lavender eyes alight with amusement, and one eyebrow raised as he took in your anguished state.

“You haven’t lost the ability to write, Pipsqueak, it's just writer's block. You’ve had writer's block before.”

“Not like this.” You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. “I usually manage to overcome it in a week or so. It’s been like, three months.” Your annoyance with yourself was obvious to him, so clear in the slight pout on your mouth paired with that indignant expression.

It was true, you had been writing ever since you were little. Your imagination ran wild as a child, even before you could physically write, you would spin tales and make up stories to entertain yourself with, frequently getting lost in your own little world. You prided yourself on this talent of yours that helped you breeze through English essays and writing assignments, even going so far as to major in English at university. Writing was your bread and butter. It was more than just being good at it, it was the passion and fulfilment you felt when you did it.

Passion and fulfillment your ass, you couldn’t feel any of that right now.

You were writing a book, your very first one that you started penning in the summer before your sophomore year. The idea had come to you out of nowhere, and once you spent hours outlining all the details, you were certain it was something you wanted to bring to life. The need to finish it burned through you as you spent most of that break stuck at your desk, hunched over your laptop. Caleb had to quite literally drag you out of your room most days, muttering some nonsense about vitamin D and too much screen time.

He had always been like that ever since you were kids – protective, caring, attentive. It was built into his very being, you supposed, ever since he saw you cry outside the first-grade classrooms as a seven-year-old and promised to help you find your way to the correct one. Even now, as he hummed in thought, offering silent support for your frustration.

“You’ve gotten through a large chunk of it, right?”

“Yep.”

A slow, bargaining smile stretched out on his face. “Hey, you know, maybe if you let me read it–”

“Hell no.” You shook your head stubbornly. “I told you, I’m only letting you read it once it's finished, and I think it’s good enough.”

Caleb snorted, “So you mean never?”

You promptly threw one of the plushies on his bed at him. He deftly caught it, laughter slipping from him as he threw it back. The plushy was a grumpy apple one that he had won you back home at the arcade, but the pile of plushies on your bed was so huge that you graciously suggested that he keep it for you. Partial custody, you had joked, I have visitation rights.

“You’ll be the first to read it. I just….need to get through this one bit.”

Ah yes, the bit. The part that you seemed to be cursed to never finish. Everything before it had gone so smoothly, the words flowing and pouring out of you so perfectly. A fun romance novel full of twists and humour was what you aimed to achieve, and it seemed like you were succeeding.

That was, until you reached a part of the story that you truly had no idea how to write. The technicalities of it were.…..unknown at best, to you, who had almost no experience in the matter.

“You know, maybe you could tell me about it. Maybe I could help.” You knew the offer was genuine. Caleb had always been someone you could fall back upon for any assistance. Being two years older than you, in your eyes, he always knew what to do when you were in a pickle. He was the type of friend who placed bandages on your scrapes and offered you candy so you’d stop crying. He carried a hair tie around for when you wanted to tie your hair and helped you study for tests, and explained the concepts that you didn’t understand. Every time you had a problem, he never hesitated to help you in any way he possibly could.

But this….this was something you’d rather die than ask him about.

Immediately, you shook your head a little too quickly, shooting him a tight smile. “Nope, it's fine. Just something I gotta figure out myself.

He stared at you skeptically but shrugged. “Alright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

You wouldn’t.

Would you?

Absolutely not. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal. It was like opening a can of worms that held snakes. Deadly venomous ones.

And yet here you were, your teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as he turned back to his laptop screen, continuing to work on whatever assignment he had due. He was in his final year and was infinitely busy, though he somehow still managed to make time for you.

Shamelessly, your eyes studied him. His arms, so well defined and firm-looking, were basically on display for you when he wore that white, sleeveless tee. Dark hair, unruly and messy, no matter how many times you ran your fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. A defined jawline that could probably cut you if you dared touch it. He had grown up unfairly well, no longer the lanky young boy you once knew, now a man. A hot man you had incredible chemistry with.

A very hot man who was completely off-limits.

Still. You supposed that his help couldn’t be the worst thing in the world–

A sex scene. That was what you were struggling to right. In terms of the story, it was a very natural next move for your characters, and it made sense, and while you could simply artistically describe the ordeal and fade to black, you felt it was a necessary addition. You wanted to showcase the desperation the two characters felt for each other, just how deep their feelings ran through something more primal. You wanted it to feel right, to feel magical.

The issue? You hadn’t the faintest idea of how to go about it. In all your nineteen years of life, you had only had sex once, and it had been far from magical. It had been uncomfortable and rushed, the result of a very stupid, drunken one-night stand in your first year. The guy very evidently didn’t know how a woman's body worked, and even thinking back on it made you cringe and fold in on yourself. If it were possible to manually pluck the memory out and destroy it, you would have done it in a heartbeat.

So how on earth were you supposed to write the perfect sex scene when your one sole experience in the matter had been so terrible?

And you couldn’t ask Caleb for help. Even considering doing so made you feel as if you would spontaneously combust. He was your best friend, for crying out loud, and this crossed so many lines. You knew very well that he wasn’t a virgin by any means, having caught glimpses of the occasional hickey on his neck despite his best efforts to hide it from you. He was twenty-one, experienced and could probably talk you through it–

Nope. Not going here.

The idea of Caleb explaining sex to you was mortifying. You didn’t want to hear about any of his conquests, even just the thought of him talking about it made you want to throw up. The notion of him having sex only made your cheeks warm and your throat go uncomfortably dry.

Against your will, the thought festered. It burrowed its way into your mind and settled there as if it belonged, despite its having no business being there. This was completely unethical, but before you could stop yourself, your gaze zeroed in on his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking his lips in concentration as he typed out something. For a second, you wondered how it would feel if he dragged that tongue across the skin of your neck.

Oh my god. What if he simply showed you?

The moment that depraved idea popped into your head, you shot up, getting to your feet with urgency. Startled, he looked over at you, frowning at the alarmed look on your face.

“Are you good?”

“I’m great!” Your voice sounded funny, like you were trying to digest a rock. “I just– er– remembered I have some homework to finish for tomorrow. So I should get back to my room.” You padded over to his door, slipping into your shoes and waving at him. “See ya.”

“....Bye.” He watched your awkward, rushed movements with a puzzled look on his (very nice) face.. You nodded curtly before opening the door and escaping the confines of his dorm, out of his scrutinising gaze that could read you annoyingly well. Another minute in there and you knew he would be grilling you for your odd behaviour.

Jesus Christ. You were so screwed.

“Y/n? Girl, you gotta get your head in the game.”

Tara’s voice cut through your reverie, causing you to snap out of it. One glance up at her would reveal an unimpressed look directed at you, her hands on her hips. “Our darling editor wants to know why your article isn’t on her desk yet.”

Tara was your closest friend after Caleb, and you had met her when you joined the university paper as a student journalist. She was smart, pretty and always had your back no matter what. Blinking rapidly, you sighed, waving your hand.

“Tell Jenna I’ll have it there by the end of the day.”

“You better. You know how she is about deadlines.” Tara pulled one of the chairs from the desk beside yours closer and sat on it, resting her elbows on the armrests. “Seriously, though, why are you spaced out today?”

Well, there was no way you could tell her the truth about that. So you resorted to using a half-truth as an answer. “Writer's block.”

“Ah.”

You turned back to the screen of your computer, staring at the article you had been writing. It was almost finished, thank god. At least here, you had the facts to write around, having done your research. Very different to the situation you found yourself in regarding your stupid book.

Ugh.

“By the way, your boyfriend’s here.”

Your head snapped up at her words, already ready to argue, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Walking into the newsroom holding two coffees was Caleb, wearing that blue-orange jacket that you had bought him for one of his birthdays. He did this pretty often, sauntering in like he owned the place even though he was technically not allowed to be there. Jenna had repeatedly reminded him of this, but he brushed it off, and after a while, she simply stopped bothering. Thus, despite not being on the paper, he spent a lot of time in the newsroom.

This was another problem you faced daily: people mistaking him for your boyfriend. The number of times you had to rehash the fact that he was simply your best friend was astounding, and back when you were a freshman, the constant whistles about you dating an upperclassman– and none other than Caleb Xia– drove you mad. You chalked it down to none of them being fortunate enough to experience a friendship as fulfilling and real as the one you had with him.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You dropped your voice, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear your rebuttal that held a hint of venom, plastering a smile on your face as he closed in. Tara snickered.

“Sure, and I’m the queen of England.”

“Hey,” Caleb grinned down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your friend. “And what?”

“Nothing,” you said brightly, shooting her a murderous look that silently told her to zip it. She smiled innocently and shook her head, slipping back to her desk without another word.

“She’s an odd one,” he quipped, handing you one of the coffees and then shrugging off the jacket, dumping it on the free space on your desk. You already knew it was your regular order, something he had memorised years ago. You sipped the drink, letting the hot liquid calm you down, grateful for the caffeine. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, spending it tossing and turning in your bed.

And why was that?

Caleb leaned against your desk. “Are you free later today?”

A dejected sigh escaped you. “Unfortunately, no. I need to finish this article by the end of the day, and it seems like my writer's block has infected every aspect of my life.” It was ironic, just how true that statement ran.

“Damn.” You could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. “I was hoping we would have movie night. I stocked up on your favourite candy.” He reached over, his fingers brushing against the skin of your forehead as he pushed some of your hair that fell in front of your eyes away from your face, neatly tucking it behind your ear like it was second nature. It was, you supposed, considering he had done so about a hundred times.

But something was different this time, or perhaps you were paying far too much attention to every little thing. To how he pulled back and the way the muscles in his forearm shifted subtly, making you wish he had kept the jacket on. The brief touch lingered on your skin, burned into it.

Fucking hell, you were a mess. A tragic, down-atrocious mess.

Your eyes lingered on his fingers for a moment. Heat crept up your neck, and you coughed, rubbing it absent-mindedly, hoping to push down the flush you felt taking over your body. It had been like this ever since the day in his dorm when your brain had decided to work against you and infect you with the thought of sex with your best friend.

What better way was there to describe your state than calling it an infection? It certainly felt like some sort of sickness with the way it plagued you against your will. Somehow, it was worse than the doomed crush you had harboured for him back when you were in high school, because at least that had been innocent. That was born out of pure admiration, and you were sixteen. A lot of things done at sixteen could be brushed off under the excuse of being young and naive. You had quickly gotten over it.

You were evidently no longer so naive. In fact, you knew too much.

“Maybe next time.” You managed to choke out finally after a silence that had stretched a beat too long. Part of you hoped he’d leave you alone now so that you could calm down and refocus your attention to the article.

But of course, he didn’t. Instead, he occupied the chair Tara previously had, complaining about one of his classes as you nodded along, sipping your coffee and glancing between him and your screen. The smooth cadence of his voice usually soothed you and calmed you down, but now it only put you on edge, flowing over scrambled thoughts like honey. Had his arms always been this nice?

You were going to hell.

All things considered, you held yourself to certain standards. You were a woman with morals and integrity, and you were not in the habit of staring at shirtless men.

Except when it was Caleb, apparently.

“Why are you half-naked?” You blurted out gracelessly, heat viciously curling up your body as your eyes dropped down to his torso. You gripped the Chinese takeout you had gotten on your way back from your evening class a little tighter as you took in his figure. A silver chain with a tag and apple pendant (something you had given him before he left for university while you were still struggling in high school) on his bare chest and perfect sculpted abs, running shorts hanging low on his hips.

“I was working out.” He said casually, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and walking back into his dorm, leaving you to follow him. You bit down on your tongue hard, almost hoping you’d draw blood.

This was ridiculous. You had seen him shirtless several times before and had never reacted like this. The other times hadn’t caused you to flush and definitely didn’t cause your heart rate to spike. It didn’t have you furiously fighting off thoughts that had threatened to consume you for over a week now, pushing them back into the furthest parts of your mind and locking them there.

“I’m almost done, could you grab sodas from the fridge?” Caleb placed the food on the table beside his bed. You wordlessly complied, picking the apple-flavoured sodas that both of you liked. Turning back to the main area of his dorm, you walked over, only to stop dead in your tracks.

Caleb was on the floor. Doing push-ups.

There was nothing inherently sexual about it in the slightest. You knew he liked to stay in shape, hitting the gym at least thrice a week to maintain his physique– a very nice physique that seemed to be your current undoing. His hair fell across his forehead, a little matted from sweat. You watched as he pressed down and back up, and in a moment of weakness, you wondered how it would be if you were under him instead of standing to the side and ogling like an idiot. Would his necklace dangle above you, swinging back and forth in your face?

Dear god. You needed to be sedated. Put down, even.

Finally, he seemed to be done, lowering himself down and then rolling onto his back. He sucked in a breath of hair, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. Finally, he sat up and looked up at you, a singular eyebrow raised.

“Why are you just standing there?”

Brilliant question. If only you could answer it.

Choosing to skillfully evade instead, you tossed him his soda can and grabbed his laptop from his desk, settling down next to him on the floor. Tonight, the two of you had decided to have dinner together and catch up on an anime you had started together a couple of weeks ago. It had been a while since you had properly hung out, and you knew damn well that it was all your fault.

You were avoiding him. Mentally and physically, especially physically. Caleb, however, being the understanding, saint of a man that he was, chalked it up to you being busy. He made sure to check in on you, shooting you texts or sending you funny videos he knew you’d like.

“We should try and finish all the episodes up until the latest one,” You said, opening up his laptop and logging into the anime site. “They released a new one on Wednesday.”

Caleb hummed, stretching his arms as he shuffled closer. Immediately, you froze, the close contact inciting pure panic within you. Jerking away from him, you glared, holding a hand out to keep an arm's distance between the two of you, much to his confusion.

“Put on a shirt.”

He frowned. “Why? It’s really hot.”

Indeed, it was. “Exactly. You’re all sweaty and gross.”

You really shouldn’t have said that. The moment the words left your mouth, his mouth curled into a smirk– one so disgustingly attractive that you were sure your knees would have probably buckled if you weren’t already sitting down– and his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that told you he was up to no good. Carefully, he wrapped a hand around your wrist, and the contact has your brain short-circuiting and going into overdrive.

“I think that means you want a hug.”

“Wait– don’t you dare– Caleb!” You yelped as he tugged you harshly, forcing you to fall into his lap, his laughter resounding through the small dorm room. Awkwardly, you shoot your other hand out to steady yourself, placing it on his shoulder as you tumble into him, knee slotting in between his legs and body so dangerously close to his that you wanted to scream. Smoothly, he wrapped his other arm around your waist, circling it and somehow tugging you even closer, until you were flush against him.

“What are you gonna do now, Pips?” He taunted, voice just above a whisper right against your ear.

Unicorns, you bleakly thought to yourself. Puppies. Cupcakes. Sprinkles.

“You’re so annoying,” You hissed, throwing as much irritation into your voice as you possibly could in the hopes that it would drown out the shakiness you felt. His skin under your fingertips was warm, and you could feel that warmth through the fabric of your tank top. “Go fuck yourself.”

He laughed harder, the sound so contagious it broke you out of your downright sinful thoughts. You gripped his shoulder a little harder, mentally chastising yourself for the situation you found yourself in, knowing that there was no good reason for you to be this riled up. Playfighting with him was something you were used to; it was natural. It should not have had your blood pressure rising and heart slamming in your chest so violently.

Swallowing thickly, you barely processed how he let go of your wrist, his other arm also coming to rest around your waist as he pulled you further into his lap so that you were now sitting on top of him. Before you even had the chance to react to that, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled.

“Missed you this week,” He mumbled softly against your rapidly heating skin. You froze for a split second at the contact, hopelessly blaming the flush spread over your cheeks on the humid weather.

And then you softened.

Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him back. “I missed you too,” You whispered, following up with a lie to keep him off your trail. “Just had a lot of work.”

“I know,” he said so patiently that you instantly felt guilty. He lifted his face from your neck so that he could stare at you, and it hit you just how intimate the position the two of you were in was. Although reserved with others, Caleb had always been pretty openly affectionate with you. His hand on the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours, a light kiss to your temple in encouragement– he had been doing stuff like that to you since you were ten.

So why did it suddenly affect you so much? Why did something so normal for you make you feel so different now?

“Just….tell me about it,” he continued, those mesmerising purple eyes of his locked onto yours. “Shoot me a text. Let me know what's up with you. Don’t you remember the last time you shut everyone out because you were stressed?”

You did remember. It was during your finals last year, when the workload you had overwhelmed you so badly that you simply pushed everyone away until they were over. Caleb had to practically storm his way back into your life and demand that you take a break and slow down before you worked yourself to the bone. The fact that he remembered this only made your guilt worse because your distance this time had nothing to do with your classwork.

It had everything to do with him, though.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, slowly slipping out of his embrace and settling down next to him once again. You had to remind yourself of what he was to you, and all this thirsting for him was neither healthy nor something a good best friend would do. “I’m not gonna do that again.”

“I’m just saying. And what the hell am I supposed to do with my free time if you’re not here to bother me?” He flashed you that shit-eating grin of his that you were starting to think was more devastating than mischievous.

You had to resist strangling him.

There was only one possible conclusion: something was deeply wrong with you.

How else were you supposed to explain your borderline insane behaviour? It had gotten even worse lately, causing you to daydream at the most inconvenient times, like when you were trying to get an assignment done or even in the middle of class. It was a wonder your professors hadn’t called you out for it yet.

Some level of restraint seemed to remain, though, with you stopping your thoughts from crossing any lines. The moment you caught your mind straying into dangerous territory, you forced yourself to stop, desperately searching for another distraction.

But there was only so much you could do. Thinking was proving to be a dangerous activity.

You pressed your palms into your eyes, hard. It was almost three in the morning, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Earlier, you had tried to write around the damned scene, but emerged fruitless. It was like an obstacle you had to clear before you could get to the next level of a game, taunting you with its incompletion.

Something else taunted you, simmering underneath the expanse of your skin. Things that hadn’t even happened yet, but you had already dreamed of them– his mouth on yours, his hands tracing your body with a feather touch.

You were even wearing one of his shirts right now, the oversized tee reaching down to your mid-thighs. Several, just like the one you currently wore, sat neatly in your closet, having been stolen from him over the years. You could faintly smell his cologne; cidery and comforting, enveloping you in what felt like it could be his embrace. Turning onto your side, you pulled the blanket over your body and stared at the wall blankly.

Caleb had been your safe space for so long, and perhaps that was why you gravitated so easily to thinking about him like this. If there was anyone you trusted in such an intimate sense, it was him.

Even if it shouldn’t have been.

God knows you needed to get laid. Unfortunately, you didn’t want just anyone.

You swore you had never been this horny before, least of all for your best friend. Thinking about him in such a salacious way was strictly a new development that was quickly ruining your life, haunting you day and night. Even now, lying in your bed, heat that was impossible to ignore bloomed between your legs.

Maybe if you just indulged once, this madness would stop. Maybe you just needed an orgasm, and then you’d stop going insane over every single interaction you had with Caleb. It didn’t even have to be about him, and this was normal; everyone needed a release now and then.

Your fingers slipped between your legs, pushing the fabric of his shirt up, tracing the outline of your cotton underwear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your fingertips gently graze against where you needed them most, letting your legs fall apart just a little bit–

Deep purple eyes flashed behind your closed eyes.

Gasping, you retracted your hand like you had been burned. There was no way in hell you could touch yourself with him in mind; that was everything you had been avoiding for the past three weeks, ever since the notion had first sprouted. Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow.

This had to have been the stupidest cause of insomnia ever.

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : i better see u at the party tonight :D

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : will pick u up at 9

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : no buts.

Caleb supposed that this was technically his fault.

Mentally, he had already prepared for this outcome. It was why he had barely drunk the entire night, barely finishing two drinks and opting out of playing beer pong with the rest of his friends, despite Gideon's need for another member on his team.

“Come on, Pipsqueak.” He had an arm around your waist to help steady you, ensuring you wouldn’t fall flat on your face. You stumbled into the elevator, and he jammed the number of your dorm floor as you wrapped your arms around his torso weakly, leaning into him. Right now, he was the only thing keeping you upright.

You were drunk, slurring your words and unable to walk in a straight line without any assistance type of drunk. And yes, this was his fault.

Probably. Definitely.

One of the frat houses had thrown a party, and he had insisted that you come with him. He had always been great at reading you, and for the last couple of weeks, you had seemed tense over something, though you hadn’t told him what exactly it was yet. That was fine, he knew that eventually you’d spill, but for now, all he wanted to do was help you let loose.

That was exactly what he told you to do when both of you arrived at the party, even pouring you your first drink. Halfway through the party, you seemed more relaxed than you had in the last couple of days, swaying along to the music by his side. He made sure not to drink too much, wanting to be sober enough to safely get you back to your dorm just in case you overdid it.

His intuition always ended up being right when it came to you.

You whined as the elevator dinged, the doors opening. “Everything is spinning.”

“I know, honey, we’re almost there.” He helped you walk into the hallway, smoothly taking your handbag from you and extracting your keys. Holding you tighter, he opened the door and pulled you through, carefully seating you down on your bed and taking your boots off.

Like clockwork, he grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table, unscrewed it and held it to your cherry-tinted lips. You only used that specific lip-tint when you were going out, and each time you did, he found himself wondering if it tasted like cherry as well. Even now, as he gently propped his index finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards, he entertained the idea of tasting it for himself.

But he wouldn’t.

“Drink up,” He said softly, “You’re gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow.”

Obediently, you parted your lips, drinking with his help. Your cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol, hair a little frizzy from the heat, but still maintaining the styling you had done before the party. To him, you looked stunning at all times, but he could see the effort you had put in to look nice tonight, from your outfit (a black halter top and jeans) to your makeup, which he knew he’d have to help you take off now.

Once he deemed the amount of water you had drunk enough, he put the bottle back and went into your bathroom, knowing exactly where to find your makeup wipes. He had taken care of you like this once before, so his body moved like clockwork. There was no point in trying to get you to the bathroom– you’d probably just sit down on the floor and stay there for the rest of the night– so he took the wipes with him and crouched down in front of where you sat on your bed.

Smiling, he held your face again, this time a little firmer. “You’d hate yourself if you went to sleep before you took your makeup off,” he whispered, pulling one of the wipes out and dragging it over the apples of your face. Then, he glanced up and into your eyes, noting how you stared at him so keenly, even through a half-lidded gaze, lips slightly parted.

If Caleb could’ve kept your attention on him like this for the rest of his life, he would have.

“What's going through that head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side, studying your intent expression. Immediately, you looked away, but he wasn’t going to back down. Something had been troubling you, and he was determined to find out what. If you wouldn’t tell him outright, he would simply have to guess. “Is it your book, again?”

Your inebriated state made it hard for you to hide things from him. You stiffened in his touch, and he chuckled. “Bingo. You know, if you just told me what you were struggling with, I’d help.” He pressed your chin lightly, angling your face downwards. “Close your eyes.” He gently wiped over your eye makeup, making sure it was all off before continuing. “I know I’m not a writer, but I’m sure I'll be of some value.”

Finally done, he neatly folded the dirty wipe and placed it to the side. “Want some more water? Alcohol is dehydrating.”

And then, out of nowhere, you spoke.

“Sex.”

Well, blurting would probably be a better way to describe how you said the word. Caleb blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard you correctly as his face snapped back to yours, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Sex.” You slurred a little bit as you leaned closer to him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout and repeating it once more for good measure. “Sex.”

“I heard you the first time,” Caleb could hear how strangled his voice was, unable to think straight at your sudden declaration. Oblivious to his mental distress, you thrust out your hand and pointed at the laptop that sat on your desk with drunken animosity.

“I can’t write a stupid sex scene.”

You sounded so crestfallen, and he would have totally started sympathising with you if not for the reason. A sex scene? What on earth were you writing?

“I–” He swallowed, “Well–”

“I mean, how am I supposed to write a good sex scene if I don’t know what good sex feels like? Or what even like, happens?” Alcohol had certainly loosened you up, and perhaps a bit too much, having erased any filter that you had. This resulted in you rambling on about everything you would have usually kept to yourself, and for good reason. “The sex I’ve had has been shitty.”

The sex you’ve had? Caleb almost bit his tongue off in shock, staring at you incredulously at the information you had dumped on him. He hadn’t even known you had been having sex, and thank every god for that, because he would have probably jumped off a cliff if you ever talked about your sex life with him. Surely, this was some sort of twisted fever dream he had found himself in. This could not have been real life.

“Christ,” He choked out, “I–okay, maybe I can’t help you–”

“Yeah, you can.” Your eyes cut to his, a little too intense for his sanity. “If you fucked me, I’d probably be able to write the scene.”

He gaped at you, about a dozen inappropriate thoughts running through his head before he could stop it. “What did you just say?”

Teenage Caleb would have died if he had heard you say that. Adult Caleb nearly did.

You sighed heavily, and it only succeeded in causing him to spiral even more. “I thought about it. I’m sure it would be good, y’know. You’d know what you were doing, you even look like you’re good at it.”

“You’re so drunk.” He tried to reason with himself out loud, but could hardly recognise his voice with how strained he sounded. Looked like he was good at it? What alternate dimension had he just fallen into?

“Oh, come on, Caleb. I need some hands-on learning, and you–” you slurred the words as you leaned close and wrapped your hands around his bicep, peering up at him through your lashes. “–have very nice hands. They’re hot.”

You, his best friend, his pipsqueak, had thought about sleeping with him. You thought his hands were hot. The news nearly killed him, and he had to force himself to look away from you, his mind running at a mile a minute. Heat prickled at his face and neck, impossible to ignore as he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, pulling away from your touch.

“You should sleep.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping away from you. “I–I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was as if he were going through puberty all over again, with the way his voice cracked embarrassingly as he spoke. He left your room hurriedly, barely getting his shoes back on as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

Caleb exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the back of his head hit your door. All these years of barely keeping it together around you, carefully tiptoeing between right and wrong, only for you to come and crash into whatever self-restraint he had left.

Right and wrong.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure if he was going to choose correctly anymore.

Death had to have been more merciful than the pounding in your head. Grabbing the covers, you pulled them over yourself like a cocoon, trying your hardest to block out all noises and sink even further into your mattress.

Unfortunately, your hangover-induced headache made it nearly impossible for you to go back to sleep. Cursing, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up and change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. Naturally, you gravitated towards an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, pulling them on after a quick shower.

Then, you went right back to your bed, not wanting to face the day in the slightest. You had managed to resist throwing up so far, and even the thought of having to function like a normal human being made you recoil into your blanket and stay there for the rest of the week. Just as you began to genuinely entertain that notion, a sharp knock at your door caught your attention.

You would have ignored it if you didn’t know the pattern of this knock by heart. No one but Caleb knocked twice in sequence.

Cursing under your breath, you scrambled to the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light of the hallway outside nearly blinded you. There he stood, grinning down at you as he held up a paper bag.

“Aspirin.”

“Thank god,” you immediately let him in, taking the medicine from him and pouring yourself a glass of water. He stood right behind you as you took the pill, ruffling your already messy hair and staring for just a second too long.

“Bad morning, huh?”

“You have no idea.” You winced at the whiny nature of your voice. “It feels like my head is trying to stab itself.”

Caleb chuckled dryly, sitting down on your bed and watching as you settled at your desk and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth out the knots. Something was different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You’ll be fine,” He muttered, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. You frowned, taking in the way his jaw ticked, and placed your glass of water down.

“Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” He said it a little too brightly, glancing down at your desk. Something flickered in his eyes. “Made any progress on that book of yours?”

A frustrated sound left you buried your face in your hands, elbows on your desk. The reminder of your stagnant writing somehow worsened your headache, as if that was even possible. Of course he’d bring that up. “As usual, no.”

For a while, you had hoped that inspiration would strike you eventually, but it seemed like you were well and truly stuck. It had only taken a turn for the worse, with you suddenly despising everything you had already written, unable to even skim any of it without cringing and wanting to hit delete. Your inability to write had morphed into impostor syndrome, which was a development you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“It’s okay,” he said, and you would have mistaken his tone for reassuring if not for the way his lips twitched slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write eventually. After you fuck me, apparently.”

Silence.

Razor-sharp silence.

Slowly, you turned your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers. “What….did you just say?”

“Only what you said last night. You said you were sure it would be good, which I beg to differ. It would be amazing, thank you very much.” He dared to smile oh-so innocently, as if he hadn’t just upgraded the superlative of what sex with him would potentially be like.

If you thought you were going to throw up before, you were sure you were going to now. You almost choked on your spit, waves of unadulterated shock crashing through your system as you gawked at your best friend, who appeared much too pleased with himself at the moment. If you weren’t so utterly horrified, you would have tried to slap the smug expression right off of his face.

“No.” The singular word comes out breathless, much to your mortification, your gut churning at the implications of that statement. “No, no, no–”

“Oh yes,” He grinned wickedly, leaning back on the palms of his hands.

“What–what the fuck did I drink last night.” You tried your levity, but your embarrassment ran too deep. Reaching up, you covered your face with your hands in a pathetic attempt to hide away from him. Never, in a million years, had you ever accounted for having this conversation with him, of all people, and you were almost certain there was something in your drinks that had made you say what you did.

His velvety laugh echoed through your dorm, and you wanted nothing more than to fold in on yourself. This had to have been the worst moment of your life.

“I guess you don’t remember, huh?” There was an amused lilt to his tone that made you want to jump out of the window. “I can refresh you, if you’d like.”

“NO!”

The shriek that left you was nothing short of abashed. He leaned forward now, smirking at you conspiratorially. “What's wrong? I thought you needed,” he paused, as if recollecting the exact words you had said to humiliate you even further. “Hands-on learning?”

You pointed to the door, biting back a scream. “Get out.”

The smirk only grew. “Aw, but if sleeping with me is gonna help you write again–”

“OUT!” You glared, cheeks flaming. Your anxiety had prepared you for at least a hundred outright ridiculous situations that had no chance of ever occurring, but none of them accounted for the possibility of your best friend talking about sleeping with you. You couldn’t fathom how he seemed so unaffected by it, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as the damn weather.

Caleb tongued his cheek, evidently fighting off another bout of laughter. He raised his hands to his sides in a placating gesture, but it did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. If anything, it only distracted you further, your eyes betraying you and straying to glance at his hands. A suppressed memory from last night resurfaced in your mind's eye, much to your displeasure.

You have very nice hands. They’re hot.

That was it. You were never going to touch alcohol again. Sobriety was your way of life now, seeing that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut when under the influence. The next time you need to let off some steam, you’d have an iced coffee.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go.” He moved towards your door, hiding his teasing smile behind his fist, disguising his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. “But Y/n?”

He didn’t use his beloved pet name. You straightened slightly, momentarily pushing away your embarrassment at the sudden serious shift of his voice. He opened the door and paused, hesitating for a single second. Then, he looked back at you, all-consuming, violent eyes locking onto yours.

“I would do it if you asked.”

You sighed heavily as you walked out of your last class of the day, rubbing the back of your neck and peering up into the darkening sky. Thursdays were the one day of the week when you had longer classes one after the other, which always resulted in you feeling exhausted by the end of it. You barely had the energy to even think about putting together dinner, which your best friend knew, always swinging by once your class ended with enough take-out for both of you and to walk you back to your dorm.

Which meant…

“I hope you’re in the mood for Thai food.”

Caleb slid into your view with that easy-going smile of his, though lately and much to your annoyance, there seemed to be a knowing glint in his gaze every time it settled on you.

“I’m in the mood for anything edible.” You sighed as you began walking back to your dorm. He easily fell into step beside you, as always, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You supposed it was, considering how long your friendship had lasted. It would be almost twelve years soon, and honestly, you could hardly remember a time when he wasn’t around.

He hummed, knowing how cranky you got when you were hangry. “So easy to please.” It was the way he said it, knowing and with a tone so low that it almost resembled a purr. It had goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin. A little outraged at the way you reacted, you glanced over at him, only to find him already looking at you.

It was how he always looked at you, with conviction and every ounce of his attention. Yet, it felt different, more intense. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on itself.

I would do it if you asked.

Those seven words had haunted you from the moment he had spoken them. The serious expression on his face mixed with the quiet way he had said it– it had undoubtedly fucked you up a little more than you would have liked to admit. You were beyond infuriated and in complete disbelief over how he had simply offered to sleep with you. Like it wasn’t a big deal or a very major, clear boundary that existed in friendships. In your friendship.

If you asked. Like it was that fucking simple. He left your dorm since you demanded it of him, but left you to deal with the aftermath of that absolutely criminal statement of his.

And then there was the teasing.

Relentless and unsteadying. Caleb would say something a little too suggestive or downright sexual before retreating and pretending like nothing had happened. He’d hold your gaze a little longer, or let his touch linger, before looking away with a satisfied smirk. He knew damn well what he was doing, and although you did too, it didn’t stop you from flushing or freezing up. It certainly didn’t stop scenarios from writing themselves in your head.

He was torturing you for your little slip-up. He found it hilarious, and now you were the punchline for every joke that blossomed from it.

He cocked his head to the side now, a small, tilted smile on his lips as he spoke. “What's going on in at head of yours?”

You realised you had stopped walking, and so had he, instead standing right in front of you and occupying every part of your vision. “Nothing.”

Caleb quirked an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “You sure about that? You’re obviously thinking about something.” The cadence of his voice had always been nice, but now the velvety smoothness of it put you on edge in more ways than one. “Are you maybe thinking about–”

“I am not thinking about that.” The statement tumbled out of you before you could bite your tongue. His eyes lit up mischievously.

“Oh, so you’re thinking about something after all, are you?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to findd to find a comeback to that. Somehow, he was even closer now.

“Mind telling me what exactly that is?”

“Stop it,” You almost snarled, shooting him a withering look as you pushed him away in order to reclaim your personal space. This teasing streak of his was getting unbearable, especially since it was anything but innocent and was driving you up the wall. “Or I’m gonna take the Thai food and leave you with nothing.”

An offended gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

He laughed at your threat and finally let up on you, going back to being the Caleb you knew. He spoke of his classes and the group project he had due at the end of the week, for which he had terrible teammates to work with. It was jarring, how easily he could shift back into acting like he hadn’t just insinuated something so….

Maybe it was just your dirty mind.

Unbeknownst to you, it definitely wasn’t just your dirty mind. Caleb was mentally punching himself.

Caleb had had years of practising self-control when it came to you. Years of holding back and hiding the feelings he had for his best friend, shying away from every opportunity to divulge them. He knew how to keep his hands to himself, his mind from straying and his tongue from running into dangerous territory. He hadn’t meant to do it, but your drunken confession had flipped a switch inside of him. The lines had gotten a little blurry, but he would never, in a million years, ever actually cross them.

So what the hell was wrong with him?

You still hadn’t written a word. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even complain about it in peace anymore. Not if you wanted to maintain even a modicum of your sanity.

The reason for said dwindling sanity was sitting beside you right now on his bed, his arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the top of your shoulder. Usually, this would have calmed you down and even made you sleepy, but it achieved the complete opposite right then. You were painfully awake, his feathery touch like electricity against your skin.

God, you were so fucked. You had hoped that Caleb’s incessant teasing would have put a damper on your sudden, strong attraction towards him, but nothing of the sort had happened. It seemed to have only gotten worse, with you ending up being jumpy whenever he was around, and considering the amount you hung out with him, you were starting to resemble a kangaroo.

Around him, you were constantly tense and always on the precipice of being turned on. To say it was hellish would be an understatement.

“You’re distracted,” he murmured as the credits of the movie you were watching played. Finally, the two of you had managed to find the time to have that movie night you had passed on weeks ago. You shook your head, glancing up at the clock that hung on his wall. It was a little past midnight.

“Just frustrated,” you said finally, because it was the truth in more ways than one. Your frustration with your writing, or lack of, ran deep, but now it was intertwined with another very persistent reason. Being sexually frustrated wasn’t something you were used to dealing with.

He seemed to have caught on, though, his hand falling from your shoulder to your waist, curling around it. “Why are you frustrated, Pipsqueak?” He drawled, turning his head so that he faced you now. Of course, he’d pick this moment to torment you, when you were already frazzled.

“No reason,” you said quickly, voice clipped. A slow, languid smile stretched out on his lips.

“No?” He asked, the side of his mouth tilting. “Could it be….”

“Stop talking.” You despised how hoarse your voice sounded. You wanted– no, needed him to stop doing this before it became unbearable. He was your best friend, for fucks sake. The smile on his annoyingly perfect face melted into a smirk that would have had your knees weak if you weren’t already sitting down.

“I don’t think I will.” He whispered, pulling you even closer as he dipped his head down until his lips brushed against your ear. It was like he wanted you to break, and god, you were so close to doing so. His hand slid up your waist just a little bit. A shiver ran through you, one you couldn’t have suppressed if you tried.

“Tell me,” He mumbled, the words sounding much too loud even though he was still whispering. “Do your frustrations have anything to do with a certain sex scene you’re trying to write?”

You inhaled sharply.

Rationality was a funny thing. Every bit of it seemed to disappear whenever you truly needed it. Things you had no business thinking rushed through your head, courtesy of your bright imagination that chose the most inconvenient moments to work. Thoughts you had suppressed and pushed aside every time they had the nerve to pop up swirled around.

The spark that you had been trying so hard to put out crackled to life in your core, its flames spreading all across your body like wildfire. You were painfully aware of every part of you that was in contact with him, his hand just above your waist, sitting there so possessively, his breath fanning across your neck– fuck. It was too much, but somehow not enough all at once, and immediately you knew what you wanted.

More.

You snapped.

Something possessed you as you turned to look at him, a surge of confidence appearing out of nowhere as you drew closer to him. “Yeah.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Right then and there, three things became very clear to you. One: You wanted to write. Desperately and preferably sometime soon, because you did want to finish the first draft before you could go in and edit. Two: For some reason, you needed to have sex in order to get over the mental block you had when it came to writing it. Lastly, three: You only wanted to have sex with one person, and it was the man right beside you.

“My frustration has everything to do with the sex scene.” You said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice was. “But you can help with that, right?”

Without waiting for his response, you got to your knees, swinging a leg over him and settling down on top. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second as your hands found his shoulders to maintain your balance, before he spoke again.

“Pipsqueak,” he started, voice low and careful, attempting to keep the teasing lilt in his voice but royally failing. “What– exactly– are you doing?”

“You told me to ask.” You muttered, dropping your gaze to his lips for a moment before letting it travel back up. “You said you’d do it if I asked. I’m asking right now.”

Caleb couldn’t respond, still staring up at you, eyes wide and ears a little redder than they normally were. Good. It was about time he had a taste of his own medicine. His hands found your waist again, and he blinked twice, slowly, and you prayed he wasn’t all bark and no bite.

You wanted him to bite.

“Y/n,” he muttered, “I….I know what I said.”

You raised an eyebrow, your hands slipping up his shoulders simultaneously until they were cradling his neck, playing with his hair at the nape of it. Was he shy? Now? After everything he had said and insinuated, he had the audacity to be all bashful? “So then you know what I’m asking for.”

“Well–”

“Caleb,” You cut him off, shifting so that you were closer. “I’m asking.”

Conviction laced those words. You could tell he was reasoning with himself, god knows you could read him well enough to know when he was conflicted, when he bit the inside of his cheek before exhaling shakily.

“Pips,” He rasped out your nickname. “You– you’re sure?”

You didn’t recognise the look in his eyes right then as he looked up at you, but it had you unravelling all the same. You leaned in subconsciously, but he quickly moved one of his hands from your waist to your mouth, covering it as his jaw clenched, still studying you. “I need you to tell me you’re sure, Y/n.”

Oh, so this was actually happening. You could feel the heat of your breath recoil against your face because of his hand. The ticking of the clock in his room filled the charged silence between him and you, his fingers brushing against your chapped lips. You swallowed.

“I’m sure.”

Whatever had shifted in you five minutes ago seemed to shift in him as well now. He let his hand drop from your mouth, shamelessly staring at it. “We shouldn’t.” But he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist and palms splayed out on the small of your back.

“It’s for research purposes,” You breathed out, doing your best to justify how badly you needed him. “Please, Caleb, I need–”

He didn’t let you finish.

You gasped as he crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. The pressure of his lips against your own was dizzying, especially with the way they moved; slowly and precisely, as if he was committing the feel of your lips to his memory. You were hyperaware of his touch on your back, the warmth from his hands permeating through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you were wearing.

Pulling him closer, you tilted your head so you could kiss him better. For the number of times you had mentally chided yourself for even thinking about this, it felt remarkably natural to kiss him, your instincts taking over. Your fingers slipped into his hair, entangling in the dark strands and tugging lightly.

Caleb groaned, and you were on fire.

“God, Y/n.” There was nothing playful about the way he mumbled your name into the kiss, and the unfamiliarity of it sent a shiver down your spine. His lips, soft and just a little hesitant, moved in tandem against your own, slotting in between them perfectly like you were pieces of the same puzzle, meant to be pushed together like so. He nipped at your lower lip before swiping his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and the intoxicating sensation drew out a needy whimper from you.

The second that sound escaped you, all indecision disappeared from his end, and the temperature in the room seemed to increase, growing hotter with every smack of his lips against yours. Kissing him was addictive, it felt as if neither of you could bear to pull away from each other.

Without warning, Caleb lifted you off of him and pressed you into the mattress, swiftly climbing on top of you. For a moment, he hovered, looking down at you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and heavy breathing, proud to have been the cause of your breathlessness despite barely doing a thing. Going in once again, he brushed his lips against yours teasingly, before giving you what you truly wanted, the intensity of the kiss taking a turn for feverish.

A hand of his slid up your side until he cupped your jaw oh-so gently, turning your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, upon which he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that had heat rush right to your core. The ache between your legs grew, slowly becoming unbearable, and you rubbed your thighs together with a whine, chasing any sliver of friction.

“Shit,” he muttered against you, his other hand slipping underneath your shirt and coming into contact with your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin. Spreading his fingers and pressing lightly, he kept you from squirming. “Pips, you gotta tell me to stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” you almost snapped at him, impatient and so painfully aroused it was embarrassing. He couldn’t hold back the breathless chuckle that escaped him as he moved lower, teeth grazing your collarbone.

“If, at any point, you want to stop, tell me,” he gritted out, trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control he still possessed. “I don’t wanna do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

You nodded quickly. “I trust you.”

That was all he needed. Lifting his head slightly, he fumbled with the buttons of your shorts as he leaned back, all his weight on his knees. Once he managed to undo them, you lifted your hips slightly to help him tug them off your body. He settled between your legs, spreading them until the pretty cotton panties you wore were exposed.

Caleb swallowed, his breathing growing erratic and heavy. The wet patch on your panties was his undoing; everything about this situation was bound to be the death of him, but he was too far gone now. He let his hand trace up to your hips, hooking his finger through the waistband of your panties, toying with it.

“Is this ok?” The column of his throat bobbed as he stared up at you from between your legs. When you whispered a needy yes, he pulled the panties down your legs, his eyes darkening the moment they settled back on your core.

“Y/n,” He said your name like he was drunk, a certain sense of reverence infused in his tone that had your cheeks kissed rouge. “You’re even prettier than I thought.”

Than he thought? You would have to take the time to dissect that statement later, much too distracted to do so at the moment when he began peppering kisses along your inner thigh, starting from your knee and working his way upwards. The sensation of his mouth tantalisingly close to where you wanted it so badly was almost too much. Just the sight of him there was so erotic that it had your head swimming. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right then, exposed and willing.

And then finally– finally– his breath fanned out over your soaked cunt, driving you insane. Liquid fire thrummed in your veins beneath the surface of your skin as your anticipation spilled over. He pressed a light, teasing kiss against your clit.

Caleb dragged his tongue over your slit, licking up it all the way to your clit, which he wrapped his lips around and sucked, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You gasped, bucking your hips up against him, and he chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up your body, from your toes to the top of your head.

“Impatient,” he chided. “Let me take my time with you, princess.”

The new pet name sounded so natural coming from him, and immediately, you knew you wanted to hear him call you that again. He flicked his tongue against the throbbing bud that had been aching for his attention this entire time, positioning your legs to rest over his shoulders. The sounds that left you were shamefully loud, and you had never been more grateful that he lived in a single dorm.

“Cal- oh fuck,” You mewled when he swiped two of his fingers through your wetness, rubbing your folds.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he all but groaned against you, and you could feel more slick gush out of you at that. “Is this all for me?”

Your back arched off the bed when he pressed a finger to your dripping entrance, nodding with a sense of desperation you had never experienced before. “Yes,” you exhaled the word as he pushed his finger inside your pussy slowly, your jaw falling open at the pleasurable intrusion.

Slowly, he began pumping it in and out of you as he continued to give your clit the sweet attention it deserved, basking in the noises that you made. The pads of the fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you nice and spread out despite all your attempts to shut your legs around him.

When he introduced a second finger to your cunt, your hands found purchace in his hair, gripping and tugging as you panted, unable to focus on anything else. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars, crooking inside you so perfectly. It was as if he knew exactly how to push you to the edge.

Your best friend was eating you out like a starved man and you were enjoying every fucking second of it. He could feel your legs begin to tremble, your impending orgasm building. Shamelessly, you bucked your hips against his face, and the moment he realised what you were doing, he increased the pace of his fingers.

“Come on baby,” he encouraged you, flattening his tongue against your clit and pulling you closer, spurring you on even further. You ground against his mouth desperately, feeling the coil in your core draw tight, so, so close.

“Caleb,” you stuttered his name helplessly, but he somehow understood, knowing just what you needed. “I–I’m gonna–”

He scissored his fingers inside of you, hooking them just right as he gave your clit little kitten licks, determined to have you fall apart on his tongue. Your sweet gasps sent blood rushing straight to his cock, which was already painfully hard, confined in his jeans. Taking your mound into his mouth, he sucked harshly, thrusting his fingers knuckle deep in your sex.

A broken moan escaped you when your climax hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your legs shook, but he didn’t let up, grinning proudly against you as he drove his fingers back into your gushing entrance, helping you ride out your high and prolonging it. Once he was satisfied, he lapped at you, refusing to waste even a single drop of your essence.

Caleb pulled away, and the sight of you nearly did him in. Eyes screwed shut in ecstacy and hair fanned out on his pillow, undoubtedly tangled from all your writhing. You looked like the picture of sin, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He climbed back, hovering over you again as he licked his lips.

Your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out and dark due to the sheer level of desire that coursed through you. You were stunning, and he was destroyed, knowing that he’d never be able to forget the way you were looking at him right then. The way you tasted.

