#makes the world LESS media literate.

[capfalcon]

btw media literacy is not the same thing as english class and i am please begging people to read more about media literacy because it is so far from english class, signed sincerly someone with a degree in media studies

[musical-chick-13]

Once again: the so-called "General Fandom History," in terms of which things get held up as Iconic™ or Well-Done™ or Worth Analyzing™ has disproportionately focused on (cis, abled) white men. Some of us would like to not have everything be focused on this one demographic and would, in fact, love to not constantly hear--implicitly or explicitly--how stories about people like us are inherently less interesting or less worthy of telling.

"Remember your history," WE KNOW THE HISTORY. AND WE WANT TO MOVE ON.

[crystalkleure]

It is frankly alarming how often I will see somebody make a post along the lines of "Why is everybody so mean to me all the time!!" and then their page is just full of nothing but them constantly insulting strangers for no reason

I am not sure if they:

Think they are playfighting with people instead of just Actually Being Rude, so they are genuinely surprised when the other person rightfully gets angry at them [because they are a stranger who has just approached them aggressively for seemingly no reason in a way that does not read as joking]

Are aggressive because they already believe The World Is Shit And Everybody Sucks And WILL Be Mean To Them Inevitably, so they are rude first so they can at least feel good about getting the first hit in. And this just becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, because if you believe everyone sucks and is cruel, and then you do something to PROVOKE aggression from everyone you speak to right off the bat, and so then they are thus aggressive towards you...well, uh, Indeed Everyone You Talk To Will Not Be Nice To You, then.

Are viewing themself as some kind of martyr who is somehow making the world a better place by trying to drag down random strangers over stupid harmless shit, and they are frustrated that nobody realizes what Good And Noble Work [They Think] They Are Doing by, like, telling everyone they see with a Homestuck pfp to kill themselves or something

Genuinely just have no self-awareness and/or do not grasp the concept that if you say mean things to somebody on the internet they may say mean things back to you

Are trolling

[agayconcept]

.

[gothlovingoth]

not to swing a bat at a hornets nest but maybe the popularization of the gaslight gatekeep female manipulator unhinged crazy girlblogger who manipulates and pegs men because she hates men and is taking her sexuality into her own hands by playing guys and has no remorse has not been very #feminist and maybe hindered the metoo mouvement by giving many terminally online isolated people the impression that this manic pixie dream girl revenge wet dream is literally how mentally unstable women are and act

[everymlmhybrid]

Thought about Alex Standall. Passing out.

[izzymalec]

i started making gifs for tumblr dot org 8 years ago, now i'm a socialist working for an advertising agency as a media designer. get a real hobby kids.

[inkskinned]

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

[rthko]

I recently saw a post with Fran Lebowitz saying, "a book isn't supposed to be a mirror; it's supposed to be a door," and it made me think about the state of "representation" discourse online. I thought back to an anon I once received from someone who claims to get "secondhand embarrassment" from "drag queens, leather daddies, and kinksters with pup hoods acting like they represent all gays." Many thought my response was too harsh, that I ought to show more sympathy to people who do not "relate" to nor feel "represented" by these modes of queer being. Blame it on online fandom, blame it on heteronormativity, but we are too concerned with "relatability." It is the sort of "relatability" advertising executives concern themselves with, or "relatability" of people who treat their online presence as a "brand." It is a notion I find alien to queer art and culture.

I have never done drag, nor do I consider myself a part of the leather community beyond befriending others who do and owning some gear. I do not "relate" to these expressions in any vulgar, literal sense, but they are still deeply resonant. And how many of these individuals truly "relate" to the images they peform? Drag artists and leatherfolk are purveyors of fantasy. In their daily lives, they might not be bikers, rockstars, pop divas, or mythical beasts, but they reinvent themselves through metaphors and performances. These theatrical performances are no more absurd than the quotidian performances expected by cis straight society. Larry Mitchell writes, “The faggots act out their fantasies without believing them to be real. The men act out their fantasies always proclaiming that they are real."

This could explain why literal attempts at relatability are often less resonant than campy extravogant fantasies. I once wrote a rant about how Taylor Swift is not a gay icon, and an anon smugly told me, "Taylor makes music for everyone and not just gays." Yes, I suppose she does make music for "everyone," in the same way that the Midwestern weather reporter voice is the universal accent of the English speaking world. But diva worship was never about "relating;" rather, it's about survival through the evocation of patron saints of strength and glamor. Most celebrity or mass media attempts at "relatability" are at best clueless or at worst insulting. I would much rather participate in a campy fantasy, which is in its own right more "real." Susan Sontag describes camp as the "farthest extension, in sensibility, of the metaphor of life as theater.”