When he kissed you again, it was different. It was a heady mix of heat and tongue and want, messier than the kisses he gave you earlier, the control he had before nowhere to be seen anymore. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned, reaching out to touch him.

You started at his collar, dragging your hands down, down, down until you reached the hem of his shirt, whining against his mouth as you tugged at it.

“Take it off.”

Who was he to deny you? He stopped kissing you, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off, exposing his torso for you. The way your eyes raked over him hungrily was more than gratifying, especially when they caught on the silver chain that hung from his neck, the pendant sitting on his chest. Tossing his shirt to the side, he pushed your own up your body, exposing the skin of your stomach.

“Your turn.”

You let him take off your shirt, tossing it to the side and slipping his hands slip behind your back. He silently asked for your permission, which you gave to him in the form of an impatient nod to which he smirked, unhooking your bra and peeling it off of you, letting the discarded garment join the rest of them on the floor.

One look at you and he was a goner.

“Fuck,” he could feel himself straining his jeans as he took in the sight of your breasts, so perfect and plush. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate you in all your naked glory, before leaning back down, his mouth back on your overheated skin. He dragged his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting like there was no tomorrow.

His lips trailed downwards, kissing the swell of your breast before wrapping around your already hard nipple, stroking his tongue against the aching peak. He palmed the other breast, giving that nipple equal amounts of attention and rolling it under his thumb. You hissed in pleasure, breathless as you arched into his addictive touch.

You could barely think straight; everything he was doing to you sent you into complete overdrive. Every touch was criminally good, the simplest of them causing your arousal to increase tenfold. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you had last had sex, but you had never before felt so frenzied.

Hooking your legs around his waist, you could feel the outline of him pressing against your thighs. Angling your hips, you pressed your bare pussy against his bulge, the roughness of the denim rubbing you just right. He looked up at you from your chest through hooded eyes, earning another whimper as he pinched your nipple.

“You sound so good.” His words went straight to your head. “Tell me what you want.”

He said it like it was a command, and who were you to disobey, especially when you knew exactly what you wanted?

“I want you inside me,” you whimpered, voice heated with lust.

How could he ever refuse you? Caleb gave you one last kiss before reaching over to his bedside table, grabbing something from the drawer and sitting up and unzipping his pants. You couldn’t help but stare as he impatiently kicked off his jeans and boxers, eyes widening when you finally saw his cock.

Fuck, it was big. Long and painfully hard, you could hardly believe he was hard because of you, but the proof was in front of your very eyes. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you drank in the sight of him, hyperaware of the wetness that coated your thighs.

He tore open the condom packet, smoothly sliding it onto himself before settling between your legs once.

“W-will it even fit?” You squeaked, a spike of fear cutting through the lust-filled haze of your mind. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing your fingers to them, kissing your knuckles soothingly as he bit back a smile.

“It’ll fit.”

“But– there's no way,” You spluttered, “It’s gonna hurt.” Not that the prospect of being in a little pain deterred you by any means, you were way too horny to stop now. Complaining was probably the least sexy thing you could have done in the moment, but he seemed unbothered, the dark, hungry glint in his eyes never fading. The amused look on his face, however, was not lost on you, nor was the way he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile. You glared weakly.

“Are you laughing at me?” You asked, incredulous. “I swear to god, Caleb, you’re going to split me in half, and you’re laughing?”

“Baby,” He breathed, “You’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say!”

You wouldn’t even blame him if he decided he was done with you and pulled his pants back on, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he gripped your hips, grounding you to the moment.

Both of you were completely nude, and despite this, you had never felt more comfortable. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were something sacred.

“Relax, Pips, I’ve got you,” He whispered, sensing your apprehension. You exhaled shakily as he pressed his hard-on against your folds, groaning at just how wet you were. “Eyes on me.”

The way he took control so naturally was alarmingly attractive. You looked up, locking your eyes with his, unable to stay silent when the head of his cock rubbed against your swollen clit. “O-oh.”

He shuddered at the feeling, dropping a little so that he was keeping himself up on his elbows. His necklace swung above you just like you had imagined as he ground against you, but it still wasn’t enough. “Ready?”

You didn’t think you’d ever be ready, but you wanted it so badly you didn’t even care. Nodding eagerly, you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him press the back of your hands into the mattress. When his tip caught at your entrance, you whined. “Please.”

Having you beg him like that was dangerous. He squeezed your hands, and then slowly, carefully, sank into your wet heat, inch by devastating inch. Your jaw slackened, loudly moaning his name as he filled you up and stretched you out so pleasurably. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pushed into you until he bottomed out, going breathless himself. One glance down to where the two of you were connected had him actively having to fight off coming right then and there.

Caleb was in heaven, and he was fucking delirious. He forced himself to stay still, moaning lowly when he felt your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. “You’re doing so well, princess.” He praised, lowering his head to your neck and burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down.

There was so much wrong with this, so why did it feel so right? You felt so perfect, like you were made for him.

“Caleb,” You whimpered once the sting faded, letting go of his hands and looping your arms around his neck, “Move. I need you to move.”

He pulled out until only his tip remained inside of you, before sheathing himself again, causing you to curve off the bed, nails digging into his skin. He did it again and again, nearly growling when he felt you grow even wetter, coating the length of his cock in your slick. Wet sounds that had your cheeks burning filled the room repeatedly.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” He practically growled, contrasting the tender pace he set, telling you he was holding back for your sake. You could feel every inch of him as he dragged against your walls, reminding you how big he was with every thrust.

Your friendship was potentially ruined, but it felt too good for you to care. With your legs locked behind his back, you gripped his biceps, a wanton moan escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure overriding every other sensation.

“So good,” words were hard to put together, and he understood and nodded, holding your hips so tight you were sure there would be marks, just like the marks that blossomed all over your neck and chest from his earlier ministrations. Right now, though, you didn’t care about that, consumed by the waves of euphoria rushing through you.

Slowly, the frequency of his thrusts increased, rendering you completely winded and unable to do anything but gasp for air. You felt another orgasm steadily build up inside you.

Then he tipped his hips a certain way, the tip of his cock brushing against a spot that made you cry out his name, throwing your head back into his pillows. The look on your face was something he wanted to imprint in his memory; the desire lacing your voice was beyond exhilarating.

Caleb could feel his own impending high, so tightly wound because of just how long he had waited for something like this. When you clenched around him, he knew you were close as well, but the act nearly did him in.

“Don’t do that.” his voice was all scratchy and strained, but you promptly did it once again, high off the notion that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. His hips stuttered against yours as his violet eyes flashed. “Fucking hell.”

“Oh my god,” you moaned, “I can’t–”

“Look at me,” he demanded, “I want you to look at me when you come all over my cock.”

Never in a million years would you have thought your best friend would be so good at dirty talk, but the shock quickly melted into obedience as you managed to hold his heated gaze. Reaching between the two of you, his index finger found your engorged clit and rubbed circles against it.

You squealed, overly sensitive. “Shit–I’m gonna– Cal-!”

“Come for me.”

Caleb would never forget how you looked: at his mercy, crying out his name over and over like it was a prayer as you came, spilling over his cock with a euphoric sob. He snapped his hips to yours with renewed urgency, drawing out your second climax and prolonging the feeling. When he saw the fucked out look on your face, it hit him at once.

With one final thrust, he buried himself inside you, coming with a moan, burying his face in your neck once again. His body was damp against yours, his hair tickling you as you breathed heavily. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, recovering from the intensity of what had just happened.

Wordlessly, he pulled out of you gently, the sudden emptiness you felt having you whimper softly. Peeling the condom off, he tossed it in the bin next to his bed before climbing off of you, muttering something about being back. Seconds later, you felt a warm, wet cloth drag over your core. He cleaned you up, pressing little kisses to the inner side of your thighs.

Once he was done, he gathered you in his arms and pulled you close, kissing your temple.

“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling away just enough so he could try and gauge how you felt, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone as he cupped your face tenderly. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”

You shook your head and leaned into his touch, completely spent. “No, it was perfect.”

He sighed in relief. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “You did so well,” he murmured into your hair, massaging your scalp gently. “You were amazing, actually.” Another kiss to your forehead made you simper as your eyes closed, exhaustion settling into you now that the adrenaline had faded. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” You mumbled. Your legs entangled with his, and he stopped talking, tracing shapes on your back while you drifted off to sleep. He watched you for a bit, savouring the skin-on-skin contact, his mind reeling from what had just happened.

This was strangely normal, no awkwardness or post-nut clarity hitting either of you. Your body lay against his with all of you pressed up against him like that was exactly where you belonged. He could feel the beating of your heart, strong and steady in your slumber, whereas his remained erratic and fast. This was more than just a taste that he had had of you; it was the entire deal, and the knowledge of it all had his morals scattered and all over the place, because now that he knew what he knew, well.

Caleb wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

At the time, you had justified sleeping with Caleb as research, something you needed to do in order to get it out of your system. You had assumed, albeit foolishly, that once it was over, you’d be able to go back to normal and continue with your life.

But research was an activity that required constant revisiting. Most of it had to be repeated over and over, especially if it included gathering data from an experiment. There was always a control, and then variations of the experiment would be conducted to record the differences in the outcomes.

At least, that was what you were telling yourself right now as you straddled him, his cock buried inside you.

Truthfully, you didn’t know how this had happened. After that day, everything seemed to be normal, until he showed up at your dorm to help you study for a class he had also taken when he was in his sophomore year. One thing led to another, or rather, one heated touch later, you found yourself under him once again.

And then it happened again, and kept happening. Whispers of it being just for research mixed in with both of your moans became a melody you were more than used to. This was all for your book, after all. For the sake of accuracy and your integrity as a writer.

Definitely not because of how mindblowing sex with Caleb was.

And it absolutely was.

He had made you completely insatiable for him, and almost every time the two of you hung out in one of your dorms, it ended up with both of you in bed. Every other aspect of your friendship remained exactly the same, though, which left you considerably confused. He didn’t look at or treat you any differently, poking fun and driving you up the wall, staying his usual reliable self.

Caleb’s hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you now, fingers entangled in your hair and pulling slightly. You moaned softly against his lips, grinding on him.

You were in one of his shirts, panties tugged to the side since he hadn’t had the patience to take them off, needing to be inside of you as quickly as possible. Despite his earlier hurriedness, the pace the two of you settled on now was almost teasing, slowly rocking against him as you lazily chased the delicious high that you had gotten so used to experiencing these past two weeks.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, more to himself than you, hand slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast, squeezing. When he caught you biting your lip, he tutted, letting go of your hair and using his thumb to release it from your teeth. “Ah, ah, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself, pretty girl.”

“Too good,” you complained in that whiney, desperate tone he had gotten so addicted to. Pinching your nipple for good measure, he smirked up at you when you squealed.

Caleb quickly learned that he loved having you on top of him. Getting you all to himself like this was a privilege in itself, but fucking you while you wore his shirt? He was on cloud nine. He could feel himself throb in your sweet pussy that welcomed him so eagerly, in turn pulsing around him.

He cursed under his breath when you started to bounce, eager to get to the finish line with him. He sounded so good when he swore, you’d never understand it, just like how you wouldn’t get how he looked so pretty with a flush decorating his face and sex-mussed hair.

Gripping his shoulders, you tipped your head back, giving him access to your neck. He had taken to marking you up as and when he pleased, new hickeys surprising you every time you glanced in the mirror. Despite his tendency to leave them in places everyone could very easily spot them, you didn’t tell him to stop simply it just felt so good.

Everything with Caleb felt good, and not only did it feel good, but you felt completely safe. He was so attentive, doing the most to make sure you were never in any pain, often times focusing more on getting you off rather than himself.

He thrust up into you suddenly, his earlier impatience returning, and you cried out, falling into his chest. He held you, working you through it and dragging you closer and closer to release. One of your hands fell to his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abs and trailing downwards before your fingers found your clit and rubbed.

Shit. If having you ride him was good, being able to watch you touch yourself as you did was unbelievable. When you came, you came hard, and the feeling of it tipped him over the edge.

You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from.

You didn’t bother moving, clinging to him even tighter like you couldn’t bear to not be touching him in some way as you came down from your high. He smelled like sex, sweat, and that cologne of his that you loved. It was the reason you stole his clothes so much and why you were wearing his shirt even now.

Your first time with Caleb was the getaway drug, and now you were addicted to him, to having his hands caressing you all over and him whispering praises in your ear.

“Hey there,” He chuckled, rubbing your back. “All good?”

“Great even,” You mumbled, sitting up properly before finally lifting yourself off of him. You failed to register how jelly-like your legs felt, promptly losing your balance. He caught you before you fell, grinning.

“Can’t walk?” You could hear how smug he was without even having to look at him. It was then that you registered the burn in your thighs and huffed.

“Don’t sound so proud about it.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, leaving you to scoff as he helped you to your feet, following suit. “I’ll help you clean up. Do you wanna watch the new episode after?”

Ah yes. Of course, he’d start talking about anime after taking away your ability to stand. That had been the reason he had shown up at your dorm in the first place, but the moment he saw you wearing his shirt, it had quickly become an afterthought.

The whiplash you felt was indescribable, and you could only nod, letting him pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you settled down with your laptop like nothing had happened, your head resting on his shoulder as you focused on the show.

Neither of you bothered to talk about your redefined friendship despite having sex regularly. It was just….a new addition. A benefit that you were both taking advantage of, nothing more and nothing less.

But even as you reminded yourself of that now, you found yourself doubting it.

There was something to be said about formal events.

You enjoyed getting dolled up as much as the next girl, but that was where the fun ended. Having to sit through the event was boring and not the way you liked to spend your Friday evenings. You would have much preferred staying in and catching up on some much-needed sleep.

The editor of your university’s paper, Jenna, had organised an affair that was being held in one of the college halls. She had worked very hard on it, inviting several alumni who were all successful in the fields of journalism and writing back so that the current batch of students had the chance to make connections. It was open to the entire student body, but she had made it clear that everyone on the paper was obligated to attend.

Connections were what helped people get further in life. You were grateful for the opportunity to interact with industry professionals, but didn’t understand why she had insisted on keeping it a black tie affair. That probably had something to do with keeping up appearances.

You stood off to the side, sipping on your cranberry juice from a cup that was made for something much more refined. So far, you had spoken to a couple of the guests, but seeing that you had been here for over an hour already, your social battery was slowly dying out. The dress you wore was a black number, floor length, form-fitting and plain except for the slit that reached up to a little above your knee. Perfect for an event like this, not too much and on power with what everyone else was wearing.

Still, it was a little overstimulating. You guzzled down the rest of your juice and placed the empty glass down on one of the tables.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

You spun on your heels immediately at that voice, eyes widening and settling on the culprit who stood two, maybe three steps away from you.

“Caleb?” You asked in disbelief, taking in his presence. He was wearing a suit.

“The one and only,” he grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Here to rescue you from your boredom.”

“What are you even doing here?” To say this wasn’t his scene would be an understatement. He didn’t like wearing the whole suit getup, much preferring casual clothing. Hell, Caleb hadn’t even attended his high school prom (though when you asked why, he would never give you a straight answer), opting to spend the night in with you instead.

He looked unfairly good. The collar of his shirt hid those lovely collarbones of his and reminded you of how you had bit down on them the other day, the bottom of it tucked into black slacks. He had even worn dress shoes, instead of the sneakers he so loved and a tie around his neck. The entire getup.

“I literally just told you why. To get you out of here. Are you hard of hearing now?”

You returned his jibe with an exasperated sound. “I meant here, at this thing.”

“Oh. Well, you did mention it was open to anyone yesterday,” he shrugged, grabbing a glass of juice and sipping on it. “So that editor of yours technically can’t complain about me being here.”

That was true. Still, you found yourself bewildered as you stared at him. He was here. For some reason, even though he was allowed to be here, it didn’t make sense to you. You pressed your lips together and cocked your head to the side, studying him.

“So you dressed up and came here.…only to convince me to leave?” The notion sounded strange even to you. Why on earth would he do that? He finished up his drink and put it down next to your empty glass, taking a step closer to you. The simple movement had butterflies erupt in the pits of your stomach.

What the hell?

“Stop thinking so much. Do you want to stay?”

You considered it. “Not really, no.”

“Do you enjoy arguing with me for no reason, woman?” he muttered dryly under his breath, his eyes catching on something over your head. “On second thought, I think you should stay a little longer.”

Now you were just plain confused. One moment he was talking about saving you from boredom, and the next he was insisting you stay? Before you could undoubtedly start another argument just to spite him, he took you by your shoulders and spun you around, pointing in a certain direction. When you figured out what, or rather, who he was gesturing to, you couldn’t hide your gasp.

“Isn’t that the author you like?”

You could only nod dumbly. “Raymond.” Last year, you had a phase where you only read his books day in and day out, absorbing the stories he spun like a sponge. His books were the reason you had decided to start writing your own in the first place, inspired by his storytelling skills.

Caleb nudged your side gently, “Go.”

“How–” you cut yourself off, looking up at him. “How do you even remember that?” You weren’t sure why this entire interaction with him was throwing you off so much, but you felt completely unbalanced. You hadn’t spoken about Raymond or his work in a long time, so how did he know? He shrugged noncommittally.

“I know you.” He said it so plainly, like it was something trivial and basic, but his eyes bored into yours.

Had Caleb always looked at you with such quiet intensity?

He nudged your side gently, reminding you to move. Forcing yourself out of your stupor, you promised him you wouldn’t take too much time and walked over, buzzing with excitement.

The conversation itself wasn’t long, but it was insightful. He answered all your questions about the industry, and you even had the chance to share for appreciation for Raymond's work as well as ask him questions that you had about his novels. You gave him your utmost attention when he gave you advice, but when he started talking about his characters, your eyes and mind wandered.

Back to your best friend, who was waiting for you on the other end of the hall, leaning against one of the walls and scrolling through his phone. He didn’t give a flying fuck about this event, but had still come here for your sake, even when you hadn’t asked him to. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and flashing you a small smile.

Oh.

You looked away and back at Raymond, nodding politely and tuning yourself back into the conversation. Internally, however, you were freaking out. Something was very wrong; that was the only reason you could conjure up at the moment for what was happening to you. How else could you explain the sudden sweatiness of your palms, or the odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach? Maybe it was the excitement you felt from meeting the author you loved so much, but even as you considered this possibility, you knew it wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

This could not be happening. You plastered a smile on your face as you tried to pay attention to whatever Raymond was talking about, but the damage was done. Your brain had never been one to let go of a single thought you had, especially ones that had to do with Caleb. He had a hold on you that no one else did, and why was that?

Because you liked Caleb.

The horrifying realisation hit you, startling you out of your rapidly spiralling thought process. Blinking, you realised Raymond was done speaking.

“Thank you so much for your time,” You said, trying not to sound as troubled as you felt. The author smiled at you before turning to another student.

Swallowing the newfound lump in your throat, you turned around and walked back to Caleb. This was bad. Having sex with him was already vaguely immoral and probably something that shouldn’t have happened– and shouldn’t keep happening like it did– but having feelings for him? That was out of the question.

“Good talk?” He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. The genuine interest he had in your excitement made the entire situation worse. Why were you noticing all this now, of all times? It wasn’t like he had suddenly turned into someone considerate. He had always been this way; it was written into his DNA.

You realised he had even tried to tame his hair for today. “It was great.”

“I’m glad. Now I can steal you away from this place.” His eyes were lit up with mischief, just like they did when the two of you were younger and he did something he wasn’t supposed to. Ever the rebel, this one.

You felt a little guilty. All this effort for you? It seemed completely useless. “Okay, but Caleb, seriously, you didn’t have to do this.”

He frowned. “Didn’t have to do what?”

“This!” You waved in his general direction and then gestured around. “I mean, you don’t even like wearing a suit, but here you are. It’s not like it's compulsory for you like it is for me. You could be doing anything else.” You were rambling, you knew, but it was hard to stop. He rolled his eyes.

“Has that stopped me before?”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

“I show up to your newsroom even though I’m sure Jenna wants to castrate me for breaking the rules so much.” He raised an eyebrow. “I attended that lecture of yours when you had a presentation. You know I’m here because I want to be.” You knew he said stuff like this all the time, you always were the recipient of his support. This was normal.

But it didn’t feel normal. For fucks sake, this was the boy you had grown up with. He had seen you fall off your bike, fail tests and puke your guts out when drunk. In each of those situations, he had also been the one to pick you up and bandage your wounds, help you study and hold your hair back for you.

Did he think it was an obligation now?

“You….you shouldn’t feel like you have to do that.” You said slowly, but he didn’t let you continue.

“Oh, please. Everyone knows that where you go, I go too.” He flicked your forehead, immediately receiving a glare in return. “We’re like…….” He stopped for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing like they always did when he was thinking hard about something. Then he snapped his fingers. “We’re like those yoghurt-granola snack packs!”

You stared at him blankly. “What?”

“You know.” He decided to explain his stupid analogy, as if your head wasn’t muddled enough. “Those things you can buy at the grocery store. The small yoghurt tubs that have a container filled with granola on top of them? Like, they’re both okay separately, but much better when together. People buy those packs for a reason.” He slipped his phone back into his pockets and beamed at you. “We’re like that.”

Oh my god. That barely made any sense. You weren’t sure if you were mortified because of that terrible explanation or because it hadn’t put a damper on your newfound feelings for him. “You’re such a fucking dork.”

He feigned offence, holding his hand over his heart. “Excuse me? You mean cute, right?”

Right. Wait, no, you didn’t. Ugh. “I thinkx ridiculous.”

“Are you coming with me or not, Pips?”

“But Jenna insisted-”

He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance before fixing you with a droll look. “Would you rather be here or be with me?”

Be with you.

You ignored the way your stomach flipped. You didn’t have the time or the mental stability to process everything that was happening to you right now. The logical part of your brain swooped in, telling you that you were just confused because of the sex. Yes, that was it. You did not have feelings for Caleb Xia.

Sighing, you relented. “You.” Saying that didn’t mean anything, after all. Nothing about the two of you meant anything, so there was no reason for you to be freaking out, even if it sounded like you had just confessed. A wide grin made a show on his face when he realised he had won, and he tilted his head towards the exit.

“Finally. Wanna get out of here?”

“Just to be clear, this is not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to get out of there.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, fingers curling around his tie as you tugged him closer. “No? Could have sworn you planned for us to end up in a janitor's closet.”

Caleb bit back a laugh of his own, knowing that making too much noise would get both of you in trouble. After leaving the event, somehow, his guiding hand on your hip had turned into the two of you making out in the hallway. You blamed the mess that your head was in for not realising what a bad idea that was immediately, but once you did, you did the most responsible thing you could think of.

And dragged him into the janitor's closet that was close by.

Naturally.

He braced a hand over your head on the cabinet that you were leaning against, essentially caging you in as he dipped his head to kiss you again. “Pretty sure that was you’re doing.”

“Excuse me? You’re the one who kissed me first!” You protested against his mouth, but could hardly complain when he kissed you like it was a relief to do so. Honestly, he was probably the best kisser you had ever experienced.

That must have been the reason for your spiralling thoughts. That and the amazing sex that you were so weak to.

Yep. That’s all. Anyone could be susceptible to such things.

“Can you blame me? Have you seen yourself in this dress?” His free hand slipped into the slit at your knee, slowly dragging the rest of the dress up until it was bunched up around your waist. “You’re stunning.”

He couldn’t stop kissing you. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you out there like he had the right to, because he was well aware of the unspoken rules of this arrangement, but he couldn’t help it. If getting too comfortable with whatever you had going on with him was a crime, a sin, then he was a criminal of the highest order. The worst part? He didn’t feel a shred of guilt.

But you were wearing that fucking cherry lip gloss, and god knnows he had waited long enough to taste it.

Warmth spread over your chest first before it rushed to the apex between your legs. The control he seemed to have over your body was truly astounding. In his hands, you were putty.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” You whispered back, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it off completely, dropping it to the side. “This suits you.”

His lips twitched. “The suit suits me?”

“Shut up and kiss me, loser.”

He complied, grinning against your mouth as he pulled you into another earth-shattering kiss that did positively nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Stubbornly, you pushed down the feelings bubbling around the confines of your heart, refusing to give them any attention if you could help it.

You gripped the front of his suit jacket, helping him peel it off his shoulders and letting it join his tie on the floor. Without warning, he pressed a knee in between your legs, and you nearly melted against him.

Sex was great. Sex with him was phenomenal. This was just the lust getting to you.

Caleb gripped the leg that your slit now exposed and lifted it, propping it up against his waist. He trailed his fingers against your inner thigh, his touch feather-light yet scorching at the same time. When his index and middle finger pressed against your clothed cunt, you were glad for the hot he had on you, pressed up against the cabinet, because you would have surely buckled if not.

“Wow,” he mumbled amusedly, pushing your panties to the side and teasing your wetness. “You really like the suit, huh?”

The fact that this type of interaction was now commonplace should have been the first sign that things had gone too far.

Usually, you couldn’t think straight when he touched you like this, but today it was all a mix of feeling way too much and dangerous, fleeting thoughts that made you want to tear your hair out.

“Maybe,” You peppered kisses along the column of his throat, determined to get out of your head and focus only on how good he could make you feel. Pleasure and person were entirely separate entities, and you would make sure it stayed that way.

“Suit kink.”

“Never say that again.”

He only smirked, plunging his fingers into you. All you could do was cry out as you gripped the front of his shirt, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be quiet. Quickly, his palm covered your mouth, muffling any further sounds you could make. “Can’t have you being loud here, princess. What if someone catches us?”

The way you practically gushed the moment he suggested someone catch you in such a compromising position was downright embarrassing. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned even lower and whispered. “Oh? You like that?”

You whined against his hand, cheeks flushing furiously. You began fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt, and he chuckled lowly.

“For someone who likes my suit so much, you sure are trying to get rid of it quickly.”

“For someone who was dying to kiss me two minutes ago, you talk too much.” You rocked your hips against his hand even as you sassed him back. He moved his hand from your mouth into your hair, carding it through gently, tugging slightly to tilt your head back for him so he could kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made.

No one could sue you for being attracted to a hot man. That was just biology.

You could feel the familiar tightening of your core, signalling your impending crash. You broke away from the kiss, licked your lips and palmed him over his pants, earning a hiss of pleasure in return.

“Don’t– don’t do that,” He choked out, and you smirked triumphantly, refusing to relent on your movements. Batting your eyelashes, you stared up at him through them in faux innocence, unaware that it affected him so much more than you thought.

“Just fuck me already.” You whined, half out of desperation for him and party because now you needed him to fuck you to prove to yourself that this was just sex. To be able to brush away all the compliments he dropped that seemed to go straight to your head, to get the intoxicaing fucking way he kissed you out of your head and away from further dissection. To stop the slow-burning feeling of yearning that was growing inside of you for the boy you had grown up with.

Because you couldn’t possibly have feelings for him. You shouldn’t.

“Fuck, okay,” He slipped his fingers out of you and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. You would never get used to the sight of it, precum already leaking out of the tip; the image itself sending shivers down your spine in anticipation of him.

He pressed back against you, grinding it against your fluttering pussy, going right back to making out with you. It was like he was devouring you whole, claiming every part of you like it had always belonged to him. You could feel yourself get carried away again, forgetting that this was just something he and you did now.

And then he froze.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t have a condom.”

You were too far gone to even care anymore. Cupping his face, you pulled him into another messy kiss, beyond delighted when he moaned, still rubbing his length through your slick folds with a want that rivalled your own. “Put it in.”

Caleb gritted his teeth. “Pips, thats–”

“I’m on birth control,” you kissed his jaw. “And I trust you. I’ve always trusted you.”

That was undeniably the truth. He was the one person in the world that you didn’t have to think twice about when it came to anything, no matter what the situation. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide with desire but somehow still so focused on you, holding your sides so gently as he hesitated, silently dealing with the conflict in his head.

“I…..are you sure?”

Oh, this sweet, considerate boy. How could you not love him? The thought was instantly forced to be a passing one as you push it away, refusing to acknowledge it.

“Caleb, if you don’t stick your dick inside of me right now, I will cut it off.” The threat earned you a winded chuckle from his end, the strain in his face from holding back so painfully evident. Realising he needed another push, you looked into his eyes, bucking your hips against him and licking your lips as you purred. “Now, fuck me.”

There was a reason you phrased it like that. Crude and so filthy, the words set out a challenge for him. If there was one thing you knew about Caleb, it was that he could never back down from a challenge. His eyes darkened as he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them together above your head with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance.

Without another warning, he slammed into you, once again covering your mouth to soften the obscenely loud broken moan that left you. He pressed his fingers against your lips, smirking mischievously.

“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He groaned in your ear as he fucked you hard, making it increasingly difficult for you to stay silent. You knew he was doing it on purpose, remembering how he had briefly confessed that he liked it when you were vocal, but here? Here it was risky and stupid, and you couldn’t believe how into it you were.

“Yes,” You gasped, biting his hand at a particularly hard thrust, doing your utmost best to keep all your noises to a minimum. He was just so good, and the feeling of him bare inside of you was almost too much for you.

“God baby, you feel incredible,” he panted, never relenting on his pace for even a second. His breathing was heavy in your ear, almost pained, along with soft grunts that only succeeded in making you even wetter.

“So b-big,” you could only whimper, too caught up in it all to speak properly.

He had well and truly ruined you for anyone else. Your heart and mind were at war with each other, but your body was perfectly content with how he held you like this. With nothing between you, he fucked you raw, and it felt so much more intimate than you thought it would have. You could feel everything, hyperaware of every touch and kiss and overwhelming drag of his cock in your sobbing cunt.

For a moment, you almost wished it wasn’t this good. If only you had never succumbed to your desires that day, maybe you wouldn’t have found yourself in this position, fighting so desperately against feelings that felt so wrong and right at the same time. All this was supposed to have been a temporary fix, a means to an end. Not the start of something you could never see through.

When both of you came, it was intense and devastating, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. You could feel him fill you up with his cum and as you went limp, one last terrifying realisation making itself known to you.

It wasn’t just sex.

A shattered breath escaped you at the revelation, and you shut your eyes, trying to reason with yourself one last time, but to no avail. Caleb surrounded you completely, holding you up upright with so much care, so deliberately, that it made total sense why you felt this way. With unending affection, he pulled you against him and kissed the crown of your head.

“Thats my girl.”

Except you weren’t. And it would be better for everyone if you remembered that.

You were writing.

It had been so long since you had been able to write like this, but the ability had come rushing back to you all of a sudden. Your fingers flew across your keyboard as you steadily typed, focused and satisfied at the work you were producing for the first time in months.

It was two in the morning when you finally snapped out of your concentrated state, yawning as you shut your laptop. Stretching, you quietly padded to your bathroom to get ready for the night and go to bed. You couldn’t believe you had written almost half of the sex scene when even the prospect of starting it had sounded so unachievable not too long ago.

Courtesy of Caleb, you had plenty of material to pull from.

You splashed water on your face, hoping the cool temperature of it would help you stop thinking about him. To say you were frustrated with your feelings was an understatement; you outright despised them.

This was your fault, you knew damn well it was. If you were going to get a fuckbuddy, it should have been someone who you weren’t so close to, someone you had no personal connections with. Anyone but the best friend you've had since you were seven years old, who you knew like the back of your hand, who knew you like it was second nature to do so.

Gripping the sides of the sink, you shut your eyes, grounding yourself to the moment. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How on earth did you let yourself get in such a predicament?

You needed it to stop. For these confusing feelings to leave before things got even more complicated than they already were. Somehow, you needed to forget about them.

But how could you possibly do that? How were you supposed to forget the deliberate way he kissed you, or how good he made you feel when he looked at you that way? How were you supposed to get the scent of his cologne out of your sheets and closet, or pretend like you didn’t know what it was like to be touched by him?

How on earth were you supposed to get over being in love with him?

You didn’t even notice him walking in.

Writing for your book again meant that you had fallen behind quite a bit when it came to the work you had due for the paper. As a result, you had to stay behind and work late on the articles you had to present to Jenna, stuck at your desk in the newsroom when it was almost nine-thirty at night.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Your eyes flickered up to find Caleb standing in front of your desk, one hand stuffed in his pockets and the other holding a bag of takeout from a diner that both of you liked. He gave you a soft, knowing smile that made your mouth go dry.

“Hey,” you straightened up in your seat, knowing that your posture tended to get worse the longer you wrote for. “You were looking for me?”

“Not exactly.” He grabbed a chair and parked it next to yours, sitting down. “I just figured you’d be working and forget to have dinner.”

“Oh.”

He was right, and you would have been embarrassed if this hadn’t happened before. Wordlessly, he began unpacking the takeout he had gotten. “Take a break for ten minutes and eat, okay?”

This was just like him. Knowing exactly when you needed to be taken care of while being well aware you could do just fine by yourself. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him, apprehensively nodding slowly.

“Okay.”

You grabbed a fry and began to chew, turning to face him and away from the computer. He looked the same as always, unkempt hair and all. It was like he knew you were tired and a little out of it today without you even having to tell him, falling into a comfortable silence as he ate with you.

There wasn’t another soul in this world that knew you so intimately. In the past, this wouldn’t have scared you, because you were so used to him and the ways he fit into your life so perfectly. Now, it frightened you to no end, reminding you of how much you had to lose when it came to Caleb. He was the most precious person in your life, which made it so much easier to fear losing him.

If there were rules when it came to having a best friend, you were certain you had broken all of them. Number one: Don’t sleep with your best friend. Already off to a rough start with that one, it seemed, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Number two: Don’t fall for your best friend. You doubted you even needed to go over the rest of the rules. Breaking those two had caused you enough damage.

Finishing up his food, he took a sip of his soda, noticing you were watching him intently. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t quite decipher the look in your eyes. It almost felt as if you were hiding it from him on purpose.

He tilted the soda cup to you, silently asking if you wanted some of his. You leaned closer and took the straw in your mouth, taking a couple of sips before looking away.

Something was off. “Is everything okay?”

You pressed your lips together and gave him a half smile. “Yeah, everything's fine.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes at you, reaching out and propping a finger under your chin, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him.

“Pipsqueak,” He mumbled, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a split second, but it was enough to make you feel like you were set on fire. Like you were made of porcelain, he swiped his thumb next to your lower lip, rubbing away a stray crumb that had stuck there from your food. Then he looked at your mouth again, subconsciously leaning towards you as if he was about to kiss you.

Immediately, you jerked out of his touch. Guilt ate away at you when you noticed how he reacted to this, the flash of hurt that passed over his face as he frowned. As much as you hated being the cause of it, the way he was looking at you has started to inexplicably hurt. You were unable to stop the tenderness that unfolded in your chest anymore. It was potent, too real to fight against.

“We should stop.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could think about them any further, inciting confusion. He retracted his hand, the corners of his furrowed eyebrows tilting upwards. “Dinner? Because we’re pretty much done with that anyway.”

You could have taken advantage of his confusion and put this conversation off for a while, but you knew that letting this go on any longer would end up being torturous.

“No, Caleb,” You looked away, trying to ignore the way your throat seemed to close in on itself. “I’m not talking about dinner.”

“Then what are you talking about?” His voice took on that impossibly soft tone it did when he was trying to understand how you were feeling to properly help or sympathise with you. It was something he did when you were younger and got hurt, and he wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t dealing with it alone.

Sucking in a breath of air, you looked down at your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. “I think we should stop having sex.”

A beat passed. You could feel the weight of his stare on you. “Okay.”

You weren’t sure where to go from there, your heart pounding within your ribcage like it was trying to escape. The light from your computer felt too harsh and the ticking of the clock hands was unnaturally loud in the stiff silence that settled over the two of you. Clearing his throat, he spoke again.

“Did…Did I do something?”

“No,” the caution yet dejected way he said it made you blurt that out quickly, refusing to let him think something was completely wrong. “You didn’t. At all. It’s just…..” You trailed off, biting your tongue and regretting bringing this up already. “I….I wrote the scene.”

“The scene?”

“The sex scene. In my book.” The awkwardness in your cadence is foreign to your ears and his. You had never been so apprehensive around him because you had never had a reason to. This was a first you despised vehemently, scorning the way you had to phrase everything so delicately, as if you didn’t, the damage caused would be irreparable.

“Right.” Now he had an unreadable look in his eyes too, matching yours.

“Right,” you echoed softly. “So there's no reason for anymore…...research.” Because research had spiralled into forgetting your regular roles when it came to each other. Research had made you aware of feelings that had been dormant your entire life and should have stayed that way.

In an ironic twist of fate, you had literally fucked around and found out.

“I see.”

You didn’t know what possessed you to keep talking when it was so obvious that both him and you wanted nothing more than to move on from this conversation. You risked a glance at him to find him aimlessly tracing the edge of his soda cup, eyes trained on the straw. “So we can go back to being just friends. Regular friends.”

The clarification made you wince. When his eyes met yours again, you were surprised to find something different in the way he looked at you– those dark purple depths swirling with an intensity that superseded their usual levels, startling you.

“We’ll always be friends, Y/n.”

Caleb didn’t call you pipsqueak. A minute detail that shouldn’t have shaken you at all, and yet here you were stuck on it in spite of the fact that he had just agreed to being friends again. Or rather, the normal definition of friends, because you weren’t ever anything more than that. You swallowed, turning back to your computer.

“Okay. I should get back to working on this article.”

Your dismissal of him was quiet but obvious. The air had started to get suffocating and you needed as much space from him as you could get until you sorted out the mess in your head, one that was your cross to bear. Your fault.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and get to his feet, turning to leave, but hesitating for just a moment.

It was only when he exited the newsroom that you realised it wasn’t any easier to breathe without him there. It felt even harder now, like someone had their foot over your chest and was putting all their weight on it, letting gravity do the rest of the work. You pushed yourself away from your desk, the wheels under your chair smoothly rolling away until the back of it hit the wall behind you.

Even the impact of that wasn’t enough to shock you out of your misery. Surely, love wasn’t supposed to feel as cruel as it did right now, like claws sinking into your skin and making you bleed. It shouldn’t have felt wrong, but you knew that it was. Perhaps this was retribution for allowing yourself to indulge in something that was so clearly off-limits to you.

A familiar pressure built up behind your eyes as you turned resentful. The sting of your sorrow manifested as tears welled up and caught in your lower lashes. You shut your eyes, but not before those tears slid down your face, cementing the bitter, indisputable reality of your heartbreak.

Caleb stayed away.

He had known damn well that whatever was between the two of you wasn’t forever. It wasn’t even real, solely for the sake of your writing and the book you were so proud of. It was his fault for getting caught up in it all and expecting you to never call it off, to stay in that limbo with him forever.

Saying no to you was something he wasn't capable of. Not when he was ten and you were eight, and you wanted the last piece of cake even though it was his favourite flavour. Not when he was fifteen and you used to beg him to let you wear his shirts because you liked how oversized they were on you. Not when you would give him puppy eyes and sweetly ask him to cook those braised chicken wings you loved so much.

And not when you needed help with writing about sex.

Even if it went against all his morals and everything he had forced himself to believe for the past twelve years he had known you. He had held himself together around you for as long as he could remember, hands to himself and thoughts strictly friendly. Caleb was used to the best friend role. He was good at playing it, even when the script pained him to recite, he did so anyway with a smile on his face.

Because smiling back at him was you. It was always you, with your bright eyes and angelic laughter.

Caleb had accepted this role when he was only nine years old and had stuck to it ever since. He let it consume him, living in ignorant bliss as he silenced the pleas of his heart and what it wanted, no, begged for.

How was he supposed to know where to go from here? The script had deviated too much for him to return to its safety. He knew how your lip gloss tasted, sweet and inviting and maddening, just like everything else about you.

So he stayed away from you and your cherry lip gloss, hoping the marks it had left all over him would fade.

It had been almost two weeks since Caleb last set foot in the newsroom.

Jenna was overjoyed and Tara was suspicious. The latter asked you where your ‘boyfriend’ was, to which you refused to look at her as you muttered the reminder: he’s not my boyfriend. It felt like you were reminding yourself more than her, lacking any of your usual annoyance.

You supposed this was your fault as well. It wasn’t like you had made any effort to reach out either, stuck in your pathetic little cycle of self-pity and fear. You felt his absence, though, cutting deep into you and leaving you with a Caleb-sized hole in your life. The last time you experienced something like this was when he left for university for the first time and you were finishing up your senior year, suddenly having to deal with not having him around for months on end.

At least he was calling you back then, and when you joined him at university, it never happened again. You hadn’t realised what a big part of your life he was until he was missing from it.

God, you missed him.

You missed that stupid, smug chuckle of his when he knew you were getting riled up because of something he said, and his terrible sense of humour. The smirk on his face when you were losing an argument, and how he’d stick his tongue out when he was concentrating on something. Hell, you missed the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought you.

After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the newsroom and down the hallways of the university building. The cool evening air swept around you, making you think of one of Caleb's jackets that was still in your dorm from the last time he had been, draped over your desk chair. You almost wished you had it with you right now.

Your feet carried you to the dining hall, reminding you of your need to eat through the wall of your troubled thoughts. It was not so much hunger as it was a necessity. Your appetite had been less than robust these past few days, your emotions weighing you down in more ways than one. You didn’t have him to remind you to eat or sleep, or run like a normal human being.

Grabbing an apple to appease your stomach, you bit into it and looked around, mentally going over everything else you had to do that day. Start an essay you had due the next week, beg the members of your group to do their parts of the presentation that was worth a whopping thirty percent of your grade and polish the last scene you had written for your book.

It turned out that your turbulent emotional state had translated into you being more productive than ever, throwing yourself into your studies and writing like you had never before. Anything to avoid thinking about him and what you felt. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but it worked for you.

Kind of.

Unable to stomach anything else, you tossed the core of the apple into a nearby dustbin and left the dining hall, eager to make it back to your room. You hadn’t slept very well lately, and you wanted to get all your work out of the way before crashing. Sleeping, you discovered, was another excellent course of action to take when you wanted to avoid facing something, and at least it wasn’t downright unhealthy. The dark circles under your eyes would certainly thank you.

When you turned the corner, he was there.

Caleb stood there, just a few paces away from you in all his six-two glory. His back was turned to you, but you knew it was him, deep in conversation with his friend, Gideon. You were unable to do anything but stare, your pulse picking up in speed at the sight of him. You wondered if the chasm he had created between the two of you had affected him as much as it had you.

When he bid farewell to Gideon and turned, you panicked. When he saw you, you remained rooted to the spot, watching as his steps faltered and came to a stop. He looked almost as tired as you felt, dawdling briefly before speaking.

“Hey.”

Hey. Hey? Was that all he could say after refusing to look your way for over a week? Your apprehension flared up into anger, and you took three furious steps towards him, your docile stare melting into a glare.

“You sure talk a lot of shit about keeping you informed for someone who has been avoiding me.”

He winced. “I wasn’t….avoiding you.”

“Oh really? Could have fooled me.” You scowled at him as you took another step forward. You were pissed, and rightly so, but it stemmed more from how hurt you felt rather than any genuine anger.

Caleb didn’t bother to meet your eyes, opting to look off to the side instead. That stung a little more than you cared to admit. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Have you eaten yet?’ Barely five minutes around you, and he had already jumped into trying to take care of you. It was so infuriatingly like him.

Every time he didn’t want to face something, he would deflect and redirect the conversation. Your years together had taught you well, making it impossible for him to sidestep you even if he tried. You could tell he was avoiding you even when you were right in front of him.

“Stop changing the subject.”

You watched as his jaw tightened and relaxed, something he did when he was conflicted. All his tells were so laughably obvious to you, and yet you couldn’t make heads or tails of how he was acting right now, so forcibly distant and detached, like being close to you was painful. Your eyes burned.

“Do you hate me?” You asked, hating how your voice suddenly sounded so feeble. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and defiant.

“I could never hate you.” The finality in the way he said it told you he was telling the truth, and yet, you couldn’t help but fall victim to the doubt creeping into your mind. He was looking right at you now– except he wasn’t really. It was more like he was looking through you.

“Then…then why?” You whispered, taking another tentative step forward. The space that both of you created, consciously or not, was unbearable. You just wanted things to go back to normal, was that so much to ask for?

“I don’t hate you. You just don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand!” You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, wondering what the hell you had to do to make this conversation go somewhere, because right now it just felt like you were running in circles. “Caleb, please, just tell me why you’re avoiding me, because you are.”

He knew he was and hadn’t a single excuse, other than the reason he swore you never burdened you with. You were looking at him so pleadingly, grasping at straws to figure him out, but for the first time in his life, he found himself unable to give you an answer. Instead, his throat constricted, his anxiety keeping him silent.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Your face crumbled, and upon witnessing it, so did his heart. Your lower lip trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and you bit down on it to stop it from doing so, doing your best to stay composed. Running a hand through your hair, you let out a shaky sigh. “I knew it, I should have never– we shouldn’t have slept together. That should have never happened and now everything is fucked up, and its all because of me.”

Yes. No. The answer wasn’t as straightforward as he needed it to be, and it paralysed him. The anguish you felt was on display for him and anyone who happened to walk by you to see, plain as day, as it twisted your features. It felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut when you backed away from him.

Turning away, you walked off. You had ruined things, you were sure of it, and it killed you. Once again, you let the rift between him and you grow with every step you took to escape the crash you had been responsible for.

A hand on your wrist. You gasped as he caught you, spinning you around and forcing you to face him once again.

Caleb had followed you into the gardens.

“Do you regret it?”

The question cut through you, and you gaped at him. The fervour you were so used to seeing in him suddenly returned, burning brightly in his eyes as he pinned you in place with them, his grip on your wrist never letting up. Question for question, with neither of you getting the answers you wanted.

You scoffed, rapidly blinking away the tears that you felt coming on. “If it's the reason things are weird between us, then yes! I do regret it. I need my best friend, Caleb. I need you.”

How could you not need him? He was your constant, the one person who had been by your side through thick and thin. You needed him in your life, by your side, in whatever way you were allowed to, even if it wasn’t what you truly wanted anymore.

He let go of your wrist. “I can’t do it.”

Your biggest fear was coming true right in front of your very eyes, and you hadn’t the faintest idea of how to stop it. It was taking form, bleeding into existence. You were losing him.

“You can’t do what?”

“I can’t be your friend. I just can’t.” He shook his head, shutting his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look at you.

Your voice comes out weak. Small. “But you said we’ll always be friends.”