I am not telling anyone to stop pushing for the recognition of diverse stories. This is crucial! But the recognition of queer stories should also come with an understanding of queer modes of resonance. When has John Waters ever produced something "relatable?" Who cares? His work resonates, in fact, more than a lot of "safe" gay media that should be all accounts be more "relatable." The "average" listener would not necessarily relate to SOPHIE. They may find her work otherwordly or downright unsettling. But she did not produce music for the "average" listener, at least not before the rest of the musical landscape dragged to catch up with her. Adam Zmith writes: "Inside SOPHIE’s words, performances and final act is the queer utopia of always grasping, always dreaming of a freer life." We are living the wildest dreams of our former, closeted selves, but we are still always grasping, never quite satiated. Queer art is not just autobiographical but aspirational. Let art be a door.

[capfalcon]

i think people should be required to do 10 hours of volunteering/community service every time they say the word "problematic"

[musical-chick-13]

When all of this is over (*this meaning: when I get through my godforsaken list of 10 wips) I am writing a fic where everyone is just in love with Misa and she does whatever she wants, I have seen TOO MUCH, people do not GET IT.

[vasquez-rocks]

i know most ppl haven’t seen it yet but wanted to write something abt how annoyed some of the critical discourse abt I Saw the TV Glow is making me. MAJOR SPOILERS below the break, be warned!!

so idk i’ve seen so many reviews of the film positing that it’s about the dangers of obsessive fandom and overidentification with fictional characters, esp vis a vis real life self-actualization/coming out. (like, essentially every review has some of this in it, from what i’ve seen.) and, like: i don’t think that’s wrong, but i also think it’s massively underselling what schoenbrun is doing here. the metaphor of the show’s bleed-over is so smart because works in both directions at once.

like, in one direction: when maddy asks owen to come into the show by burying himself alive, you can read it as her asking him to abandon his real-life responsibilities, and the material facts of his real life body, in favor of a fantasy life where everything is already fixed. she’s inviting him to skip over the hard, messy work of transitioning and to sink even deeper into the analgesic obsessions he uses to numb his dysphoria. in this interpretation, it’s, like, the equivalent of overprioritizing “transition goals” instead of actually medically/legally/socially transitioning if that’s what you want, living forever in the ideal instead of taking difficult steps to change the material. (also, uh, if you don’t think she’s literally correct about the nature of reality, she is in fact asking him to kill himself. there’s that.)

BUT! it also works the other way. when maddy tells owen that the show is real, that their lives are just the buried dreams of dying girls in another life, she terrifies him by confronting him with something he’s always known about himself: he was supposed to be a girl. what she proposes is radical, dangerous, seemingly unhinged, and based on a childish fixation: all the things scared closeted trans people worry transition is, basically. on a more figurative level, too, the feeling she’s telling owen is real – that his real life is just a dream within a dream, that his home is not his home, that he belongs somewhere else, that he is supposed to be SOMEONE else – is something so, so, so many closeted trans people have felt before, myself so much included. when he sobs in the shower, yelling “this isn’t my home!” at his dad, i felt a sense of identification stronger than i’ve almost ever gotten from art before. when maddy finally calls him isabel, it’s the gentlest thing i can imagine.

in this read – which i do love, while thinking the other one is simultaneously true – it’s less “come sink deeper into delusion with me instead of dealing with your own life” and more “it’s going to be terrifying, but that childish dream of being a girl you once held wasn’t childish, and it can be real if you’re courageous enough.” he says he runs away from the football field because he thinks maddy’s not mentally well; it takes very little analysis of subtext to figure out he’s running away because he’s afraid of how much he wants what she’s offering. and, of course, the idea of the visible world being an illusion laid atop the world in which one is one’s truest self is a classic trope of trans cinema going all the way back to the matrix. (also: while i’m pretty death-of-the-author-pilled in most media analysis, it kinda seems like schoenbrun themself has interpreted the film in this way, as they’ve spoken at length in interviews about how, to them, transition felt like asking to be buried alive.)

all of which is to say: i think the film IS commenting on fandom, obsession, overidentification, and the ease with which queer people can sink into art as a way to dissociate from real life. but i think it makes the film so much more cynical and so much less tender to treat it as the ONLY read of the film’s relationship with the pink opaque. art, especially the sort of slow, metaphor-laden art schoenbrun makes, is best when it is complex and productively contradictory. the pink opaque is a problem, and an escape, and a fantasy, and it’s real, and one day isabel is going to wake up.