“Well, I lied, okay! I can’t be your friend, not when–” He sucked in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in, stopping his outburst before it could happen. It wasn’t fair to you, none of this was, but he was at his breaking point. “I could do it before, but not anymore.”

“Why?” You whispered, those tears you had so valiantly fought off surging back. Once again, you felt like you had been trampled on, pinned down by a merciless gravity that had no regard for your need to breathe. You weren’t sure there was a reason to fight against it anymore.

He looked up at the darkening sky, deflating. Staying away from you hadn’t made it any better– if anything, it had only made it worse, his yearning to be beside you bubbling to an all-time high. There wasn’t a point in hiding anymore, not when it was turning out to be detrimental rather than soothing.

“Because,” he paused, peering up at the cloudy sky. He couldn’t see the stars. “I can’t go back to being your friend when I’ve tasted you. How am I supposed to act like I’ve never kissed you when I’ve had you in my bed? To pretend like I don’t know how it feels to have you like that? God, Y/n, I can’t do it.

Caleb, whom you had viewed as strong and untouchable all your life. Caleb, whom you had endlessly looked up to, sounded almost tortured, like it pained him to even have to tell you this.

“What are you saying?”

You hoped you didn’t look as terrified as you sounded. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, but the ground underneath it was falling apart too, leaving you to stumble around and try to find your footing amidst the cracks that remained. If you fell now, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to get up.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You had already fallen, and hard.

Caleb was stripped of his usual self-assuredness and confident smile. He was laid bare there in front of you, fixing you with a look that was so pained it tore through you.

“I’m in love with you.”

The confession ripped through you, although you didn’t register it at first. Those five words felt so improbable to have been said by him to you of all people that the only thing you could feel was disbelief. It just didn’t make sense. Why would something you longed to hear so badly be said with such sadness?

He mistook your stunned silence for aversion. He should have stopped there, given up and walked away, but now that he had finally, finally let it out, it was hard to stop. It was like a dam had broken within him; everything he had ever kept to himself when it came to you rushed out all at once.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n,” he said again, scoffing slightly at himself. No nicknames, just your name spoken in that reverent tone, like you were a divine being he was a devout follower of. “And it kills me because I know you’ll never see me as anything more than a best friend. You’ve made that very clear, and I never want to overstep, so I stayed away from you.”

“Caleb–”

He didn’t let you cut in. “I could do it when I didn’t know what it felt like to have you as something more than friends. The moment we crossed that line, it was all over for me. I would be your friend until I died if I didn’t know.” His hands were shaking, but they stayed by his sides, fingers curled into frustrated fists as he rambled.

“I–”

“But I can’t, Pips. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be your best friend when I’ve loved you my entire life.” And you’re falling all over again, gravity pulling you down, down, down as something unfurled in your chest. “So please just–”

“Goddamnit Caleb, would you just shut up for one fucking minute!?”

You hadn’t meant to snap, but he was seriously to piss you off, going on and on without giving you the chance to speak your mind. Immediately, he clamped his mouth shut, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection he had imagined too many times to count in his head. You, on the other hand, thought you were going to faint, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. It was everything you had convinced yourself was impossible.

And yet…

You kept your eyes locked onto his as you closed the distance between the two of you, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, combating the chill in the evening air. Swallowing, you asked.

“You’re in love with me?”

He clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew what the consequences were, he was ready for them. It was about time he faced the truth anyway.

What he didn’t expect was for you to start laughing.

You clamped a hand over your mouth as incredulous laughter left you, eyes practically sparkling. Oddly enough, it sounded a little watery, like you were crying at the same time.

And then he realised you were, in fact, crying, tears streaming down your face. Alarmed, he stepped forward and cupped your face, instinctively wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. This did nothing to dampen your hysterical laughter as you leaned into his touch.

“What the fuck?” He muttered, concern overtaking his previous, heartsick expression. “Are you dying or something?”

“Or something,” you managed to get out, gripping his arms, “We’re so stupid.”

“That…..okay, I’m officially confused. And a little scared.”

“Caleb,” you whispered once you stopped giggling, lethally soft. You looked up at him adoringly, eyes shining and tinged slightly red from your tears. “I’m in love with you, too.”

He froze, mouth falling open. He didn’t have to say anything, though, because honestly, he had said enough. It was your turn now.

You leaned further into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I only realised after….after everything that happened between us.” You flushed, trying to word it as delicately as possible. “And I drove myself crazy because I thought you’d never see me that way–”

“I’ve always seen you that way.” He breathed out, those captivating eyes of his trained on you in wonder. Butterflies came to life in your stomach.

“– So I called it off. I said we needed to stop because I was so scared I’d lose you.”

By the time you finished, you were both staring at each other wide-eyed. His grip on you tightened, one hand falling to your waist as he tugged you closer.

“You love me?”

“I love you,” you nodded. “It just took me a while to figure it out.”

“Pipsqueak.” You had never been more grateful than you were right then to hear that stupid petname. “Oh my god, we are stupid.”

Without another word, Caleb pulled you into a kiss. You reciprocated instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you smiled against his lips, unable to contain yourself anymore. He kissed you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, holding you like you were precious, which to him, you undoubtedly were. It was your first proper kiss with him without any pretence or excuse surrounding it, and you couldn’t have asked for more.

Chuckling when you dissolved into more giddy giggles, he wiped away any stray tears from your face and rested his forehead against yours. After all these years waiting and hoping that you’d feel the same way, he knew he’d never let you go now.

“I love you, too.” It was a relief to say out loud and to your face, coming out of hiding and letting the truth of his feelings sit out in the light. You pecked his lips again and hugged him, revelling in his warmth and the delight of your feelings being returned. Your best friend loved you back, and everything in the world made sense again.

“Don’t be my best friend,” You mumbled fondly, cheek against his shoulder as you laid out your final request. “Just be mine.”

He smiled, an expression so dazzling you’d never forget it. “I’ll always be yours.”

When Caleb looked back at the sky, he could see the stars.

“Are you done?”

“Shh.”

You rolled your eyes, flopping onto the pile of plushes on your bed as you pulled out your phone and went through your messages. To be fair, it had barely been two minutes since you handed him your laptop, but you were impatient, wanting to know what he thought as soon as possible.

Caleb’s eyes were focused on the screen as he read, humming occasionally as he scrolled through the scene. If anyone had told you a year ago that you’d be letting him read a part of your writing, let alone a sex scene of all things, you would have either laughed in their face or had a mental breakdown.

Yet here you were. Life sure had a sense of humour.

Finally, after an agonising ten minutes, he spoke. “Wow.”

“Is it good?”

He shut your laptop and put it back on your desk carefully, before walking over to where you were. Then, he dropped himself onto the bed as well, purposely caging you in his arms and making sure you were trapped under his weight. Squealing, you hit his arm playfully.

“Caleb!”

Your boyfriend laughed mischievously, lifting his head so you could see the smirk that curled on his lips. “It was good. Very good.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank god.”

“So I must be really good in bed, huh?”

There it was. You groaned as you tried to push him off of you, even though you knew it was a futile task. “Don’t even try, you smug asshole.”

“What?” He asked, dripping in faux innocence. “I mean, you did use me for research purposes. Is it not a fair assumption to make?” He was so proud of it, and knew damn well that the entire sex scene he had just read had been falicitated because of him. Every part of it had been pulled from things the two of you had done, the thought of which made your skin heat up and your cheeks burn.

“You’re so annoying,” you huffed, giving up on trying to get him to stop squashing you. Instead, you adjusted, curling into him. Accepting this, he switched your positions, pulling you on top of him and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

You yelped when he pinched your side, but it dissolved into giggles when he began peppering kisses all over your face. Slipping his arm around your waist, he held you close, grining against your skin. If you had to stay like this forever, in his arms and under the glow of his radiant smile, you would be content.

“You’re an amazing writer, Pipsqueak,” he cradled your face in his hands, his love for you so achingly obvious in the way he looked at you that you wondered how you had never noticed it before. Rubbing his fingers against your cheek, he kissed your nose. “It would be just as great even if I hadn’t– uh– assisted.”

Though you snickered at him, you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming at his praise for your work. “I’m glad you did though,” you let him pull you closer, arm looping around your waist as you propped a leg over his. “Otherwise we might have never figured our shit out.”

He snorted. “Thank god for research. You would have kept me in the friendzone forever.”

“Hey!”

He silenced any further protests that you could have made, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. All possible complaints fled your mind the moment he did, eagerly kissing him back. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough of this and you had no idea how you had survived for so long while denying yourself of it.

Caleb had loved you for twelve years, steadily standing by your side and holding your hand even when you couldn’t see it. He had walked beside you through it all, the highest of highs and lowest of lows, lifting you up high over his shoulders with a grin on his face. He would never leave you behind, because he was your home. The one you had grown up with and wanted to wake up to everyday for the rest of your life.

He had taught you love without imposing it on you, silently showing it to you with every little thing he did. Your best friend. Your love. It had taken you a long time to catch up, but when you finally made it to the finish line, you found him waiting there for you patiently, holding out his hand for you to take.

The next time Tara called him your boyfriend, you didn’t correct her.

fin.

#love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #caleb smut #caleb fluff #lads fluff #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #caleb x reader smut #lads caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x y/n

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fellow-anime-weeb927 · 1 year ago

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Hiii!

I wanted to request a mashle innocent zero x reader headcanon

Another Innocent Zero request, ok then! I’ll do my best nonnie!✨

-he’s a stern and cruel man, that’s for sure

-but his habits might change depending on how close you and him are

-if you’re a minion, expect lots of training and harsh scolding if you did something wrong

-also he might threaten to kill you if you keep making mistakes

-(I’m sorry he’s just seems toxic but I can see him being nice too?)

-if you’re his assistant, he’ll be strict and give you tons of work to do

-he’ll expect you to handle every single one of his orders, unless you want punishment

-when working almost 24/7 daily, you pass out. And he notices, instead of waking you up immediately, he’ll lay you down on a couch to rest comfortably

-he wouldn’t know why he would do that instead of being cruel

-he would suspect that you secretly put a spell on him, but he denies it since he would’ve known way earlier

-after you recover, he would be less harsh on you and even offer taking care some of your work, you even started to question yourself whether this is a dream or not

-as time passes, he started to let his walls down and let you know him better, showing you his…kinder side that was buried in the void long ago

-you started to become less tense as he allowed you to have little breaks to rest up and even some snacks that he gave you!

-you even spent time with him more when you have a break or day-offs! He was confused about your habit, not that he minded somehow..

-he even started to feel…nervous around you, clearing his throat more and fumble with his words out of nowhere when talking to you

-he suddenly remembered about ‘love and feelings’ in a book when he was younger, he questioned himself frequently and doubted he could feel or can love when he could only be satisfied by watching people suffer

-he has an urge to make you his, but why?

A/n: somehow turned this into a fanfic but I don’t hate it- hope you enjoyed anon!

#mashle x reader #mashle innocent zero #mashle innocent zero x reader #innocent zero #innocent zero x reader #mashle magic and muscles x reader #mashle headcanons

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yourlocaldouma · 9 months ago

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Innocent Zero x Opera Singer Wife! Reader

Part 1

It all started from a newspaper, his attention was drawn the moment he heard your oh so lovely voice. He felt like his ears were blessed. The more he heard syllables coming from your lips, the more he believed that some otherworldly being had sent you from heaven to earth just to bless them with your voice. He was unaware at first, he thought that he was merely fascinated with your voice, so much so to the point that he had visited the opera house.

He was seated on the second row, eyes focused into you, and only you. Your voice resonating on the walls.

He didn't know how he could focus on someones features so intensely before he met you, to the way your hips would sway to the rhythm of the music, how your eyes glimmer with passion, your lips moving. Everything, he noticed everything at once.

You don't know how his heart lept to his throat, when your fleeting gaze landed on him. He couldn't breathe. When your gaze moves elsewhere, then did he felt the loud thumping of his heart, his hand shakily clutching to where the said organ was situated at, his attention solely on you.

After that instance, he knew he had fallen for you, it disgusted him. Him! Out of all the people!? Falling inlove!? It was laughable, that sounded absurd for the man that had taken pride to not be blinded by some mere silly feelings. So he had tried to distance himself from you, but it ultimately failed, always finding himself at the same opera house. Almost akin to a siren luring a sailor to the deep sea. He was angered by you, how DARE you make him feel this way! He wasn't supposed to be even having a attachment for it useless things, and yet here you were. He almost believe that you had casted a spell on him somehow.

After sometime, he reluctantly gave in to his urges and gifted you bouquets of roses and various types of flowers after each performance, and a letter coming along with it.

He cringed many times when he wrote 'admirer' on each letter, it flushed his cheeks slightly red. He felt like a squealish high school girl that received a bare minimum of attention from her infatuation. Many crumpled-up papers were piling on his desk whenever he wrote letters to you. Wanting it to be perfect as possible.

While you were receiving this gifts, the delivery man (One of Cyril's aides) would conceal the mystery person's identity from you. And due to this , your curiosity led you to ask about the bouquets you were receiving, having not experience this type of thing before. You felt flattered, feeling giddy whenever you read every letter. The first few were short, just complimenting you. You could tell it was the first time your admirer doing this from how awkward and funny it was from the beginning. You burst out giggling after reading it for the first time.

And I quote, "You have a very unique style."

But after gradually becoming more comfortable over the weeks, the admirer became bolder, subtly flirting towards you. This sudden change made your face scarlet red, putting a hand on your lower face to calm yourself down. (As if that will help). He was smooth with his sweet talking, never failing to have your cheeks flushed red and making you smile uncontrollably.

Then you suddenly have a genius Idea, you thought.. why not send letters back to this secret admirer of yours? So that's what you did. It was simple, giving your sincere gratitude. And when the same person who was delivering the bouquets came, you gave him a sealed letter. Telling him to hand it out to the sender.

Innocent Zero felt like he won a lottery, clutching the letter. He could smell the perfume whenever he brought it close to his face. It smelled good. It didn't smell strong, it felt like a gentle caress to the nose.

After that, the two of you sent letters back and forth. Innocent Zero collecting them and storing it in one of his drawers. (My Man is a definition of a simp)

And then tick, tock.. boom! The two of you agreed to go out on a date, you having suggested of a place.

This man almost threw himself out the window to try and escape when he had arrived on the place. He didn't want to overdress or underdress, god he didn't want to embarrass himself tinfront of you!

So when you were infront of each other, checking each other out.

It was awkward at first, Cyril almost seemed like he wanted to be drunk from how fast he was drinking down the wine.

After sometime, did you two became comfortable with each other. Spending time with one another when work wasn't taking up your days, though. Cyril is still technically spending time with you, when your performing.

Sometimes you would discreetly blow a kiss towards him, and he would just narrow his eyes at you, trying to intimidate you, but would fail from how red his face would be.

This relationship lasted on, until he had asked you to marry him. (Totally not because his empire had finally grew)

Happily barreling in his arms, crying tears of joy.

I feel like it's a bit ooc...☹️😔

But anyways Innocent Zero reminds me so much of Muzan...

#mashle #innocent zero #mashle x reader #innocent zero x reader

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angelsbless · 1 year ago

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Hiii, could you do a mashle Innocent Zero x reader (maybe how they met?!)

Well well well i actually didn't expect to receive an innocent zero ask, this is quite interesting actually it took me time to think about it. ( Can't blame you tho he's fine hehe). here you go dear i hope you like it 🤍.

Innocent zero x reader |( how you met)

As you know innocent zero is a great mage and is looking for more power and perfection to be the ultimate creature and the non-defeatable. As he was on his journey to obtain power while disguised he met you, you were a class S mage and an archaeologist interested in old great magic and magic history and books. So it was the greatest opportunity for him to take advantage of you.

He introduced himself as a new archaeologist needing help so you could offer him joining you and that's exactly what you did. He was surprised at your welcoming and charming smile because he never actually saw anyone smiling at him like that. As your journey continued he started observing you more and more, the way you got excited over the little details and your excitement whenever you found some old magic books or a new spell graved on a stone. He thought it was annoying, how could someone be this stupid? Why are you excited? it's nothing but magic and books, he wanted to get rid of you right away, he was trying to give the same energy back but it was hella difficult. Even if he thought so, it didn't bother him to see your smile and hear your giggles " just a little more " he said this to himself every day while being your company, until one day he found himself smiling at your gestures thinking you're kinda amusing, he liked it whenever he teased you and actually enjoyed your company?

To think that someone will be this comfortable around him and taking care of him was impossible, you were just too kind and too gentle while dealing with him, he never wanted to admit that but he liked it, he was delaying his plans and his priorities and convincing himself that it's too soon, just to still receive your sunlights. He hated the idea that he should stay away from you after that.

So when he decided it was time to leave he just took your hand and finally showed you his real self and then said " i never thought I'd ever say this but you should keep annoying me, you're not going anywhere else but near me, and no one is allowed to see that smile of yours. " He said and then kissed your hand. He was taken off guard when you told him that you knew who he is and that you don't mind, he just smiled a bit of mischievously and said under his breath " what a woman i got myself involved with ". HE WAS AMAZED !

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elvestoneanzelote1 · 1 year ago

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Hi!! Can you write doom x fem! or gn! reader?

𝘈:𝘯- 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴... 𝘛𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺... 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘬𝘪.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴... 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦...𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘋𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘹 𝘨/𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.

𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘦: 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴

Doom, the eldest son of Innocent Zero.

He is wary of his younger brother Famine, that what Cell war said.

Beside the point. He doesn't like picking up fights on the weaks ...

How you and Doom met was through Innocent Zero who also revised you through a corpse.

You remember your past life leading things to be complicated for you.

Unlike you, Cell war proclaimed you as his sibling.

Because you both were brought from death through Innocent zero blood. And the fact you were revived latter then Cell war which led him to take the elder brother role for you.

You were practically weary of the brothers but somehow Doom made a very impactful impression on you.

At least he was calm and barely get angry

Compared to his brothers.

You would rather not be the fact of his anger.

He is ruthless in battle after all.

Both you and him took time to get along as your sole purpose was to serve innocent zero that is what your life purpose is.

"...do you know where..." His words paused as you blink twice.

"Are you searching for your sword?"

"Yes..."

"..."

"I will find it and bring it to you"

With a nod of approval from Doom, you left the room.

Personally, you don't tag along with Doom he was the one who called you out to tag along with him.

And with out per notice you literally act like his maid of sort.

You let out an audible sighed while dragging yourself in search of his sword of where he kept or perhaps someone have misplace it.

"...oh, Y/n~" a voice called out to you as you stopped on your way taking notice of familiar purple eyes male with jester clothing.

You bowed and greeted him as he waved his hand off.

"Bleh~! No need to bow! Either way I need your help on chaining some victims I found!"

"Apologise... Sir Famin... I am searching for Sir Doom sword"

His eyes narrowed as he towered you.

"Are you rejecting to help me hmm??" His words held malice as you shook your head quickly.

"I... I will help you after I find Sir Doom Sword"

"His swords doesn't cost a ton shouldn't he get a new one? It is getting rusty after all! And I don't often need your help so you gotta obey it!" He said pulling you through your arm before you protest you felt someone kept a hand on your shoulder as you gaze up to see Doom.

"Famin do not disturb them while they are given the task" Doom said as Famin chuckle.

"Brother! You often take their time it is no fun! They are meant to serve all of us when needed you shouldn't always take them!" Famin argued as Doom shook his head slightly.

Been calm as possible but.

You knew it was soon going to turn chaos as their hold on you tightens.

'Why am I stuck with the siblings quarrel' you thought to self.

Thankfully it ended quickly by whatever force came to let them leave you alone.

Well it was innocent Zero who bailed them off.

You bowed lower to him as his eyes focus on you with a hint of amusement.

"It is good to see you getting along with my sons"

"..."

"I hope everything is going well?" He asked as you don't know what to say as you nod mildly

He hummed in thought as he smile slightly.

"Come with me after you do my sons task by 30 minutes... I need a massage after all" he said as he left as you bowed saying you will.

'Damn it... Why am I even task in this stuff! Like a maid/butler!!! Whereas Cell wars is enjoying delicious food from The Academy cafeteria.' You were so jealous of Cell wars who is likely taking vacation in your eye as you are suffering with doing innocent zero sons task and even his task like their servant.

'Ah I wish I was never revived in the first place!' Your thoughts halted as you walk on the halls as you took notice of Doom sword.

You heavily dragged it with you as it was heavy.

You curse into your head as you finally reach his room huffing.

"Oh your back"

"Yea... I mean yes Sir doom"

He approaches you as you were glad you finally not going to hold the giant sword only to felt his hand hold on your free one.

"Have you try to find out who have hurt tour hand in the past?" He asked as his traced on the visible scar which was deep. Perhaps some flesh was missing from the scar itself.

"I... Did"

His hold tighten slightly as he asked who it was.

"...well it was just an accident during childhood an old bully did it... Beside it they must have been death too"

Doom frown slightly as his other hand was on top of your head.

Your eyes widen slightly as he pat your head.

"Those who have hurt you... Their generations will face the wrath"

"Huh?"

You didn't understand what he meant... You were too afraid to asked him.

His aura says it all after all... He was anrgy.

And for the first time... He was angry for you.

You want to argue that the generation of the old bully has nothing to do with you now.

But for now you keep your mouth shut.

As you don't want to be directed of his anger on you.

Until he calm down.

You have to keep your mouth shut.

Because even if you died once... Who wants to die again gruesomely?.

A:n- that's all! Take care good night/morning.

#mashle magic and muscle x reader #mashle x reader #mashle #mashle magic and muscles x fem reader #mashle magic and muscles #doom #doom x reader #doom x g/n reader #Mashle doom #innocent zero #Famin #mashle famin #mashle innocent zero #mashle magic and muscles doom #mashle magic and muscles doom x g/n reader #character x g/n reader #magic #revuved y/n

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rayofsunshyne · 10 months ago

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Pinning and Pining Rayne Ames

Synopsis: At the Easton Magic Academy, an unexpected friendship blossoms between you and the Divine Visionary, Rayne Ames. As you spar with each other, will either of you realize the other's feelings?

It was your third year at the Easton Magic Academy. You were just about to meet up with Rayne Ames to practice some sparring.

Your friendship with Rayne was quite an unusual one, as he often kept to himself. Ever since your first year at Easton, you admired Rayne a lot. He was undoubtedly one of the strongest magic users at the school, even becoming a Divine Visionary in his second year.

Rayne always had a lot of fangirls, often whispering about him in the hallways, but never daring to approach him. He has quite a cold demeanor, though you always thought that he used it to mask his emotions. Or maybe that’s just how he is. Honestly, who knows…

Either way, you could say you were one of Rayne’s fangirls, but you kept it to yourself. The chance of Rayne even considering befriending, let alone talking to anyone remained slim throughout the years he was at Easton. It seemed that even his own brother, Finn Ames, had trouble maintaining a close relationship with Rayne.

And yet somehow, you became friends with Rayne — or at least had enough conversations and interactions to call him an acquaintance.

It all started back in your second year. Although you were already quite fond of Rayne, you never had the courage to talk to him. Your second year was mostly uneventful, but as the year drew to an end, the school grounds became a much more dangerous place.

A man called Innocent Zero began terrorizing Easton in search of one of his sons, Mash Burnedead. Mash, a first-year, was quite extraordinary for his lack of magical abilities. Rather than using spells, he fought against all of his enemies purely with his muscles and reflexes. It was even rumored that Mash was magicless, but you weren’t sure whether to believe that.

During one of the standoffs with Innocent Zero and his crew, all of the Easton students ended up being dragged into this mess. Split apart with dangerous foes with no mercy to face, it was a tragic event in the history of the Magic Realm. Innocent Zero and his allies had little care for the lives of the weak, and thus Easton unfortunately faced several casualties in this battle. The sheer cries and screams of their parents when they were told the news still haunts you to this day.

On that day, you were quite lucky. Although you were average in terms of magic capabilities, compared to Innocent Zero’s men, you were outmatched. So, with the luck of chance placing you in a room with no foes, you decided to stay in hiding for the rest of the fight.

That was, until you saw a familiar face standing off someone much more powerful than him. It was Finn. You saw the desperation in his eyes, as he battled, then attempted to flee, but to no avail. The injuries he sustained could no longer lift his pain-stricken body, and his magic power dimmed.

At that moment, you let go of all your fears, your goals, your aspirations, and leaped to save Finn. Rather, you wanted to save him, you believed that you could just grab him and dash out of there unscathed. But you were wrong.

The attack that was going to deal the final blow to Finn was completely absorbed by you. That was the most pain you ever felt in your life. Blood splattered everywhere, as you screamed in agony, looking at the gaping hole in your chest. This was a day you would never forget.

Shortly after, you fell over and lost consciousness. You were practically…dead.

Nevertheless, by some miracle, you survived. And so did Finn.

You woke up to white sheets and tubes all around you. You were in a hospital. Bandages covered almost every part of your body and you noticed a dim night light on the cabinet. The candle wick was almost out.

As you adjusted to your new surroundings, you felt something resting on your leg. Squinting, you could make out that it was a person with yellow and black hair. They were resting their head on your thigh, and it seemed like they had fallen asleep.

However, the physical sensation of this accentuated the pain you were feeling throughout your entire body. You tried to slowly shift your leg’s position, but you accidentally ended up waking the person up.

“You’re…awake…?” This voice sounded familiar, and on closer inspection, it was Rayne?! What is he doing here, you wondered, frantically trying to keep yourself together.

As you stared at him in disbelief, you decided to finally blurt out something: “Um, yeah— sorry that I woke you up…”

Rather than responding to your reply, Rayne softly said, “I’m glad that you’re alive.” You weren’t sure if you were seeing things, but it looked like a tear fell down Rayne’s cheek.

To see Rayne in such a state, it almost felt like a dream. Yet it was real. You almost died. To save Finn. And Rayne patiently waited for you to wake up.

After a long pause, Rayne followed up with, “How are you feeling? Is there anything you need me to get you?” Although he was averting his gaze, seemingly out of shame, you saw his light yellow eyes glisten in the moonlight.

You replied, “I-I’m fine! At least I think I am now… And uh, it’s okay, I don’t need anything right now.” After some thought, you followed up with, “Sorry if this comes off as rude, I-I’m just genuinely wondering… um, why did you visit me? I don’t think we ever talked. O-of course I know you, and uh, I really admire your abilities, but this was just really unexpected.”

“It’s because you saved my brother, Finn…” You heard Rayne’s voice shake, as he said, “And you… you almost died… for him. I don’t know how I could ever pay you back.”

Days passed after that night, and Rayne didn’t show up again at the hospital. Maybe it was out of embarrassment or guilt, but you never figured it out. However, on the day you were discharged from the hospital, you noticed Rayne inconspicuously glancing at you, perhaps checking on your well-being.

Although your only interaction with him was extremely awkward, you decided to suck it up and initiate a conversation. Upon seeing that you were approaching Rayne, he immediately attempted to shift his focus to the idle people at the hospital. Cute, you thought.

“Hey Rayne! Sorry for approaching you out of the blue, I couldn’t help but notice you there and I really just wanted to say…” You bowed. “Thank you so much for everything you did. Without you, I doubt I would have lived to see another day.”

Rayne’s eyes slightly widened as he put two hands on your shoulders and lifted you out of your bow. His hands still gripping your shoulders, he met your gaze. “Please don’t bow. You were the one who saved my family… it’s the least I could do.” Rayne paused for a moment. “I know our conversation on that day was kind of left hanging, but I wanted to ask you: Is there any way I can pay you back? I know there’s nothing that I can do that will relieve the pain and injuries that you sustained, but I cannot sit still and just go about my day without giving you something in return.”

Rayne’s voice was filled with sincerity, but all you could think about was his unwavering hands and intense gaze. Your face turned a tint of reddish pink as you tried your best to keep your composure. “W-well… if you insist, would you mind giving me a few pointers on my magic abilities?”

This first session quickly became a weekly thing, and you’ve been sparring ever since.

And that’s how you met Rayne. Though you’re still quite unsure if you are even friends with him. Sometimes it almost feels like Rayne treats you like a little sister, or as a pitiful rabbit. In any case, you go to your usual meeting place.

Read the rest of Chapter 1 and up to Chapter 6 on my AO3!

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wintrbears · 6 days ago

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Cradle Robbers: The First Trimester | JJK

Summary: Jungkook makes a proposition you can't don't want to refuse, and there are seemingly no consequences to your friendship at first, but then you miss you period and have to explain to all your loved ones how you got knocked up by your childhood best friend.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Pregnancy AU, Childhood Friends to FWB to Lovers, Slow-Burn, Smut, Fluff, Crack, Angst (barely, you have to squint to see it)

Word Count: 26k+

Warnings: unexpected pregnancy, fear, anxiety, crying, screaming, arguing, vomiting, cravings, drinking (not OC), mention of withdrawal, doctor's offices, ultrasounds, pregnancy tests, mentions of a break-up, pet names (bambi/bams, babygirl, baby), cats, dogs, wealth, sex in a movie, tickling, karaoke, medication, talk of childbirth, periods, birth control failure, video games, parental expectations. SMUT: kissing, unprotected sex (obviously), neck kissing, penetrative sex, missionary, dick riding, sideways/from behind, oral sex (both receiving), face riding, face fucking, cum swallowing, multiple orgasms, BIG DICK JK!!!, spanking, cream pie, titty sucking, pleasuring with underwear, ripping underwear, implication of sexual favors, hickies, soreness, aftercare, masturbation (f), cuddling, cock warming, alright I think that's all folks!

Author's Note: it's finally hereeee. this is the first of three parts for my new series and i'm so, so excited to share it with you guys! koo and bambi have my whole heart along with all their friends and family we meet. I know pregnancy fics aren't always the most loved, but I assure you this Jungkook is so worth it... he's tooth-rottingly sweet and soooo sexy! also, I linked the video of the boys performance bc it's too freaking good not to watch, so look out for that (and also ignore yoongi not actually being there lmao). please let me know what you guys think and/or any predications you have for the next chapter, the baby's name and/or gender, etc. I LOVE hearing what you guys have to say! OK ily bye :)

ZERO

The sound of some garbage eating rodent is the first thing you hear after kicking your apartment door open with the tip of your boot. Muscle memory brings your hand to the light switch, but you aren’t able to flip it up because the lights are already on. So, the rodent is big enough to reach that height… wonderful.

You toe your boots off and hang your coat up, tossing your keys in the old stolen ashtray you use to house them. When you round the corner, the familiar, lovable vermin is bent over as he rummages through your fridge.

It’s ridiculous, honestly, given that this particular species of rat earns quadruple your salary.

“Koo,” you get his attention.

“Hm?”

He doesn’t budge an inch when responding to the call of his nickname. Eyes rolling back, you stroll over and smack his ass as hard as you can.

“Yo!” Jungkook jerks up and just barely misses hitting his head on the refrigerator. “Take me to dinner first.”

“I am,” you reply. “You’re eating my food.”

Jungkook smiles innocently and squishes your cheeks with his fingers before shaking your head back and forth.

“And I’m so, so grateful,” he teases in a baby voice.

You swat his hand away, but the light in your eyes and the remnants of a smile on your face reveal your true feelings about his teasing.

This predicament is one of your own creation, since you gave Jungkook a key a while ago in case of emergencies. The issue is, an emergency for Jungkook can be your place being closer to the gym than his, and he needs a snack after his workout. In your mind, the purpose was so he can bring you chocolate ice cream on your period and take down intruders. He’s only done one of those things so far, and the intruder was a stray cat.

Falling to your couch with a soft thump, you groan and tilt your head back against the cushions. Today was egregiously long and definitely not worth the money it made you. The only upside is it’s Friday and you have two whole days to lounge around your apartment and do nothing at all.

Jungkook comes around the peninsula which separates your kitchen from your living room with a fresh bowl of instant ramen in his hands. He blows on the noodles for a second before slurping them into his mouth, all without noticing the glare you’re sending his way. His eyes crinkle when he sees you, letting you know he’s smiling, even though you can’t see his mouth behind the bowl.

“What’s with the face, Bambi?”

“You seriously didn’t think of making one for me?” You ask through a pout.

You finally see Jungkook’s smile when he lowers the bowl to place it on the peninsula. He looks proud, his head tilting as he chuckles to himself.

Then, you hear the microwave go off, and your glare quickly turns into a grin.

Jungkook grabs the second bowl from the microwave and sets it on the counter. You watch appreciatively as he rips open the sauce packet before putting it between his teeth and using his chopsticks to pour it all into the bowl. The crinkle of a cheese wrapper opening brings your eyebrows up your forehead in delight. He drops the orange square into the bowl and mixes everything together with the chopsticks before holding it out towards you.

“You gonna take that shit back now or what?”

You beam and giggle as you stand, practically skipping across the room so you can take the bowl of delicious noodles from him.

“Thank you,” you sing-song.

“Mmhmm.”

The two of you eat on your couch in a slurp filled ambiance. It’s an old, familiar scene and one you always appreciate even if you don’t say it outloud.

They say you choose your friends, but Jungkook was pretty much forced on you. Your mothers are college roommates who became best friends and later married another pair of best friends. The women proceeded to plot and plan accordingly so they would be pregnant together and their kids would be the same age. Unfortunately, your parents went off script by about six months, but you and Jungkook are still close enough in age to be in the same grade throughout school.

Even though your friendship was intricately planned long before your conception, you’re close of your own volition.

Jungkook is not only your best friend, but the most amazing person you know and probably in existence. You wouldn’t trade him for the world if it came down to it. In fact, if the zombie apocalypse ever happens, and somehow his death is the only way to find a cure, you will Joel Miller-style kill every single person who dares to try and take him from you. They can rip your dorky, caring, smart-ass best friend from your cold, dead hands. Everyone else can become zombies for all you care, everyone but him.

The sound of a bowl meeting the coffee table pulls your attention back to the man beside you. He kicks his feet up and stretches his arms above his head in relaxation. When the action reveals a sliver of skin from below the hem of his shirt, you use the opportunity to tickle him and laugh when he groans and folds into himself.

“Is this really the game you wanna play, Bams?” He speaks to the floor, still hunching over from your attack.

Bambi, or Bams for short, is the only name Jungkook calls you. Sometimes, you jokingly accuse him of forgetting your real name altogether, which then spurs him on to attempt “guessing” what it is. Ironically, neither of you nor your parents can recall the origin of the nickname. Like some strange Mandela effect, one day he started calling you by the Disney character’s name and never stopped.

If memory serves correctly, you think the last time you heard the syllables of your name leave his mouth was in fifth grade when he defended you against a clique of mean girls. Something along the lines of “leave my Y/N alone,” in his adorable kiddie Jungkook voice.

He’s certainly gone through some drastic changes since then. His voice now filters out in a deep, honey tone, he doesn’t use his bangs to conceal his starry eyes anymore, and he’s got you beat by a few inches in height. You’re different, too, mostly in the way you no longer need him to defend you on the playground. He still would, though, and he often tries on nights out when someone tries testing your patience.

Jungkook would never hurt a fly, but he’s got an entire sleeve of tattoos, multiple piercings, and broad shoulders, so he uses his outward appearance to his advantage and scares people away when necessary.

You don’t respond to his taunt, instead you slowly slide across the fabric of the couch, as quietly as you can so he doesn’t pick up on the movement. He, of course, notices right away, and a cheshire grin appears before your eyes.

Standing up like lightning, you make a break for your bedroom, but you only reach the back of the couch before his arms are clinching you by the waist.

“No!” You shout and kick the air as he tugs you back towards the furniture.

“You asked for this.”

“Koo, no!”

He drops you unceremoniously onto the cushions where you flail in an attempt to escape, but it’s futile because Jungkook is already bending down to tickle your sides. Hysterical laughter fills the space as his fingertips pitter-patter on your skin. Your best friend is ruthless as always, never halting his actions even as you squirm and swat at him to get away.

“Say you’re sorry, Bambi.”

“Jungkook, I’m gonna fucking pee my pants,” you threaten.

“Not my problem,” he responds.

You gasp and recoil when he starts tickling your neck, rendering you completely useless to do anything but suffer. Eventually, your brain returns from its momentary vacation and you find the will to fight back, grabbing his hands and pulling them away as you attempt to catch your breath. Jungkook’s smiling like the devil himself above you and you resist the urge to slap the smirk right off his handsome face.

This behavior is par for the course for you both, because you’re a brat who likes to test his limits, and he’s too competitive to let you have the last laugh.

Jungkook stands to his full height, smirk still intact, while you struggle to slow your jackrabbiting heart. He moseys over to your bookshelf to survey its contents, and once you’re sitting up again, you chuck a throw pillow across the room at him. It meets his back before pathetically falling to the floor. Jungkook doesn’t even flinch. He just shakes his head and tsks at your feeble attempt at payback.

His fingers trace over the items occupying your bookshelf before settling on a thin rectangle and removing it from its home.

“Movie night?”

He rests the corner of the DVD case against his head to show it off to you. You call him towards you with your hand so you can inspect the item for yourself. It houses a movie you haven’t seen in a long time, some low budget rom com with good sex scenes. Shrugging, you nod your head at him and watch as he goes to play the movie in your now ancient DVD player.

“I’ll go make popcorn,” you announce before standing and heading to the kitchen.

Jungkook plummets into the couch and grabs your fuzzy blanket to spread over his legs. When you return with a large bowl of popcorn to share, he lifts the blanket and readjusts it to cover your legs as well.

Neither of you pay much attention to the plot, too busy joking around when characters say stupid lines. You spend your time talking about your week and any plans for the upcoming weekend instead. Jungkook’s just finishing up his story about his boss accidentally unmuting himself on Teams when the first sex scene catches your attention. You both actually focus on the screen for the first time and Jungkook tilts his head while tonguing his cheek as the male character descends down the female character’s body and kisses her skin as he goes.

“Do you ever think about it?” He asks as he throws a kernel of popcorn into the air and catches it with his mouth.

“About what?” You look towards the screen. “Sex?” He nods and puts his arm behind you on the couch so he can face you. “Like, in general, or —”

“No, no,” Jungkook chuckles. “Like us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, have you thought about us having sex?”

The popcorn in your mouth goes down the wrong tube when you choke in response to his question. You hit your chest once to help it descend your esophagus before reaching for your drink on the coffee table. The time it takes you to gulp down the fizzy beverage isn’t nearly enough for you to gather your thoughts.

“Koo, what the actual fuck,” you scold him.

“Is that a no?” He raises his eyebrows at you suggestively. “Because I know I have.”

“Ew, when?”

“It’s not often, just like, every once in a while,” he explains. “I just think it would be fun! This is not me making some grandstand announcement about how I’ve always wanted you or some shit.” He readjusts so his entire body faces you directly. “Listen, we’ve done everything together. Skydiving, parasailing, swimming with dolphins, stealing from the grocery store, sneaking into the movies, you name it. Doesn’t it make sense that we should do everything before we aren’t able to anymore?”

“You forced me to go skydiving, Jungkook.”

“That’s not the point, Bambi,” he playfully grits his teeth. “Eventually, we’re gonna settle down with our own partners and the window of opportunity will be gone. Why not try something new together while we still can?”

Your teeth hold your bottom lip captive as your mind processes his proposal. Truthfully, you have thought about it, same as him. Not in some romantic, storybook way, but just from a perspective of knowing he’s a handsome guy with a great build and it would probably be a fun night for both of you. This conversation scares the shit out of you, though. Thinking about it is one thing, but attempting to manifest it into reality is a whole other beast. The list of things that could go wrong is longer than a CVS receipt. Then again, you and Jungkook have been through everything together and you’ve always made it out on the other side.

“Koo, I don’t know…” you admit. “I love me some good casual sex with no feelings involved, but this is us we’re talking about.”

“Exactly!” He claps his hands together eagerly. “It’s us, probably the only two people in the whole world who nothing can come between.” Jungkook sighs and eats more popcorn from the bowl still in your lap. “I’m not trying to pressure you, Bams, I just really think we’d both have a great time. I mean, I’m hot, you’re hot, I’ve got a big dick, I’m sure your pussy is tight, what else could you want?”

You laugh at his reasoning, throwing your head back and holding the position as you blow air from your mouth. A couple anticipatory moments pass as your mind weighs the options. A large intake of air fills your lungs before you lift your head.

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Okay?”

“Okay, Koo.”

Jungkook giggles like a little kid, his feet stamping the ground repeatedly as he pumps his arms in excitement. Your laughter returns in response to his celebration, rolling your eyes affectionately at the familiar behavior of your childhood best friend.

“You said yes because I called you tight, is that it?”

Shaking your head, you push his shoulder back with your hand, using your other one to place the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. Jungkook’s eyes turn into big oases of black as his pupils dilate and conceal the normal chocolate color of his irises. You take your time straddling his thighs, your knees digging into the couch beside his hips.

“No,” you answer him. Making a show of flipping your hair over your shoulder and bending down until you’re face to face. You avoid his lips, which are pouting slightly, to place a kiss over the tiny mole on his neck. “I said yes because you said you have a big dick and now I need to find out if that’s true,” you whisper into his ear.

Your voice has a sultry edge you’ve never used in his presence before. Sitting back on your heels, you gaze at him with an innocent smile as you bat your eyelashes.

Jungkook’s look of surprise is long gone, his eyes sharpening until they’re a quarter of their normal size as he stares you down. The muscles in his jaw clench and the skin of his brow creases, his eyebrows nearly kissing. Your eyes catch the thick vein in his neck pulsing with adrenaline and it makes your thighs tingle.

He laughs incredulously, running a hand through his hair as he tongues his cheek.

“Alright, so we’re doing it this way,” he muses.

In an instant, Jungkook is grabbing your hips and slamming you down into his lap. You gasp and brace yourself on his shoulders. Your reaction brings a satisfied smirk to his face, and you have the urge to roll your eyes again, but then his fingers rake into your hair and he yanks the strands to expose your throat. A needy whine passes through your lips as your neck beckons him to give it attention. He places a single, gentle kiss to your pulse point before leaving you wanting. A second noise of complaint is about to leave you when Jungkook finally starts devouring your neck with his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan quietly.

Jungkook chuckles melodiously against the wet spots he’s leaving on you. The feeling of his warm breath on your skin forms goosebumps across your arms and sends a shiver straight down your spine. His teeth are maiming your neck as he works diligently to paint you in pretty, purple bruises shaped like his mouth. Once the artwork appears before his eyes, he licks over the mark and kisses it before moving to conquer another spot.

Meanwhile, your hips spring into action and you start moving in languid circles across his lap. The initial plan is to keep the pressure of your movements teasingly light, but once you feel the apparent bulge forming in his pants, you can’t resist grinding down hard against his clothed cock.

Jungkook groans responsively and bites into your skin with his canines.

Soon enough, he ceases his assault on your neck so his lips can travel across your shoulder instead. His fingers push your shirt down your arm so he can kiss and lick your skin unimpeached. You moan loudly, the rhythm of your hips picking up in tempo as he seeks out every inch of exposed skin he can.

“Fuck, I could come in my fucking pants, Bams,” he whispers. “Please don’t stop.”

His words only motivate you to push your hips into him harder. He groans again and nods his head approvingly. You agree with him internally, the friction from your underwear rubbing against your clit steadily sending you into a frenzy.

“So good, Koo.”

Jungkook hums and leans back to appreciate the portrait of his lips he’s left on you. His fingertips gently trace over the hickies and he wears a proud smile as he turns your head back and forth to examine his work.

“You look so pretty, all marked up,” he praises.

Pushing him down by his shoulders, you grab his face with both hands to kiss him. There’s an electric shock when your lips meet for the first time, but you aren’t sure if it’s only in your head or if he felt it, too.

The kiss is anything but romantic. Within seconds you’re licking into his mouth and chasing his tongue while his teeth pull at your bottom lip. Jungkook moans and his fingers press down against your scalp. Tilting your head, you kiss him like he’s your only source of oxygen. Your body and mind are in overdrive, your thighs twitching with need and you need his lips to bring you back down to earth.

He tastes sweet like the cola he was drinking and it makes your head spin. The pretty, pink, doll lips you’ve always admired are magical in the way they move. Jungkook has you trapped between his mouth and the hand on your head, but you don’t mind when he’s kissing you until your mind blanks.

It's a scramble of fingers and hands as you undress one another as fast as humanly possible. His warm hands brush against your stomach as he lifts your top over your head. You feel his abs beneath your fingers when you tug off his shirt. Jungkook accidentally pinches your skin when unhooking your bra and you don’t even notice, too busy kissing him like your life depends on it.

When Jungkook sees your tits for the first time, he fucking loses it. His head hits the arm of the couch as it falls back, and the growl that comes from deep within his throat is fucking demonic.

“God, you are so fucking hot,” he declares.

You’re unable to respond because he’s already wrapping his mouth around your nipple and tweaking the other with his fingers, forcing the air from your lungs instantaneously. Jungkook’s tongue circles your nipple a couple times before he sucks the erect nub into his mouth, keeping the same pace with his fingers on your other breast.

The moans coming from you are unrecognizable in comparison to your normal timbre, and they only grow in volume when Jungkook switches sides and repeats his debilitating ministrations.

Lacing your fingers through his black strands, you pull his face away from your chest to see his eyes. He barely looks like himself anymore, a scorching fire behind his usual soft gaze. The image lights you up inside, and you kiss him again hard enough that he tumbles back into the couch cushions and brings you along with him.

His hands explore the smooth skin of your back and shoulders, massaging you with his big hands as he traverses across the previously uncharted territory.

“You’re so sexy, Jungkook,” you tell him as you kiss his jaw. “Everything about you.”

His skin is searing hot and flushed red, the tint going all the way down his neck and chest. You take your time moving across his jawline and throat, sucking just below his ear and letting your tongue trace the perimeter of his earlobe. Descending down his torso, you kiss his collarbones and pecs while digging your nails into his abs, your ample attempt at showing him exactly what you mean by your comment.

“Need you, Bambi, so fucking bad,” he whines.

The only acknowledgment you give him is by looking up with a devilish smirk before your hands start to unbutton his jeans. You pull them down just enough to reveal his boxers and hold his eye contact while you kiss the fabric covering his cock. Jungkook’s hips twitch and his eyes squeeze shut, an undeniably sexy groan leaving him. Your hands caress his thighs while you mouth at his boxers and you can feel him getting harder with each press of your lips.

He hurries to pull his pants down the rest of the way while you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers. When you tease him by letting them snap against his hips, he hisses and you see his Adam's apple bob. His hips buck towards your face desperately, making you snicker at his attempt to create friction.