[vague-humanoid]

@mettaworldpiece @positively--speculative @meanmisscharles @midians-world @moonisneveralone

Recently, I went to a screening for a documentary following four young Black girls attending a dance with their fathers in a local prison. I was struck in particular by a 5-year-old counting the days until her father is freed. I laughed and cried along with the audience as she quipped about her family and bragged about her schooling, playing the well-worn part of an innocent kid caught in a tragedy.

Then the film ended and there she was, sitting for a panel to discuss what we’d just seen. This version was reticent tween with butterfly twists, visibly working through the implications of her childhood broadcast at Sundance. She didn’t really know what was happening around her, she admitted, until she saw the film herself.

As she muttered her way through the discussion, I was surprised by just how surprised I was: I knew she would be there since the screening was organized around the girls’ attendance. But for nearly two hours I had been fed a character; the film had cast her as an avatar for a social issue. To quote Toni Morrison in The Origin of Others, “I immediately sentimentalized and appropriated her.” In reality, she’s just a girl dealing with trauma whose circumstances were caught, packaged, and distributed to the many eyes of strangers before she fully realized what had happened to her family.

American life today is largely digested through screens. If we’re not working through screens, we’re learning with them, socializing through them, entertaining ourselves with them, each new digital platform flattening our faces into images and compressing our interior lives into text. Each of these interactions carries a risk of making the other person on the screen—captured, digitized, packaged and sold—a little less human. Legacy Russell’s new book, Black Meme: A History of the Images That Make Us, interrogates America’s relationship with Black imagery, iconography, and symbolism—quite literally, at points, the Black face. Tracing a pattern from the 1915 propaganda film The Birth of a Nation to the media fallout from Breonna Taylor’s murder in 2020, Russell illustrates how American visual culture relies on Black culture while stripping the people at its center of their humanity.

[dirtyvulture]

Envy and Venom - Part 2

Heiress!Natasha Romanoff x CEO!Beefy!Fem!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You are the notorious playboy who just inherited one of the biggest tech companies in the world. Your first move? Sleeping with the heiress of your rival company.

Word count: 4911

AN: Didn't think I'd write this, but the opportunity was too good to let pass. :)

Click here for Part 1!

DAY 2

“I can’t believe you,” Tony says, watching as you anxiously like a caged animal. “I mean, I can, because Romanoff is smoking hot, but really? On your first day?”

“I didn’t know who she was!” you snap, your stomach churning in knots. You hadn’t been able to eat breakfast, even ignoring the hot black coffee your secretary Wanda had waiting for you like usual when you arrived to the office.

“Literally the daughter of the guy of our biggest rival,” Tony says, clearly only trying to make you feel worse than you already feel.

“I know who he is!” you bark, well familiar with Alexei Shostakov, the enormous, bearded and beer-bellied Russian who had once been on the board of directors at Envy Industries. Alexei was long gone from your dad’s company by the time you entered the scene, and at that point had formed Black Widow Corporation into a juggernaut. Word on the street was that Alexei used “unconventional methods” to stay ahead of competitors and now you wondered if you had fallen right into one of those traps. 

“Why was Romanoff even at the party in the first place?” you ask.

“Why do you think?” Tony scoffs. “Daddy probably sent her to mess with you and no offense…but it worked.”

“We don’t know that,” you defend, although your gut is telling you that Tony is right. 

“So, what did you tell her?” Tony asks, kicking his chair back to wobble on its hind legs.

“Nothing!” You sigh, your brain scrambling to remember your interaction with Natasha before you took her up to your suite. “Uh, I mean…I mentioned the contract we have with Tesla. But a bunch of other people probably overhead too, and that’s not exactly a secret anymore.”

“Mhmm, sure. Anything else?” Tony prompts.

“No. No, nothing else,” you say with an edge of uncertainty. “There wasn’t really much time for talking, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know you, you horndog.” He waves at you.

For once, you feel immensely guilty about not being able to control your behavior. This wouldn’t be the first time you had to face the consequences of the people you chose to take to bed with you, but none had been this jarring or dangerous. You feel used, even though you truly hadn’t revealed any company secrets to Natasha. Just the thought that she knew who you were, and wasn’t honest with you about herself, made your whole interaction with her feel slimy and fake. While you also knew it was ridiculous to think that you were in love with someone you just met, even you won’t deny there had been some kind of spark between you two, but perhaps it had all been manufactured. 

You genuinely want to see Natasha again, hopefully in more honest circumstances, and not just purely for the physical pleasure of it. You knew she was one of the few women on Earth who truly understood your line of work. She didn’t need to pretend (or even study ahead) like some of the partners you had in the past. She was beautiful and smart and managed to turn you into a stuttering, whipped mess in less than ten minutes. No one else had ever been able to do that, and as humbling as it was, it was also hot as hell.

“What am I supposed to do now?” you ask, pulling at the suffocating collar of your shirt. 

“First of all, don’t see her ever again,” Tony responds, and it sounds like he’s telling you you’re not allowed to breathe anymore.

“Fuck,” you grumble, because you know he’s right, but it won’t be that easy to just forget about Natasha. 

“Seriously, Y/N,” Tony goes on. “You have a whole company to run now. Let the media say what they want, but promise me that you won’t be caught with that woman ever again.”

“Caught, you say?” you tease, knowing that he would always offer you a way out.

“I know you,” he repeats. “Besides, I heard she has a sister.”

You laugh, the tense mood lightening considerably. “Yeah, sure, I’ll put in a good word for you when I see her again.”

“You’re the best.” Tony stands up to give you a high-five.

***********************************************************************

Natasha hums to herself as she opens her laptop. She plugs in her headphones and boots up the application that is connected to the microphone she slipped into your jacket pocket. Over 12 hours of audio have already been recorded. Just out of curiosity, she scrolls to the first hour.

“Look how wet you are. You’ve been waiting for this all night, sweetheart?”

“Shut up and let me fuck you.”

Natasha feels her core light up with desire as she remembers the previous night with you. It had been a long time since she had been fucked so well and you certainly lived up to the hype. When she closes her eyes, she can still remember how your body had felt against hers, the way your muscles flexed in warning when you were about to finish but were waiting for her permission, the intoxicating taste that coated her tongue and had her (quite literally) demanding more and more from you.

“Hey, sestra.” Yelena walks in without knocking, and Natasha’s eyes snap open, tearing off her headphones and closing the audio application.

“What?” she growls, annoyed by the interruption.

Yelena smirks at her. “How was the party last night?”

“Good.”

Yelena doesn’t look convinced. “Did you see that TMZ article?”

“Anyone who relies on that hack as a legitimate source of information is just setting themselves up for disappointment.”

“A picture is worth a thousand words,” Yelena states, walking up to Natasha and showing her her phone. 

New CEO of Envy Industries Y/N spotted getting cozy with Black Widow Corp. heiress Natasha Romanoff 

Below the headline is a grainy photo of her almost sitting on your lap, both of your heads leaned close together. 

“What’s your point?” Natasha asks, pushing Yelena’s phone away from her face.

“Did Dad approve of this?”

“What does his approval have to do with anything?” Natasha snaps. “I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I want with whoever I want–”

“We’re not stupid, Natasha,” Yelena frowns. “And you aren’t either. You aren’t getting mixed up with just anyone, this is the CEO of Envy Industries–”

Natasha waves her hand. “Just stop, Yelena. I know what I’m doing, okay? And I’m the one who’s going to take over the company when Dad steps down, so I need to make sure that we are on top and stay that way.”

Yelena’s expression softens. “Just be careful, sestra. You don’t know what some of these people are capable of.”

“Like Y/N?” Natasha laughs. “She’s just a big rich idiot. I could steal her entire company right from under her nose and she’d just go fill her bed with Victoria’s Secret models and forget it by the next morning.”

“Please be careful, Nat,” Yelena begs. “Do not forget what happened last time–”

“That was in the past. I know better now,” Natasha dismisses, although the hair on the back of her neck rises at the memory. She had been too cocky, too arrogant, and nearly lost her life as a result. But she was certain that wouldn’t happen with you. She had you eating out of the palm of her hand even before the mind-blowing sex. You’d happily hand her the keys to Envy Industries if she promised you five minutes in bed. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Natasha gruffs, turning back to her computer. “Close the door on your way out.”