“Patience, Koo,” you tease him. Jungkook grits his teeth at your taunt, but only a second later the tension seeps from his body when you reach into his boxers and palm him. “Let’s see if you were exaggerating or not, hmm?”

Once his boxers are gone, you realize he was, in fact, under exaggerating. He knows it, too, because when you glance up, he’s smirking with pride, one corner of his mouth higher than the other.

“Whaddaya think?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“How about you see how much that pretty mouth of yours can take?”

One thing about you and Jungkook is you're both competitive as hell, and you’ll be damned if his whole dick isn’t situated down your throat soon just to prove a point.

Gathering spit in your mouth, you lean directly over his hard cock and let it slowly fall from your lips to his head. You wait for the sound of Jungkook moaning before doing it again, this time actually spitting instead of letting it drip down. Your hand gathers the saliva to spread it over his head and down his shaft. Your best friend is panting above you as he studies the way you work his cock with your hand.

Jungkook is stupid fucking big, and you genuinely fear he’ll split you in half when you fuck. Not only is his dick long, but it’s so thick your fingertips don’t touch when you grasp him. He’s rock hard and throbbing in your hold and there’s a perfect bead of precum just waiting for you to lick.

When you do, Jungkook cries out in pleasure and it's hands down the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard. He’s always been the tough one between you, and having him like puddy in your hands is more satisfying than you care to admit.

Your tongue flattens over his slit and you groan at the taste of his cum, your mouth already watering at the thought of more coming your way. You lick around his head in one long stroke and then circle your tongue just under the sensitive ridge. Jungkook whines at the feeling of your tongue on his aching dick. Your hand is still using your self-made lubricant to glide up and down his shaft.

“Bams, fuck,” Jungkook pants the words across staccato exhales.

It’s nearly impossible for you to say no to the man begging for your mouth, so you finally end your teasing and take him between your lips. You suckle on his head and let more saliva drip down his shaft before removing your hand to focus solely on the movements of your mouth. Your hands hold onto his muscular thighs as you finally take him deeper into your throat.

It definitely takes time for your lips and throat to adjust to his size. Each time you slide down his cock you take more of him into your mouth until your nose hits his pelvis. You breathe through your nose and stay there for a moment, swallowing and moaning around him.

“Oh, shit.” Jungkook looks down at you in awe, watching in wonder at the way your lips stretch around his cock. “Bambi, holy fucking shit.”

The chuckle you release sends vibrations around Jungkook’s dick and his hips buck up responsively. You moan again and squeeze his thighs, attempting to send a message that he’s free to repeat the action. He must interpret your message accurately because you feel him forming your hair into a makeshift ponytail and thrusting his hips up.

Jungkook would never want to hurt you, so even though his body is screaming at him to animalisticaly fuck your mouth, his thrusts are shallow and modest.

Even so, his strokes make you gag every time his tip hits the back of your throat. He’s pulling on your hair and the sensation of being used like a sex toy makes your eyes roll back. Tears form and roll down to meet the drool that’s leaking from your mouth. Breathing through your nose, you suck harder to make a tighter fit for him. He’s appreciative, growling and yanking on your hair as a thank you.

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” he warns you. Hearing his words, you massage his heavy balls in your hand to push him over the edge. A broken moan comes from above you and his hips start to lose their cadence as his orgasm nears. “Can I… your throat…”

His words are clipped, but you understand and squeeze his thigh to give him permission. Within a single moment you start tasting his cum at the back of your throat. Moaning endlessly at how good he tastes, you move your lips up and down his cock as he comes, swallowing his seed and licking him clean at the same time.

When you’re certain you’ve stolen every last drop and sucked him dry, you come up for air with a harsh gasp.

“Holy fuck,” you curse and massage your jaw.

Jungkook grabs your chin with his hand and makes you look at him so he can see that you’re alright. You nod assuredly and sit back on your heels.

“That was, on God, the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Jungkook states.

You laugh and shove his chest, but he snatches your hand and pulls you towards him. He kisses you like he fucking means it, grabbing the side of your face so you can’t move an inch. Your moans meet in each other’s mouths as Jungkook sucks on your tongue to taste himself.

“Can we move this party to the bedroom?”

Jungkook nods, his hand still caressing your face, before helping you up so you can both head to your room at the back of the apartment. When the door opens, your grey munchkin cat scurries out from behind the door.

“Oh, Usagi, I forgot you were in there,” you say as she bolts for her scratching post.

“Probably a good thing,” Jungkook notes, his eyes gesturing down to his dick still on display.

You chuckle and grab his hand to lead him into the room before shutting the door behind you. He immediately takes a seat on the bed while you stay standing to pull your pants down your legs.

Jungkook’s eyes trace the movement, his pupils blowing even wider when he sees your black lace panties and the evident wet spot on them. Reaching his hand out, you take it and stand between his legs. Your hands push his hair back, scratching at his scalp to hear the pretty moan that accompanies the movement.

He leans forward and kisses your abdomen, just above your panties. You sigh as his lips traverse the expanse of your stomach and hips, leaving a hot, wet trail in their wake.

“Koo, need you,” you whimper.

The feeling of his teeth sinking into the skin of your waist makes you jump, but then he soothes the ache with his tongue.

“You know, since you made me come already, I’m going to have to fuck you in other ways until I’m ready to go again,” he states. You hum in acknowledgment and he rests his chin against you to gaze upwards. “You gonna be able to handle that, Bams?”

“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”

Jungkook scoffs and turns you around, slapping your ass harshly before pulling you down into his lap. You yelp at the sudden change in position, but the feeling of his warm chest on your back makes you melt into his embrace.

“Do you even know me at all, Bams?” He scoffs again. “How many orgasms have you had in one night before?”

“Like… three?”

“Pussy fucking numbers,” he snaps. “We’re aiming for double digits here.”

“Jungkook!” You look over your shoulder at him in shock, but his facial expression is completely serious. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m really fucking not.”

“I’ll die.”

Jungkook just shakes his head disapprovingly and licks his lips. He grabs your jaw to turn your head, his hand diving into your hair again to hold you in place so he can ravish your mouth. His kiss has you completely hypnotized and you barely remember the conversation you were just having.

“How about we compromise and aim for five?” He suggests.

You want to kiss him too badly to muster a response, so you just hum in affirmation before turning around and bringing his lips to yours. He pulls you into him as he falls back onto the bed. Your legs return to their position on either side of his muscular thighs, and your lips work earnestly to kiss every inch of his face and jaw until they reach his neck.

Your clothed cunt grinds over his dick as you mark him with a matching bruise to your own, the friction created by your panties making you groan. You continue to lick and torment the delicate skin of his neck while he guides your movements with his hands.

All too soon, Jungkook stops you by grabbing your shoulder and you eye him curiously. His eyes flit around the features of your face for a minute. When he smiles in satisfaction, you know he’s got a tantalizing idea for how he’s going to make you come.

“Sit on my face,” he commands.

You don’t need to be told twice to get your pussy ate.

Jungkook moves to the center of the bed and taps his chest to beckon you over. Bending to remove your panties, you look up in surprise when Jungkook halts your actions by grabbing your wrist.

“How expensive were those?” He asks.

“$20 maybe.”

“Leave ‘em on, I’ll buy you new ones.”

Sometimes you conveniently forget your best friend is rich until moments like these when he reminds you.

When you and Jungkook were in college he coded and designed an entire video game in his spare time, because he’s a freaking genius, and then he sold said video game for millions of dollars. Now he works as a lead designer at the biggest video game company in the country and consistently makes six figures.

Jungkook has a huge dick and an even bigger bank account, and here you thought God made everyone equal.

Shrugging at his instruction, you do as he says and climb onto the bed. As tactfully as possible, you maneuver your legs around Jungkook’s head and sit up on your knees so your core is a few inches above his mouth. His hands hold your hips and he takes the time to trace over your curves while looking up at your pussy slowly soaking the lace of your underwear.

After several long moments of eager anticipation, he yanks you down by your thighs until the tip of his nose is tickling you. Your head tips back as you sigh, the feeling of his nose rubbing against your clit through your underwear satiating the craving for his touch. He presses a few chaste kisses to the black fabric as he nuzzles his nose into your cunt to give you more friction. You grip his hair beneath you as he continues to tease you with featherlight touches of his nose and mouth.

“Koo, don’t,” you beg.

His only reply is a hum and you feel the vibrations from it against your core. Then he bites at your underwear to give him access to your pussy before licking you from bottom to top. The fabric sinks between your folds as Jungkook’s tongue presses the panties into you and the friction feels unbelievable on your clit.

Your hand yanks on his hair in appreciation as he continues to eat you out and use your sopping wet panties to pleasure you.

Once he’s ready for more, his hands move towards your cunt and a loud ripping sound permeates the air. You gasp when you feel him throw your torn panties to the side before forcing your pussy down harder on his face. He collects all the essence you’re leaking with an erotic slurping sound. His tongue slides through your folds and fucks into your hole while his nose continues to apply pressure to your clit.

“Holy shit, Jungkook.”

He laughs against your pussy and slows down just enough so you can hear him.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Bams.”

Your free hand claws at the bed frame haphazardly as he eats you like it’s his goddamn job. He kisses your cunt messily, spitting into it and smearing your cum around his face along with his own salvia. His tongue travels up to your clit and the pure, unadulterated pleasure makes you scream. When he flattens the muscle against your sensitive nub you swear you’ll fall over, but his hands on your thighs are still holding you steady above him.

“Koo, holy fuck.” Your head tips back and your nails bite into the fabric of the headboard. “Make me come, please.”

Jungkook moans responsively beneath you and dives in even deeper, licking you menacingly without reprieve while guiding your hips to ride his face. You take the hint and begin moving your hips on your own, letting your pussy press against all the outlines of his face as his tongue laps up your juices.

He returns to your clit again and scrapes his teeth against it, causing tears to escape from your waterline as you whimper. Soothing the ache of his bite with his tongue, he slows to a tortuous pace as he kitten licks you for a while. You’re crying continuously now, your hips desperately seeking anything they can get as you move across his face in an erratic rhythm. Jungkook takes pity on you and finally sucks your clit into his mouth before moaning so he can send you right over the edge.

Your hand sinks further into Jungkook’s hair and your nails scratch his scalp as you come all over his face. The bedframe rocks from how hard you’re holding on while your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. Absolute, unbridled euphoria moves through you and makes your eyes roll back.

Jungkook continues to lick your cunt until you jump from the oversensitivity and move away from his face. You hear a disappointed groan as you crash onto the bed beside him.

“You taste so fucking good, Bams,” he tells you. “I could do that all fucking night.”

Chest swelling with pride, you’re about to reply when you feel something against your back and frown in confusion. The scratchy material rubs awkwardly against you and you bend away from it to grab it.

Your soaked, ripped panties dangle from your fingers as you click your tongue and throw them into the trash can.

“You’re a fucking gremlin,” you note.

Jungkook doesn’t respond to your statement, he just maintains eye contact while moving to kneel before pulling you closer by the waist. The pretty vision of him above you makes your breath hitch.

His hand travels ostentatiously from your neck all the way down to your hip, lighting an internal fire within you wherever his touch goes. You wait with bated breath as his fingers dance across your skin until they reach your center. Jungkook deliberately teases you, his fingertips just barely touching your clit before moving away again.

You hiss and grab his wrist so his hand can’t move towards your pussy again.

“What?” Jungkook smiles down at you with a tilt of his head. “You’re not ready for more yet? We’re only at one of five, Bambi, we’ve got a lot more work to do.” He twists his hand out of your hold and presses down on your clit. You whimper and silently beg him with your eyes. “Plus, I’m an overachiever, so you know five is really going to be more like seven.”

“Seven?”

“Ilgop.”

“Fuck, don’t speak Korean to me right now. You know how hot it gets me.”

Jungkook giggles, his head falling into the crook of your neck. You smile at the sound and run your fingers through his hair.

He takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, and you instinctively lean your head away to give him more of you. His lips caress you gently for a while, but then he growls against your throat and grabs your jaw to hold you still. Your gasp settles into a moan and Jungkook takes it as a cue to continue playing with your pussy. His fingers circle your clit and your noises become even needier. He dips into your folds to collect your cum so he can rub over your nerve endings and it nearly expels all the air from your lungs.

Jungkook touches you like he’s done it a million times already and that thought alone leaves you breathless.

“Koo, baby, please,” you whimper in a tone even you don’t recognize. Jungkook’s big, boba eyes are back when he captures your gaze to wordlessly ask what you’re begging him for. “I don’t want to come. I want you.”

A dazzling smile appears on Jungkook’s lips, and a pretty, pink blush spreads across his cheeks and turns the tips of his ears red.

“Alright, Bambi,” he responds with a peck. “Condom?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him in for more kisses.

“I’m on birth control.”

Jungkook kisses you again before you can do so yourself.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod against his lips. “Want you raw, Koo.”

“Fuck,” Jungkook chuckles. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Jungkook goes to pump his cock with his hand, but before he has the chance, you bring his palm to your lips and spit into it. He groans, his eyes rolling back, as he reaches down and uses your spit to fuck his hand.

Your eyes follow the movement of his wrist jerking himself off. It’s honestly mouthwatering to watch his thick cockhead push past his fingers as he gets himself hard again for you.

He kisses your shoulder and collarbone, then licks up your neck until he reaches your ear. His teeth softly sink into the cartilage.

“You ready for me, Bams?”

His deep voice melts your insides into goo and forces your brain into another frequency. Everything is static except for the feeling of his body hovering above yours.

All you do is nod your head in response to his question.

Jungkook’s tip pushes past your tight circle of nerves and already you feel too full to function. A wanton gasp and whimper follow the intrusion as he slowly enters you for the first time. Your nails create crescents on his shoulders as you inhale through your nose to relieve the pressure in your core.

“Koo… you’re so fucking big,” you whine.

“I know, I know,” he chuckles.

He kisses your temple appreciatively.

By the time his entire cock is deep within your walls, his pelvis pressing against your own, you already feel yourself losing it. Jungkook fills you up completely, and you can barely bring yourself to exhale the air you’re holding in.

“Fuck, Bambi, are you a virgin or some shit?”

“You know damn well I’m not a virgin,” you grit.

Jungkook groans deeply as his head falls forward and his hair tickles your cheeks when he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Then what the fuck are you so fucking tight for?”

You loudly hum and pretend to think it over before glancing at him with a sultry tilt of your head.

“I think my pussy’s just that good,” you say. Pulling his face down so it’s only centimeters away, you let your lips brush for a split second before replying. “And it’s all yours, Jungkook. So fuck me like you mean it.”

Jungkook rears back and ferociously thrusts into you before your next breath can even exit your lungs.

“Oh, fuck!”

A sinister chuckle comes from your best friend.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

Any semblance of control is forcefully taken away when Jungkook grabs your hands and slams them into the mattress above your head. Simultaneously, he begins pumping his cock into you at a disastrous pace and you can’t do anything but incoherently moan.

There’s no adjustment period, no slow-moving start. Jungkook is already fucking you like a goddamn ragdoll made solely for his pleasure.

“Koo, oh my fucking God,” you cry. It’s barely been a minute and hot, salty tears are already streaming down your face.

Jungkook kisses you and his moans filter into your mouth. His grip on your hands is bruising and it makes you whimper pathetically against his lips.

“Jungkook,” you sob as he abuses your pussy.

“Shh, shh.” He kisses you gently. “You can take it.” He kisses your cheek and up the side of your face. “I got you, Bams.”

You keen and your hands clasp around Jungkook’s in an effort to protect whatever’s left of your sanity.

His cock is buried in your pussy but you swear you feel yourself choking on him in your throat. Everytime his tip kisses your cervix you fear being split in two and yet there’s nothing you want more than for him to continue. You want him to rip you in half if it means feeling this full. He’s combining his strokes with a grind of his hips and it makes your cunt greedy for him, sucking him inside and squeezing his cock so he’ll never leave again.

Jungkook is throbbing and scorching hot inside you and the heat travels from your pussy throughout your entire body, lighting a fire in your bones and between your muscles that only he has the ability to stifle.

Your senses are amped up to ten and you scream over how deep he’s sending his dick into you.

The fire escapes externally when Jungkook releases your hands to explore your body instead. They travel down your entire outline until they find your hips and he tilts them upwards to create a new angle.

“Fuck, I always knew your pussy would feel this good,” he grunts. “You’re a fucking dream.”

The combination of the closer angle and Jungkook’s praises genuinely turns you to ruins, scattering pieces of your soul around and covering them in ivy. You kiss him again even though you know there’s no use, you’re shattered already. You devour his mouth, responding to his compliment through the movement of your lips instead of the words your body can’t produce at the moment.

Your fingers tilt his head so you can mouth at his sharp jaw, letting your tongue slide across his skin as he growls in your ear. Alternating between biting and kissing, you soak his honey skin in your spit and listen for the moans coming from deep within his chest.

“You feel so good, Koo,” you whisper into his ear. “Your cock fills me up so fucking well.”

“Shit,” he grunts. Jungkook grabs your thighs and pulls them up higher until you’re practically bent in half, your knees next to his shoulders. “So fucking good. You take me like a fucking champ, Bambi.”

Jungkook slows his pace by a hair, but only so he can thrust into you harder. Each clap of your skin connecting pulls a pornographic moan from your throat. You feel his balls slapping against your ass and the way your bodies are pressing together adds just the right amount of pressure on your clit.

It makes for a mind boggling combination that has your brain disintegrating into nothingness.

Your next orgasm is looming just around the corner. It builds inside you like a rollercoaster slowly moving up the track. Jungkook ups his pace again when he feels the telltale signs of your cunt pulsing and tightening around him like a vice.

“Cream my cock, Bams,” he commands. “C’mon, beautiful.”

A splintering gasp chokes you as you obey and come around his dick, coating his entire shaft in white essence.

The climax is brain chemistry altering. It feels as though your blood is ablaze and your heart can’t beat fast enough to push it through your body. Your legs clamp around his waist as they shake and convulse from the pleasure. All the while, Jungkook continues fucking his cock into your hole and sending you straight into oversensitivity subspace.

You’re still catching your breath when you grab Jungkook tightly by the shoulder to halt his movements. He looks at you with curious eyes, but he doesn’t completely stop, just slows down significantly and thrusts shallowly into you.

“Wanna ride you, Koo,” you tell him. “Wanna make you come so you can stuff me and watch it drip out.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, his teeth grinding together.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to bust!”

You laugh mischievously as he grabs you by the waist to flip you both over. Your bodies are only parted for a mere moment before you’re sinking back down onto his dick and scratching at his pecs with your nails.

“Oh my God, I didn’t think it was possible for you to reach any further inside me,” you note.

“Of course, Bambi, gonna rearrange your fucking guts,” Jungkook proudly states.

It’s disturbing how exciting the thought of that is.

The rhythm of your hips is nowhere near as monstrous, letting his cock slowly leave your cunt before feeling him fill you up again one inch at a time. Using his chest to stabilize yourself, your thighs work religiously to bounce and fuck yourself on him. You look towards the ceiling, a groan rising from your throat due to his thick cock pressing against your walls and hitting just the right spot inside you.

Jungkook reaches up to play with your tits dangling over his face, massaging them in his big hands before pushing them together. His fingers pinch your nipples until they’re pebbled and stiff. He leans forward to take one into his mouth and you have to grab onto his hair for support.

He smacks your ass and you yelp, but you understand the message he’s trying to send and pick up the pace. You push him back down and lean over so your hard nipples are pressing against the heat of his chest.

“Atta girl,” he praises with another stinging slap of his hand on your ass. His digits make a home in your hair again and he uses the leverage to force you to stare into his eyes. “Pussy s’fucking good, Bams.” Jungkook kisses across your neck torturously slow before speaking again. “So fucking tight, warm, wet… could stay in here for-fucking-ever.”

“Koo,” you whisper breathlessly.

Your hips swivel in desperation to send his dick as deep as it can go, honestly hoping your guts do part for him so his cock can nestle permanently inside you.

“You gonna come again?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good,” he speaks into your ear. “Come on my big, fat cock, babygirl.”

The moan you let out is the most humiliating sound to ever come from your body.

Luckily, no more are able to escape because Jungkook kisses you senseless. His tongue shoves into your mouth and licks around your own as you bounce on him as fast as your thighs will allow. He perpetuates your efforts by grasping your hips and rolling his own against you. It creates the perfect amount of friction on your clit and sends you tumbling into a pool of ecstasy.

“Fuck, Jungkook!”

You weep over the intensity of your orgasm while he continues kissing you. Not wanting to lose an ounce of momentum, Jungkook takes over for you as your orgasm paralyzes your mind.

He fucks you relentlessly to bring about his own climax and the sound of your skin clapping together is so loud you worry it will shake your doorframe and alert the neighbors.

“Gonna fill you up, Bams,” he warns you.

He thrusts hard once, twice, sending his cock so deep you swear you see your stomach bulge, and then he grunts and a strangled cry breaks from his lips as he paints your pussy with his cum.

The heat of it makes your eyes roll into your skull.

You kiss him through the come down, slowly traversing across the bottom half of his face and scraping his jaw with your teeth. He moans weakly, the hand still in your hair moving down to your neck and squeezing it affectionately. You make out as he goes flaccid within you, the mixture of your juices slowly dripping out and soaking your thighs.

Jungkook grabs your ass in both hands and massages the fatty flesh like he owns it, giving you one final spank to tint your skin red in the shape of his hand.

“Jungkook,” you mumble against his lips. “That was s’fucking good.”

A prideful chuckle meets your ears as Jungkook rests his head against the pillows to gaze up at you.

“Yeah? Told you we’d have fun,” he brags.

Lifting yourself off of him, you curse at the sticky mess between your legs. In one motion, you swing your leg over Jungkook’s thighs and fall down next to him with a bounce. You’ll worry about the sheets being drenched in the morning.

Jungkook grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles before holding it against his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

“Thanks for trying something new with me, Bams,” he says sincerely.

Your eyes meet with twin smiles. Running your fingers through his hair, you tuck a piece behind his ear and lean in to give him a final peck of gratitude.

It takes a minute for your body to stop screaming at you so you can stand. When you head for the bathroom, Usagi meows angrily from her spot just beyond the door. You coo at her and bend down to scratch under her chin.

“I’m sowwy, baby,” you apologize to the little creature.

She saunters right past you to hop on the bed and curl up next to Jungkook who’s covering his bare body with your comforter. His eyes light up when he sees her approaching and he bends down to kiss her little head repeatedly until she meows at him to stop.

You return from the bathroom in a large sleep shirt fresh from the dryer and toss a pair of equally fresh sweats to Jungkook. Both items are originally his, anyway.

He eyes you knowingly when he clocks the familiar article of clothing. His tongue clicks with a single shake of his head before he’s slipping the pants on and securing them around his hips.

“You want me to sleep on the couch like usual?” He asks with his arms behind his head.

You scoff affectionately.

“You already look pretty comfortable right there, Koo,” you retort.

“Oh, I am.” He pets Usagi dramatically as she purrs. “And Usagi wants me here, you can’t so no to her!”

“You’re right, I can’t.”

Jungkook lifts the covers so you can join him in the snuggle puddle he and your cat are partaking in. You make yourself comfortable beneath the sheets and he mirrors you, much to Usagi’s chagrin since she’s sequestered to the foot of the bed to accommodate the extra body.

It takes you all of thirty seconds to fall asleep once your head hits the pillow, and Jungkook is already halfway into dreamland himself when you do.

You wake with a pounding headache and unbelievably sore thighs. Groaning at the aches and pains, you leave your bed and attempt to walk normally even though you feel like you got fucked by a semitruck instead of your best friend. It’s a mess of stumbling feet and running into furniture corners as you groggily head to the kitchen for some pain pills.

Grabbing some for Jungkook after swallowing your own, you head back and set them along with a water bottle on your nightstand for when he wakes up.

The smell of breakfast must coax Jungkook back into the land of the living because he stumbles out from your bedroom soon after it’s ready. You laugh at the way his hair sticks up in a million directions and his eyes barely open.

“Morning, sunshine,” you sing-song.

He only greets you with a wave as he heads towards your bathroom.

When he emerges again he looks slightly more put together, at least, you can see his big, brown eyes again as he makes his way to you.

“Morning,” he says.

“Brekkie?”

You push a plate of assorted breakfast food towards him before turning around to place your own in the sink. He eats with that lovable scowl on his face which indicates you successfully cooked him a worthwhile meal.

Neither of you bring up the events which took place last night because you don’t need to, there’s no unspoken tension or uncomfortable vibes floating around. Jungkook was right when he said nothing can come between you, and as fun as it was, now everything just goes back to normal.

It does not stay normal for long.

ONE

Women are beautiful, complex, intricate beings, whose bodies and minds can do extraordinary things. Women can move mountains when they strive to and you’re proud to call yourself one.

Simultaneously, they can be dumbasses who can’t remember when their last period was.

While sitting at your desk typing up a bullshit report for some bullshit exec who can’t be bothered to read his own emails, you open the drawer on your left. It houses all your office essentials like pens, tape, paper clips, and tampons.

Your head tilts as you examine the colorful packaging you haven’t seen in a while. There seems to be a lot of them, especially since you usually run out and have to restock halfway through hell week.

Glancing up at your calendar, you count the weeks backwards and then flip it one month prior to check the exact date.

You laugh aloud to yourself, because, surely, you just forgot to mark the calendar like you always do and you don’t remember restocking the tampons after your period ended. That must be the case because there’s no way in hell you’re two weeks late. It’s simply an impossibility and abundantly more plausible that your memory is failing you rather than your body.

The skin of your lower lip is bitten raw as your eyes flit between the calendar and the menstrual products which are both staring into your soul. If they could speak, you think they’d be saying “we know what you did.”

Pushing away from your desk, you take a deep breath and decide the best course of action is to walk around the office.

Maybe seeing the inside of a bathroom stall will jog your memory of the last time you were bleeding, or passing by the kitchen will force you to recall when you last grabbed some extra candies from the community bowl.

It’s all for nought. Your excursion around the building is an utter failure, and suddenly the walls of the office feel as though they’re closing in on you.

Deciding to head home after lunch because you can’t focus anyway, you stop at the corner store by your house and grip your purse strap to stop your hands from shaking as you enter the women’s health aisle. The hundreds of pregnancy tests glare at you from their place on the shelf and you have to sink your teeth into your battered lower lip again to stop anxious tears from forming.

This must be some horrible nightmare, you tell yourself. You’re gonna wake up and realize you fell asleep at your desk because your job is just that boring. The sharp pinch you apply to your arm forces you to stop lying to yourself.

Groaning in frustration, you analyze both the brands and prices of the demonic little fortune tellers and choose two each from multiple different brands because you need to be real fucking sure.

You’re two years shy of thirty and you still feel like you’re having a teen pregnancy scare.

The woman behind the counter is smiling as she places the tests into a bag. It’s probably because she believes you’ll be ecstatic about a positive result and run straight home to tell your husband. Most women your age would be doing so, but you don’t have a husband, you have a childhood best friend who you decided to hook up with for funsies.

The abundant traffic you hit on the way home only makes your swirling whirlpool of nerves worse, and by the time you’re unlocking your apartment door and rushing to the bathroom, your lip is bleeding from how much skin you’ve ripped.

You bought six tests, like a crazy person, and so it takes a couple minutes for you to successfully pee on all of them and place them on the counter with their caps on. Setting your phone timer for three minutes, you sit on the toilet seat to wait the eternity of 180 seconds.

The anticipation eats away at your insides like sulfuric acid, and your leg bounces forcefully as though you’re going through withdrawal.

Your mind is somersaulting over itself and flopping on the ground like a fish out of water as you wonder how this is even possible. You’re on birth control, and you checked your pills before leaving work; you didn’t miss a single one.

There’s always the horror stories about the unlucky .01% of women whose contraceptives fail due to stress or poor health, but you don’t think that applies to you. Sure, you don’t join Jungkook at the gym, and work makes you wanna pull your hair out, but you feel great most days.

The timer derails your train of thought with an incessant buzz. Glancing at the counter, you reach for one of the tests with shaking hands as you pray for the right result.

Once you find the courage to actually look, your heart stops, and when you stand to see your plethora of pregnancy tests side by side, your eyes bulge from your skull.

Staring back at you like the fates themselves are three matching sets of a plus sign, two parallel lines, and the word “pregnant.”

Hands slapping against your mouth, you gasp into your palms as reality forces its way into the bathroom with you. Your eyes squeeze shut as tears break from the confines of your waterline. You shake your head a couple times, trying to get your mind files back into their rightful places. It doesn’t work, and all the papers which make up your consciousness go flying all over the place.

The cacophony of emotions on top of your disembodied mind forces your senses to scramble and discombobulate.

You’re scared, worried, sad, confused, and shocked, but somewhere inside you’re happy, too. Being a mom is a huge dream of yours and even if it’s unexpected, it’s still a dream come true.

Unfortunately, happiness is the lowest emotion on the totem pole, and your negative emotions are much closer to the surface.

Running your hands down your face, you gaze at the tests as a sob shakes through you. You brace your hands on the counter and allow yourself to cry through all of the emotions. The heavy tears drop into the sink below you one by one as you decide what to do next.

First things first, you have to tell the baby’s father.

“Fuck, he’s gonna fucking kill me.” Tipping your head back to send the loose tears back from whence they came, you blow air from your mouth and close your eyes. “He’s gonna hate me. He’s gonna lose his shit and never wanna see me again and I’m gonna —” A sob slices through your windpipe and causes your voice to break. “I’m gonna lose him.”

You hug your knees and let yourself freefall until your butt meets the tile. The floor is cold and your muscles ache from the force of your crash into the ground, but it serves as a momentary distraction from your mental anguish. The sound of your sorrow fills the space as you take heaving breaths and soak your jeans with tears. Usagi scratches at the door and the sound of her little paws calling for you breaks your heart.

Stretching towards the door, you reach and turn the doorknob just enough for it to open.

You watch fondly as your cat’s little legs carry her to your side. When she reaches you, she jumps into your lap and curls into an adorable ball of love. Fresh tears fall over the sweet affection she’s giving you, and you bend down to kiss her and rub your face in her fur.

“You’re gonna be a big sister, Usagi,” you tell her.

Eventually, you calm down enough to stand and find your phone. You don’t think you can handle Jungkook’s voice right now, so you text him to come over whenever he’s free. He replies within a few minutes saying he’s got one more meeting and then he’ll be there. You mindlessly stare at his text message as anxiety simmers in your gut. This might just be the one thing that finally comes between you two.

When Jungkook arrives you’re pacing in a trance around the living room. He unlocks the door with his key and kicks it open since his hands are full with takeout containers. Your eyes threaten to water when you realize he’s bringing you dinner without you asking.

Your best friend is thoughtful, deliberate, and so, so kind, and here you are about to shatter his world as he knows it.

At the very second his two feet step into your apartment, you scurry across the floor and throw your arms around his neck. He takes an involuntary step back and drops the bags when you barrel into him, a deep chuckle coming from his chest that you feel against your own.

“Bams?”

You manhandle the emotions trying to escape back into their cages. You want, no, need, at least one more moment with him as you are now, before everything changes forever.

His arms wrap around you on instinct, one of his hands resting on the back of your head to cradle you closer.

“Sorry,” you say as you reluctantly let go. “Rough day.”

“Well, I brought kimchi fried rice, so it can’t be that rough,” he jokes.

You fake a smile and nod in agreement before grabbing one of the containers to bring it to the kitchen. Once he places the second one down, you tap your nails against the countertop and contemplate whether or not to wait. Jungkook, clearly oblivious to your turmoil, is already moving towards the fridge to grab a drink before sitting on the couch. It’s now or never, you suppose.

Each step you take to stand across from him feels like trudging through concrete and the overwhelming anxiety is gnawing at you like a wild animal. The notion that this could be the last time you see him smiling at you or have the ability to hear him laugh is debilitating.

You click your heels once you’re opposite him on the other side of the coffee table. He raises an eyebrow at you in a silent question, but you ignore his confusion and fill your lungs with the charged air.

“I’m pregnant.”

You didn't know silence could be so deafening.

Jungkook’s cola bottle falls from his hands onto the floor with a plastic boing sound. The noise feels inappropriate for the tension of the room. His pupils are shaking as his eyes grow in size exponentially and the skin between his eyebrows creases as his lips part. Even from here you can see his mouth’s run completely dry.

You take another deep breath, but you aren’t able to stop your emotions from leaking out anymore.

“And I’m really, really scared,” you say as your voice breaks.

Jungkook immediately snaps out of his daze when he hears your tone of voice, all of his previously tense features softening as he stands to reach you.

The next thing you know, his warm hands are caressing your cheeks as he brushes the tears away.

“Hey, hey, Bambi,” he whispers. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” You cry harder at the gentle nature of his voice, like he’s worried he’ll break you if he talks too loud. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me, alright? We’ve got each other. That's all that matters.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“Mad?” Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. “You thought I would be mad at you, Bams?” You nod as best you can with your face caught between his hands. Jungkook frowns deeply. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because… because my birth control fucking failed and now we’re… we’re gonna be parents and —”

“That’s not your fault,” Jungkook interrupts. “I’m the one who creampied you, Bambi.”

“Yeah, but I told you to.”

“Oh, I assure you, I would’ve asked if you hadn’t.”

Despite your current emotional state, you laugh at his explanation. Your tears slowly, but surely, subside after a few more minutes. Gripping his wrists, you remove his hands from your face and hold them instead.

“I’m still sorry,” you say quietly.

“Don’t apologize,” he responds, then tilts your chin up. “You’re gonna make me a dad, Bams. That’s nothing to apologize for.”

The sigh of relief you exhale is exuberant. A smile creeps onto your face and Jungkook mirrors the expression before a mischievous grin appears instead.

He encompasses your waist and lifts you into the air in one swoop, you screech at the sudden movement and koala him to keep yourself from falling. He giggles incessantly as he spins you both around in circles in the middle of your living room.

“Koo! Put me down!”

He obeys after a moment, but not before bending his knees to dip you down towards the floor. You squeal until a fit of laughter overtakes you as he slowly brings you both back up to his full height.

“I’m so happy, Bams, you have no idea,” he tells you wholeheartedly.

Once the laughter subsides, you inhale fondly and caress his jaw with one of your hands.

“Me, too,” you admit.

A full blown bunny smile greets you and Jungkook nuzzles his nose against yours, making you giggle and blush a rosy pink hue. When your feet are on the earth again, you head for the kitchen, but Jungkook stops you with a hand to your forearm.

“Can I…” Jungkook begins to ask, his eyes glancing towards your stomach.

“Can you what, Koo?”

“Can I, ya know, touch?”

Looking down at your stomach, which is still identical to its normal size, you raise an eyebrow at him, but find yourself nodding yes anyway.

He giggles delightfully and places his palm over your abdomen, where soon enough you’ll have a baby bump.

“Man, this is fucking awesome.” You find yourself chuckling at his excitement over literally nothing at all yet. “Can I come to your doctor’s appointments?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to go to them without you,” you answer. “I still have to make the first one. I only took the tests a couple hours ago.”

“Were you alone?” He’s frowning as he asks, regret evident in his tone.

“Usagi was there.”

Jungkook scoffs, chuckling knowingly as he shakes his head and follows you into the kitchen.

You eat together as though you didn’t just deliver life alternating news. Which honestly, is the only outcome that ever would’ve come to fruition. Perhaps the staggering emotions of finding out you’re pregnant made you forget just how much you two love and care for each other. Your friendship is backed by nearly three decades of time spent together, and even something as massive as a baby can’t shake that foundation.

What might shake the foundation of a house is the screams of joy your mothers are going to let out when you tell them. They’ve been begging you for a shared grandchild since you graduated college.

Jungkook is supportively holding your hand as you two stand on the front porch of your house, which is conveniently down the street from his house, because that’s just how close your parents are. You can’t blame them, you’re sure you and Jungkook will be the same one day, especially now.

The memories of your childhood are flooding through your mind while you stand in the familiar location. It gets you thinking about all the new memories you’ll make with your own child one day.

Releasing the tension from your neck, you nod at Jungkook to let him know you’re ready. He returns the gesture and lets go of your hand to knock on the door. Unsurprisingly, it’s his mother’s face who comes into view from the other side of the screen door.

“Oh, Kookie! What are you two doing here?” She asks cheerfully.

“What are you doing here, Mom?” Jungkook asks as he hugs her.

“Oh, you know I practically live here.”

You laugh, knowing how right she is, and give her a big, bear hug. Her comforting presence always eases your anxieties, especially now when you’re worried about their reaction to your news.

She guides you through the house as though it’s her own and leads you into the kitchen where your mom is cooking dinner. You greet her with a hug and kiss on the cheek as she stirs the pot on the stove. Jungkook follows suit, resting his head on her shoulder as he hugs her side.

Your mom tells you she’s nearly done and to go sit. She joins you a few minutes later after turning the stove off and removing the food from the heat.

“Seriously, kids, what did you come all this way for?” Jungkook’s mom asks once you’re all sitting around the kitchen table.

“It’s not that far,” you say.

“No, but you two never show up unannounced like this,” your mom states.

“We have something to tell you,” Jungkook says.

His hand finds yours under the table and gives it a comforting squeeze, out of the eyesight of your mothers. Your petrified eyes flicker towards him, but he just nods and smiles reassuringly at you. You lick your lips and sit up as a way of giving yourself a moment of reprieve before you change the entire atmosphere of the home.

“I’m pregnant,” you announce. “We’re having a baby.”

“WE?” They scream in unison.

You instantly lose all their attention. They’re too busy screaming like school girls while clasping their hands together and shaking them in excitement. You and Jungkook share a sideways glance and have to suppress a laugh.

“When did this happen? How long have you been dating?” Your mom asks.

Both your faces pale at her question, not thinking far enough ahead to prepare for these types of inquiries.

“Um, we’re not,” you tell her.

“What do you mean, you’re not? How did you get pregnant then?”

Jungkook awkwardly clears his throat and messes with the collar of his shirt as tension fills the room. Never in a million years did you think you’d be talking about your and Jungkook’s sexscapades with your moms.

“We just hooked up, a one time thing,” you answer.

“So, you’re not together?” His mom wonders. You both shake your heads, hating the look of disappointment that crosses their features. “Are you gonna try?”

“Maybe… maybe one day, Mom,” Jungkook answers. “But right now we just wanna focus on being the best parents we can be.”

They reluctantly accept his answer before moving onto all the nitty gritty details like asking when your next appointment is, if you’re going to find out the gender, etc.

The four of you eat dinner together but unfortunately, your dads are away on a fishing trip together, so you don’t get to tell them the news tonight. Your moms promise to relay their reactions to you through the phone upon their return.

With your parents out of the way, your friends are up next to bat, but you don’t expect that announcement to go as well as this one.

Your first gynecologist appointment is the following week, and you and Jungkook both take the day off from work so you can go together. It’s pretty nerve wracking, but you’re mostly excited to see the first ultrasound pictures of your little peanut.

Jungkook drives you to the appointment in his black Mercedes Benz and it lowkey makes you feel like his knocked up sugar baby. He didn’t grow up with money, so he’s still humble, but he definitely enjoys splurging on his choice of car, if anything. It’s certainly not a bad thing to be having a kid with someone who’s financially well off, but you hate taking advantage of Jungkook’s wealth even when he offers.

He reverses the car into a parking spot, his arm moving to the headrest behind you as he looks over his shoulder to fit in the space. Upon exiting the car, you come around the hood where Jungkook is waiting for you with his hand out. You take it without a second thought and lace his fingers with yours as you walk into the dauntingly large medical building together.

Your foot rapidly taps against the elevator as it inches up to the third floor. When the doors open after what feels like an eternity, the office can only be described as a haven for expecting mothers.

Everywhere in sight there are women with swollen bellies of varying degrees, most of them accompanied by their doting partners. As you scan the room, you notice one thing in common with almost all of them; they all have big, shiny rings on their fingers.

You pout instinctually, green envy coating your insides. It’s not as though you’ve been hunting for a husband, it’s honestly been the last thing on your mind, but you’d be lying if you said you aren’t jealous they have spouses and you have a baby daddy. You love Jungkook, more than anything in the world, and there isn’t anyone else you can imagine having a kid with, but it’s not the same as these men and women looking at their pregnant partners like they hung the stars in the sky.

Jungkook notices your unintentional scowl and tugs on your hand to grab your attention. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you just shake your head and proceed towards the reception desk.

“Hi, an appointment under Jeon,” you tell the woman behind the desk. You hear Jungkook make a noise of curiosity from beside you. “Figured we should do everything under the baby’s last name, it’s simpler that way.”

“The baby’s gonna have my last name?”

His eyes sparkle with wonder and your heart soars.

“Yeah, you’re the dad, Koo.”

“I know, but I thought since we aren’t together —”

“No,” you cut him off. “It’s baby Jeon, a hundred percent.”

He smiles so big his eyes disappear and his bunny teeth make an appearance. You roll your eyes affectionately before turning your attention back to the receptionist as she hands you a clipboard with some paperwork to complete.

Both of you have to call your respective mothers at one point while filling out the extensive medical history forms. Once the twenty or so pages are complete, Jungkook returns it to the receptionist before joining you again in the waiting room. You sit with identical bouncing knees as the minutes tick by in heavy anticipation.

When your name is finally called, the two of you leap up and hurry over to the nurse who’ll lead you to the observation room.

They take some vitals, draw your blood for the formal pregnancy test, and go over the paperwork, getting the more mundane, administrative details out the way before handing you a gown and instructing you to lay down for the ultrasound.

Jungkook excitedly rubs his palms together and stomps his feet when the nurse leaves and you get ready to see your baby for the first time.

Ever the gentleman, he looks everywhere but at you as you strip to put the gown on, which is so adorable you almost combust. He put a baby in you and yet he’s respectful enough to look away when you undress in front of him, what a fucking doll.

Your feet tap an unknown melody against the stirrups as you wait and Jungkook scrolls on his phone absentmindedly. The doctor alerts you with a short knock before opening the door and popping her head in.

“Hi, you guys,” she greets you. She shakes Jungkook’s hand and then yours before rolling a stool over to sit between your legs. “How are you both doing?”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“Good, good,” she smiles. “So, great news, you are indeed pregnant! Based on your hormone levels it looks like you’re about eight weeks along.”

Even though you know the exact date and time your baby was conceived, the sensual moment permanently etched into your memory, and it’s impossible to be anything else besides divine intervention, you still sigh in relief over everything lining up as it should.

“Before we get to the ultrasound, I just want to go over a couple things that I always do with new parents, alright?”

“Sure,” you agree with a smile.

“Okay, we won’t be discussing labor and delivery until you’re a little farther along because there’s a lot to take in at first and it can be pretty overwhelming,” she explains. “I just want to make sure you both are in a good place, have everything you need from me, and availability to any resources you may need during this time.” She looks at you expectantly and you nod your head to convey you understand. “Alright, so tell me a little bit about yourselves.”

You gesture towards Jungkook and he points to his chest with his hand. When you nod, he clears his throat and sits up straighter.

“Hi, Jungkook, she calls me Koo,” he starts. “I’m a head video game designer and have a house just outside the city. I have a Doberman named Bam. I box in my free time… not sure what else you need to know.”

“No, that’s great,” she reassures him. She turns her attention to you.

“I’m Y/N, but he calls me Bambi, and don’t ask, we can’t remember why,” you laugh. “I’m an administrative assistant and rent an apartment in the city and have a munchkin cat named Usagi. In my free time I read, mostly.”

“So, you two don’t live together?” You both shake your heads. “Are you exes, just haven’t moved in together yet, something else?”

“Best friends,” you tell her. Then, because it’s confusing for most people that you’re pregnant with your best friend’s baby, you continue. “We decided to have some fun one night and now we’re gonna be having fun together for the next 18 years.”

She laughs lightheartedly at your story.

“Alright, I like the sound of that. You’re supposed to be going through this with your best friend, anyway,” she says. “How long have you known one another?”

“I was strapped in a baby carrier to my mom’s chest in the hospital room while she was being born,” Jungkook states.

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah,” you add.

“Well, that’s great, you two! You’ve got a long history together and that can only make for wonderful teamwork.”

There are some more details you discuss regarding the first trimester and the vitamins you’ll be taking. You go over the common symptoms for this time frame and how best to remedy them. Once that’s settled, she finally pulls out the ultrasound machine and you get jittery just from the sight. You’re so eager to see your baby and when Jungkook joins you by your side, he radiates the same energy. He’s sitting to your left now and you bend your arm up to hold his hand. Jungkook smiles at your actions and clasps his hand around yours with a tight squeeze.

Jumping when you feel the cool gel on your skin, you ignore the novel sensation and wait impatiently for the image of your baby to appear on the monitor.

Before you see anything, a steady, rhythmic thumping plays throughout the room.

You and Jungkook gasp in unison.

“And that’s a heartbeat,” the doctor says with a big smile.

Jungkook rests his head on yours and your free hand wraps around to tousle his hair affectionately.

The visual on the screen doesn’t make much sense at first, but then the doctor pauses her movements along your abdomen and clicks the keyboard to take some still shots.

“So, this is your baby,” she says while pointing to the small peanut shape amongst all the black and white fuzziness. “They’re about the size of a kidney bean right now.”

“A kidney bean!” Jungkook cheers. “How flippin’ cute.”

You giggle while glancing back at him. His starry eyes are shining and glossy while he admires the monitor showing him his future child.

“Are you two going to find out the gender? That will happen at your twelve-week follow up.”

“No, we’re gonna keep it a surprise,” you answer.

“Great choice, it’s always so fun that way.”

She points out a couple more things on the ultrasound before turning the machine off and printing the pictures she took, making sure to print two copies so you and Jungkook can each have one.

When you peek at him once the doctor leaves so you can get dressed, he’s staring at the photos while his thumb gently traces over the shiny paper right where your baby is. You feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes, but keep them under control with a sniffle and scrunch of your nose.

TWO

You have two main friend groups, one which is mutual with Jungkook, consisting of six other guys and three girls besides yourself, and another group of all girls, four of them in addition to you. Sometimes you mix the groups, and they all get along just fine, some better than others, wink wink, but usually you see them on separate occasions.

Tonight is monthly wine night with your girls, which, of course, you won’t be partaking in, although you plan on faking it.

You’re unsure about telling your friends just yet. It’s been nice having this sweet little secret just between you and Jungkook, thoroughly enjoying the whispers of excitement you share as you admire your miniature baby bump together. Of course, that enthusiasm is shared between you and your mothers who message you daily for updates.

The bump forming over your womb isn’t noticeable in the slightest unless you’re wearing something abhorrently tight, and even then, you look bloated at best. So, you can easily get away with hiding your little bundle of joy for a few more weeks.

It’s a fact the girls will be absolutely ecstatic for you and completely supportive, so it’s not fear holding you back. Maybe judgment? The circumstances of your pregnancy are far from ordinary and you don’t want a lecture from anyone regarding your questionable choices. Your friends adore Jungkook, since they’ve known him as long as they’ve known you, and they’re fully aware of how wonderful he is, but being a friend and being a father are two very different things and it wouldn’t be totally unreasonable for them to have doubts.

Grabbing some wine to pass from the corner store, you drive to Nayeon’s place just up the road. The five of you rotate hosts monthly and tonight is her night. You won’t have the pleasure of hosting again for another four months since your turn was last month. You’re bringing wine along to keep suspicions to a minimum, and you plan on filling your glass with some sparkling grape juice you also snagged.

When you arrive, Jihyo and Mina are standing by their cars cackling at something on their phones. As you exit and lock your car with a click, you wave and approach the laughing banshees with a smile.

Their faces shine bright when they see you and enthusiastically return the wave.

“Bitch, it’s only been a month and I missed you so fucking much,” Mina cries as she pulls you in for a crippling hug.

“Are you drunk already?” You question due to her out of character language and how she’s slumping against you.

“Nooo.”

“Don’t worry, I drove her here,” Jihyo, ever the mom friend, assures you.

You enter Nayeon’s apartment as a trio, her door already unlocked for the occasion, as you update each other on surface level things like work and hobbies.

Nayeon and Tzuyu are in the kitchen with a glass of wine already in hand while they gossip about something. You know they’re gossiping because their expressions are dramatically shuffling through different emotions like shock, confusion, and disgust.

They wave excitedly when they notice your entrance and quickly finish their conversation before joining you.

Jihyo places Mina delicately on the couch and instructs her to stay still so she can grab her a glass of water. You follow Jihyo into the kitchen, peering over your shoulder at your other friend who’s now lackadaisically swaying side to side.

“Ji, why is Mina drunk off her ass right now?”

Jihyo sighs as she grabs a cup and glances towards the living room to visually check on the topic of your conversation.

“Her and Mingyu broke up.”

“No!” You gasp, your hands covering your mouth in disbelief. “Did he dump her?”

“She won’t tell me! She just sits on my bed and cries for hours.”

Jihyo and Mina are roommates, but Mina has been hoping to move in with Mingyu for a while now and was merely waiting for him to ask.

“Oh no, my poor girl.”

“I’m hoping tonight will help and maybe she’ll finally open up about what happened,” Jihyo says. “You wanna try my wine?”

“Oh, no, I’ve got my own,” you tell her and show off the bottle of fake alcohol you peeled the label off of.

She recognizes your answer with a nod before heading back to Mina. By the time you return with her water she’s relaying the information to Nayeon and Tzuyu through tears and slurred sentences.

You hug Tzuyu from behind and she warmly wraps her arms around your own to reciprocate the affection. After repeating the embrace with Nayeon, you take a seat on her armchair and pour the grape juice into the wine glass she left out for you.

The five of you update each other like always, since that’s the main purpose of these get-togethers. It’s your sacred time to dive into the messy and dirty details of your lives over the last month.

Mina is unanimously nominated to go first once she’s consumed a couple glasses of water to sober her up a bit. She explains how her and Mingyu, her boyfriend of nearly four years, broke up because he isn’t ready to settle down. Apparently it was mutual, but she’s still head over heels for him and is having a terrible time trying to move on.

The four of you hold her while she cries until eventually, she tires herself out, and you move on to Tzuyu.

The conversation circles through everyone until you’re finally the center of attention. There’s a piece of you that still wants to stow away your secret for a little while longer, but you’re also so excited for them to share in your joy that you can barely stand holding it in.

“Okay, so, technically this happened two wine nights ago, but I wasn’t ready to tell you guys just yet,” you begin. You suck in a breath through your teeth and take a sip of your drink even though there’s no liquid courage in the glass. “Jungkook and I hooked up.”

The gasps from your friends are so loud you think they sucked all the air from the room.

“No fucking way.”

“I freaking knew it would happen one day!”

“Oh my God?”

“Please tell me he’s got a big dick, I just know he has a big dick.”

You laugh into your glass at the multitude of different reactions before continuing. Sighing in content remembrance, you lean forward and rest your elbows on your knees.

“He’s. Fucking. Huge.”

Somehow, their gasps this time are even louder.

“No, no, you need to spill right fucking now. I want every dirty fucking detail, baby,” Nayeon says.

“There honestly isn’t that much to tell. We were watching a movie, he brought it up, it happened, bada-bing bada-boom,” you state.

“Are you two together now?” Jihyo asks.

“No,” you shake your head. “We just wanted to see what it was like, you know?”

“Bitch,” Tzuyu scoffs. “You just told us your ungodly handsome, sweet, filthy rich, jacked as fuck best friend has a huge dick and you’re gonna look at me and say it was a one time thing?”

“You guys know it’s not like that with us,” you respond. “I love him, like, with everything in me, and obviously, I know how attractive he is, but I don’t get butterflies around him or think about him first thing in the morning.” You sit back in the chair. “The love I have for him is so much greater than romantic love. I mean, never say never, but we’re both completely content with the way we are.”

“Hear hear,” Jihyo says with a clink of her nails against her glass.

Nibbling on your lip, you count the bubbles floating in your drink as you decide whether or not you’re ready for the actual reveal.

“There is… more, though,” you quietly admit. Everyone leans in and you shake your head back and forth to prepare for the biggest confession you’ll ever make to them. “I’m pregnant.”

The gasps this time are so volatile two of them start coughing and Jihyo walks her ass straight out of the room with a hand over her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up right now,” Nayeon snaps.

“He knocked you up?” Mina’s drunk ass shouts.

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you… happy about that?” Tzuyu tentatively asks.

The massive grin forming on your face reveals your answer before you can give it, and you start nodding overdramatically while you giggle.

“Oh my God! You’re pregnant!” Tzuyu cheers now that she’s aware of your excitement.

“You’re gonna be a mom!” Nayeon claps.

“We’re gonna be aunts!” Mina adds.

Jihyo returns to the room with fresh tears on her cheeks.

“Ji,” you coo at her.

She hiccups out a weak chuckle as she pulls you into her for a bear hug. The other girls follow suit and surround you until the five of you are basically cuddling in the middle of Nayeon’s living room. Suddenly, someone starts jumping and the force shakes the floorboards as you all join in and chant “yay yay yay” on repeat.

The whimsicality of girlhood never fails to paint a smile on your face.

The following weekend you have plans with your other friend group. You usually rotate through a few different activities you all enjoy and tonight is karaoke, which is one of your personal favorites.

Jungkook gets ready at your place so you can eat dinner together beforehand since the food at the karaoke bar is stupidly overpriced. He never fails to remind you he can afford it and is more than willing to pay for your meal, but you don’t like using his money unless it’s absolutely necessary. You’re a big girl who can pay for herself and he understands your desire for independence.

You’re at the vanity finishing your makeup when he enters with another bowl of rice he grabbed after finishing your meal. He takes up purchase on your bed and eats absentmindedly while his eyes follow the movement of your wrist coating your lashes in mascara.

The feeling of his stare creates goosebumps on your skin and an involuntary smile appears in the mirror. No doubt your foundation hides the blush springing forth as well.

“You look pretty, Bams,” he compliments.

“Thank you!”

The now empty bowl meets your nightstand with a clank as he moves to stand beside you. He leans down until you’re side by side in the mirror and gives you his cheesiest smile. You snort at his antics and continue to giggle while dropping your mascara into the pile of other makeup tools.

“Cute,” you tell him.

He smiles successfully and extends his hands towards you. You graciously accept his offer and stand to your full height. Just as you’re heading for your closet to grab shoes, Jungkook ensnares your wrist and eyes you hopefully. Raising an eyebrow at his actions, you wait for him to speak his mind.

“Can I see it?”

The eye roll is automatic at this point.

“Koo, my baby bump is not any bigger than it was a few days ago. It’s barely a bump as is! I could eat pasta and grow bigger than I am now,” you tell him.

“It doesn’t matter, I just like knowing they’re in there,” he says with a huge smile. “My little kidney bean.”

“They’re a plum now, remember?”

Jungkook just stares you down expectantly rather than responding. Begrudgingly, but still with a smile on your face, you push your jacket away so he can see the barely noticeable hump over your abdomen. He giggles, his feet taking turns leaving the floor, and places both hands on you, caressing your womb ever so gently.

“My little plum,” he sighs happily.

You're so utterly endeared by him and his nature that it makes you sick.

Once Jungkook is done holding the little plum, you leave to meet your friends at the karaoke bar.

Throughout the drive you discuss whether or not to announce the pregnancy to your friends. Jungkook knows you told the girls, and was unnecessarily smug about their interest in his size, but your mutual friends are another animal entirely.

Everyone met at one point or another during college and by graduation you’d become one massive, conjoined group of lovable idiots. All eleven of you are extremely close, even if the bonds you share are unique to each individual pair. You know things about one another no one else does and they’re always the first people you tell about good news.

Jungkook is more anxious than you about telling them, especially since he’s yet to let the cat out of the bag to anyone besides your parents. He’s the youngest among the boys and his biggest fear is disappointing them. Not that they would be, because even though they're a group of seven men, they’re the kindest people in the world, but Jungkook’s always been sensitive about their opinion of him because he idolizes them so much.

By the time you reach the bar you’ve mutually agreed to hold off for now and proceed to exit the car together. Jungkook instinctively places his hand on your lower back as you walk in and a hostess tells you which room your friends occupy.

Upon opening the door to the private karaoke suite, you’re met by the booming sound of cheers from all nine people packed inside. Everyone rises from their seats to hug you one by one before letting you settle into the couch across from the karaoke machine and mini stage.

“What are you drinking tonight?” Yunjin asks you as she takes the seat to your right.

Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi are already flipping through the songbook next to the stage for the perfect opening song.

“Can’t, I’m Koo’s designated driver for tonight,” you tell her.

“We’re gonna be here for hours like always, you should have one, at least,” she says.

“Maybe,” you say with an appreciative smile.

Lying to the people you love most isn’t exactly easy, especially when you already suck at it, but Yunjin seems to take you at your word and returns her focus to the opposite side of the room.

The opening beats of an R&B song fill the air and you turn your attention to the three jackals on stage as they belt their hearts out together. You admire them with a massive grin and are thoroughly impressed by how they manage to make complete fools of themselves while still hitting all the notes.

The other girls join you sometime during the bridge, Chaewon taking the empty seat by you while Eunchae goes next to Yunjin. Eunchae tells everyone she got a promotion at work, so you clink your glasses together to cheer for her, yours being filled with cola instead of alcohol.

“Here, try my drink, it’s so good!” Chaewon says as she passes the glass to you. You shake your head and tell her the same lie you told Yunjin. Unfortunately, Chaewon is less forgiving than your other friend. “It’s just a sip, girliepop!”

You shoot her a warning glance, and luckily, the two other women are distracted by Namjoon and Jin’s soulful duet on stage. Due to your decade long friendship, you and Chaewon share the unique ability to speak without any words, and your silent conversation goes something like this.

You, glaring at her with your head tilted. Don’t.

Her, sitting back a little with her eyebrows raised. Bitch?

You, nodding minutely a couple times. Yup.

Her, eyes wide with a hand on her chest. You’re pregnant?

You, nodding while staring her down. Can you fucking believe it?

Her, brow creasing and slowly shaking her head. Who the fuck is the dad?

You, holding up a hand to block the view from the others while pointing at Jungkook who’s sitting across the room. Jungkook.

Her, hand over her mouth, eyes bulging out of her head. You’re fucking joking!

So, that’s how Chaewon finds out, and your final signal to her is your pointer finger pressing against your lips so she knows this is still a massive secret.

Jungkook and Taehyung take the stage next, and they’re always an entertaining pair, so you both pay close attention. It’s debatable whether that was a good decision, because the rest of you end up with aching cramps from the intense fits of laughter. You're all desperately clutching your stomachs as the two of them jump around and sing in each other’s faces to a song that does not call for that type of choreography. You’re 99% sure it’s a breakup song from a K-Drama.

You’re still wiping the tears from your eyes when Eunchae speaks up breathlessly.

“God, I don’t know why, but this reminds me of when the boys performed in the university talent show,” she states.

“Oh shit, I totally forgot about that,” Yunjin responds.

“Wait, what are you guys talking about?” Jimin says as he sits next to Yunjin.

“Don’t you remember? You guys wore those hockey jerseys and covered that 90s song,” you tell him. “It was so good!”

Jin nods from the other side of the couch and starts laughing as he remembers the performance.

“That was so long ago! I remember it being super fun, though,” he says.

“Please don’t bring that up, that was the most embarrassing day of my life,” Yoongi groans.

“Oh please, Min, you secretly loved it,” Chaewon teases him.

You gasp when you realize it’s definitely still stored somewhere in your phone. Pulling the device out of your pocket, you scoot over so Jungkook can sit next to you while you scroll through your camera roll from almost ten years ago. Taehyung joins you and leans over Jungkook’s shoulder to see as well.

“Found it!” You squeal.

Unable to resist reliving the memory, everyone gathers behind you to watch. Your previous fits of laughter make a gnarly comeback as you marvel at the younger versions of them dancing and singing their little hearts out. They look like babies in comparison and it makes you swoon.

“That was literally another lifetime,” Namjoon says once the video is done playing.

“Man, we were so fucking cool,” Hoseok states proudly.

“Jungkook, you should wear your hair like that again,” Yunjin says. “You looked fucking hot.”

“Fuck yeah he did, rumor has it Kook lost his virginity that night,” Taehyung jokes as he squeezes Jungkook’s bicep.

“Yo! Shut the hell up, I lost my virginity in high school,” Jungkook retorts. He takes a swig of his drink and chuckles against the glass. “It was the first time I fucked raw, though.”

“Clearly not the last,” you say under your breath.

Jungkook turns to you with his eyes bugging out and you have to stifle your laugh with your hand. Resting your forehead on his shoulder, you gain control of your laughter and whisper a halfhearted apology to him.

“Ok, girlies, let’s fuck this shit up,” Chaewon annonces.

Yunjin and Eunchae both chug the last of their drinks before grabbing each of your hands so you can take the stage together. You diligently flip through the songbook to find the perfect one while the guys converse about a recent video game release. Gasping when you spot a familiar song title, you point to the page and eye the girls with a mischievous smirk.

“Wait, don’t we know the dance for this?” Yunjin asks.

You and Eunchae nod together.

“Oh, we are gonna leave these men fucking gagged,” Chaewon states before plugging the selection into the karaoke machine.

Chaewon hits the nail on the head, because as soon as the song begins and you start shaking your asses like a bonafide girl group, the men go insane. The seven of them act like they’re your biggest stans who paid for a ticket just to see this.

Hoseok and Jimin stand to the right of the stage throwing invisible money over you all, while Taehyung and Jungkook are sitting on the end couch spanking the air back and forth. Yoongi is covering his eyes with his hand while he shakes his head, but he’s still peeking at your performance between his fingers. Namjoon is bent over with his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin like he’s trying to analyze the way your asses bounce. Jin stands with a glass in each hand as he dances along and screams your names in a repeating chant at the top of his lungs.

When you finish the show stopping performance, all of them are almost as breathless as you from cheering so much.

“Fuck, why am I hard right now?”

“That was spectacular.”

“You guys were so good!”

“I think I just came.”

“Amazing, bravo.”

“Encore!”

“Remind me why we’re all just friends?”

All four of you are panting as you hop off the stage and attempt to slow your racing heartbeats. Jimin notices you don’t have a drink and goes to hand his glass of vodka cranberry to you.

“Here, you look like you could use this.”

Just as you’re about to wave him off and reject his offer, Chaewon interrupts.

“Y/N can’t have alcohol,” she states.

Eyes blowing wide, you glare and wordlessly scold her with your facial expressions, throwing your hands up incredulously for good measure. Poor Jungkook looks like a deer in headlights since you didn’t get the chance to tell him she knows.

“Why not?” Yoongi asks from across the table.

“Are you okay? Nothing’s wrong, right?” Yunjin adds.

“No, no,” you answer with a nonchalant wave of your hand. “Just this new medication I’m on.”

“Which one? Prenatal vitamins?” Eunchae jokes as she takes a drink. Your lip catches between your teeth as you look at her with wide, worrisome eyes. Her expression shifts into shock when she notices your face over the rim of her glass. “Holy fuck, I was joking. Y/N, are you pregnant?”

“Um… yes?”

The eight people in the room who weren’t previously aware inhale simultaneously to berate you with questions, but are all stopped short by Taehyung speaking first.

“Who the fuck put a baby in you?”

Gnawing on your lip as your mind scrambles for an answer, your eyes flit to Jungkook for support, but his face is paler than a ghost. You reluctantly accept your fate and sigh in defeat.

“J… Ju… Jungkook did.”

All hell breaks loose.

You’re fighting off Eunchae, Yunjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok with your hands up in surrender as you vigorously shake your head back and forth. Jungkook is slowly sinking into his seat with his arms out in defense as Jimin, Taehyung, Jin, and Yoongi descend on him like a pack of ravenous wolves. Everyone’s screaming voices are louder than any of the singing tonight and if someone took a picture of the room it could only be classified as a goddamn renaissance painting.

Once the initial shock wears off and Jungkook finally comes to his senses, he shakes his head to collect his thoughts and stands up.

“Everyone, shut the fuck up! My bun is in that oven and I don’t need you assholes stunting their growth with your screaming,” he shouts.

“Oh, please don’t refer to me as an oven, Koo,” you grimace.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Bams.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Hey!” Eunchae interrupts you. “Lovebirds, you wanna fucking tell us how you got knocked up?”

Jungkook clears his throat.

“Well, Eunnie, you see, when a mommy and daddy love each other very mu — AH!”

Jungkook’s mock explanation is cut short by him ducking to avoid the couch pillow Eunchae chucks at his head.

“Be fucking for real, Jeon. Why is your demon spawn in my best friend?”

“Hey, don’t talk about our little plum like that,” Jungkook frowns.

“Little plum?” Jimin and Taehyung speak in unison.

Jungkook sighs dreamily before responding.

“That’s how big they are right now.”

“It just happened!” You state. “We just fucked for shits and gigs and now we’re here.”

“You let Jungkook come in you for shits and gigs?” Hoseok asks with his signature face of judgement.

The implications of his tone make you pout and cross your arms over your chest.

“Yes, and it was very enjoyable, thank you very much.”

“Oh, ew.”

“For real?”

“Ah, fuck no.”

Chaewon fake gags with a finger in her mouth.

“Wait, wait,” Namjoon steps into the center of the room. “How is this gonna work? Are you two gonna co-parent? Switch off houses every other week?”

“I… don’t know,” you answer honestly before looking at Jungkook. He shrugs with his arms out, clearly just as clueless about those details as you. “We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Are you gonna find out the gender?” Chaewon asks excitedly, but you quickly shake your head and she frowns. “How am I supposed to get my future niece or nephew the perfect gift if I don’t know their gender?”

“Gender neutral?” You suggest.

You hear Jin exhale overdramatically and when you look towards him he’s downing a shot and slamming the glass down afterwards.

“What the fuck is going on?” He shakes his head and his lips make a horse-like noise. “I mean, we’re talking about Jungkook and Y/N having a baby… a motherfucking child.”

“Yeah, and they’re gonna be the best parents ever,” Yoongi states wholeheartedly.

Yoongi finds your eyes across the room, his adorable gummy smile on full display, and reaffirms his words with a nod. You return the smile gratefully, thanking him with a slow blink as you hold his eye contact.

“Are you alright? I mean, like, you’re good?” Yunjin asks you.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, especially now that you guys know.”

“What about you, Kook?” Taehyung asks from where he sits beside him.

Jungkook looks over his shoulder at his friend, the biggest, bunniest grin imaginable on his face.

“I’m fucking ecstatic,” he answers.

Jimin takes two large strides and hugs Jungkook’s head to his chest, ruffling his hair affectionately. Hoseok joins in next, squishing Jungkook’s cheeks between his hands and giving him adorable fish lips.

“Our Jungkookie is gonna be a dad!” Hoseok coos in his best baby voice.

Your attention is pulled away by Yunjin’s hand on your lower back. She smiles when you turn around and pulls you into a powerful embrace which you reciprocate. Eunchae and Chaewon join the hug and you rest your head on Chaewon’s shoulder. You know how hard she is on herself whenever she screws up, and this is your way of letting her know it’s alright.

When you part, you feel a tug on your hand, and before you know it Jungkook is bringing you into his lap. You giggle as he tucks you into his chest and nuzzles his face in your neck.

There’s a brief moment where it feels as though it’s just you and him, and it’s more needed than you even realized. Jungkook’s recognizably warm presence calming you down after the hectic atmosphere of the room took you for a loop.

Everyone moseys around to take a seat as the adrenaline from the news simmers. The eleven of you actually do some catching up rather than just singing and drinking, and eventually smaller faction conversations happen all around the table.

You stay on Jungkook’s lap the rest of the night with his hand resting on the outside of your thigh to keep you against him.

It’s abnormal behavior for you two, usually keeping a rather firm boundary of friendship, the time you conceived a child together aside, but you don’t question it. Maybe it’s the child in your womb wanting to be close to their father or perhaps the uptick in hormones skewing your regular emotional landscape. Either way, Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind your weight on him and neither do you.

By the time the clock strikes two in the morning, and you’ve all gone a couple more rounds on the karaoke machine, your head is resting on Jungkook’s shoulder as you flicker in and out of consciousness. He soothingly rubs your spine with his hand, making sure to add more pressure to your lower back where it’s been hurting ever since becoming pregnant. Curling into him more in response, you push your face into his neck and hum contently at the familiar scent and warmth.

“You tired, Bams?” He whispers to you, moving some hair away from your face. You answer with a single nod, your eyes already closing again from the heaviness of sleep. “Okay, let’s go.”

Jungkook helps you stand, and you hug all your friends goodbye one by one. Everyone congratulates you both again while also threatening to show up to your homes univinted unless you update them on your progress between hangouts.

Jimin changes your group chat name that very night to: Baby Jeon Official Updates Channel 💦🤭👶🏻💕

You and Jungkook leave hand-in-hand, mostly because he has to keep you upright from how tired you are. He drives back to his place since it’s closer and he doesn’t like the idea of leaving you alone when you’re this sleepy. God forbid you accidentally fall asleep on Usagi and crush her all night long. The car ride is brief, but it’s smooth enough that you fall asleep in the passenger seat almost instantly.

Jungkook carries you inside instead of waking you up, knowing you need more rest nowadays than usual. Although, if he’s being honest, pregnant with his child or not, he’d still carry you and tuck you into bed.

When you wake up in Jungkook’s spare bedroom/home office the next morning, you’re thoroughly confused, but as your sleepiness begins to wane you remember the end of the night and the events which led you here. The smell of pancakes encourages you to walk down the stairs to Jungkook’s kitchen. You’re still wrapped in his comforter when you enter and Jungkook laughs as you approach him like the Queen of bedtime.

“Morning, Bambi,” he greets you as he flips the final pancake onto the plate and turns off the griddle.

“Good morning,” you say with a tired smile.

Just then, the sound of trampling paws comes barreling towards you. Smiling broadly as you turn towards the sound, you bend down to greet the adorable Doberman who’s wagging his tail in excitement at seeing you.

“Bammie!” You cheer as you pet behind his ears. “Oh, I’ve missed you, my good boy.”

He runs around your legs a couple times before scurrying across the hardwood to bring you a bone to throw. You happily oblige him and watch in amusement as he runs away to fetch it before plopping on the couch to gnaw on the toy.

“Come eat, Bams,” Jungkook tells you as he sets two plates on his dining table.

Following his orders, you leave the comforter over the back of the couch and sit across from him to eat the eggs, pancakes, and bacon he made for you both. You eat in comfortable silence for a while until you’re both nearly done.

“Koo, I’m sorry about last night. Chaewon guessed it and then her big mouth spilled the beans. I know it wasn’t the way we wanted it to happen, but at least it’s over with, right?”

“It’s alright,” Jungkook responds before gulping down his orange juice. “I’m glad we finally did it and now everyone knows. Plus, it got me thinking about some stuff I hadn’t really thought about yet.”

“Like what?”

“Well, about what Namjoon hyung said,” he explains. “I mean, he makes a really good point. I want our kid to have a normal family life even if we’re just best friends and not romantic partners.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“I think you should move in with me.”

You choke on your orange juice.

Truthfully, there isn’t anything shocking about his statement, you just weren’t expecting it at that moment. Jungkook has a three bedroom, two and a half bath house which he owns, while you rent a one bedroom apartment. He’s been begging you ever since he bought the property to move into his spare bedroom. The two of you spend almost all your time together anyway and he doesn’t see the point in you wasting money on rent when his house is completely paid off.

The reason you haven’t accepted his offer before is because you never want to take advantage of his wealth or be a burden on him. Being best friends is one thing, being roommates is another.

Now, though, you have a biological right to be a burden on him because he stuck a baby in you.

“Are you sure?” You ask him.

“Of course I am,” he replies in a heartbeat. “I thought about it all last night and it only makes sense. I have two extra bedrooms, one for you and one for the baby.”

“But what about your home office and your gym?”

“I can move my gym equipment to the garage and my desk can easily fit in my bedroom.” You sigh and push your fork around your plate as you contemplate his proposal. “Bams, you’re gonna be the mother of my child, will you just let me take care of you for once?”

As soon as you look into his starry eyes, you know there’s no chance you’ll say no. Jungkook obviously wants to do this because he loves you and wants to make sure you and the baby have everything you need, so who are you to say no?

“Okay,” you agree. “When should I move in?”

THREE

The cardboard box in your hands is slowly slipping from your grasp as you ascend the stairs, but you’re determined to make it to the top before readjusting. You have to reach the landing before Jungkook catches you. If he sees you disobeying his instruction of sitting still, he’ll definitely blow a gasket.

You don’t know what it is with men and thinking pregnant women can’t do anything themselves. It’s still only the first trimester, and sure, your bump has grown some more, but you aren’t completely useless.

Honestly, if you weren’t so stubborn, you would’ve taken his offer of moving all the boxes into the house by himself, but your competitive nature has you lugging a box of cat toys up the stairs instead.

“Bambi! What did I fucking say?”

Dropping the box by your feet only three steps from the top, you blow your hair away from your face and place your hands on your hips.

“Fuck you, Jungkook. I do what I want.”

“You wanna look me in the eyes when you say that?”

“… No.”

“That’s what I thought.” The sound of his combat boots coming up the stairs is all you hear as he moves to steal the box from your feet. Once it’s secure in his arms, he looks at you like a teacher scolding their student and gestures to the couch with his head. “Go sit down.”

“I’m not incapable, you know?” You say with your arms crossed.

“I know that, Bams,” Jungkook states. “It’s not about that. I lift more than this in a single workout at the gym. Why should you have to do it when I’m perfectly capable?”

He’s right. You know that, he knows that, so you leave him alone on the steps to sit down on the couch with a huff.

Bam quickly joins you and lays his head in your lap as he watches his dad move back and forth through the house with curious eyes. Scratching behind his ear, you laugh at the way his tail repeatedly whacks the couch as it wags.

Usagi is still in her carrier in your new bedroom since you want to make sure everything is moved in before introducing her and Bam. You and Jungkook both agree that if they get in a fight, it’s her little munchkin ass who will be the main aggressor, especially since Bam is scared of his own shadow.

Once Jungkook’s done moving the last of the boxes, he flops aggressively into the armchair next to the couch. He pats his thigh and Bam instantly leaves your side to jump into his lap instead. Jungkook leans down to kiss his precious pup before letting his head fall back as he tries to catch his breath.

“Perfectly capable, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re getting old, Koo. Soon you’re gonna be a dad and you’ll have a beer gut —”

“Nuh uh, never gonna happen. I’ll have my abs until the day I die,” he corrects you.

“Please, no you will not. You think you’re gonna be hitting the gym at 80?” You ask as you lean forward in your seat.

“Yes. My love comes from my abs, I can’t lose them,” he states.

The couch cushion indents where your head falls against it as you laugh heartily.

“What? Your love comes from your abs? What the hell does that even mean?”

“Everyone I meet loves my abs, so now they’re just like, full of love, and that’s where it comes from,” he explains unironically.

“Everyone? I don’t think that’s true,” you say with a smirk.

“No?” Jungkook gently guides Bam away and struts over to you. “You’re gonna look at me and tell me you don’t love my abs? That if I took my shirt off right now you wouldn’t go all googly-eyed?”

“Fuck, no,” you scoff.

Jungkook clicks his tongue and then lifts his shirt to engulf you under the fabric. You screech and shove at his waist, kicking your legs haphazardly like you’re being suffocated.

“Let me out of here!” You scream, but it’s severely muffled by the fabric.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I can’t hear you,” Jungkook teases. “Ow!”

Jungkook immediately frees you and backs away after he feels your teeth sinking into his side. He rubs over the bite mark with a big pout on his face, as if he didn’t start this little charade.

You mock his expression for a moment before standing to go up the stairs and check on your furry child. Jungkook follows begrudgingly, letting his feet drag along the floor like a petulant child. When you enter your new bedroom, conveniently right beside Jungkook’s, Usagi starts meowing incessantly and scratching at her carrier. You soothe her with some baby speak and check that the door is closed before letting her out. Her little legs immediately bring her to the floor so she can explore the unfamiliar room.

She meows every couple of seconds whenever she encounters something new and you watch as she headbutts everything in sight as a way of marking the furniture with her scent. Ironically, this is all the same furniture from your old bedroom just in a different space and formation.

Hands wrap around your waist from behind and you sigh at the feeling of Jungkook’s firm chest meeting your back. Obviously, he’s forgiven you for your little retaliatory love bite.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Bams,” he tells you from where his head rests on your shoulder.

Your hand reaches behind you to sneak into his hair and scratch at his scalp affectionately. He hums and rests his cheek against your shoulder. You’d argue he picked up the mannerisms from his dog, but he’s always been touchy like this.

“I’m happy to be here,” you reply. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Those words no longer apply the following day when you’re hunched over Jungkook’s toilet and spilling your guts into the bowl.

It’s a great unknown why morning sickness is called that when it happens at all hours of the freaking day. You naively believed you snuck past its clutches since you’re already on the brink of your second trimester, but apparently the wonderful symptom was just waiting until you had Jungkook’s big fancy bathroom to throw up in.

Groaning in agony, you plop back onto the tile and rest your head on the cabinet. Your throat is burning from all the regurgitation, there are popped blood vessels all over your cheeks and forehead, making you look like you have freckles, and salty tears from the effort of repeatedly emptying your stomach are drying on your skin.

You caress your baby bump with a glare, making a mental note to scold them at least once when they’re older for putting you through this.

The sound of the front door opening makes your ears twitch. Bam’s heavy footsteps can be heard barreling towards the door and then Jungkook’s voice joins in as he greets his beloved pet.

“Bambi?”

“In here,” you say through your sore vocal chords. Jungkook’s face appears in the doorway and you whimper as tears fill your eyes again. “I fucking hate you for doing this to me.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your current state and he instantly sinks to his knees to pull you into his arms. He holds your head against his chest as you cry from the pain and fatigue of running back and forth to the bathroom all day. Jungkook’s been out running errands all day so you’ve been all alone until now.

“I’m sorry, Bams,” he whispers into your hair. “Wish it was me instead.”

There’s no opportunity for you to reply because the familiar feeling of bile climbing up your throat forces you out of his embrace and back over the toilet. Jungkook grabs your hair, making sure to collect the shorter pieces that cradle your face, and holds it in a makeshift ponytail as he rubs your back.

Once you’re done, and after the sound of the toilet flushing disperses, you hear soft cries coming from behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you see Jungkook wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeve.

“Koo,” you call out to him.

He hiccups and attempts a brave face, smiling at you even as tears slip from his waterline.

“Sorry, you know I hate seeing you in pain,” he explains.

You frown and turn around to grab his cheeks, brushing the remaining tears away from them. It’s true you’re already well aware of his empathetic nature and have been for as long as you’ve known him.

“I know,” you say with a smile as you push his hair away from his face. “Remember that time I got bullied in middle school and was crying on the playground, and then you started crying because I was?” Jungkook laughs, his eyes closing as he remembers the moment. “I’ll never forget what you said.” You clear your throat so you can give an accurate representation of his voice. “I never suffer myself, Bambi, I only suffer when I see you suffering.”

Jungkook smiles big and laughs again at your adorable imitation of his deep timbre.

“You know, if we have a boy, I’m gonna have to tussle with him over this,” he says. “No one hurts my Bams, not even my own kid.”

Your responding chuckle is strained due to how sore your body is. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bring Jungkook closer for a tight hug, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. His palm slowly moves up and down your spine in a steady cadence to soothe you until the next wave of nausea comes.

The remainder of the day is spent in the bathroom together, which is luckily spacious enough for not only you two, but Usagi and Bam who both come to join you at one point.

The nausea comes in waves, sometimes occurring multiple times back to back or alternatively with a large lapse of time between them. It holds you hostage in the bathroom for a few days, and you have to take PTO when the work week begins, but eventually the symptoms simmer to about once every couple days after your doctor prescribes medication.

Another lovely symptom you’re experiencing as of late is intense cravings for extremely specific food groups, which is why you’re currently in a screaming match with Jungkook over pickles.

“I’m not buying you pickles, Bambi,” Jungkook sternly states.

“Jungkook, you’re not the one growing a baby inside of you. If I say I want pickles, I should be getting pickles!” You shout, your feet stomping on the ground reactively.

“You fucking hate pickles!” Jungkook matches your tone.

“Yes, but pregnancy cravings don’t care about what I like or don’t like, and they’re saying they want pickles!”

“You’re not going to eat them, Bams, I know you!”

“Yes, I will!”

“You really want me to leave the house at three in the morning for a vegetable that you despise?” Jungkook scoffs in outrage. “You won’t even eat a sandwich if a pickle was on the plate because you claim you can still taste it!”

“That doesn’t matter, Koo!”

Jungkook groans and runs his hands down his face before pushing his hair back.

“I swear to God, Bambi, if I get back here, and you don’t eat that entire fucking jar, I will kick you out of this goddamn house!”

“No, you won’t, you love me too much,” you brag and stick your tongue out at him.

“Yeah, unfortunately, I do,” Jungkook admits angrily. He grumbles to himself the entire time he’s putting on his slides and slipping on his jacket to drive to the nearest 24 hour convenience store. His hand is on the doorknob when he turns back to say one final comment. “You know what the worst part about this is? Most guys in my position are at least getting some pussy for putting up with this shit, but not me! No reward! I’m doing this out of pure, unconditional love for you!”

You gawk at his remark, not recognizing the words coming out of his mouth. Jungkook has never in his life asked for anything in return, let alone imply you owe him a sexual favor.

The door slams shut before you can respond, and a cry breaks from your chest as your head falls forward. Bam hears the noise and comes to comfort you, nudging his head up against your leg like the good boy he is, but barely a minute later, his head jerks when he’s distracted by the sound of the door opening. You don’t even get the chance to look up completely before you’re forced into someone’s arms who smells a lot like Jungkook.

“Bams, I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Jungkook tells you.

His apology only makes you cry more, shoving your face into his shirt and soaking it with tears.

“That was so fucked up, Koo,” you sniffle.

“I know, I’m so sorry,” he replies. “I didn’t mean it, okay? You don’t owe me anything, Bams, especially not that.” He pulls away from you and lifts your face by your chin. “Please don’t think that I, even for a second, ever expect you to repay me for taking care of you. I do it because I love you and that’s the only reward I need.”

Wiping your tears with your shirtsleeve, you slap his chest a couple times for good measure. He chuckles because of how lightly you smack him.

“You’re forgiven,” you grumble. “Now, can you please go get me these fuckass pickles?”

Jungkook smiles and nods his head, his hand on your chin moving to caress your hair for a moment.

“I’ll buy you pickles everyday for the rest of your life if that’s what you want, Bambi,” he states.

“It isn’t. I fucking hate pickles,” you say with a smile.

Jungkook rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your hair before waving goodbye and heading to the store. When he returns twenty minutes later, he’s carrying a couple bags of miscellaneous groceries as well as a jar of pickles.

You wait patiently for him to place the bags in the kitchen before he hands the open jar to you. The smell alone eases the craving that’s been eating away at your stomach for hours now. Grabbing one of the skewers, you pull it out of the juice and take a small bite off the end.

Instantly, your brain screams at you in disgust, and you open your mouth again to spit the piece into your hand. Realizing you now have to face Jungkook so he can say I told you so, your eyes screw shut and you turn towards him. Except, when you open your eyes, he isn’t beside you anymore, he’s walking back from the kitchen with your favorite flavor of chips in hand.

“Got these just in case,” he tells you as he swaps out the jar in your hand for the bag.

You grimace, guilt pooling in your stomach when you realize his trip out into the night was for nought.

“Koo…”

“It’s alright, Bambi. The fact that I was right makes this all worth it,” he says with a sly grin.

The chips taste like salty pieces of heaven and you eat the entire bag that night. You keep the jar of pickles for occasional sniffing because, for whatever reason, your brain loves the smell even though it hates the taste. This pregnancy is already messing with your brain chemistry more than you care to admit and it’s only the beginning.

As the weeks go on, your pregnancy continues to mess with you in the form of a different, but equally as strong, craving.

It initially hits you while you’re putting together Usagi’s new cat tower in the living room. Thankfully, she and Bam get along just fine. In fact, she’s currently lying on him while they nap together on the other side of the room.

The instructions for this contraption are annoyingly hard to understand and you’re holding the instructional pamphlet up in the air as you attempt to make out what size screw you need in the stupidly small font it’s written in.

The sound of the door opening catches your attention. As you lower the paper to see the familiar figure entering the room, your mouth suddenly dries up.

Jungkook’s coming back from his home gym which is now in the garage and the tips of his hair are drenched in sweat. His chest is rising and falling in deep pants from the intensity of his workout and the black shirt he’s wearing sticks to his chest, perfectly outlining his pecs. Then, much to your agony, he takes the bottom of his shirt and wipes it across his forehead, giving you a perfect view of his abs.

The feeling that shoots straight into your core is absolutely foreign. Sure, you know Jungkook is hot, that’s a fact of the universe no one is trying to deny. But you’ve seen him shirtless before, hell, you’ve seen him entirely naked. The bump protruding from your womb tells you that much, and yet you’ve never felt turned on by him doing something so mundane.

It makes you question why your body, and more particularly your pussy, is suddenly insatiable and the sight of him is making drool drip from your mouth where it’s fallen open in awe of his physique.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice your change in demeanor as he waves hello before heading upstairs to shower. Once he’s gone, your body releases its tension and you sigh in relief. Although, the feeling doesn’t entirely go away, and you end up spending the rest of the evening uncomfortably horny.

That very night you take matters into your own hands, literally. You haven’t masturbated since getting pregnant, not for any particular reason other than just not feeling the urge, but now the urge has you in a chokehold and you need to fix it.

Closing your eyes and slinking comfortably into your sheets, you pull your shorts and panties off in one go before trailing your hand down to your core. You’re still wet from earlier, no doubt because you saw Jungkook in all his post workout glory. The image of him wiping the sweat from his brow with his shirt is still on your mind when your fingers dip between your folds.

A quiet moan escapes as you move your leaking essence around with your fingertips. It’s been more than three months since you’ve felt any sort of sexual pleasure, the night you spent with Jungkook being the last time.

Your eyes roll as you play with yourself by switching between pushing your fingers into your cunt and circling your clit. The squelching sound helps to turn you on, but the entire time all you can think is that it isn’t enough. It barely scratches the surface of your sexual need and is a sorry excuse for pleasure after what you Jungkook made you feel.

Huffing in frustration, you shut your eyes again and try to forget about the world around you, but it’s only when you think back to earlier today that your pleasure spikes and you moan again.

Realizing what the trick is, you begrudgingly let your imagination, or more so your memory, run rampant. You think back to that night and the way Jungkook’s lips felt against yours, and the way his cock penetrated you so deep you were seeing stars. The memory of his deep voice in your ear makes you moan exuberantly. Your hand falls into a quick rhythm as all the memories come flooding back. Everything about that night sends you closer to the edge of ecstasy. His weight above you, the heat of his skin, his taste, his moans and grunts, the way he fills you up. All of it forces you to bite down on your fist and cry when your orgasm overwhelms you.

The aftershocks of your pleasure have you panting as you come down from the high. You feel immense relief now that your desire is satiated after a long day of feeling your thighs twitch. Pulling your hand away, you stand to wash your hands so you can finally get some rest.

Hopefully, this symptom will eventually disappear like the others and you won’t be riddled with sexual cravings through the entirety of your pregnancy.

The next morning you’re pouring yourself a cup of tea to drink before heading to work. Jungkook comes skipping down the stairs in his business casual attire, his sleeves partially rolled up to reveal his tattoos. You wave to him and push the cup of coffee you poured for him across the counter.

“Thanks, Bams,” he says with a squeeze to your arm.

This is the normal, everyday occurrence for you now, and it’s nice having a routine that works for you both. You didn’t realize how easy living together would be and you’re glad it’s finally happening. Besides the times your pregnancy has turned into a sick, desperate, crazy person, it’s been business as usual for you two even with the adjustment of being roommates.

“You gonna be home for dinner?” You ask him as he takes a sip of the drink. His brow creases and he looks adorably angry, letting you know you made it just right.

“Yeah, the deadline for the newest patch was last week so I shouldn’t be staying late,” he answers.

“I’m making your favorite, your mom sent me the recipe last week,” you tell him.

“No shit,” he says, eyebrows disappearing behind his bangs. You nod in confirmation and he enthusiastically claps his hands. There’s a brief lull in the conversation, but then Jungkook seemingly remembers something and grabs your attention. “Actually, there's something I was gonna talk to you about.”

“What’s up?” Leaning over the counter, you take a sip and wait for him to speak.

“Well, I may or may not have heard you last night and —”

The sound of you choking and spitting out your tea interrupts him.

“Excuse me?”

“I heard you, ya know, having a little fun all by your lonesome last night.” You stare at him incredulously across the island. “Surprise, surprise, the wall between our rooms isn’t that thick.”

“Koo, why are you bringing this up?” You ask. “I mean, thanks for letting me know, I guess?”

“No, no,” he chuckles. “I’m not saying it to embarrass you or anything, Bambi.” He mirrors your stance so your faces are only a few inches apart. “I was just going to offer my services in case you need something more than your own hand.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just, I mean, I’m only a room away, and I know your hormones are probably going awol and making you needy and shit. So, if you ever want to, the option is there.”

“Koo, that’s very sweet of you, but I’m not gonna use you like that.”

“Oh, yeah, because having sex with you is such a chore. Worst night of my fucking life!” You laugh and slap his arm playfully. He stands to his full height with a wink. “Just think about it, alright?”

You do think about it. Unfortunately, it’s all you can think about. It already freaked you out enough when you couldn’t get yourself off without thinking of him, and now your body is mentally somersaulting in celebration because of his offer.

It’s definitely not romantic feelings swirling inside you, because just as you told your friends, you don’t feel butterflies with Jungkook, but it’d be both impractical and impossible to deny you have sexual feelings for him. Whether it’s from pregnancy hormones or something else entirely, you clearly want him something awful. Greed they talked about in the bible type shit.

The only thing you don’t want is for him to fuck you because he’s trying to help you out. If you’re going to hook up again, you want him to want you in the same way.

Despite the mental turmoil it initially puts you through, time goes on without either of you bringing up his little offer. Your body still messes with you by making you horny at all hours of the day, but you usually just satisfy yourself before bed and all is good.

Tonight is different. No matter how hard you try you can’t bring yourself to come. Your fingers are pruny from how long you’ve been playing with yourself, but nothing is working. It’s nearly two in the morning, and although it’s a weekend, you still want some sleep.

Grunting and kicking your blankets away, you cross your arms over your chest and pout in the darkness of your room. The quiet atmosphere of the house is helpful for lulling you to sleep, but your thighs are twitching with need and you know you’ll be restless if you don’t fix it before going to bed. You sigh and sit on the edge of your bed, chewing your lip as you debate if you’re really about to do what you’re thinking of doing. Before you can overthink it any further, you stand up and throw your door open.

Usagi makes a noise of confusion from her bed in the corner of your room, so you whisper to her you’ll be right back and shut the door.

It takes you a minimum of five minutes to gather the courage to knock on Jungkook’s door. He was working late tonight on a new project and went to bed early to catch up on his sleep. Guilt pools in your stomach at the thought of waking him up for such a selfish reason, but you know he’ll scold you if he finds out you needed him without telling him as such.

The sound of your hand against the wood feels extra loud in the stark silence of the house, and it only takes a couple seconds for Jungkook to softly call for you from inside the room.

You twist the door knob and peek your head inside. Jungkook only has one eye open, and he’s fluffing his messy hair in confusion when you enter his room.

“Bambi? Is everything okay?” He asks sleepily.

“Mmhmm,” you say as you chew on your lip. “I, um…”

The embarrassment stirring within you is almost enough to bring your morning sickness back with a vengeance.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… need you,” you whisper.

Jungkook sits up, his other eye finally opening, although they’re still half-lidded with sleep.

“Need me how, Bams? Are you alright?”

“Like… sexually,” you finally answer.

His eyes open a little wider at your response, but soon enough his expression softens and he smiles warmly.

“C’mere,” he whispers, his hand gesturing for you to join him.

You tentatively place one foot in front of the other until you reach the edge of his mattress and climb in. He holds his hand out for you and once you’re close enough he grabs your waist to help you straddle his thighs.

As soon as you feel him beneath you and his chest against your own, the tension in your body disintegrates and the relief sends your forehead to his shoulder. Jungkook reacts instinctively, one hand scratching your scalp while the other rubs your back, and you whimper from comforting sensations.

“Tell me what you need, babygirl.”

“I don’t know. Nothing’s working and I… I just need relief,” you explain.

“Okay, do you want my hands or my mouth?”

You shake your head.

“You, Koo. Want you.”

Jungkook hums and combs his fingers through your hair, the hand on your back rising to cradle your face instead.

“You’ve got me, Bambi. I’ll give you anything you want.” You feel him mouthing at your jaw and breathe a sigh of relief. “Every part of me,” he whispers ardently.

After a prolonged moment of gentle neck kisses, Jungkook takes your hips in his hands to lift you and pull your bottoms down before moving his own pants out of the way. You hear the sound of him pumping his cock to get himself hard, but you’re too busy returning his favor by caressing his neck with your lips to see the motion yourself. The firm touch of his hand on your lower back guides you into the right position atop his lap. You sink down slowly, with Jungkook holding you steady as he fills you inch by delicious inch. The wetness from your earlier attempts at self pleasure allows him to slide into you with ease.

You moan unabashedly at the feeling of his thick cock inside you again, it’s warm and throbbing within your walls and you kiss the bare skin of his shoulder appreciatively. He feels like pure heaven and it’s worrisome how desperately you wish you could stay like this forever.

“Koo, you feel so good,” you moan into his ear.

While you begin kissing his neck again, Jungkook starts bouncing you up and down on his cock via his hold on your hips. The euphoric feeling the action creates must be mutual, because a pair of vibrant moans and the clapping of your skin is the only sound in the room. His noises are deeper than normal since he’s still fresh from slumber and the low tone makes your head spin.

When you eventually take over and pick up the pace, one of his hands leaves your hip to thread into your hair.

“Missed this, Bams,” he tells you sincerely. “You feel fucking perfect around me.”

Jungkook brings your face close so he can kiss you. He’s gentle with his affection, lips moving at a snail’s pace to savor the feeling of kissing you once again. Tracing your bottom lip with his tongue, you moan gratefully when he pushes it past the border of your lips to meet yours. Your arms encircle his neck as you shamelessly make out, pulling him impossibly close so his bare chest is pressing on you.

“So tight, Bams, feels fucking amazing.”

“Mm, it’s just for you. Pussy’s all yours, Koo.”

Jungkook groans aggressively and kisses you with a new wave of passion. His fingers dig into your scalp reactively and you whine, your thighs working overtime to fuck his cock into you again and again. The dual sensation of his kiss and his dick splitting you apart rattles your brain until all you can focus on are your movements.

When he notices your pace stuttering from your impending climax, he steals control again, wrapping both arms around your waist to steady you while he thrusts into you from below. You gasp and bite into the skin of his shoulder as he fucks you with everything he has.

It’s no surprise your orgasm approaches faster than usual, since you were already worked up from your previous ministrations. You welcome the familiar feeling of your abdomen and thighs tightening as Jungkook continues pistoning into you, kissing him again when you feel yourself tipping over the precipice. Running your fingers through his hair and tugging on the black strands, you pull a grunt from his lips that only serves to further your pursuit.

“M’close,” you breathe into his mouth.

“Come for me, Bams,” he replies without missing a beat.

The tip of his cock only meets your g-spot a couple more times before you come with a throaty moan, your head tipping back as Jungkook continues to fuck you through your high. His hips slow to a stop as your body relaxes and breathing levels out, so you question him with a glance.

“What are you doing?”

“You came, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.”

“I’m not the one with pregnancy hormones,” he chuckles.

Your hands move from his hair to caress his jaw.

“It doesn’t matter,” you tell him. “This is a two way street, Koo. You’re not a sex toy, I didn’t come in here just for me.”

Jungkook smiles sweet as pie and kisses the tip of your nose.

“I know, Bambi,” he says. “But honestly, I think we should both get some sleep. Why don’t you stay in here with me and we can pick this up again in the morning?”

You frown, but begrudgingly agree when you notice how tired Jungkook looks.

After pulling out, Jungkook readjusts your bottoms back to your hips before tucking himself into his pants. He cuddles into his sheets with one arm resting against the pillow next to him. Gesturing with his head towards his outstretched limb, you happily take the hint and lay your head on his tatted bicep.

Cuddling with Jungkook is foreign, but the man himself is so familiar that it’s not awkward despite it being the first time. Jungkook wraps his other arm around your waist to bring you into his chest, and it’s shocking just how wonderful it feels to be entirely encapsulated by him. You hum appreciatively as comfort seeps into your very bones and makes a home in your nervous system. Without thinking, you start tracing over his collarbones with your fingertips and he kisses your cheek and temple.

You both fall asleep with ease, your quiet breaths tangling together in the limited space between your faces.

When you wake up, Jungkook is behind you, but his arm is still draped across your waist and your head remains comfortably on his bicep. You smile without realizing and cuddle deeper into his embrace, lacing your fingers with the ones resting on your stomach.

Your view upon looking down is just your intertwined hands above your small baby bump and your smile grows exponentially, your heart squeezing in your chest at the sight of all three of you together this way.

The sentimental moment is brief, because soon enough you recognize the feeling of Jungkook’s dick pressing against your ass and desire begins banging on your door and demanding you let it in. As any good human in your position should, you nonchalantly wiggle your ass and snicker to yourself when you feel his cock stiffening. The sound of Jungkook languidly groaning behind you lights a fire inside your stomach that blazes down to your thighs.

His hand squeezes yours and you feel him nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Morning,” he murmurs in your ear.

“Morning wood, more like it,” you reply.

Jungkook chuckles warmly in your ear and it spreads goosebumps across your skin like wildfire. He releases your hand to grab your hip instead, pulling you into him so you can feel exactly how hard he is. Your exhale becomes a moan when he ruts against your ass and his hand leaves your hip to reach your folds.

The second his fingers slip beneath your panties and touch your warm cunt, your mind goes to static.

“Shit, Bams, you’re fucking soaked,” he notes.

“I’ve been wet for the past two weeks straight,” you admit.

“You should’ve told me,” Jungkook says as he licks and nibbles on your earlobe. “Would’ve taken care of you.”

You whine when he starts sucking on your neck just as two of his fingers sink into your cunt.

“Yeah,” you moan. “I’m understanding how grave a mistake that was now.”

He laughs again before returning to his previous endeavor of kissing and licking your throat. His fingers move in and out of you lackadaisically, slowly stretching your hole open as he curls the digits against your front wall to reach that perfect spongy spot. You find yourself gripping his forearm to keep yourself steady as the pleasure threatens to pull you under its waves.

Once Jungkook deems you wet enough, he removes his fingers from your pussy and brings them to your mouth for you to lick clean. As you work your tongue around and between his two middle fingers you hear the rustling of pants behind you. Even though the last time was mere hours ago, your heart is already racing at the thought of him stuffing you full again.

Jungkook runs his dick through your folds and presses the tip against your leaking hole, making your essence coat his head with a pretty sheen. You moan reactively, your head meeting his shoulder while his cock stretches your velvet walls.

The fingers previously between your lips dig into the flesh of your waist as he starts rocking into you from behind. He’s doing all the work, simultaneously pulling your hips back while he thrusts into your cunt mercilessly. You’re thankful for his diligence, because your mind is going haywire from the feeling of him throbbing inside you and the veins of his cock rubbing along your walls. It’d be impossible for you to assist him with anything in this state.

He’s still worshipping your neck with his mouth while fucking you like an animal and the contradicting feeling forces your eyes into your skull.

“You’re so fucking tight, Bams. So wet… you’re making me fucking crazy.” His warm breath on your neck makes you keen.

“More, Koo, I need more of you,” you reply.

Jungkook hears you loud and clear. He holds your waist with both arms to keep you snug against him so he can thrust into you with more force, his pace speeding up in conjecture with the extra effort.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp. “Jungkook.”

“Yeah? This what you wanted?”

“Fuck, yes, you’re so fucking big, Koo,” you whine.

He relentlessly fucks into your cunt, rolling his hips against your ass and sending his cock straight to your g-spot. Your nails make crescent moons on his arm where you’re still holding on for dear life. The other hand stretches before you to clutch the sheets like a vice for fear you’ll lose your mind if you don’t have something in your grasp.

The melody of your moans and his grunts are downright pornagraphic and serves as filthy music to your ears. There’s nothing you want more than for him to continue fucking you, and if you could keep him buried in your cunt for all eternity, you would gladly do so.

“You close?” He asks as he bites your ear.

“Yes.”

“Good, gonna make a mess of you, Bambi.”

The erotic combination of words, tickling breaths, his firm chest behind you, and the massive cock spreading your pussy apart have you going institutionally insane. Somehow, he manages to gain more speed as your orgasms near and the imminent release makes you scream. It’s barely a second later that you’re coming with a pathetic cry of his name. He follows immediately, his cum marking your walls as his own while he repeatedly fucks his seed into you.

His hips never cease their movement even once your highs wane, he just continues rolling into your cunt while his cock softens inside of you. You whimper from the oversensitivity, but even the uncomfortable pressure doesn’t make you stop him. The feeling of having him within you is too addicting to let it end just yet.

Eventually, he stops lazily fucking you, but even then he still doesn’t pull out. You hold the position until sleep brings you both back into its embrace, Jungkook’s arms securely around you while the dripping mixture of your essences pools on the bed below.

Taglist: @lovingkoalaface @starcandybby @junniesoleilkth @keylime4eva @kissyfacekoo @rpwprpwprpwprw @spideyjimin @jjeonjjk7 @joonlover1207 @annpeachy @rexana19 @heartwith0uthe @kosmos1307 @minyoongi7016 @magicalnachocreator @misschelliejeon @bubblyi3 @bhonbhon @polnaraffsrack @amarawayne @majesticjung-97 @kmpj9 @upo1313 @songbyeonkim @kikikaaa @glowjuli @avawants2havefun @hyeinwluv85s @someonegoood @kyljjk

The Second Trimester coming on 6/27/25 at 7:00 pm EST

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #army #jeon jungkook #bts jk #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #ot7

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jupiterpilgrim · 1 month ago

Text

Funny Games

Kim Chaewon x male reader

word count: 18K

commissioned fic

Okay, focus. Your phone is practically glued to your ear, the receiver getting uncomfortably warm as you pace the slightly-too-fancy hotel lobby. Papers rustle under your other arm—passports, flight itineraries, customs forms, a goddamn novella of logistical bullshit required to move four international superstars and their entourage across the planet for the next leg of this relentless promotion cycle. The air buzzes with the low hum of pre-travel anxiety, staffers murmuring into radios, security personnel scanning the perimeter with bored professionalism. Luggage carts glide silently across the polished marble floor, piled high with designer cases stickered with airline priority tags. Everything is accounted for, every contingency planned, every single detail triple-checked… except one. One small, perpetually infuriating, five-foot-four package of pure chaos currently MIA.

You check your watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. Twenty minutes past the absolute latest departure time for the airport run. Twenty minutes closer to missing the check-in window for a private charter, something the label definitely wouldn't appreciate footing the bill to reschedule. You end the call with a clipped, "Yeah, confirmed. Vans are waiting. Just… give us five," and shove the phone into your pocket, resisting the urge to hurl it across the lobby. Yunjin catches your eye from where she's lounging on a velvet armchair, scrolling through her phone.

"Still no sign of the princess?" she calls over, not bothering to lower her voice.

Sakura, seated beside her looking effortlessly chic even in comfy travel sweats, sighs dramatically. "Honestly, you'd think after all this time, she'd learn what a schedule is." Kazuha, ever the quiet observer, simply sips her bottled water, a tiny, knowing smile playing on her lips as she watches you practically vibrate with contained stress. Eunchae is the only group member not participating in the tour; she got stuck filming a TV reality show (lucky her, to be honest). You just shake your head, struggling to maintain control of the situation. Dealing with airline regulations and grumpy customs officials is one thing; managing Kim Chaewon's unique brand of calculated tardiness is a whole different level of managerial hell. Or heaven, depending on the day. And the context.

Right on cue, as if summoned by the sheer force of your frustration, the elevator dings softly. The doors slide open, and there she is. Kim Chaewon. Sauntering out like she hasn't a care in the world, let alone a plane to catch. She's dressed in ridiculously oversized, ripped jeans slung low on her hips, a cropped white tank top that barely covers the essentials, and a pair of chunky sneakers. Sunglasses are perched on her head, pushing back her perfectly styled, slightly messy brown hair. There's a lollipop stick poking jauntily from the corner of her mouth, and a smirk plastered across her face that says she knows exactly how late she is and gives precisely zero fucks. She doesn't even glance at the waiting staff or her bandmates, her eyes landing directly on you, challenge glinting behind the playful facade. No apology, no hurried explanation, just a slow, deliberate stroll towards the assembled group, hips swaying just enough to be noticeable.

You feel a familiar vein start to throb in your temple, a mix of pure exasperation and that other, much less professional feeling she always manages to stir up, even when she's actively sabotaging your carefully laid plans. She stops right in front of you, tilting her head, the lollipop stick rotating slowly between her lips. "Problem?" she asks with a feigned innocence. You have to physically restrain yourself from grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Problem? Chaewon, the problem is we were supposed to leave twenty-five minutes ago. The flight crew is waiting. The plane is waiting." Your voice is low, tight, trying desperately to maintain a semblance of authority despite the fact that everyone within earshot knows the score. She just shrugs, popping the lollipop out with a wet little smack.

"Oops? Lost track of time." The smirk widens. "Was busy." Doing what, you don't even want to imagine, though a few possibilities immediately spring to mind, each less appropriate than the last. Yunjin snickers softly from the couch. Sakura just shakes her head, a silent told you so in the gesture.

"Right," you say, your tone flat, promising retribution. "Well, get your ass moving. Now." You turn, expecting her to follow, ready to start barking orders to get everyone loaded into the waiting vehicles. But she doesn't move. You glance back. She's still standing there, that defiant little pout on her lips now.

"Or what?" she challenges, voice low, but loud enough for you, and probably the girls, to hear.

There it is. That flicker of challenge, the testing of boundaries that's as much a part of her personality as her talent. You meet her gaze, letting the professional mask crack just enough for her to see the warning underneath.

"Or," you lean in slightly, lowering your voice even further, pitching it just for her ears, ignoring the nearby staff pretending not to listen, "you and I are going to have a very detailed discussion about punctuality and following instructions later. Somewhere private. And loud." Her eyes flash, the corner of her mouth quirks up. That's the reaction you were looking for. Not fear, never fear, but that little thrill of anticipation, the promise of consequences she secretly craves.

She finally breaks eye contact, rolling her eyes dramatically, but there's no heat behind it now. "Fine, Dad," she drawls, grabbing her small carry-on bag from a nearby bellhop with maybe a bit too much force. She brushes past you, her shoulder deliberately bumping yours, her fingers trailing almost imperceptibly across the front of your jeans as she does. A jolt goes through you, a stark reminder of just how thin the line is between manager and… whatever the hell this is. You watch her swagger towards the exit, the sway of her hips definitely more pronounced now, a silent fuck you directed straight at your rapidly fraying composure.

Kazuha catches your eye again, that small smile widening slightly before she stands up smoothly. Sakura pushes herself up with a groan. "Come on, lovebirds, plane won't fly itself," Yunjin chirps, slinging her own bag over her shoulder and giving you a knowing wink as she follows Chaewon out into the bright morning sunlight towards the waiting black SUVs. You take a deep breath, smoothing down your shirt, trying to regain control.

Right. Airport. Focus.

The ride to the private airfield is a blur of logistics and barely contained annoyance simmering just beneath your professional exterior. You're in the lead SUV with some core staff, phone pressed back to your ear finalizing gate access and confirming the flight plan one last time. Through the tinted windows, you catch glimpses of the second vehicle carrying the girls, a sleek black Escalade gliding smoothly through the early morning traffic heading towards Narita. Japan first, a whirlwind of promo and a high-profile music show appearance, then onto LA for the US leg.

The schedule is brutal, relentless, and your brief, desperately needed month-long vacation already feels like a distant dream. You try to focus on the call, nodding along to the pilot's confirmations, but your mind keeps flashing back to Chaewon’s deliberate touch, the heat in her eyes when you issued that warning. Damn her. Damn this whole fucked-up dynamic you can't seem to escape, not that you entirely want to.

In the other car, Yunjin leans back against the plush leather seats, stretching languidly. She glances over at Chaewon, who's staring out the window, humming softly to herself, that infuriating lollipop stick back between her teeth.

"So," Yunjin starts casually, scrolling through Instagram, "you doing okay there, Chae? Seemed a little... wound up back at the hotel." Chaewon turns, pulling the lollipop out with a soft pop.

"Wound up? Me? Nah." She flashes a grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Just excited for Japan. It's been a while since we've been there."

Sakura snorts softly from the other side. "Right. Excited to go to Japan. That's definitely what had you practically vibrating out of your skin." Kazuha just adjusts her noise-canceling headphones, opting out of the incoming drama she can sense brewing.

Chaewon rolls her eyes. "Whatever. I don't know what you guys are talking about."

Yunjin just smiles knowingly. "Mmhmm. Sure you don't." She goes back to her phone, letting the subject drop. She knows Chaewon too well; pushing now won't get her anywhere.

The airport procedures are surprisingly smooth, a testament to the efficiency of the ground crew and the perks of private travel. No lines, minimal fuss through security and customs, just a swift walk across the tarmac under the surprisingly warm morning sun towards the waiting Gulfstream jet. It gleams, sleek and white, promising pressurized comfort and relative privacy for the next few hours. The girls board first, Yunjin offering a cheerful wave, Sakura a polite nod, Kazuha a quiet smile. Chaewon hangs back, deliberately letting you pass her on the boarding stairs. As you step onto the plush carpet of the jet's interior, she follows close behind, close enough that you can feel the faint warmth radiating off her skin, smell the sickly sweet cherry scent of her damn lollipop mixed with her expensive perfume. She bumps your arm "accidentally" as she moves past you towards the main cabin seating area, settling into a window seat without a word. You watch her go, jaw tight, before turning to have a final word with the flight attendant about the service schedule.

Once airborne, the atmosphere shifts. The low rumble of the engines becomes a background drone, the city shrinking below as you climb through the clouds. Staff keep to the forward galley, the flight attendants are discreet, and the girls mostly settle into their own routines; headphones on, tablets out, naps commencing. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The simmering tension from the hotel lobby, the car ride, the boarding process, it hasn't dissipated. It's coiled tight in the pressurized air, centered entirely around the small girl pretending to be engrossed in the view outside her window. You catch her reflection in the polished wood trim. She's not looking outside; she's watching you.

Waiting.

Testing.

Fine. Game on. It's been over an hour, you're at cruising altitude, and most people seem settled. Time for that "detailed discussion." You casually stand up, stretching as if heading for a drink, and make your way towards the rear of the plane, towards the surprisingly spacious lavatory. You slip inside, leaving the door deliberately unlocked, just cracked open a sliver. Pulling out your phone, you fire off a quick text, fingers tapping the screen with purpose: Bathroom. Now.

You don't have to wait long. Maybe thirty seconds pass before you hear the soft click of the cabin door opening and closing further down the aisle, followed by light, quick footsteps on the carpet. The bathroom door pushes open silently, and she's there, filling the small space, her presence immediately dialing up the intensity. That bratty smirk is back, but there's a nervous energy flickering underneath it now, a thrill chasing the defiance. She glances back down the empty aisle quickly before stepping fully inside and clicking the lock firmly behind her. The sound echoes slightly in the confined space. She turns to face you, leaning back against the locked door, crossing her arms over that cropped tank top. Her eyes challenge yours.

"Yeah?" she asks, voice low, trying to project nonchalance. You don't crowd her immediately, just hold her gaze, letting the silence stretch, amplifying the low hum of the engines vibrating through the floor.

"You've been pushing it, Chaewon," you state, keeping your voice level, pitched just loud enough for her over the engine noise. "All morning. Back at the hotel, on the stairs, just now. What the fuck is your deal?"

She shrugs, a deliberately dismissive gesture. "Don't know what you're talking about. Just excited for the trip." That smirk again.

God, you want to wipe it off her face. Or kiss it off.

You take a step closer, closing the small distance between you until you're invading her personal space, forcing her to tilt her head back slightly to maintain eye contact. Bullshit. You reach up, your hand gently but firmly closing around the column of her throat, thumb resting just under her jawline, fingers applying just enough pressure to make her breath hitch. Not painful, just… possessive. Controlling.

You watch her eyes darken slightly, the pulse jumping beneath your thumb. Her skin is so soft. You let your gaze drift over her face, taking in the sharp line of her jaw, the slight flush rising on her cheeks, the way her impossibly brown, perfectly cut bob frames her face. She’s stunning, even when she’s being an absolute menace.

"Don't lie to me," you murmur. "Is this because I was gone?" Her gaze flickers away for a fraction of a second before snapping back to yours, defiance warring with something softer, needier. She doesn't answer, presses her lips together stubbornly.

But you know. Of course, that's what it is.

A whole month you were off-grid, a proper vacation, sun, sand, zero work calls, zero idol drama, zero her. You needed it. Your sanity depended on it.

"Look," you sigh, loosening your grip slightly but not letting go, stroking your thumb along her jaw instead. "I needed that break, Chae. This job… it’s fucking insane. Managing schedules, dealing with labels, fixing fuck-ups… it’s non-stop. And you," you give her neck a tiny squeeze, "you don't exactly make it easy sometimes, do you? Acting out isn't going to help anything." Her eyes flash again, the bratty spark returning full force. She lifts her chin, straining slightly against your hold.

"Oh yeah? So what are you gonna do about it, boss?" she challenges, her voice laced with that familiar, infuriating blend of provocation and invitation.

A slow smile spreads across your face. You lean in until your lips are centimeters from hers, your breath mingling.

"I'm gonna start," you whisper, the words brushing against her mouth, "by shutting that pretty, bratty little mouth of yours." And then you crush your lips down on hers. It’s not gentle. It’s hard, possessive, a reclaiming. You tangle one hand in her short hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss, your tongue demanding entrance, tasting the lingering cherry sweetness from her lollipop mixed with her own unique flavor. She gasps into your mouth but kisses back just as fiercely, her arms coming up to wrap around your neck, pulling herself tighter against you. The small space seems to shrink further, filled with the heat radiating between your bodies. Your other hand slides down her back, over the curve of her waist, down to her ass.

You grab a handful, squeezing her tight, ripped denim digging into your palm, feeling the firm muscle beneath.

God, her body.

Tight, toned, compact perfection pressed flush against you. You grind your hips against hers reflexively, letting her feel exactly how much her little games, her proximity, affects you. You break the kiss, both of you breathing heavily, foreheads resting together. Her eyes are hazy, lips slick and slightly swollen.

"Fuck," she breathes out, a satisfied little smirk playing on her lips now. "Took you long enough."

You chuckle darkly. "You wanted attention, didn't you?" You slide your hand from her ass around to the front, pressing your knuckles against the apex of her thighs through her jeans. She lets out a shaky breath, her hips twitching against your hand.

"Always," she admits. "Especially yours." You meet her gaze, seeing the raw need there now, the bratty facade momentarily forgotten.

"Yeah?" you murmur. "Think you earned it?" She nods eagerly, biting her lower lip. "Okay then," you say, stepping back just enough to create a sliver of space, your hand dropping to the waistband of your own jeans. "Get what you came for. Unbutton my pants. Show me how much you missed me while I was gone." Her eyes light up, that mischievous, filthy smile spreading across her face, erasing any trace of vulnerability.

"Gladly."

Without hesitation, she sinks to her knees in the cramped space, the motion fluid and practiced, her gaze locked on yours as her nimble fingers go straight for the button of your jeans, popping it open with practiced ease.

That filthy little smile doesn't leave her face as her fingers deftly work the zipper down, the metallic rasp sounding obscenely loud in the confined space. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and boxers, pulling them down just enough, freeing you into the cool, recycled air of the lavatory. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly for a second, a flicker of genuine appreciation crossing her features before the bratty confidence slams back into place. You're hard already, straining against the sudden freedom, the head slick with precum from the kiss and the proximity.

She doesn't dive right in, though. Oh no, that wouldn't be her style. This is part performance, part genuine reverence, all designed to drive you absolutely insane. She leans forward, her bob falling forward, curtaining her face slightly as she just looks for a moment, her gaze tracing the length of you, thick and ready. Her breath hitches audibly, warm air ghosting over your sensitive skin. You grip the edge of the small vanity counter behind you, bracing yourself, watching her. This part, the anticipation, the way she draws it out, is almost as potent as the act itself.

"Fuck," she breathes out, the word a reverent whisper against your cockhead. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and dilated, full of undiluted want. "God, I missed you.” She reaches out a hesitant finger, tracing the prominent vein running down the shaft, a feather-light touch that sends a shiver straight up your spine. "Really fucking missed this." Her fingers wrap around the base, gently testing your weight, her touch surprisingly cool at first before her body heat starts to transfer. You watch her lower her head slowly, her nose practically brushing against you. She inhales deeply, deliberately, her eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Mmm, missed your smell," she murmurs, almost purring the words. It’s ridiculous, performative, and yet undeniably hot.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, playing up this devoted sub angle she slips into when she truly wants something. She presses a soft, closed-mouth kiss right to the sensitive tip, then another just below it, her lips incredibly soft. "Missed your taste," she whispers against your skin before flicking her tongue out, tasting the bead of precum, humming her approval. "So fucking good." Another slow lick, this time circling the head, deliberate and agonizingly slow. She looks up at you again through her lashes, a challenge in her eyes now. "You know nobody makes you feel this good, right?" she states, not asks, her fingers tightening slightly at your base. "Nobody gets to have this but me."

You don't answer, just watch her, your breath coming faster, the low hum of the Gulfstream's engines fading into a dull roar in your ears. She seems to take your silence as confirmation, a smug little smirk touching her lips before her focus returns entirely to your cock. She showers the head with tiny, wet kisses, murmuring praises, telling you how perfect you are, how hard she’s making you, how much she loves knowing she’s the only one who gets you like this. It’s a litany of filth and adoration, custom-designed to stroke your ego as much as your cock. Her hair brushes against your inner thighs as she moves.

Then, finally, she opens her mouth. Her lips, slick with spit now, close around the head, engulfing the most sensitive part of you in wet heat. A low groan escapes your throat, involuntary, and you fist your hand tighter on the counter edge. Her tongue immediately goes to work, swirling, flicking, teasing, while her lips maintain that perfect pressure. She bobs her head slightly, taking just the tip into her mouth, sucking gently, testing your reaction. Her eyes are fixed on yours, watching every micro-expression, gauging your pleasure. Seeing your jaw clench, your eyes darken, only seems to spur her on. The bratty challenge morphs into focused determination, the determination to absolutely wreck you right here, thirty thousand feet above the Pacific, in a bathroom barely big enough for one person.

She changes tactics, her mouth sliding further down, taking more of you in. Jesus, she’s good. So fucking good. Her throat muscles work, creating an incredible suction as she slides down, then eases up, her lips and tongue creating friction on the way back. It’s slow, deep, worshipful, completely at odds with the frantic energy she displayed just moments ago. One of her hands rests on your thigh, fingers digging in slightly for balance, while the other continues its gentle stroking at your base, coordinating perfectly with the rhythm of her mouth. She varies the pressure, sometimes sucking hard enough to make you see stars, other times easing off, teasing the underside with her tongue, finding that sensitive ridge and working it relentlessly. You let your head fall back against the cool bulkhead, eyes closed now, just focusing on the overwhelming sensations radiating from your groin. The tight heat of her mouth, the slick glide, the slight scratch of her teeth now and then—carefully controlled, just enough to illicit a gasp.

You can hear her little contented hums around you, the wet sounds of her work echoing slightly off the walls. She knows exactly how much you love this, how much you need it, especially after being away. This is her reclaiming you, marking her territory in the most intimate way possible. The plane hits a patch of minor turbulence, a slight jostle that makes her pause for a second, her grip tightening on your thigh. She looks up, eyes wide for a moment, before a wicked grin splits her face. The added element of risk, the thinness of the locked door separating you from discovery, clearly just makes it hotter for her. She lowers her head again, her pace picking up slightly, getting sloppier, faster, sucking harder, her head nodding with increasing urgency as she feels you twitching in her mouth, reacting to her skilled attention.

That wicked grin doesn't fade as she dives back down, the brief pause and jolt of turbulence seemingly flipping a switch in her. The slow, almost reverent pace vanishes, replaced by something frantic, greedier. Her head bobs faster, much faster, taking you deeper, almost gagging on your length but pushing through it, her throat muscles working overtime. The sounds are wetter now, louder, sloppy sucking noises mingling with her quickened breaths through her nose.

She knows exactly where you're heading, can feel the tension coiling tight in your hips, the way your breathing has turned ragged. She wants to push you over the edge. Her free hand leaves your thigh and joins the other at your base, both thumbs pressing firmly against your perineum. She pulls back just enough to dart her tongue out, licking down the entire length in one wet stripe before taking you back in just as quickly. Then, without warning, she shifts her attention lower. Her hot mouth slides off you momentarily, leaving you exposed and hypersensitive in the cool air, before closing firmly around your balls.

"Fuck," you gasp out loud this time, your hips bucking involuntarily off the counter. The sensation is intense, shocking; the wet heat engulfing you there, the gentle suction, her tongue swirling against the tight skin. She takes one, then the other, into her mouth, sucking gently, flicking her tongue, paying devoted attention while her fingers still expertly work your shaft. She alternates, mouth on your balls, fingers stroking, then mouth back on your cock, faster, sloppier than before, driving you absolutely insane. She glances up, eyes glazed but focused, seeing the loss of control blooming on your face. A tiny, triumphant smirk plays on her lips around you.

"Like that, huh?" she manages to mumble, the words distorted. "Want me to suck your fucking soul out through your balls?"

God, yes.

You can't even form words, just groan, a raw sound torn from your throat. The combination is too much; the relentless friction on your shaft, the dizzying attention to your balls, the tight confines of the bathroom, the constant hum of the engines a vibration deep in your bones, the sheer fucking audacity of doing this right now.

Control snaps.

Your hands shoot out, burying themselves in her silky brown bob. You grab two handfuls, tilting her head back slightly, forcing her mouth wider around you. Her eyes widen in surprise, a small, muffled gasp escaping around you, but there's no fear there, only widening pupils filled with manic excitement.

"Yeah," you grit out, your voice rough, barely recognizable. "Fucking take it. All of it." You start to move, thrusting your hips forward, fucking her face, setting a harsh, driving rhythm. No more gentle give and take, just pure, selfish need. You drive into her mouth, pushing past her limits, feeling the resistance at the back of her throat, pushing through it anyway. Her hands fly up, gripping your thighs, holding on as you use her mouth relentlessly.

Her head nods back and forth with each rough thrust, her hair tangling in your fingers. You look down at her, at her beautiful face, cheeks flushed, eyes watering slightly from the force, spit shining on her chin where it escapes the corners of her mouth. She’s trying to keep up, trying to match your rhythm, muffled sounds of pleasure and choked effort escaping her. But this isn't about her pleasure anymore, not entirely. This is about yours. About the overwhelming, crashing need to come that's consuming every thought.

Each downward stroke of your hips forces a deeper groan from your chest, the pressure building unbearably. You pull back slightly, almost out, just to slam back in, burying yourself deep in her throat, feeling her gag reflex kick in, hearing the choked sound she makes. You do it again, harder, faster, chasing that release, feeling it clawing its way up your spine, tightening everything inside you into one unbearable knot of pure sensation as you fuck her pretty, willing mouth like it owes you everything.

Each thrust is deliberate now, a punctuation mark emphasizing your ownership in this moment, right here, miles above the earth in this ridiculously small, vibrating metal tube. You drive deep, pulling back just enough to hear her ragged gasp for air before slamming back in, pushing the boundaries, treating her mouth like nothing more than a tight, wet hole designed solely for your pleasure. And fuck, she takes it. Her eyes, slightly teary now from the force and the gag reflex you keep triggering, are locked on yours, wide and impossibly dark, reflecting a mixture of overwhelmed submission and pure, unadulterated adoration.

She loves this.

Loves being used, pushed, treated like your personal plaything when the mood strikes. Loves knowing she’s the only one you’d ever do this to, the only one who could take it and still look up at you like you hung the goddamn moon. Her hands are still gripping your thighs, knuckles white, anchoring herself against your relentless assault. Muffled whimpers and choked sounds escape around you, sounds of effort, of pleasure pushed right to the edge of pain, sounds that only fuel the fire roaring through your veins.

"That's it, baby," you rasp out. "Take it all. Fucking earn it." Your thrusts become less rhythmic, more frantic, chasing that final, explosive release that's clawing its way up from your balls. You can feel the orgasm building, an unstoppable surge coiling low and tight, demanding release. "God, Chaewon, fuck..." You look down at her, at the beautiful mess she is beneath you; spit slicking her chin, hair mussed and tangled in your grip, eyes glazed over but still fiercely focused on you.

This image, her complete surrender mixed with that inherent bratty defiance simmering underneath, is the final push. With a guttural roar that seems to vibrate through the thin walls of the lavatory, you come. Hard. Your hips stutter, pulsing uncontrollably as thick ropes of cum shoot deep into her throat, spasm after spasm racking your frame. You feel her choke, her body tensing instinctively as she struggles to swallow the sudden, huge flood. Her eyes squeeze shut for a second, a single tear finally escaping, tracking a path through the faint sheen of sweat on her cheek. But she swallows. God damn her, she swallows every last drop, her throat working convulsively, taking all of it down like the devoted little slut she is when you push her this far.

The intensity drains out of you almost as quickly as it came, leaving you momentarily boneless, breathing heavily, forehead pressed against the cool metal wall above her head. Your grip on her hair loosens, fingers automatically smoothing the strands you were just gripping so tightly. You stay there for a long moment, embedded deep within her, your rapidly softening cock still held snugly by her lips and throat.

The only sounds are your harsh breaths gradually evening out and the faint, wet noises as she finishes swallowing, clearing her throat delicately. It’s strangely intimate, this quiet moment after the storm. Finally, slowly, you pull out, your cock sliding free with a soft, wet sound. She stays kneeling, looking up at you, her lips plump and red, slightly glistening. There’s a smudge of her mascara under one eye, and her cheeks are flushed a deep pink.

She looks thoroughly wrecked. And impossibly beautiful. Leaning down, you gently cup her cheek with your hand, thumb stroking softly across her flushed skin, wiping away that single tear track. Her eyes flutter slightly at the tenderness, a stark contrast to the rough handling moments before.

"Fuck, Chae," you murmur. "Missed you too, brat. So fucking much."

A small, genuine smile finally touches her lips, tired but satisfied. She leans her cheek into your palm for just a second, a silent acknowledgment. You grab a couple of paper towels, dampen them slightly, and gently wipe her mouth and chin, cleaning her up. She takes them from you wordlessly and finishes the job herself, quickly fixing her hair in the small mirror, smoothing her tank top. The transformation back to idol Kim Chaewon is swift, though the flush on her cheeks and the slightly dazed look in her eyes might linger.

"Okay," you say quietly, checking your own appearance quickly. "Give it five minutes. Then head back out like nothing happened." She nods, her gaze meeting yours in the mirror, a shared spark of conspiracy and satisfaction flashing between you.

"Five minutes," she confirms. You unlock the door, peek out quickly; the aisle is still clear, the cabin quiet, then slip out, leaving her alone in the small space, the scent of sex and cherry lollipop hanging faintly in the air. You walk back to your seat, sinking into it, feeling utterly drained but deeply satisfied, the earlier stress replaced by a languid sense of calm as you wait, counting the minutes until she rejoins the world as if nothing had happened.

—

The touchdown at Narita is smooth, the private jet taxiing to a remote stand far from the commercial terminals, a small bubble of privileged quiet before the storm. But even before the engines fully spool down, the energy shifts. Phones reappear, makeup is touched up, professional smiles click into place. You’re already on your feet, coordinating with the ground crew via headset, confirming vehicles, security perimeter, and the route to the hotel. The brief, intense intimacy of the lavatory encounter feels like it happened in another lifetime, shoved firmly back into the mental box labeled 'Later'. Right now, you're Manager-nim, orchestrating the intricate ballet of moving four global stars through a country.

The jet door opens, revealing the crisp Tokyo air and a phalanx of serious-looking Japanese security personnel alongside your usual team. You step out first, surveying the scene, giving clipped instructions. Then the girls emerge, blinking. And Chaewon… fuck, the transformation is always jarring. One moment she was kneeling on a bathroom floor, looking wrecked and sated; the next, she's Kim Chaewon of Le Sserafim, waving brightly, a picture of sweet, bubbly professionalism. Her brown bob is perfect, her smile dazzling, her energy infectious as she greets the ground staff with polite bows and cheerful "Ohayou gozaimasu!" greetings.

The walk through the designated private channel towards the waiting vehicles is a controlled chaos you know well. Muffled screams and frantic chanting of "Le Sserafim! Le Sserafim!" echo from somewhere beyond the security cordon, a testament to their massive popularity here. Camera flashes strobe intermittently from permitted press areas, capturing their every move. You stick close, scanning the surroundings, murmuring directions into your radio, occasionally guiding one of the girls with a light touch on the back (purely professional, of course). But your eyes inevitably find Chaewon. She's interacting effortlessly with her members, laughing at something Sakura says, adjusting Kazuha’s collar playfully.

To the world, she's an adorable idol, the charismatic leader. But then, amidst the flashing lights and the buzz of the crowd, her eyes find yours across the short distance separating the group from the security detail. It’s just a flicker, barely a second long, but it hits you like a physical jolt. There’s no sweetness in that glance. It’s pure, unadulterated knowing. A glint of challenge, a silent reminder of exactly where her mouth was just a couple of hours ago, a promise of unfinished business.

Her lips quirk almost imperceptibly, a shadow of that filthy smirk, before she turns back to wave at a particularly loud group of FEARNOTs, the idol smile firmly back in place. You quickly look away, refocusing on the path ahead, feeling a familiar heat crawl up your neck. Yeah, keeping control around her is a constant battle, a tightrope walk between your responsibilities and the raw, magnetic pull she exerts.

—

The days that follow blur into a relentless cycle of promotion. Early morning call times for music show pre-recordings, interviews with Japanese magazines, high-energy fan meet-and-greets, rehearsals, sponsor events. You're constantly in motion, managing schedules, liaising with local teams, troubleshooting inevitable hiccups, ensuring the girls are where they need to be, looking and sounding perfect. You operate on caffeine and adrenaline, maintaining a professional buffer zone around yourself. Mostly. But she’s always there. A constant presence, radiating that dual energy. On stage, during interviews, she’s flawless. Charming, witty, hitting every mark, captivating everyone with her charisma. She signs albums for fans, her eyes crinkling in a perfect crescent moon smile, head tilted attentively as she listens to their excited chatter. You watch from the wings, clipboard in hand, discussing logistics with a stage manager, and you have to admire her professionalism. She’s damn good at her job.

But then, during a brief water break backstage, tucked away from most of the crew, she catches your eye again. She's leaning against a roadie case, pretending to stretch, but her gaze is locked onto yours. She slowly, deliberately runs the tip of her tongue across her upper lip, mimicking the action from the plane, before taking a long, slow sip from her water bottle, her throat working. It’s blatant. Provocative. A silent dare right there in the middle of the professional chaos. You just glare back, shaking your head slightly, trying to convey 'knock it off' without drawing attention. She just offers a tiny, almost invisible shrug, a silent 'make me,' before Yunjin calls her over to look at something on her phone, breaking the connection.

The tension is a constant hum beneath the surface, especially when you're confined in the same space for extended periods; dressing rooms, rehearsal studios, vans during transit. The other members notice, of course. They're not blind, they are already very familiar with this twisted dynamic. Yunjin occasionally throws amused, knowing glances between you two. Sakura sometimes sighs with theatrical exasperation when Chaewon gets particularly “energetic” (read: subtly provocative towards you) during downtime. Kazuha remains the serene observer, missing nothing but saying little.

During one rehearsal for a demanding choreography piece, the instructor is giving notes. You're standing off to the side, watching intently, making mental notes about stage positioning. Chaewon is front and center, sweat glistening on her forehead, breathing heavily but focused. The instructor praises her intensity. As the group resets for another run-through, Chaewon turns, ostensibly to grab her water bottle from near where you're standing.

She meets your gaze directly, her chest still heaving slightly.

"Hard work, right Manager-nim?" she asks innocently, but her eyes hold that familiar, challenging heat. Before you can respond with a noncommittal professional grunt, she adds, quieter, almost under her breath, "Makes me thirsty." She grabs her bottle, takes a long drink, and turns back to the formation, leaving you standing there, jaw tight, feeling thr unspoken meaning.

Yeah, you think grimly, watching her perfectly execute the next sequence. Keeping things under control around Kim Chaewon is going to be the hardest part of this entire goddamn tour.

—

The fan meeting is a sensory overload, bright lights everywhere, cheerful music blasting from speakers, and the high-pitched buzz of hundreds of excited FEARNOTs packed into the event hall. Rows of fans clutch albums and gifts, shuffling forward patiently for their brief, precious moments with the idols. You’re stationed near the side of the stage area, ostensibly overseeing the flow, liaising with security and event staff, but your attention keeps getting snagged by Chaewon. For the first hour, she’s perfect. Idol Chaewon in full effect: adorable aegyo, attentive listening, dazzling smiles, expertly signing albums, making every fan feel like the center of the universe. She laughs, she jokes, she poses for photos with peace signs and hearts. Standard procedure.

But you know her.

You see the restless energy simmering beneath the surface, the way her eyes occasionally flick towards you when she thinks no one is looking.

She’s bored.

And when Chaewon gets bored, she gets mischievous.

It starts subtly. A slightly longer hand-hold with a particularly handsome fanboy. Laughing just a bit too loudly, head thrown back, at something another fan says. Small things, easily deniable. But then comes a fan near the end of the line, maybe early twenties, clearly nervous but trying to be cool. He says something, probably complimenting her, and Chaewon leans way forward across the table, elbows planted, chin resting on her hands, giving him her undivided, intense attention. Her smile turns from sweet idol to something… sultry. Predatory. "Oh really?" you hear her say, voice pitching slightly lower, playful but undeniably flirty. "Tell me more about that." She bats her eyelashes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering near her collarbone. The fan turns beet red, stammering.

And Chaewon?

She glances sideways, directly at you, a tiny, triumphant smirk flashing across her face for a nanosecond before turning back to the flustered fan, completely ignoring the staff member gently trying to move the line along. You feel your jaw clench so hard your teeth ache. That little shit. She’s doing it on purpose, pushing your buttons in front of hundreds of people, knowing you can’t react.

The moment the last fan is gone and the doors close, before the girls are even fully off the stage platform and heading towards the backstage waiting room, you're moving towards her. She sees you coming, that bratty, challenging glint back in her eyes, though she pretends to be engrossed in conversation with Kazuha. You don't wait until you're fully backstage.

"What the hell was that, Chaewon?" you demand, keeping your voice low but harsh, stopping right in front of her, forcing Kazuha to awkwardly sidestep around you.

Chaewon blinks, feigning innocence. "What was what? I was just being nice to the fans. Isn't that my job?" The saccharine sweetness in her voice makes you want to throttle her.

"Don't play dumb with me," you hiss, leaning in slightly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Leaning across the table like that, practically purring at the guy. You trying to start something?"

Her eyes flash. "Maybe I was just appreciating a compliment," she shoots back, crossing her arms. "Is that against the rules now, Manager-nim? Or are you just jealous?"

That does it.

"Jealous? I'm pissed off because you're playing stupid, risky games in public when you know better!" Your voice rises slightly, catching the attention of the other members who are just entering the waiting room, looking utterly drained. Sakura groans, dropping onto a nearby couch.

"Oh my god, are you two seriously doing this now? We just finished a three-hour fan meet." Yunjin collapses next to her, pulling off her shoes. "Seriously. Can you guys just... not? Fight on your own time. Some of us want to go back to the hotel and pass out." Kazuha just shakes her head silently, already pulling out her phone, tuning out the familiar drama.

Chaewon ignores them, her gaze locked on yours, a thrill dancing in her eyes as she sees the anger simmering there. She loves this. Loves seeing you lose control, even just a little.

"Maybe I like playing risky games," she says softly, defiantly. You look at her, really look at her; the flushed cheeks, the challenging glint, the slight pout of her lips, and a wave of conflicting impulses washes over you: pure rage, and an equally potent desire to throw her over your shoulder, take her somewhere private, and show her exactly what happens when she pushes you too far. You want to punish her, break down that bratty defiance until she’s begging, but you also just want to have her, right now.

You take a deep, steadying breath, shoving the unprofessional thoughts down. Work first.

"Fine," you say curtly, trying to keep your voice flat and cold now, which you know unsettles her more than shouting. "We'll discuss your... appreciation... later." You turn away from her, clapping your hands together, shifting back into manager mode. "Alright everyone, good work today. Vans are waiting outside. Let's move, quick." You avoid looking directly at Chaewon as you herd the exhausted group towards the exit, focusing on coordinating with security for the departure.

The ride back to the hotel is thick with silence. The earlier exhaustion is now overlaid with the residue of your argument. Chaewon stares out the window, pointedly ignoring you, though you can feel the nervous energy radiating off her. She knows she crossed a line. She also knows retribution is coming. As the vans pull into the hotel's underground parking garage, and the girls start gathering their belongings, Chaewon makes a move towards the elevator with Sakura and Yunjin, maybe thinking she can slip away to the safety of her own room. No chance. Before she can take more than two steps, your hand shoots out, fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist. Her head whips around, eyes wide with surprise, maybe a flicker of apprehension mixed with the underlying excitement.

"Not so fast," you say. The other girls pause, exchange weary glances, but don't intervene. They know this dance.

"Where are we going?" Yunjin asks tiredly, already pressing the elevator button. "You three, head up. Get some rest," you instruct, your gaze fixed on Chaewon. "She's coming with me." You tug gently but firmly on Chaewon’s wrist, pulling her away from the group, towards the opposite elevator bank that leads to a different wing—your wing. Her eyes search yours, the earlier defiance replaced with a hesitant, almost breathless anticipation.

"With you?" she echoes, her voice small. "To your room?" You start walking, pulling her along beside you. She stumbles slightly but keeps pace, her wrist still captive in your grip.

"Yeah," you confirm, punching the button for your floor. As the elevator doors glide open, she looks up at you, a nervous smile playing on her lips, that familiar bratty spark returning.

"Are you… are you gonna punish me?" she asks, a kind of silly, almost happy tone in her voice. She already knows the answer. You meet her gaze, letting her see the banked anger, the possessive intent, the promise of exactly what she's been provoking all day.

"What do you think?"

The path there is filled with silence and tension for what you both know is to come, the heavy hotel room door clicks shut behind you, the sound sealing you both in, cutting off the outside world and unleashing the tightly coiled tension that’s been vibrating between you all damn day. You don't waste a second. Before she can even process the surroundings (the king-sized bed dominating the space, the generic hotel art, the city lights filtering through the sheer curtains), you've got her backed against the door, your mouth crashing down on hers. It’s not like the possessive claim on the plane; this is pure, unrestrained frustration bleeding into raw hunger. Your lips move roughly against hers, demanding, punishing, tasting the lingering sweetness of whatever lip tint she wore for the fans.

Your hands are everywhere, tangling in her hair, cupping the back of her neck, pressing her impossibly closer against the solid wood. She makes a surprised noise deep in her throat, her hands flying up to your chest, pushing slightly at first, more out of reflex than resistance. But you don't relent. Your kisses trail frantically across her cheekbones, her jawline, down the elegant column of her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin just below her ear. You feel her resistance melt away, replaced by trembling anticipation.

"Fuck… you're crazy," she gasps out between kisses, a breathless sound that’s half sigh, half suppressed giggle. Her hands fist in the fabric of your shirt now, holding on. "Absolutely fucking insane." She tilts her head back, granting you better access to her throat, a silent offering.

And yeah, she loves it.

Loves seeing you like this: completely undone by her, control shattered, driven solely by the need to have her. It feeds that bratty ego, confirms her power over you, even as you’re physically dominating her. That thought just fuels your frustration further. You pull back just enough to meet her eyes, seeing the amusement warring with rapidly escalating arousal in their dark depths.

"You think this is funny?" you growl. "You think pulling that shit back there was funny?" Before she can answer, you're attacking her clothes. There's no finesse, no gentle undressing. Your fingers fumble impatiently with the buttons of her stylish blouse, frustration mounting until you just rip it open, sending small pearl buttons scattering across the plush carpet. She gasps, a genuine shock this time, but doesn't stop you. You tug the ruined fabric off her shoulders, revealing the simple black bra underneath.

Next are her jeans, the zipper comes down with a harsh rasp, the button popped, and you're shoving them down her hips, impatiently tugging until they pool around her ankles. You force her to step out of them, nearly tripping her in the process. Now she stands there in just her black lace bra and matching panties, looking slightly disheveled, breathless, and utterly fucking delectable. Her body is exactly as you remember; compact, toned, dancer’s muscles defined beneath smooth skin. Tight little stomach, lean thighs, those perfect handfuls of breasts barely contained by the flimsy lace.

This body, this fucking perfect, infuriating body, drives you to the brink every single time.

With another low growl, you scoop her up, she yelps in surprise, take two strides across the room, and unceremoniously dump her onto the center of the massive bed. The mattress bounces, jostling her. Before she can react, you're following her down, crawling onto the bed, pinning her beneath your weight. One knee nudges her thighs apart slightly, settling comfortably between them, while your hands trap her wrists loosely above her head against the pillows. She stares up at you, her breathing quick and shallow, eyes wide, that familiar mixture of challenge and submission swirling within them.

"Answer me," you demand, leaning down close. "Who do I belong to?" A slow, infuriatingly bratty smile spreads across her face. She licks her lips deliberately.

"Hmm, let me think," she teases, tilting her head slightly. "Maybe that cute fanboy from earlier? He seemed pretty appreciative." Your grip tightens instinctively on her wrists, and your free hand shoots to her throat, fingers wrapping around it, applying firm, steady pressure. Not enough to truly hurt, never that, but enough to make her breath catch, enough to steal the bratty smirk right off her face, enough to demand her full, undivided attention.

Her eyes widen, the playfulness vanishing. "Don't," you squeeze slightly harder, feeling the frantic pulse jump beneath your thumb, "fuck with me right now, Chaewon. Answer the question. Seriously." You watch her pupils dilate, watch her swallow nervously against your grip. Her voice is husky, slightly strained when she finally speaks, all traces of laughter gone.

"You," she breathes out. "I belong to you." Her gaze locks with yours, raw desire blazing there now, open and undisguised.

That’s the answer you needed. You lean down and capture her mouth in one last bruising kiss, pouring all your possessive anger and overwhelming need into it, before abruptly pulling away. You slide off her, off the bed, standing beside it as you take off your own clothes with shaking hands. Shirt, jeans, boxers, discarded onto the floor without a second thought, leaving you completely naked, hard and aching, your arousal throbbing in the air between you. She watches you from the bed, propped up slightly on her elbows now, her gaze tracking your every move, her lips slightly swollen, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

You stalk back towards the bed, your eyes fixed on the flimsy black lace barely covering her small, perky breasts. Reaching her, you don't bother with the clasp. You hook your fingers under the front strap of her bra and just yank. The delicate fabric rips with a satisfying tearing sound, the strap snapping near the cup. You toss the ruined garment aside, exposing her completely. Her breasts are perfect; small, perky, round, with tight, rosy nipples already pebbled hard from the cool air and anticipation.

"Fuck," you groan, reaching out, cupping one breast, thumb immediately finding the nipple, rubbing, teasing, rolling it between your fingers. She gasps, arching slightly off the bed, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Your other hand isn’t idle. It slides down her flat stomach, over the waistband of her black lace panties, fingers dipping beneath the damp fabric. Just as you suspected. She’s soaking wet. Your fingers find her clit immediately through the slick folds, pressing down, starting a slow, firm rubbing motion. A choked moan escapes her lips, her hips twitching uncontrollably against your hand.

"Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?" you murmur against her ear, your breath hot on her skin as your fingers continue their relentless friction. She nods frantically, eyes still closed, biting down hard on her lower lip.

"Since… since the fan meet," she confesses. "Knew… knew you’d be pissed. Knew you’d… fuck… do this… Knew I’d get you back here… make you punish me…" Her hips buck harder against your hand as you increase the pressure, rubbing faster now, feeling her slickness coating your fingers, knowing she’s already close, exactly where you both want her to be.

"Fuck, yes," you groan against her skin, your lips leaving her nipple momentarily to press against the soft swell of her breast. "You knew exactly what you were doing back there, didn't you? Playing the innocent little idol while planning this whole damn thing." Your fingers don't stop their relentless friction against her clit, pressing down harder now, rubbing faster through the soaked lace of her panties.

The fabric is practically useless, just a thin, wet barrier between your touch and her desperate core. She whimpers, a high, strained sound, her hips lifting off the bed, trying to meet the pressure of your hand. "Wanted… wanted you angry," she gasps out, eyes squeezed shut tight. "Wanted you… like this… losing control… for me."

Her honesty, even now, is breathtakingly audacious. She orchestrated this, provoked you deliberately, just to get this reaction, to have you looming over her, naked and furious and hard, touching her exactly like this. That knowledge, instead of cooling your anger, twists it into something sharper, hotter. Possessive satisfaction wars with the lingering irritation.

Fine. If she wanted you to lose control, you'll show her exactly what that looks like.

Your mouth latches back onto her nipple, sucking hard this time, drawing the peak deep into the heat of your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive nub while your teeth graze lightly, sending jolts straight through her. She cries out, louder this time, her back arching dramatically.

"Ahh! Fuck… yes, there…"

Her fingers, which were lying limply by her sides, clench into fists, gripping handfuls of the bedsheets. You switch breasts, giving the other nipple the same harsh, demanding attention, lavishing it with bites and sucks that border on painful, but you know it's the edge she craves.

Meanwhile, your fingers below continue their merciless rhythm, circling, pressing, sometimes slipping just inside her wet folds to tease the entrance before returning to that hypersensitive nub hidden beneath the lace. You feel the muscles in her thighs quivering, her whole body trembling under your touch.

"Look at you," you murmur, pulling back slightly to look down at her, taking in the sight. Flushed chest marked faintly by your mouth, nipples tight and glistening, hips twitching uncontrollably, that little patch of black lace soaked dark with her arousal. "Such a fucking mess for me already. Was flirting with that fanboy worth this, Chaewon?"

Her eyes snap open, blazing with a mixture of pleasure-fueled haze and defiance. "Yes," she grits out, panting heavily. "Knew you'd… knew you'd make me pay. Make it… good."

Oh, you'll make her pay, alright.

You slow the rubbing motion of your fingers, shifting to a teasing, agonizingly slow circle, barely applying pressure. Her hips immediately still, a frustrated whine escaping her lips. "No… don't stop… please…" she begs, the word torn from her throat. Her eyes plead with you, the earlier challenge momentarily eclipsed by raw, desperate need. "Please, I need it…" You lean down, capturing her lower lip between your teeth, biting gently before soothing it with your tongue.

"Need what?" you whisper against her mouth. "Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you need me to do to that wet little cunt of yours." Her breath hitches, a full body shudder running through her.

"Need you… need your fingers… harder," she gasps, bucking her hips again, trying to create the friction you're denying her. "Please, I'm so close…"

You chuckle. "Close? We just started." You resume the faster pace for a few moments, feeling her immediately start to unravel again, moans spilling from her lips, before slowing down once more, dragging out the torture. "You wanted my attention," you remind her as you lave attention back to her straining nipple, sucking gently now, contrasting with the denial happening below. "You pulled that stunt at the fan meet, made me watch you flirt, knowing it would drive me insane. Now you've got my undivided attention. Every second of it focused right here." Your fingers press down hard again, eliciting another sharp gasp. "And right here." Your mouth closes over her nipple again, sucking strongly.

"Fuck… yes… please, please don't tease," she whimpers, tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes; tears of frustration and overwhelming sensation, not sadness. "I can't… can't take it…" Her hands release the sheets, reaching for you, fingers digging into your biceps. "Touch me properly… please… I'll be good…" That last part, the promise to be good, makes you pause.

You lift your head, meeting her tear-filled, desperate gaze. "Be good?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that, Chae? I seem to recall liking it when you're bad. When you push my buttons. When you make me angry enough to do this." Your fingers slide fully under the wet lace now, pushing the fabric aside, finally making direct contact, skin on slick skin. Her breath catches in a strangled sob as your thumb finds her clit directly, pressing down with bruising force. "Isn't this what you wanted? Punishment?" You start rubbing again, faster, harder than before, no more teasing, just relentless friction directly on the nerve center of her pleasure.

Her head thrashes against the pillows, coherent words dissolving into ragged moans and cries. "Yes! Yes… punish me… fuck… please, please make me come…" she begs brokenly, her body bowing off the mattress, completely consumed by the sensations you're creating.

Your thumb works relentlessly, rubbing that swollen nub of flesh with a speed and pressure that has her completely unraveling. Her hips jerk frantically against your hand, chasing the friction, chasing the release you’re holding just out of reach. Moans tear from her throat, incoherent and raw, her head tossing back and forth against the pillows, brown hair sticking to her sweat-slicked temples. You lean down, your mouth finding hers again, kissing her deeply, swallowing her desperate sounds as your fingers continue their merciless assault below.

She kisses you back with a frantic energy, biting at your lip, her tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance. You feel the tell-tale clenching deep inside her, the tremors intensifying, she’s right there, teetering on the very brink. That’s when you slow your hand, easing the pressure almost entirely, though you don’t stop touching her, just letting your thumb rest against her throbbing clit. The abrupt change rips a choked sob from her lips, her eyes flying open, wide with frustrated tears and disbelief.

"No! Why—why did you stop?" she cries out. "Please… I was so close… fuck, please…" Her whole body seems to hum with frustrated energy, like an engine revved too high and suddenly stalled. You lift your head slightly, meeting her desperate gaze.

"Close to coming?" you ask, voice deceptively soft. "Is that all you want, Chaewon? Just to get off?"

Her brow furrows slightly, confusion warring with the overwhelming physical need. "I… yes… no… I need…" she stammers, unsure how to answer, her body still trembling violently.

You slide your thumb deliberately, agonizingly slowly, across her clit again, eliciting another full-body jolt and a sharp intake of breath. "Tell me," you command softly, leaning closer, your breath warm against her ear. "Tell me what you really want inside you right now. What you’ve been thinking about since you decided to pull that stunt today. What you were thinking about on the plane." Her eyes squeeze shut again, a fresh wave of heat washing over her face.

"You," she whispers. "Need you. Please… God, just… just fuck me already. Please, I need your cock. Need it inside me now."

There it is. The desperation. The specific begging. The complete surrender hidden beneath the demand. A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across your face. You lean down and press a hard, possessive kiss to her lips.

"Finally," you murmur against her mouth. "Took you long enough to ask properly." You pull your hand away from between her legs, ignoring her immediate whimper of protest. Supporting yourself on one arm, you shift your position, moving down her body slightly, nudging her legs further apart with your knee. Her soaked black panties are still there, tangled and pushed mostly to one side, framing the slick, pink folds they barely conceal anymore. You hover over her, letting her feel the heat radiating off your body, letting her see the thick, rigid length of your cock, slick with precum, poised right at her entrance. Her eyes are glued to you, wide and hungry, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Your free hand drifts down, tracing a path from her collarbone, over her still-pebbled nipple, down across her trembling stomach, fingers dipping briefly into her navel before smoothing lower. You pause, your palm resting flat against the slight curve of her lower belly. "God, you're beautiful like this," you say, your tone thick with genuine awe, momentarily forgetting the anger, the punishment, just lost in the sight of her beneath you: utterly wrecked, flushed, trembling, and completely open for you. "So fucking beautiful when you finally drop the act and just want."

Her breath hitches at the unexpected tenderness in your voice, her eyes softening for a fraction of a second before the overwhelming physical need takes over again.

"Then please," she whispers, voice trembling, her hips lifting instinctively off the bed, trying to meet you, "Just… do it. Fill me up."

That’s all the invitation you need. You adjust your angle slightly, guiding the thick head of your cock against her slick entrance. She gasps as you press forward, the blunt tip nudging, pushing against her folds. She’s so wet, so ready for you, there’s almost no resistance as you slide in. Inch by agonizing inch, you fill her, stretching her, embedding yourself deep within her tight heat. Her eyes roll back in her head, a long, keening moan tearing from her throat as she takes all of you.

Fuck, she feels incredible.

Tight, hot, slick, clenching around you instinctively. You pause there for a moment, buried deep inside her, letting you both savor the feeling of connection, of being fully joined. Her hands come up, gripping your shoulders tightly, nails digging in slightly. You look down at her face, flushed and beautiful, lips parted, eyes hazy with pleasure. Then, slowly, deliberately, you pull back, almost all the way out, before thrusting back in with a smooth, powerful stroke that sinks you back to the hilt. Her head slams back against the pillows, another loud moan ripped from her lips.

"Yes! Fuck… like that…" she pants.

You start to move, establishing a rhythm, slow and deep at first, each thrust deliberate, possessive. You watch her face, watch the waves of pleasure washing over her features with every push and pull. The bedframe begins to protest subtly beneath your combined weight, the only sound in the room besides her increasingly loud moans, your own grunts, and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding as you start to fuck her properly, giving her exactly what she begged for.

You settle into a deep, driving rhythm, fucking her with a steady power that has her completely losing herself. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper, locking you in place. Each thrust forces a breathy moan past her lips, her head thrown back against the pillows, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pure, unadulterated pleasure. She meets your rhythm, hips lifting off the bed to take every inch, her body moving in perfect, desperate sync with yours. Remembering how she reacted earlier, you slide one hand down between your bodies, fingers easily finding her slick folds again. She gasps as your thumb presses firmly against her clit, resuming that relentless rubbing motion even as you continue to pound into her tight heat.

"Oh god! Fuck, yes... there!" she cries out, voice high and strained. "Don't stop… don't stop touching me… please…" Her back arches impossibly high, pushing her cunt harder against your relentless fingers, her core muscles clenching tightly around your cock with each pulse of pleasure radiating from her clit.

You watch her face contort, watch the cords in her neck stand out, watch her bite down hard on her swollen lower lip to stifle a scream. She’s so close, right on the precipice, vibrating like a live wire beneath you. "You like that, huh?" you grunt out, speeding up your thrusts, driving into her faster, harder, while your thumb circles mercilessly. "Like me fucking your tight little cunt while I rub you raw?" Her answer is a broken sob, a frantic nod, eyes squeezed shut.

"Yes! Please… fuck… I'm gonna… I'm gonna—!"

And just like that, you stop. Everything halts. You freeze mid-thrust, deep inside her, your fingers still pressing against her clit but ceasing all movement. The sudden absence of friction, of motion, is like hitting a brick wall at full speed. Her eyes fly open, wide with shock and disbelief, her body locked in that pre-orgasmic tension. A strangled, frustrated cry rips from her throat.

"No! What— Why?!" She writhes beneath you, hips bucking uselessly, trying to recreate the movement, the friction, anything to push her over that agonizing edge you left her dangling from. "Don't stop! You can't stop now!!" she pleads, glaring up at you, frustration warring with the lingering haze of pleasure in her eyes. Her whole body is trembling, desperate for the release you just snatched away. A slow, cruel smirk spreads across your face.

You love this. Love seeing that bratty confidence dissolve into pure, frustrated need. Love knowing you have complete control over her pleasure, giving and taking it away at will.

"Why not?" you ask innocently, withdrawing slowly, deliberately, until you're almost completely out, letting the air hit her sensitised flesh before sinking back in just an inch, a torturous tease. "Thought we were taking our time. Making you pay for being such a brat earlier, remember?"

She lets out another frustrated scream, pounding her fists lightly against your shoulders. "You asshole! I hate you!" she spits out, though there’s no real heat behind it, only the desperate edge of denied pleasure. "I was right there!"

You chuckle darkly, leaning down to kiss her forehead, a mocking gesture of affection. "I know," you murmur against her skin. "Wanted to see that pretty little look of desperation on your face. Wanted to hear you beg." You pull out of her completely then, ignoring her sharp gasp of protest. The sight of her lying there, flushed, panting, legs still slightly spread, slick with her own juices and utterly frustrated, is exactly the reward you were looking for.

"Now," you say, your voice dropping back into that low, commanding tone, tapping her thigh lightly. "That was fun, but I think I want a different view. Get up." She stares at you, confused for a second, still reeling from the denied orgasm. "Get up," you repeat firmly. "On your hands and knees. Now." You watch as the understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by a flicker of renewed anticipation mixing with the lingering frustration.

She slowly, deliberately pushes herself up, arranging herself on her hands and knees on the vast expanse of the hotel bed, her back arched slightly, presenting herself exactly as you commanded. Her breathing is still ragged from the denied orgasm, her body trembling slightly. You stay standing by the bed for a moment, just looking.

"You know," you say conversationally, though your voice is low and carries an edge, "putting up with your bullshit all day… dealing with your little games, your provocations… it's not easy, Chae." You walk slowly around the side of the bed, approaching her from behind. "Think I deserve a little reward for my troubles, don't you?" Her head is bowed slightly, dark hair falling forward, obscuring her expression, but you see the way her shoulders tense almost imperceptibly. You stop right behind her, your gaze fixed on the perfect curve of her ass, cheeks flushed pink, held high in the air. The sight is fucking perfect. Pure temptation, deliberately offered yet radiating a nervous energy.

This view alone is almost reward enough. Almost.

You reach out, placing both hands firmly on her hips, fingers digging slightly into the soft flesh above the hip bones. She flinches slightly but holds her position. Then you slide your hands down, cupping the full weight of her ass cheeks, squeezing possessively. They’re firm, toned from hours of dancing, yet incredibly soft beneath your palms.

"Yeah," you murmur, leaning down close to her ear, your breath ghosting over her skin. "Definitely need a reward." You give her left cheek a hard squeeze. "And I know exactly what I want." You feel her tense up immediately, a silent don't you dare vibe radiating off her. "Think I'm gonna use this pretty little asshole today," you state matter-of-factly, your thumb pressing pointedly right near the tight pucker nestled between her cheeks. She flinches violently this time, trying to pull away slightly, her head whipping around to glare at you over her shoulder.

"Like hell you are!" she snaps, the bratty facade slamming back into place hard. "Forget it! No-fucking-way!" It's cute, her defiance, especially when you can feel the nervous tremors running through her body beneath your hands. You know this is more about the shock, the boundary pushing, than actual refusal. You just need to nudge her past the initial fear.

So you act. Your open palm connects sharply with her right ass cheek, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room. A startled cry bursts from her lips, followed immediately by a low, involuntary moan of pleasure that betrays her true feelings. The pink flush on her cheek deepens instantly to a bright red handprint.

"See?" you say softly, leaning close again, stroking the stinging flesh gently now with your fingertips. "Your body doesn't lie, even when your mouth does." You slide your hand down between her legs from behind, your fingers brushing against her still-damp cunt lips, making her gasp and squirm. "Stop acting like you don't want this just as much as I do."

She shakes her head stubbornly, though her breathing is noticeably faster now. "I don't..." she starts, but her voice lacks conviction. "Be nice," she adds quickly, almost a plea, shifting her weight nervously. "If you're... if you're gonna do it, at least be gentle." A negotiation.

Progress.

"Gentle? After the stunt you pulled today? After making me chase you down, deny you…" Your hand slides slowly up her back, tracing the delicate knobs of her spine, sending shivers across her skin. "…I don't know if you've earned gentle, baby girl." You pause, letting the implication hang in the air, feeling her tremble beneath your touch. "But maybe," you continue, "maybe if you admit you want it. Admit you want my cock stretching that tight little hole. Tell me you want me to use your ass."

She stays silent, chewing on her lower lip, clearly warring with herself. The idea excites her, you know it does, but the vulnerability, the submission required, still makes her hesitate.

Fine. You lift your hand again.

This time on the other cheek, just as hard, leaving another matching handprint. She cries out again, louder this time, arching her back, her hips pushing back against you reflexively.

"Okay! Okay!" she gasps out, desperation tinging her voice. "Fuck! Just… just make me come! Please! If you… if you do that… just promise you'll make me come after. Properly this time!"

Ah, framing it as a means to an end. Her way of conceding while still maintaining a sliver of control, linking it back to the orgasm you denied her. Clever little brat.

"Oh, I'll make you come, Chaewon," you promise darkly, sliding your hand back down to cup her stinging ass cheek. "Believe me. You'll be screaming before I'm done with you." You lean forward, pressing your hardening cock against the cleft of her ass, letting her feel your intention. "But first," you growl possessively, "Daddy gets his reward." You pull back slightly. She stays frozen, hands planted firmly on the mattress, ass still high, waiting. You bring your fingers to your mouth, wetting them thoroughly with spit, before reaching down again. She flinches as your wet fingers make contact with her tight, wrinkled anus, smearing the slick saliva around the delicate opening. She whimpers softly, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Relax," you murmur, though there’s no real gentleness in your tone. You spread her cheeks slightly with the fingers of one hand, exposing the tiny, dark pucker fully. Then, you lower your head. Her whole body tenses, anticipating penetration, but instead, your tongue darts out, flicking directly against the tight knot of her asshole. She cries out, a sharp, shocked sound, her hips jerking violently.

You ignore her reaction, pressing your mouth firmly against her, your tongue swirling, licking, probing relentlessly at the forbidden flesh. You taste the faint saltiness of her skin, mixed with the slight sweetness of your own spit. You lap at the entrance, circling it, teasing it, dipping the very tip of your tongue against the resistant opening, making her gasp and squirm, her knuckles white where she grips the bedsheets as you begin to meticulously, thoroughly rim her perfect little asshole.

Your tongue works relentlessly, meticulously exploring every fold and crevice of her tight little asshole. You lap and swirl, sometimes flicking the tip directly against the stubborn pucker, other times applying broad, wet strokes that leave glistening trails of saliva on her flushed skin. Her initial violent flinch gives way to a series of involuntary shudders and twitches.

Her hips jerk sporadically, little uncontrolled movements that betray the intense, unfamiliar sensations overwhelming her system. Muffled sounds vibrate through the mattress as she presses her face into the pillows: strangled gasps, low whimpers, sounds that are halfway between protest and burgeoning pleasure. Her knuckles are bone-white where she grips the hotel sheets, her only anchor in this storm of forbidden stimulation. The bratty defiance she tried to cling to just moments ago is dissolving rapidly under the sheer focused intimacy of your mouth on such a taboo part of her body.

Satisfied that you’ve thoroughly worshipped, teased, and prepared her with your mouth, you lift your head slightly. Her skin is flushed a deep red where your mouth was, glistening with spit. You bring your hand back up, spitting generously onto your fingers again, ensuring they’re thoroughly slick. She must sense the shift in intent because she tenses again, her whole body going rigid beneath you.

"Easy now," you murmur. You place the tip of your middle finger directly against her entrance. It’s incredibly tight, clenched shut reflexively. "Just breathe for me, Chaewon. Relax that pretty little ass." You apply steady pressure, not forcing, but firmly pushing against the resistance. She lets out a sharp, choked gasp, her breath hitching, her hips trying to buck away instinctively.

"No… wait… fuck, that's…" she whimpers into the pillow, the words barely coherent. You hold the pressure steady, not pushing further yet, just letting her feel the blunt intrusion pressing insistently against her unwilling muscle. Your other hand comes up, splaying across her lower back, pressing down gently but firmly, keeping her in place, preventing escape. "Shhh. Just relax. Let it happen," you command softly, continuing to push with infinite patience.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tight ring of muscle begins to yield. You feel the initial, intense resistance lessen almost imperceptibly as she forces herself to unclench, perhaps driven more by your command and the inevitability of the situation than actual desire at this point. You push your fingertip just inside, breaking the seal. She cries out again, a sharp, wounded sound this time, her whole body shuddering violently. You pause immediately, letting her adjust to the strange, invasive fullness. Your finger is only partially inside, but it’s enough. Enough to stretch her, enough to make her acutely aware of the intrusion. You keep your hand steady on her back, murmuring low words of encouragement mixed with possessive praise.

"That's it… good girl… taking it for me…"

After a long moment, her ragged breathing starts to even out slightly, the violent trembling lessening, though she still feels incredibly tense beneath your hands. Carefully, you push your finger deeper, sliding it slowly all the way in until your knuckle rests against her slick flesh. Her reaction is less sharp this time, more of a long, low groan that vibrates deep in her chest. You start to move your finger inside her, just a slight curl, a gentle probing, exploring the tight, virgin passage. The inner walls clench around your digit instinctively, hot and incredibly snug.

You add more spit to your thumb and forefinger, then bring your forefinger up to join the middle one, pressing the second tip against her opening alongside the first. This renewed pressure makes her gasp and tense all over again, her head lifting slightly from the pillow to look back at you, eyes wide and pleading.

"Too much… please…" she whispers, her voice strained. But beneath the fear, beneath the discomfort, you see something else flickering in those dark eyes. A spark of intense, almost horrified arousal. The taboo nature of it, the slight pain mixed with the undeniable intimacy, is starting to override her fear, starting to tap into that deeper, darker well of desire she tries so hard to keep hidden behind the bratty facade.

"You can take it," you state calmly, confidently, leaving no room for argument. You push again, slowly, relentlessly, working the second fingertip past the resistant ring of muscle. She cries out again, arching her back, her knuckles white on the sheets. But this time, there’s a different quality to the sound; less pain, more overwhelmed sensation. You finally slide the second finger all the way in beside the first. Two fingers filling her tight asshole, stretching her significantly. You keep them still for a moment, letting her body accommodate the increased fullness. Then, slowly, you begin to flex them, scissoring them slightly, putting pressure on the thin wall separating her ass from her cunt.

That does it. A low, guttural moan rumbles up from her chest, completely involuntary. Her hips, instead of trying to pull away, give a small, tentative push back against your fingers. Just a slight pressure, but it’s unmistakable.

Acceptance.

Desire overriding discomfort.

The bratty idol is gone, replaced by pure, raw lust responding to the intense, forbidden stimulation. Her moans become lower, throatier, less about protest and more about the overwhelming sensations flooding her body. Her breathing quickens again, turning into shallow pants. She’s melting. Unraveling. The careful walls she maintains crumbling under the focused pressure of your fingers buried deep inside her ass, stretching her, prepping her, making her body betray her mind as pure sensation takes over.

Your two fingers move inside her tight passage, flexing, stretching, exploring the surprisingly yielding muscle deep within. It's fucking mesmerizing, watching your own fingers disappear inside her asshole, feeling the intense, almost suffocating heat clenching around them. You work them slowly at first, a gentle scissoring motion, letting her body grow accustomed to the feeling of being filled in such a forbidden way. Her initial panicked tension gradually bleeds away, replaced by something else entirely. The moans vibrating up from her chest lose their edge of fear and discomfort, deepening into low, guttural sounds of pure, overwhelmed sensation.

Her hips start to move, not pulling away anymore, but rocking back against your hand in a slow, tentative rhythm, chasing the pressure, seeking more. The bratty facade, the nervous fear—it’s all gone now, stripped away by the raw intensity of the taboo act, leaving only base instinct and burgeoning lust. She’s completely lost in the feeling, face pressed into the mattress, ass high, body trembling not with fear, but with sheer, unadulterated arousal.

"Fuck, Chae," you grunt, watching the way her muscles clench and ripple around your fingers. "You feel so fucking good like this. So tight." You slide your fingers out slightly, then push back in deeper, eliciting another long, throaty moan from her. Yeah, she's enjoying this now, whether she fully admits it to herself or not. The proof is in the way her body responds, the way her sounds have turned undeniably hot, the way she’s unconsciously pushing back against your touch.

Time to push her a little further.

You draw your fingers almost all the way out, the wet sucking sound loud in the room, making her whine in protest. "Think you're ready for a third?" you ask, already reaching to slick another finger with spit. You see her head lift slightly, enough to glance back at you over her shoulder, eyes wide and dark. Panic flickers there again, but it's mixed with something else now, a desperate, almost frantic need.

"No!" she gasps out, shaking her head frantically. "No more fingers! Please! It's… it's too much!" Her voice trembles, on the verge of tears again, but not from pain. It's the overwhelming stimulation, the feeling of being stretched, filled, pushed towards an edge she’s never experienced before. "Please," she begs, "just… just use your cock now. Please! I need… I need you. Not more fingers. Fuck me. Just fuck me now!"

Hmm. She wants the real thing now, the thick fullness of your cock replacing the probing intrusion of your fingers. You pause, holding her gaze.

"You sure about that?" you ask, testing her resolve one last time. "It's gonna be tight, baby girl. Tighter than you can imagine."

She nods frantically, tears finally spilling, tracking paths down her temples into her hair. "Yes! Yes, I'm sure! I don't care! Just… please! I need you inside me. Need you to make me cum. Fuck me!"

Alright then. If she’s begging for it…

Slowly, carefully, you withdraw your fingers from her tight, stretched opening. The slick flesh puckers slightly as your digits slide free, leaving her momentarily empty, whining softly at the loss of sensation. You shift your weight, getting into position behind her, grabbing your already hard cock, thick and throbbing, slick with precum. You add a generous amount of spit to the head and shaft, then reach down and smear more onto her abused, glistening asshole, ensuring the entrance is as slick as possible. You position the thick, blunt head of your cock right against the opening, the very same spot your tongue and fingers were just moments ago. She feels the pressure, the heat, and lets out a shaky, anticipatory breath, her whole body tensing like a drawn bowstring.

"Okay," you murmur, placing your hands firmly on her hips again to steady her, and yourself. "Easy now. Just breathe. Take me."

You push forward slowly, incredibly slowly. The head of your cock meets the fierce resistance of her virgin sphincter. It’s unbelievably tight, a tiny, stubborn ring of muscle determined to deny you entry. Much tighter than your fingers, much tighter than her cunt ever was. You push harder, steadily, feeling the muscle fight back, refusing to yield easily. Chaewon cries out, a sharp, high-pitched sound of intense pressure bordering on pain, her nails digging crescent moons into the mattress.

"Fuck! It… it hurts…" she gasps, trying to pull forward slightly.

"Shhh, I know, baby. Just for a second. Breathe," you command softly but firmly, holding her hips steady, preventing her escape. You maintain the pressure, unwavering, feeling the tiny muscle begin to stretch, to quiver, to finally, reluctantly, give way just enough. With a final, determined push, the wide head of your cock pops through the resistant ring, burying itself just inside her asshole.

She screams, a raw, torn sound muffled by the pillow, her entire body locking up, rigid with the shock and intense stretching sensation.

"FUCK!! Oh god…" she chokes out, trembling violently. You immediately still, holding yourself there, just the head buried inside her scorching heat, letting her body adjust, letting the initial sharp pain subside into an intense, overwhelming fullness.

"You okay?" you ask. She doesn't answer verbally, just gives a jerky little nod, her breathing coming in harsh, rapid pants.

After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only thirty seconds, you feel the iron clench of her inner muscles ease almost imperceptibly. The violent trembling lessens slightly. Taking that as your cue, you start to push again, millimeter by agonizing millimeter, sliding deeper into the incredibly tight, virgin passage. It’s like pushing through hot, wet velvet lined with steel. Every inch is a battle, stretching muscles that have never accommodated anything like this before. She groans continuously now, low, guttural sounds ripped from her throat, her hips twitching uncontrollably.

You push until you’re buried halfway inside her, the sheer friction and tightness almost unbearable for you both. You pause again, letting her adjust.

"That's it… taking my cock in your tight little ass… fuck, you feel so good, Chae… so fucking tight…" Slowly, tentatively, you begin to move, just a slight withdrawal, then a slow push back in. Not thrusting yet, just… moving. Letting her feel the friction, the fullness, the strange intimacy of being fucked in her tightest, most forbidden place. Her groans start to change subtly. The edge of pain is still there, but it's being overlaid with something else now. A lower, throatier sound. A gasp that sounds suspiciously like pleasure. She pushes back against you slightly, a tiny, almost involuntary movement.

"Oh… fuck…" she breathes out, the words shaky. "That… feels…" She doesn't finish the sentence, but you can see it in the way her body is starting to subtly respond, the way her tension is morphing into something else. Despite the intensity, despite the initial pain, despite everything… she’s starting to enjoy it. The slow, careful invasion, the anal sex she begged for, is starting to ignite a different kind of fire within her.

You continue to move with excruciating slowness, each careful slide in and out a deliberate exploration, a gradual claiming of this new, incredibly tight territory. Your cock feels ridiculously thick, almost too big, encased in her scorching, virgin heat. The muscles inside her clench and flutter around you with every subtle shift of your hips, involuntary spasms that betray the intensity of the sensations bombarding her system. You withdraw further than before, pulling almost completely out until just the swollen head remains inside, stretching the abused opening, before slowly, inexorably pushing back in, sinking deeper this time, aiming for the hilt.

She cries out at the renewed pressure, the feeling of being stretched further than before, her hands gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles are bloodless. But the sound is different now. The sharp edge of pain is still there, undeniably, a high-pitched whine woven through the sound, but it’s underpinned by a lower, throatier moan that speaks of something else entirely. Pleasure. Dark, unexpected, overwhelming pleasure rising up to meet the pain.

"Fuck..." she groans into the pillow, the word drawn out, husky. "It's so… so full…" Her hips give another tentative push back against you as you slide deep, a movement that’s clearly instinctive now, her body seeking more despite the intensity.

"Yeah?" you grunt, keeping your pace slow, torturous. "Feeling good now, baby girl? Starting to understand why I wanted this so bad?"

She shakes her head, though the movement lacks conviction. "It… hurts," she gasps, but then immediately contradicts herself with another low moan as you grind down slightly, putting pressure on her prostate through the thin rectal wall. "But… fuck… don't… don't stop."

There it is. The admission.

The confusion melting into need.

You oblige, continuing the slow, deep strokes, focusing on stretching her, letting her body acclimate, letting that strange, addictive ache build within her. You watch the muscles in her back ripple, the way her ass cheeks clench with each deep invasion.

Gradually, tentatively, you increase the range of your motion, pulling further out, thrusting deeper in, the pace quickening almost imperceptibly. With each slightly faster, slightly deeper stroke, her reactions intensify. Her moans become less inhibited, louder, echoing slightly in the luxurious hotel room. Her hips lift higher off the bed, pushing back against you with more force now, actively meeting your thrusts, demanding more. The initial discomfort seems forgotten, burned away by the sheer intensity of the friction, the feeling of being filled so completely, so tightly, in a way she’s never experienced before. It’s pushing buttons she didn’t even know she had.

"More," she suddenly gasps out, the word sharp, desperate. You pause fractionally, surprised by the sudden demand.

"More what?" you ask, pulling back slowly again, teasing her. "More pain? More pleasure?"

She twists her head to look back at you, eyes wild, glazed over, pupils blown wide. The bratty defiance is completely gone. "Both!" she cries, her voice cracking. "Fuck, just… go deeper! Harder! It hurts, but… I need it! Please!"

Her plea, her sudden craving for the intense mixture of pain and pleasure, sends a jolt of dark satisfaction straight through you. She’s finally letting go, embracing the anal, embracing the intensity she secretly craves.

"Oh?" you say, a low chuckle rumbling in your chest as you oblige, slamming back into her with more force than before, burying your cock to the root. She screams, a raw, unfiltered sound this time, her back bowing violently.

"FUCK YES! LIKE THAT!" she pants, already pushing back against you as you withdraw slightly.

"Knew you had this twisted little streak in you," you growl, picking up the pace now, fucking her with more purpose, less caution. The slow stretching phase is over. Now it’s about feeding that burgeoning need she just confessed. Your thrusts become faster, harder, driving into her tight asshole relentlessly. The wet, slapping sounds intensify, mingling with her increasingly frantic moans and gasps. Each impact resonates through her body, through yours. It's still incredibly tight, the friction almost overwhelming, but her body is accommodating you now, slick juices mingling with your spit, easing the passage just enough for the rougher pace.

"Deeper!" she demands between ragged breaths, bucking her hips back against you violently with each thrust. "Harder! Don't be gentle anymore! PUNISH ME!”

Her words, her explicit begging for a rougher fucking, for the punishment she initially resisted, push you closer to your own edge. You oblige her demands, your thrusts turning punishing, slamming into her without reservation, your hips colliding with her stinging ass cheeks. You reach down, grabbing her hips firmly again, controlling her movements, angling her body perfectly to take the full force of your assault. She’s crying out continuously now, a litany of "fuck," "yes," "more," "harder," interspersed with high-pitched keening sounds as you hammer into her relentlessly. The pain is definitely still there, you can see it in the way she grits her teeth, the tension in her shoulders, but it’s being consumed by the pleasure, by the sheer overwhelming intensity of your cock violating her tightest passage, stretching her, filling her, driving her absolutely insane, exactly the way she just begged you to.

You continue hammering into her tight asshole, the pace relentless now, feeding off her desperate pleas for more, for harder, for deeper. Each thrust slams your pubic bone against her stinging ass cheeks, the impact echoing the sharp smacks you start delivering again with your free hand. Another bright red handprint blooms on her flesh. She cries out, a raw sound that’s equal parts pain and pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

"Look at me," you command, then you give another violent slap. "Turn your fucking head and look at me while I fuck your ass!"

She hesitates for only a fraction of a second before obeying, twisting her neck, her sweat-dampened dark brown hair falling across her face as she forces herself to meet your gaze over her shoulder. And fuck… the look in her eyes. It hits you like a physical blow. Gone is the idol, gone is the brat, gone is even the desperate negotiator from moments ago. What’s left is pure, raw submission. Her eyes are wide, hazy, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the brown irises. They’re swimming with a potent cocktail of pleasure so intense it borders on agony, mixed with a dawning awareness and acceptance of her role in this moment. She looks utterly debased, completely wrecked, like a used little whore feeling nothing but the overwhelming pleasure of having her tightest hole brutally claimed.

Seeing her like that, so beautifully broken and openly craving the degradation, sends a fresh wave of scorching lust tearing through you.

Your cock pulses inside her already impossibly tight sheath. "Fuck, yes," you hiss, your pace increasing further, turning frantic. Your thrusts become punishingly deep, aiming to bruise, to overwhelm. More slaps rain down on her already vividly marked ass, the sharp sounds punctuating your relentless rhythm. "That's what you are, isn't it?" you sneer, leaning close to her ear again. "Just my dirty little whore. Taking my cock up your ass like you were born for it."

Instead of flinching or protesting, a broken sob escapes her lips, quickly followed by a breathless affirmation. "Yes! Yes… I am… your whore…" she chokes out. "Please… Master… make me cum! Please, I need it!" Hearing her call you Master, hearing her own the degrading label while begging for release… it’s almost enough to make you lose it right then and there. But not yet.

She needs to cum first.

"Oh, I'll make you cum, slut," you promise her. "You'll fucking scream for me."

You start pounding her then, truly pounding, all semblance of control dissolving into pure, animalistic need (yours and hers). You fuck her asshole with a brutal intensity that borders on violence, each thrust seemingly aimed at rearranging her insides. She screams, raw, throat-tearing screams that are muffled slightly as she buries her face back into the pillows, unable to maintain eye contact under the sheer force of the assault. Her body convulses around your cock, muscles clenching desperately, threatening to tear under the strain. Your handprints stand out starkly against her flushed skin, angry red marks blooming across her perfect ass, a visible testament to the punishment she craved.

"Yes! Punish me! H-harder! Plea—!" she manages to scream between ragged gasps, her words barely coherent but her intent crystal clear. She’s reveling in it now, chasing the overwhelming sensation, the pain amplifying the pleasure into something almost transcendent. As you continue your relentless assault, feeling her inner muscles clench tighter and tighter, signaling her own approaching climax, she suddenly cries out again, a different note in her voice. "Wait! Please… touch me! Touch my pussy… need it… please, while you fuck my ass!"

Without missing a beat, your free hand dives down between her legs, fingers easily finding her soaking wet cunt. She’s dripping, slick juices coating her inner thighs. Your fingers slide inside her effortlessly, finding her G-spot almost immediately while your thumb presses hard against her throbbing clit.

"Like this, whore?" you growl, starting to finger her rhythmically, matching the brutal pace of your cock pounding her ass. "Want me to fuck both your holes at once?"

The combination is instantaneous and explosive. Her screams turn into high-pitched, incoherent shrieks. Her whole body locks up, seized by tremors.

"YES! FUCK! I'M GONNA CUM! I'M FUCKING CUMMING!"

You look down at her writhing form, at your fingers buried in her slick cunt, your cock buried deep in her violated ass. "That's right!" you roar, feeling your own climax roaring up your spine, hot and unstoppable. "Fucking whore! Cumming with my cock rammed up your asshole!"

She screams back, delirious, "I AM! I AM YOUR WHORE! FUCK!" Her inner muscles clench violently around your cock and fingers as her orgasm rips through her, a massive, shuddering wave that seems to go on forever.

Seeing her come apart like that, screaming your name, calling herself your whore, completely shattered by the pleasure and degradation, is the final trigger. Your own control snaps completely. With a final, guttural roar, you pound deep inside her one last time, your hips slamming against her ass as your balls tighten, unleashing a thick, heavy torrent of hot cum deep within her ravaged asshole. You feel the pulsing release flood her tight passage, filling her completely. You keep thrusting even as you come, maybe three or four more deep, shuddering strokes, chasing that incredible friction, milking every last drop of seed into her.

Finally, utterly spent, you collapse partially on top of her, your cock still buried deep inside her, both of you panting heavily, drenched in sweat, the room thick with the smell of sex and spent exertion. You stay like that for several long moments, your chest heaving, feeling the residual spasms of her orgasm clenching weakly around your softening cock. She feels completely boneless beneath you, utterly fucked out.

Slowly, reluctantly, you pull out of her asshole. The withdrawal creates a wet, sucking sound, and immediately, thick, creamy white ropes of your cum begin to leak out from the abused opening, running down between her ass cheeks onto the already stained sheets. You watch it for a second, a possessive satisfaction settling deep in your gut. Then, leaning down, you dip two fingers into the warm, sticky puddle leaking from her. You straighten up slightly, reaching forward. She stirs slightly as you gently turn her head to the side. Then, deliberately, you smear the sticky mixture of your seed and her slickness across her cheek, leaving a glistening, pearly white streak from her cheekbone down towards her kiss-swollen lips.

A final, degrading mark of ownership.

Your reward.

You stay poised over her for a long moment, watching the faint tremor that still runs through her exhausted limbs, listening to her ragged breathing slowly, gradually evening out. The harsh lines of anger and possessive fury on your own face soften as you take in the aftermath. Her cheek glistens obscenely with the mark you left, her ass is a canvas of angry red handprints, her body utterly spent beneath you. The primal urge that drove the last hour begins to recede, replaced by a wave of something softer, more protective. This is the other side of the coin, the necessary balance to the intensity you both crave. Gently, carefully, you slide off the bed, the movement pulling your still-softening cock fully free from her abused asshole with another wet sound. You ignore the mess on the sheets for now, rounding the bed to where she lies, still mostly curled on her front, face turned away.

You reach down, placing a hand softly on her shoulder. She flinches almost imperceptibly, a lingering echo of the tension, before relaxing slightly under your familiar touch.

"Hey," you murmur softly, your voice returning to its normal timbre, stripped of the earlier harshness. You gently nudge her, encouraging her to roll onto her side, facing you. Her movements are slow, sluggish, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. Her eyes flutter open, meeting yours. They’re still hazy, but the wild, desperate look is gone, now you can see a profound weariness and a soft vulnerability that always tugs at something deep inside you.

Carefully, you slide onto the bed beside her, gathering her limp body into your arms, pulling her close against your chest. She sighs, a long, shaky exhalation, melting into your embrace, burying her face against your shoulder. You hold her tight, just letting her feel your solid presence, your warmth. After a few moments of silence, punctuated only by your steady breathing, you press a soft kiss to her sweat-dampened forehead.

"You okay, Chae?" you whisper against her skin. She nods weakly against your shoulder, not speaking yet. Just taking comfort. You smooth her tangled hair back from her face, taking in the sight of her; wrecked, yes, utterly ruined from the intensity of your fucking, makeup smudged, lips swollen, cheek marked… but still breathtakingly beautiful.

"How's… how's your ass feel?" you ask quietly, your hand drifting down to rest gently on her lower back, careful not to touch the still-stinging handprints yet. She shifts slightly in your arms, a soft wince crossing her features.

"Burning," she mumbles, her voice muffled against your chest, slightly hoarse. She pauses, then adds, almost shyly, "But… but it felt good. Really good. Eventually." A small, tired smile touches her lips, a flicker of the satisfaction beneath the exhaustion and soreness.

You smile back, tightening your hug fractionally. "Yeah?" you murmur. "You were fucking amazing, baby girl. Took it all like a champ." You pull back just enough to look at her face again, gently tilting her chin up with your finger. "Still so beautiful," you whisper, meaning it with every fiber of your being. "Even now. Especially now."

Her eyes soften further, a genuine warmth filling them, chasing away the last shadows of the intense scene. "You mean so much to me, hope you know this," she whispers, the words soft but clear, carrying the weight of everything that exists between you; the chaos, the intensity, the darkness, and this quiet tenderness. Leaning down, you press the tip of your nose gently against hers, an eskimo kiss, intimate and sweet.

"You mean a lot to me too, Chaewon," you reply sincerely.

You start peppering little kisses across her face; her eyelids, her temples, the tip of her nose, her other cheek, carefully avoiding the cum-smeared one for now. You kiss her shoulders, the curve of her neck, lingering wherever she sighs softly or leans into the touch. Your hands stroke her back gently, soothingly, tracing patterns on her skin. You feel the tension slowly seeping out of her muscles, her body relaxing fully into yours, seeking comfort and reassurance after the storm.

She nuzzles closer, sighing contentedly. "Okay," she murmurs after a while, her voice stronger now, though still laced with exhaustion. "You punished me." It’s a simple statement of fact, acknowledging the preceding events without judgment. "Now I need affection," she continues, tilting her head back slightly to look up at you, a familiar glint of demanding expectation returning to her eyes, though softened by vulnerability. "Need you to make me feel better. Fix me."

It’s her way of asking for aftercare, framing it within the dynamic: the punishment phase is over, now comes the reward, the recovery, the gentle attention she craves just as much as the roughness.

You nod, understanding completely. "Yeah?" you ask softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "Gonna take care of you." You punctuate the promise with another soft kiss, this time on her lips, slow and tender, a stark contrast to the bruising kisses from earlier. She sighs into the kiss, melting completely, ready to receive the gentle care she needs, and that you’re more than ready to give.

—

The next few days are a whirlwind of tightly packed schedules as the Japan promotion continues its relentless pace. You move between cities—long car trips, followed by the familiar routine of hotel check-ins, venue walkthroughs, rehearsals, and performances. Amidst the controlled chaos you orchestrate, you find a private, ongoing source of amusement: watching Kim Chaewon navigate the lingering aftermath of your intense "punishment" session.

It’s subtle, mostly. She’s a professional, pushing through the demanding choreography with her usual fierce energy, hitting every mark, captivating the cameras. But you notice things. The slight hesitation before she drops into a deep squat during one particularly grueling dance break. The almost imperceptible wince when she has to sit down quickly on a hard stool during a backstage interview segment.

The way she shifts her weight very carefully when settling into van seats for transit, trying to find a position that doesn’t put direct pressure on her still-tender backside. She tries to hide it, of course, maintaining her bright idol facade, but you see it. You know her body too well, know the specific brand of soreness that kind of intense fucking leaves behind.

During a rehearsal break, while the other girls are clustered around a monitor reviewing playback with the performance director, you catch her carefully lowering herself onto a bench, biting her lip slightly. You’re standing nearby, discussing lighting cues with a tech, but you pause, catching her eye. You raise a single eyebrow, a silent, questioning smirk playing on your lips. Her eyes widen fractionally before narrowing into a glare. A faint pink flush creeps up her neck. She quickly looks away, pretending to be intensely interested in stretching her hamstrings, though her movements look suspiciously stiff.

Later, waiting to go on stage for a music show performance, she’s standing near you, adjusting her mic pack. "Everything okay there, champ?" you murmur quietly, pitching your voice so only she can hear over the backstage buzz. "Moving a little... carefully today."

"Shut up," she hisses back under her breath, her cheeks flushing again. "It's your fault, asshole." Despite the insult, there’s no real heat behind it, just embarrassment and a flicker of something else… maybe a reluctant acknowledgment of the pleasure mixed with the pain. You just chuckle softly. Seeing her slightly flustered, knocked off her usual bratty pedestal by the physical reminder of your time together, is definitely an enjoyable perk of the job.

The tour progresses. Another city, another round of fan signs, interviews, variety show appearances. You keep things professional, maintaining your distance during work hours, focusing on logistics, schedules, managing staff. But the awareness between you two remains, a live wire humming just beneath the surface. Those stolen glances across crowded rooms, the brief brushes of fingers disguised as accidental contact, the silent promises exchanged in fleeting moments; it all continues, building a quiet tension alongside the public demands of their careers.

Finally, there’s a slightly less frantic day scheduled, focused mainly on internal meetings and practice ahead of the next major performance. You book one of the hotel's large, mirrored dance studios for a mid-afternoon session with the group to review recent performance footage and discuss upcoming choreography changes. You head there early yourself, wanting to get the tech set up, projector, speakers, monitors, before the girls arrive. You figure you have a good twenty minutes before anyone else is due. The studio is vast, empty, sunlight streaming through the large windows overlooking the Tokyo skyline. You're busy fiddling with cables connected to a laptop when the door clicks open softly behind you. You glance back, expecting a staff member, maybe one of the choreographers.

But it's Chaewon. Alone. She slips inside, closing the door quietly behind her, leaning back against it for a moment. She’s dressed down in loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, hair tied back casually, looking younger, softer than her stage persona. But there’s nothing soft about the look in her eyes as she pushes off the door and starts walking slowly towards you across the polished wooden floor.

It’s that look.

The one you saw on the plane just before she followed you into the bathroom. The one you saw at the hotel just before you dragged her to your room. It’s predatory, challenging, and utterly focused on you. No greeting, no explanation for being so early. She just stalks towards you, purpose radiating from her small frame. She stops a few feet away, tilting her head slightly, studying you. Her gaze is intense, unwavering. You straighten up from the laptop, meeting her stare, a sense of wary anticipation prickling your skin.

You know this look.

You know what it means.

"Something I can help you with, Chaewon?" you ask, keeping your tone carefully neutral, though your heart rate picks up slightly. "Meeting's not for another twenty minutes." She doesn't answer immediately, just continues to watch you, a slow, deliberate smirk starting to spread across her face. It’s the bratty smirk, the one that promises trouble, the one that always precedes her doing something impulsive and usually inappropriate.

Finally, she speaks, voice low and husky, cutting straight through the quiet studio air. "Yeah," she says, taking another step closer, invading your personal space. "You can help me." She pauses, letting the tension hang heavy between you, her eyes darkening with undisguised need. "I'm horny," she states bluntly, the words hitting you with the force of a physical blow. "Like, really, really fucking horny. And it's all your fault.”

You just stare at her for a second, the sheer audacity of it, the way she stands there radiating pure, unfiltered need mixed with that infuriating bratty confidence. A slow smirk spreads across your face. Fault? Maybe. But fuck, if this is the consequence, you’ll take the blame every damn time.

"My fault, huh?" you repeat, stepping forward, closing the remaining distance between you until you're crowding her space, backing her up against the sturdy table holding your laptop and the projector. "So I guess it's my responsibility to fix it then."

"Damn right it is," she breathes, her hands coming up to fist in the front of your shirt, pulling you even closer.

There's no room for hesitation, no thought given to the fact that you're in a professional space, that the rest of the group is due any minute. Your mouth crashes down on hers, rough and demanding, swallowing the surprised gasp that escapes her lips.

She meets your intensity instantly, kissing you back with a desperate, frantic energy, teeth clashing slightly, tongues tangling in a wet, messy battle for dominance. Her hands scrabble at your belt buckle while yours yank impatiently at the drawstring of her loose sweatpants. Fabric rustles, metal clinks. You break the kiss only long enough to shove her sweats and panties down her thighs in one messy bundle, kicking them aside. Simultaneously, she manages to pop the button on your jeans, yanking the zipper down with surprising strength.

You groan into her mouth as her cool fingers brush against your already straining cock, freeing you from the confines of your boxers. There's no time for finesse, no room for foreplay beyond the frantic kissing and fumbling. You hike her up slightly, lifting her onto the edge of the table amidst the scattered cables and paperwork. She wraps her legs around your waist instantly, her bare skin smooth against the rough denim of your jeans. You position yourself, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance, already slick and ready (apparently her declaration wasn't an exaggeration). With a low growl, you thrust forward, burying yourself inside her familiar heat in one smooth, deep stroke.

She cries out, arching back against the table, head thrown back, ponytail falling across her shoulder. "Fuck! Yes!" The sound bounces off the mirrored walls, loud and unrestrained in the empty room. You start moving immediately, a fast, hard rhythm driven by pure, pent-up need. Your hands grip her hips, pulling her tighter against you with each driving thrust, making the table beneath her wobble precariously. Her hands clutch at your shoulders, nails digging in slightly as she rides out the initial onslaught.

The sounds of your bodies colliding, wet and percussive, fill the space, obscene and undeniable. You fuck her right there, half-sprawled across the tech setup, surrounded by mirrors reflecting the raw, urgent coupling from every angle. She meets your frantic pace, hips bucking, breath coming in ragged gasps, low moans tumbling from her lips. You’re maybe a minute into this frantic fucking, lost in the rhythm, in the heat, in the sight of Chaewon coming undone beneath you, when the unmistakable click of the practice room door opening cuts through the haze.

Shit.

Your rhythm falters for a split second. Chaewon freezes beneath you, eyes flying wide, a gasp caught in her throat. You both turn your heads towards the door. Standing there, framed in the doorway, are Sakura, Yunjin, and Kazuha. Sakura has one hand still on the doorknob, her expression caught between weary resignation and mild disbelief. Yunjin leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing, thoroughly amused smirk already spreading across her face. Kazuha, ever serene, simply blinks slowly, taking in the scene: you, pants half undone, buried deep inside Chaewon who’s sprawled half-naked on the equipment table, with quiet, unreadable neutrality.

The silence stretches for a beat, broken only by Chaewon’s shaky breathing and the distant sounds of the traffic far below.

"Seriously?" Sakura sighs, finally breaking the tension. "Right on the table with the meeting notes? Really?"

Yunjin pushes off the doorframe, sauntering further into the room. "Wow, Chae," she drawls, her smirk widening as her eyes rake over the scene. "Couldn't even wait twenty minutes? Someone's eager." Kazuha just shakes her head almost imperceptibly, moving silently towards the mirrored wall to start her usual pre-practice stretching routine, pointedly ignoring the spectacle in the center of the room.

Chaewon flushes scarlet, burying her face against your shoulder for a second, a flicker of genuine embarrassment warring with something else… a thrill. You feel it ripple through her body. This isn't the first time they've walked in on something, though perhaps never quite so… blatant. You look from the members back down to Chaewon. Her face is still hidden, but you feel her tremble slightly; not from fear, but from suppressed laughter or excitement. Fuck it. You’re already balls deep, she’s clearly not entirely opposed to an audience, and frankly, stopping now would be more awkward than just… continuing. Besides, you have a meeting to run.

You share a quick glance with Chaewon as she lifts her head slightly, her eyes gleaming with mischievous understanding. A slow, predatory grin spreads across her face now. Oh, she’s definitely into this. Game on. You tighten your grip on her hips, resuming your thrusts, slowly at first, then settling back into a steady, deep rhythm. Chaewon gasps again, arching into the movement, her eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping open, darting glances between you and her audience.

"Right," you announce, pitching your voice to carry across the room, adopting your normal, professional Manager-nim tone, completely ignoring the fact that you are currently fucking the group's leader on the meeting table. "Everyone find a seat, or, uh, just stand wherever. Kazuha, good, keep stretching. We need to go over the schedule for the next seventy-two hours." You continue fucking Chaewon, your cock sliding in and out of her tight, wet heat with smooth, deliberate strokes. She moans softly beneath you, biting her lip, her eyes glued to Yunjin and Sakura who are now reluctantly finding spots to sit on the floor near the wall, trying their best to look bored or annoyed, though Yunjin's smirk hasn't faded.

"Okay," you continue, pulling a stray itinerary sheet off the table from beside Chaewon’s hip, careful not to dislodge her. "Tomorrow morning, call time is 06:00 sharp. Vans leave for the TV station at 06:30." Each syllable is punctuated by a steady thrust deep inside Chaewon. You feel her clench around you, a shaky sigh escaping her lips. She deliberately pushes her hips up to meet your next thrust, making a louder, wetter sound echo in the room. Her eyes flick towards Sakura, a silent, bratty challenge in her gaze. Sakura just rolls her eyes dramatically and pointedly pulls out her phone.

"We have pre-recording from 07:30 until approximately 11:00," you continue reading from the sheet, adjusting your grip on Chaewon's thigh, angling her slightly for deeper access. She lets out a louder moan this time, digging her nails into your back. "Uh, please try to keep vocal cord strain minimal during the waiting periods. Water bottles are essential." You pause your thrusts momentarily to emphasize the point, looking directly at Yunjin, who raises an eyebrow skeptically.

"Minimal strain," Yunjin repeats dryly, her gaze flicking pointedly towards Chaewon, who is currently biting your shoulder to stifle a particularly loud gasp as you start moving again, faster this time. "Got it."

You ignore the sarcasm, resuming both the fucking and the briefing. "After pre-recording, we head directly to the Shibuya venue for soundcheck for tomorrow night's showcase. Soundcheck is scheduled for 13:00."

Chaewon is moaning almost continuously now, low, breathy sounds that she barely tries to hide. She throws her head back again, exposing the long line of her throat, her body slick with a fine sheen of sweat. She deliberately meets Kazuha’s serene gaze in the mirror, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she pushes back hard against your cock, her moans turning into performative little cries. Kazuha, incredibly, just continues her elegant stretches, seemingly unfazed, though a tiny smile plays on her lips.

"The showcase soundcheck should take about ninety minutes," you continue, your own voice becoming slightly strained as Chaewon starts writhing beneath you, actively chasing sensation. "Then we have a two-hour block for hair, makeup, and final wardrobe fittings back at the hotel before heading back to the venue." You punctuate the sentence with a particularly deep thrust that makes Chaewon scream your name, the sound sharp and shocking in the room.

Sakura jumps slightly, glaring first at Chaewon, then at you. "Could you maybe try to keep the… commentary… down?" she asks tightly, clearly losing her patience. "Some of us are trying to process actual information here."

Chaewon just laughs breathlessly, gripping your hair. "Sorry, Kura!" she calls out. "He's just hitting it really good right now!" You groan, burying your face in her neck for a second, trying to regain control of both the meeting and your own rapidly escalating arousal. This is insane. But fuck, it's hot. You lift your head, looking back at the itinerary, trying to focus.

"Right. Wardrobe. I’ll make sure the team has confirmed all accessory pairings by," you glance at your watch, your thrusts slowing slightly again to regain composure, "16:00 tomorrow." You slide one hand down between Chaewon's legs, fingers easily finding her slick, swollen clit amidst the chaos. She gasps sharply, hips bucking violently off the table as you start rubbing. Her eyes roll back in her head.

"Fuck! Yes, there!" she cries out.

"Okay, I think I'm gonna need noise-canceling headphones for the rest of this tour," Yunjin announces loudly, though she's watching the scene with undisguised fascination now.

You just keep fucking Chaewon, pounding into her relentlessly while your fingers work magic on her clit, pushing her higher and higher. The professional briefing is dissolving into primal sounds and movements. You glance at the itinerary again, trying to find your place. "Uh… post-showcase… dinner meeting with… Japanese label execs… check your updated schedules later tonight," you manage to get out between gritted teeth, feeling your own climax starting to build, fueled by her frantic moans, her exhibitionist pleasure, the sheer fucking audacity of doing this right here, right now, while simultaneously trying to conduct business.

She’s incredibly close, body trembling, whimpering incoherently now. She keeps glancing towards the others, her face flushed crimson, eyes glazed with a mixture of shame and intense pleasure. Knowing they're watching, knowing they can hear every wet slap, every choked moan, is clearly amplifying everything for her. "Also," you add, trying to maintain a shred of professionalism even as you feel Chaewon’s inner muscles begin to clench frantically around you, signaling her approaching orgasm, "remember the fan meet and greet event on Saturday requires the specific themed outfits discussed last week."

You punctuate this instruction with a series of faster, harder thrusts, deliberately pushing her closer to the edge, enjoying the way she gasps and claws at your back. Sakura groans and covers her face with her hands. Yunjin just shakes her head, laughing silently. Kazuha is now sitting calmly in a near-perfect split against the mirrored wall, seemingly meditating amidst the chaos.

The sheer normalcy of their reactions somehow makes the scene even hotter, more surreal. You continue fucking Chaewon, detailing flight times for the next leg of the tour, visa check reminders, and social media posting guidelines, all while she moans and squirms beneath you, thoroughly enjoying being the center of attention in the most debauched way possible, right in the middle of a scheduled work meeting.

Your fingers work her clit with frantic speed, mirroring the relentless pounding of your cock deep inside her. Chaewon is completely lost, gone, head thrown back, body convulsing around you, chasing that final, explosive release. Her breath comes in ragged, hitching sobs, her nails digging painfully into your back. All focus is on pushing her over that edge, on watching her completely shatter for you, for her reluctant audience.

"Yes! Fuck... almost there... almost..." she gasps, her voice strained to the breaking point. You give one last, brutal thrust, sinking your cock as deep as it will possibly go, while your thumb presses down with bruising force on that hypersensitive nub. That's all it takes.

"I'm—I’M CUMMING! Fuck-fuck-fuck! Oh god, yesssss!” Her scream rips through the practice room, high-pitched, primal, utterly unrestrained. Her entire body locks up, seized by violent, full-body spasms as her orgasm crashes over her in a massive, tidal wave. She convulses around your cock, her inner muscles clenching with shocking intensity, milking you, pulling you closer to your own brink. Her eyes are squeezed shut, face contorted in a mask of pure ecstasy so intense it looks like agony. She screams your name, over and over, mixed with incoherent pleas and praises, completely oblivious to anything but the overwhelming flood of pleasure racking her small frame.

Watching her come apart like that, so loud, so completely wrecked, combined with the sheer fucking audacity of doing this in front of everyone, finally shatters your own control. The pressure builds unbearably low in your balls, an unstoppable surge demanding release.

"Fuck!" you roar out, feeling the familiar tightening deep within. "Fuck, Chaewon, I'm gonna cum! Right now!"

Her orgasm is still shuddering through her, leaving her boneless and gasping, but your words cut through the haze. Her eyes snap open, glazed but instantly understanding. With a speed that defies her exhausted state, she scrambles off the table, legs shaky, nearly collapsing onto the floor. She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't pause to catch her breath. Doesn't even seem to register the other girls staring in stunned silence now. She immediately drops to her knees on the polished wooden floor right in front of you, landing with a soft thud, looking up at you with those wide, dark, completely debauched eyes. Her chest is heaving, sweat plasters strands of hair to her forehead, her lips are swollen and kiss-bruised, but her gaze is steady, expectant, ready. She tilts her head back slightly, offering her face, her mouth slightly open.

You don't need a second invitation. With another guttural groan ripping from your throat, you give your cock a few quick strokes, and then you explode. Thick, heavy ropes of hot cum shoot from the head of your cock, splattering across her upturned face. You pump furiously, emptying yourself onto her, coating her cheeks, her chin, her forehead, even tangling in her eyelashes and hair. Spurts hit her neck, dribbling down towards her chest. She doesn't flinch, doesn't turn away, just stays kneeling there, accepting the hot, sticky load, her eyes fluttering shut briefly as the thickest ropes hit her directly. Behind her, the previous nonchalance of the other members finally shatters. Sakura lets out an audible gasp, her hand flying to her mouth, eyes wide with genuine shock and maybe a touch of disgust.

"Oh my god! Seriously?!" Yunjin bursts out, her usual amused smirk replaced by wide-eyed disbelief, half-laughing, half-appalled. "Right in her face?! In front of us?!" Even Kazuha stops her stretching mid-pose, her serene mask cracking as she stares, her mouth slightly agape.

You finally sag forward slightly, bracing your hands on your knees, catching your breath, your cock still dripping the last remnants of your release. Below you, Chaewon remains kneeling, utterly still for a moment, her face a canvas of your thick, white seed. Then, slowly, deliberately, she opens her eyes. There's no shame there. No embarrassment. Only a profound, bone-deep satisfaction, a hazy glow of pleasure mixed with something else… triumph. She lifts a hand, not to wipe anything away, but to slowly, almost languidly, dip a finger into the thickest patch of cum on her cheek. She brings the finger to her lips, licking it clean with a contemplative expression, her eyes still locked on yours.

Then, with excruciating slowness, she turns her head, looking directly at Sakura, then Yunjin, then Kazuha. A slow, smug, utterly defiant smirk spreads across her cum-covered face. She holds their shocked gazes, practically radiating satisfaction, reveling in their reactions, letting them see her exactly like this: debased, used, marked, and absolutely fucking thrilled about it.

The statement hangs unspoken in the air: Yeah, he did this. To me. And you watched.

Sakura is the first to find her voice again, or rather, a strangled sound that’s somewhere between a gag and a sob. Her hand is still clamped over her mouth, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and utter disbelief.

"Chaewon! What in the actual FUCK?!" she finally splutters, voice muffled. "Are you serious right now? Right on your FACE?! With us watching?! My eyes… I think my retinas are permanently scarred!" She makes a little retching noise, turning slightly green.

Yunjin, who had been caught between shock and horrified laughter, finally lets out a loud, incredulous bark of laughter, though it’s tinged with genuine disbelief.

"Holy shit, Chae!" she exclaims, eyes darting between your dripping cock, Chaewon’s cum-smeared face, and your own slightly dazed expression. "You really are a different breed, aren't you? Zero fucks given. And Manager-nim! Bold move, sir! Very… direct." She fans herself dramatically with her hand. "I mean, I knew you two were freaks, but this? This is next-level. Emmy-worthy performance art, almost."

Even Kazuha, who had maintained her serene composure through most of the initial fucking, is visibly rattled. Her elegant stretching has completely stopped. She’s staring, mouth still slightly agape, her usual calm facade shattered into a million tiny pieces. A small, almost inaudible, "Jesus…" escapes her lips, which could mean anything from "amazing" to "horrifying" in this context. She blinks slowly, as if trying to process the image of her group leader kneeling, painted in your seed, looking utterly triumphant.

You finally manage to put your pants back on, trying to regain some sort of composure or morale. Below you, Chaewon remains kneeling, utterly still for a moment longer, her face a glistening canvas of your thick, white seed. Then, with excruciating, theatrical slowness, she turns her head, looking directly at Sakura, then Yunjin, then Kazuha. A slow, smug, utterly defiant smirk spreads across her cum-covered face. She holds their shocked gazes, practically radiating satisfaction, reveling in their reactions, letting them see her exactly like this: debased, used, marked, and absolutely fucking thrilled about it.

"What's wrong, girls?" Chaewon purrs. She deliberately licks a stray drip of cum from the corner of her lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't like the new makeup look? I think it’s rather fetching. Really brings out my eyes, don't you think?"

Sakura makes another gagging sound. "Fetching?! Chaewon, you look like a goddamn glazed donut that someone… violated! That’s his jizz all over your face! How can you be so… so… CALM?!"

"Calm?" Chaewon cocks her head, the picture of innocence if it weren't for the spunk artfully smeared across her features. "Oh, I'm far from calm, Kkura-chan. I'm actually feeling pretty fucking fantastic right now. Best facial I’ve had all tour, ten out of ten, would recommend." She winks at Yunjin.

Yunjin just shakes her head, a disbelieving smile playing on her lips. "You’re certifiable, Kim Chaewon. Absolutely, one hundred percent, off-your-rocker insane. But," she adds, her eyes twinkling, "I gotta admit, the commitment is impressive. You didn’t even flinch."

"Flinch? Why would I flinch?" Chaewon asks, genuinely puzzled. She then turns her attention to Kazuha, who’s still staring with wide, unblinking eyes. "Zuha, you’re awfully quiet. Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you’re just speechless at my… radiance?"

Kazuha finally seems to reboot. She closes her mouth, takes a slow, deliberate breath, and then says, with her signature quiet intensity, "It was… a very direct method of concluding the meeting's agenda. And perhaps… a new form of skincare." She giggles. "Very… sticky."

Chaewon lets out a delighted laugh, the sound surprisingly carefree. "See? Kazuha gets it! It’s innovative!" She then pushes herself up from her knees, her movements a little shaky but still full of that bratty confidence. She doesn’t bother wiping her face. Instead, she stretches languidly, like a cat, making sure to give the other girls a good, long look at your handiwork.

"You know," she says, "I was getting so horny with him fucking me on that table. But hearing you guys walk in? Knowing you were watching?" She shivers theatrically. "God, that just sent me over the edge. Made it so much better. My pussy was practically singing. So, thanks for that, girls. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?"

Sakura groans loudly and actually buries her face in her hands. "I am going to need SO MUCH THERAPY after this tour. And a new set of eyeballs. And maybe a hazmat suit for any future meetings."

Yunjin is just openly laughing now, clutching her stomach. "Oh my god, Chaewon, you’re a menace! A literal, walking, talking, cum-covered menace! But hey," she winks at you, "at least our leader is… thoroughly motivated for the showcase, right Manager-nim?"

You just stand there, trying to process the absolute chaotic energy that has just unfolded. You glance at the itinerary sheets scattered on the table, now probably slightly sticky themselves. The meeting notes seem utterly irrelevant.

"Right," you manage to say, clearing your throat. "Well. That was… productive. Any further questions about the schedule? Or shall we move on to… vocal warm-ups?"

Chaewon beams, still proudly displaying her facial. "I think my vocals are perfectly warmed up, thank you very much. Feeling very… open." She gives another pointed look at the other members, who just stare back, a mixture of utter defeat and begrudging awe on their faces. Yeah, the queen brat had done it again, and somehow, in the most fucked-up way possible, owned the entire room.

—

Tonight’s the night. One of the biggest music shows on this leg of the Japan tour, broadcast live, massive audience, high stakes. The backstage area is pure, unadulterated chaos, you can hear everywhere the noise of ringing phones, urgent voices yelling into radios in Japanese and Korean, the sound of the speakers from the main stage soundcheck, and the nervous energy vibrating off every single person rushing past. You’re right in the thick of it, trying to coordinate with the stage manager about last-minute camera blocking changes while simultaneously fielding a call from the label demanding updates on social media engagement metrics.

Standard pre-show pandemonium.

You find a marginally quieter alcove near a bank of humming equipment racks, leaning against the cool metal as you try to wrap up the call, needing just five minutes of relative peace to get your head straight before the final countdown begins. Staffers hurry past the opening of the alcove, barely registering your presence. Five minutes to showtime is practically an eternity in stage time, but also no time at all.

Just as you’re hanging up, mentally running through the checklist (mics, costumes, standby positions, water bottles), a figure detaches itself from the stream of people in the corridor and slips silently into the alcove with you. Kim Chaewon. Fully decked out in her stage outfit for the first performance block, hair and makeup flawless, looking every inch the superstar she is. But the look on her face isn't her usual pre-show focus or nervous energy. It’s something else entirely. That familiar, dangerous glint is back in her dark eyes, a predatory heat simmering just beneath the surface, fixed solely on you. She leans back against the wall opposite you, deliberately blocking the narrow exit.

"Busy?" she asks.

You take in her appearance, and fuck, your carefully constructed professional focus evaporates instantly. The stylists really outdid themselves tonight, leaning hard into the group’s edgier concept. She’s wearing impossibly tight, black leather hot shorts that hug every curve of her phenomenal ass and hips. Paired with that is a cropped, sleeveless black top made of some kind of sheer, shimmering mesh material, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the intricate lace bralette underneath. Fishnet stockings disappear into chunky, platform combat boots that make her legs look even longer and more incredible.

Heavy silver chains loop around her neck and waist, drawing attention to her bare midriff and the sharp lines of her collarbones. Her bob is styled messy but chic, framing a face with darker, smokier makeup than usual, emphasizing the intensity of her gaze. She looks stunning. Dangerous. Utterly, undeniably slutty. And knowing she’s probably wearing next to nothing under that getup makes your cock twitch instantly in your pants.

"Chaewon," you start, trying to inject a note of warning into your voice, acutely aware of the time, the location, the sheer insanity of whatever she’s clearly planning. "Show starts in less than fifteen minutes. What are you doing back here? You should be with the others near standby." Her smirk widens. She pushes off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step towards you, her platform boots clicking softly on the concrete floor.

"Needed to see my favorite manager," she says innocently, though her eyes are burning holes into you. "Besides," she adds, stopping right in front of you, close enough that you can smell her perfume mixed with the faint scent of stage makeup, "this outfit…" She gestures down at herself languidly. "Feels kinda tight. Thought maybe you could help me… loosen up?" She reaches out, fingers trailing lightly over the front of your jeans, directly over your rapidly hardening cock. Your breath hitches. God damn her. She knows exactly what she’s doing, knows you find this look irresistible, knows you have a weakness for her in leather, knows the risk only makes it hotter for both of you.

"You’re insane," you manage to get out, voice rough, grabbing her wrist, intending to pull her hand away, to push her back towards the stage area. "Completely fucking insane," you repeat, but this time it’s a surrender, not a protest.

Her answering grin is pure wickedness. "Insanely horny," she corrects, leaning in, pressing her body flush against yours. You can feel the cool mesh of her top, the surprising warmth of her skin underneath, the hard planes of her stomach against yours. "Couldn't stop thinking about… last time," she whispers, referring to the practice room, her breath hot against your ear. "Need it again. Right now. Before I go out there." The thought of fucking her right now, dressed like this, backstage with staff potentially walking past any second… it’s reckless, stupid, and unbelievably hot. You’re already hard as a rock, pressing insistently against her bare stomach.

Fuck professionalism.

Fuck the schedule.

You need this too.

"Here?" you murmur, glancing nervously towards the alcove entrance. "We'll get caught." She just shrugs, already fumbling with your belt buckle again, her movements urgent.

"Make it quick then," she breathes, popping the button on your jeans. "And quiet."

As if that’s possible with her.

You groan, giving in completely. You spin her around, pressing her face-first against the cold metal of the equipment rack. Her amazing ass, encased in those tight leather shorts, is presented perfectly to you. You yank down your zipper, freeing your throbbing cock. Without bothering to remove her shorts, you just yank the tight leather fabric down slightly, pulling the thong she’s wearing underneath completely aside, exposing her slick, waiting cunt. There’s no time for lube, no time for prep.

You position yourself behind her, grab her hips firmly, and slam into her from behind. She cries out, the sound muffled against the metal rack, her body jolting forward with the force of the impact.

"Fuck! Yes!" she gasps, immediately arching her back, pushing back against you, taking you deeper. You start fucking her right there, hard and fast, your balls slapping against her leather-clad ass cheeks with each rough thrust. The angle is perfect, driving deep, hitting that spot that makes her legs tremble. The sheer mesh of her top rides up her back, revealing the intricate straps of her bra, the smooth skin beneath. The chains around her waist jingle softly with each desperate movement. It’s a sensory overload: the sight of her in that slutty outfit bent over for you, the feel of her tight heat clenching around your cock, the muffled sounds of her pleasure, the constant, underlying thrill of potential discovery. You reach around her body with one hand, fingers tangling in the mesh top, finding her already hard nipple through the fabric, pinching and rolling it roughly. She cries out again, louder this time, grinding her hips back against you frantically. "God, Chaewon, you feel so fucking good," you pant, fucking her faster, harder. "This outfit… drives me insane."

Suddenly, you remember your phone. The thought hits you with blinding clarity—you need to capture this. This moment. Her, like this, in this outfit, taking your cock backstage minutes before a major performance. You fumble in your pocket with one hand, still pounding into her with the other, managing to pull out your phone. Your fingers shake slightly as you quickly unlock it and open the camera app. Chaewon glances back over her shoulder, seeing the phone in your hand, her eyes widening slightly before a slow, knowing smirk spreads across her face.

She fucking loves this.

Loves the idea of being recorded, documented, in such a compromising, degrading position. She deliberately arches her back higher, pushing her ass out further, giving you an even better angle.

"Like the view?" she gasps out. You don't answer, just position the phone, angling it down slightly to capture the obscene sight of your cock disappearing into her slick folds, framed by the tight black leather and fishnets. Click. The shutter sound is barely audible over her moans and the backstage chaos. You quickly switch to video, hitting record. You hold the phone steady for a few seconds, capturing the raw movement, the glistening slickness, the way her muscles clench around you. Then you zoom in slightly, focusing on her face, flushed and sweat-slicked, lips parted, eyes hazy with lust as she glances back towards the camera again, sticking her tongue out playfully for a split second before biting her lip hard as another wave of pleasure hits her.

"Fucking whore," you growl, pocketing the phone again for now, needing both hands back on her body. You grip her hips tighter, slamming into her with a renewed, savage vigor, each thrust a brutal invasion against the unyielding metal of the equipment rack at her front. Her phenomenal ass, clad in that impossibly tight black leather, is presented perfectly for your assault. The fishnets dig slightly into her thighs with the force of your fucking.

"Fuck, yes, just like that! You love showing off for the camera, don't you, my little slut?" you growl, your voice rough against her ear. "Love being my little backstage whore, getting your tight cunt pounded right before you go out and pretend to be a good girl for the fans?"

Her answer is a series of choked, breathless moans, her head thrashing slightly, her body trembling violently against the rack. She nods frantically, a silent, desperate affirmation.

"Yes! Yes, daddy, please… fuck me harder! Make me your whore!" she begs, voice cracking. "Fill me up!"

You oblige, your cock piston-deep inside her, pounding relentlessly. Her cunt is so fucking tight, so hot, milking you with every desperate clench of her inner muscles as she gets closer and closer. You reach around her again, your fingers easily finding her swollen, hypersensitive clit, and begin to rub hard, fast circles against the nub already slick with her juices. The combination of your thick cock ramming into her and your fingers working her clit sends her completely over the edge.

"I'm gonna cum! OH FUCK, I'm cumming!" she screams, the sound dangerously loud, echoing slightly in the alcove, though hopefully lost in the general backstage din that’s starting to build as showtime approaches. Her orgasm rips through her, a violent, consuming wave. Her tight cunt clenches down on your cock like an iron vise, her body bucking and spasming against you. Watching her come apart like that, completely wrecked and screaming your name, knowing you have it all documented on your phone, pushes you right to your own fucking limit. You feel that familiar, unstoppable pressure building low in your balls, the surge that means you’re about to blow.

"Me too, baby, fuck! I'm gonna fill you up!" you grit out as you pound into her one last time, burying yourself as deep as you can possibly go. "Take it all, Chae! Take my fucking load!"

With a final, guttural roar, you flood her insides, pumping load after thick, hot load of your cum deep within her womb. You creampie her right there, bent over the equipment rack, careless of the staff just outside, careless of the impending show. You keep thrusting for a few more seconds even after you finish, short, sharp strokes designed to milk every last drop from your aching balls, ensuring she's completely full of you.

Finally, you pull out with a wet, sloppy sound, your seed mixed with her slickness dripping from your cock and down her leather-clad thighs. You lean your forehead against her sweat-slicked back, both of you panting heavily, the adrenaline slowly starting to recede, leaving a buzzing exhaustion in its wake. Her body is limp against the rack, trembling with the aftershocks of her intense orgasm.

You quickly, fumbling slightly, pull up your jeans and zip them, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Chaewon is slower, her hands shaky as she hastily pulls her thong back into place and yanks her leather shorts up, her face flushed a deep crimson. She turns, leaning back against the rack for support, her legs still visibly trembling. Her dark, smoky eye makeup is slightly smudged, her lips swollen and kiss-bruised, and there’s a dazed, utterly debauched look on her face that makes your cock twitch again.

"Fuck," she breathes out. "That was… insane. You filled me up so much, babe." She presses a hand to her flat stomach, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face. "I can feel you leaking out of me… and I have to go on stage like this."

The thought clearly electrifies her. Her eyes, though hazy with spent pleasure, gleam with a fresh wave of arousal.

"Good," you say. "Let every single one of those fuckers out there watch you perform knowing you’re full of my cum. Let them wonder why their perfect little idol leader is glowing so much tonight."

Chaewon’s smile widens, turning predatory. "They’ll have no idea I’m about to dance for thousands of people with your load dripping down my thighs, will they?" she purrs, taking a step closer, her hips swaying slightly. "God, that’s so fucking hot. Knowing I’m carrying your cum inside me while I’m up there… pretending to be so perfect."

She reaches out, her fingers tracing the outline of your still-prominent bulge through your jeans. "Maybe… maybe you should’ve put a little more in me. Just to be sure it lasts the whole show."

You grab her wrist, your grip firm. "Don’t push your luck, brat. You need to get out there." But the thought of her, on stage, under those bright lights, moving her body, secretly filled with you… it sends another jolt of possessive heat through you.

She licks her lips, that bratty confidence flooding back now that the immediate crisis of her orgasm has passed. "Or what, Manager-nim? Gonna punish me again later? Maybe get the other girls to watch next time while you fill all my holes?"

"Get the fuck out there, Chaewon," you growl, though there’s no real anger in it, just the lingering heat of your encounter. You give her ass one last hard slap, the sound sharp in the small space.

She yelps, but it’s mixed with a giggle. "Yes, daddy," she says, turning with a final, impossibly slutty wink. She saunters out of the alcove, adjusting the silver chains around her waist, the very picture of a superstar ready to take the stage, if you ignored the faint sheen of sweat, the slightly trembling hands, and the smug, secretive smile playing on her lips. You watch her go, a possessive smirk of your own tugging at your mouth. She was definitely going to be thinking about this, about your cum breeding her, for the entire performance. And fuck, so were you.

—

That backstage fuckfest before the big show in Japan? Yeah, that wasn’t an isolated incident. Not by a long shot. It was more like… the opening act for a whole new level of insanity. The rest of the tour, as Le Sserafim blazed their trail across Japan and then into the US, just got spicier, riskier, more ridiculously, addictively natural. It was like that one taste of blatant exhibitionism, of pushing boundaries with an audience, however unwilling or resigned, had unlocked something even wilder in Chaewon, and by extension, in you. Because who were you to deny her? Especially when her brand of chaos was so fucking intoxicating. The unspoken rules of your dynamic shifted subtly. It wasn't just about finding private moments anymore; it was about stealing them, flaunting them in the face of professionalism, daring the world to notice, knowing it mostly wouldn't, or wouldn't care if it did.

Cars became a frequent playground. Not just the plush, tinted-window privacy of a chartered SUV between the airport and hotel (though those saw plenty of action), usually her clambering over the center console, hiking up her skirt or yanking down her leggings for a quick, desperate ride on your lap while you tried to look impassively out the window as cityscapes blurred by. No, it escalated to riskier scenarios. Like that one time, stuck in gridlock traffic in some humid, bustling city in the US, on the way to a radio interview. She was in the back with you, Sakura beside her pointedly engrossed in a game on her phone, headphones on. Chaewon had started innocently enough, just leaning her head on your shoulder, complaining about being bored.

Then her hand had snaked down, under the loose drape of your jacket, finding your crotch, her fingers starting to knead and stroke you through your jeans.

"Think anyone would notice if I just… sucked you off right now?" she whispered, eyes glinting with that familiar dare. You’d just shaken your head, a silent ‘no fucking way,’ but your rapidly hardening cock betrayed your resolve. She took that as a yes, of course. Within seconds, she was sliding down in her seat, her head disappearing under your jacket, the discreet but unmistakable sounds of her mouth working on you filling the small space, while Sakura just sighed dramatically and turned up the volume on her game, not even glancing over.

The thrill of it, the sheer audacity, knowing the driver was just feet away, separated only by a thin partition, made you come so hard you nearly blacked out, Chaewon swallowing everything with a triumphant little smirk when she finally resurfaced, looking utterly pleased with herself.

Dressing rooms, naturally, remained a staple. Especially the chaotic, shared ones backstage at music shows or concert venues, where privacy was a laughable illusion. Those became her favorite hunting ground. She’d find you amidst the flurry of stylists, makeup artists, and other staff, grab your hand, and pull you into the tiny, curtained-off changing booth meant for a quick costume swap, the flimsy fabric offering zero soundproofing. "Quick," she murmured, already hiking up her stage skirt or tearing at the buttons of her elaborate top, "Got five minutes before we’re on. Make it count."

And you would.

Fucking her pressed up against a rack of glittering costumes, her muffled moans lost in the general din outside. Sometimes, one of the other girls would inadvertently yank the curtain aside, looking for a misplaced accessory, only to freeze, sigh, and pointedly turn around. "Seriously, guys? Again?" Yunjin’s voice, laced with amusement, became a familiar soundtrack to these encounters. Chaewon would just grin, arching her back, pushing herself deeper onto your cock, clearly reveling in the near-discovery.

Then there were the truly random public places. The service stairwell of a five-star hotel, reeking faintly of bleach and old cigarettes, where she cornered you after a press conference, pushing you against the cold concrete wall, her lips attacking yours before you could even protest. You fucked her standing up, her legs wrapped around your waist, her stage dress hiked up to her hips, the risk of a staff member or another hotel guest stumbling upon you making every thrust, every gasp, electrifyingly intense. Or the empty, echoing backstage corridor during a seemingly endless soundcheck for some outdoor festival. She’d even managed to initiate a blowjob in a surprisingly crowded airport VIP lounge once, under the guise of tying your shoelace, her head disappearing beneath the table for a few glorious, heart-stopping minutes while you tried to maintain a nonchalant conversation with a local tour promoter about flight logistics.

The thrill was a drug, and you were both hopelessly addicted.

The ultimate expression of this brazen new dynamic became the head-pat signal. It was something you’d developed half-jokingly, a specific, almost imperceptible way you’d pat her head, two quick taps, then a slow stroke down the back of her hair, that meant, unequivocally, now. It didn't matter where you were, who she was with, what she was doing. When that signal came, she was yours. Instantly. You used it sparingly, saving it for moments when her bratty confidence was at its peak, or when you just couldn't resist the urge to assert your dominance in the most public, yet discreetly private, way.

Like that time in the production office at a huge arena. She was deep in conversation with a local venue manager, a portly, serious-looking man who was explaining, with excruciating detail, the fire safety protocols for their pyrotechnics display. Chaewon was nodding along, looking a picture of polite, professional interest, asking intelligent-sounding questions. You walked up behind her, ostensibly to get a copy of the stage plot. As you leaned past her, you gave the signal. Two quick taps. A slow stroke. Her eyes, which had been fixed on the venue manager, flickered almost imperceptibly. She didn’t miss a beat in her conversation.

"...so the primary extinguishers are located at stage left and right, correct?" she asked smoothly. Then, turning slightly towards the venue manager with a dazzling smile, she said, "Excuse me for just one moment, sir. I just remembered something incredibly vital I need to discuss with my manager. Urgent artist matter. You understand."

Before the bewildered man could even reply, she had grabbed your hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and was pulling you towards a small, adjoining storage closet piled high with dusty audio cables and forgotten props. She practically threw you inside, slammed the door shut (no lock, just the illusion of privacy), and immediately dropped to her knees, yanking at your belt.

"You fucking tease," she hissed, her eyes blazing with that wild, needy fire as she freed your already-hardening cock. "Couldn't wait, huh?"

She took you into her mouth right there, surrounded by darkness and the smell of old dust, her expert mouth working magic while you listened to the venue manager muffled voice outside, still patiently explaining fire extinguisher classifications to the empty air. The sheer audacity of it, the closeness of potential discovery, made the hurried, desperate blowjob unbelievably intense. Later, when she emerged from the closet, all composure regained, apologizing sweetly to the venue manager for the "urgent interruption," the man just blinked, shrugged his shoulders with a sigh, and mumbled something about "these artists and their… urgencies," before tiredly resuming his safety briefing.

He didn't have a clue.

Almost no one ever really did.

And after these stolen moments, these frantic, risky encounters, came another ritual: the pictures. It had started innocently enough, a way to capture a particularly hot outfit, a particularly memorable fuck. But it quickly became part of the dynamic, part of the possessive thrill. You'd pull out your phone, sometimes even during the act if the angle was right, but mostly afterwards, while she was still flushed and dazed, her hair a mess, her clothes disheveled, that sated, almost feral look in her eyes.

"Stay like that," you murmured once, positioning her. Sometimes you’d have her pose, bent over a piece of furniture, ass cheeks still red from your handprints, looking back at the camera with a defiant smirk. Other times, it would be more candid: her sprawled on a dressing room couch, half-dressed, eyes hazy with pleasure. You took close-ups of her cum-covered face, the thick ropes still glistening on her skin. Selfies of the two of you, her pressed against your side, both of you looking like you’d just been through a war.

They weren't for sharing, not ever. They were for your private collection. Trophies. Reminders of her submission, her desire, her willingness to play these reckless games with you. Tangible proof of the wild, untamed creature she became when it was just the two of you, or even when it wasn't just the two of you, but she was performing solely for an audience of one. She never protested the photos. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it, often playing up to the camera, a silent acknowledgment of this shared, dirty secret, another layer to your fucked-up, intoxicating bond.

Through all the chaos, the endless travel, the high-pressure performances, the stolen moments of intense, often public, depravity, something deeper solidified between you. It wasn't just about the sex (though that was a huge, undeniable part of it). It was about the understanding. The unspoken connection. The way you could communicate with just a look, a touch, a specific kind of silence. You saw past her idol persona, past the bratty facade, to the vulnerable, needy, intensely loyal woman underneath.

And she, in turn, saw you not just as her manager, her handler, her secret lover, but as the one person who truly got her, who didn't judge her darkness but reveled in it alongside her. The one person she could be completely, unashamedly herself with. So, it wasn't entirely a surprise when, at the very end of it all, after the final encore of the final show of the seemingly endless tour, when you were both utterly exhausted, emotionally drained, and sprawled out on the king-sized bed in yet another anonymous luxury hotel room in LA, she turned to you, voice soft, almost fragile.

"You know," she began, tracing idle patterns on your bare chest with her fingertip, "through all this… all the crazy shit… all the times I thought I was going to lose my mind…" She paused, looking up at you, her eyes clearer, more vulnerable than you’d seen them in weeks. "I love you," she whispered, the words simple, direct, yet carrying the weight of everything you’d shared. You pulled her closer, pressing your forehead against hers, noses touching in that familiar, intimate way.

"I love you too, Chaewon," you replied. "So fucking much." You held her like that for a long time, the silence comfortable, profound.

"No one," she murmured eventually, her voice muffled against your skin, "no one understands me like you do."

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that she was right. And no one understood you, your own complicated needs and desires, quite like Kim Chaewon. You were two halves of a perfectly twisted whole, and in that moment, amidst the lingering scent of sex and exhaustion, that understanding was everything you could ask for.

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