Yelena doesn’t respond and backtracks. Natasha waits until she hears the click of her door to open the files on her flash drive that contains the data stolen from your systems. None of your files are even password-protected. Maybe your company was even more of a joke than she thought.

***********************************************************************

DAY 14

Tesla backs out of contract with Envy Industries, reportedly in talks with Black Widow Corporation for GPUs

DAY 15

Envy Industries (ENVY) stock drops 15%

Black Widow Corporation (BWC) stock up 10%

DAY 18

Tesla hires Black Widow Corporation to produce hardware for upcoming Model 2

DAY 24

Black Widow Corporation announces AI supercomputer project

DAY 30

Black Widow Corporation (BWC) joins the Magnificent Seven stocks, knocking Envy Industries (ENVY) out

“You need to fix this. Now.”

“I’m trying!” you practically sob, staring at the same headline on your computer that your father is looking at. 

Your first 30 days as CEO had been an absolute whirlwind–of defeats. First, an intern at Tesla had called you to tell you the deal was off. And then to hear that they were taking up business with Black Widow Corporation was like a sucker punch to the gut. No one at your company could understand how Black Widow suddenly had the technology you’d been working on for months, but a nagging feeling in the back of your head told you that you were the only person who knew the answer.

But you couldn’t be one-hundred-percent sure. After all, you had spent one night with Natasha Romanoff, most of it in bed with her getting your brains fucked out. But she had left even before you woke up, and there was no way to confirm if she had managed to get her hands on the confidential information that your company was built upon.

Whatever had happened, Envy Industries was on a steady decline ever since you had taken over and it was not a good feeling. The stock prices were tanking and now you had lost your spot amongst the prized “Magnificent Seven”–also known as the seven highest-valued companies in the United States. It was embarrassing, shameful, and upsetting. The board of directors were having daily meetings about your leadership qualities and you were worried they would boot you from the position any day now. Your father still had some influence, despite stepping down, but with the way he was speaking to you now, you weren’t sure he was going to defend you anymore.  

“I don’t care how Black Widow Corp got the intel. They have it now and we can’t get it back. You need to raise security protocols and if anyone is caught leaking information, they will be publicly humiliated and sued to kingdom come,” your dad rages through the phone. 

“Yes, yes, I agree,” you say.

“You need to focus on recovering from this. What’s done is done. But if you let it get worse, there will be severe consequences. For the company, for its future, and for you.”

“Yes. Yes, Dad,” you gulp.

“Stop fucking around and get your shit together,” he says. “You have a reputation that precedes you and thousands of people are depending on you to see them through this. Envy will come back. Promise me.”

“I promise,” you repeat hollowly, not even convinced of your own words.

“Good girl. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay. Bye, Dad.” You hang up and put your phone face-down on your desk, staring once more at the headline. For the first time, you don’t feel sad, you feel angry. You want to lash out at something–someone. Preferably the person or persons who put you in this predicament. You didn’t deserve this. You hadn’t done anything wrong. But one thing was for certain: you weren’t going to mope around and let them continue to take advantage of you.

There’s a heavy knock on your door.

“Hey, Y/N. Ready for lunch?” It’s Tony.

“Sure. Give me a minute.” You whip your burgundy blazer off the back of your chair with more force than necessary; it gets twisted upside-down and something falls out of the pocket. You squat to pick it up. It’s a black, small, flat circular device that blinks red and there’s tiny little ridges in the center to indicate some kind of microphone.

What the hell is this? you think. You look back at your burgundy jacket. It’s the same one you were wearing the day you were made CEO, the night you met Natasha Romanoff. It wasn’t your most worn jacket, making the occasional appearance if you felt it complimented the rest of your outfit, but spending most of its time hanging in the front of your closet.

A disturbing thought enters your head. This little device couldn’t be what you thought it was, right? But you knew tech better than most people. And you knew that Black Widow Corporation had somehow gotten ahold of confidential information that was causing catastrophic damage to your company.

It takes all of five seconds to formulate a plan. 

You slip the audio recorder back into your pocket and put your jacket on.

Two could play at this game.

“Hey, Tony. Where are we going for lunch?” you call out, trying to keep your voice flat and clear.

“The steakhouse!” But his voice is muffled through the door.

“The steakhouse? The one on 6th Avenue, right?” you ask.

“Unless you suddenly have a new favorite that’s not on 6th,” he grumbles.

“Nope, that’s fine. Let me go check on something in the lab and I’ll be ready.”

***********************************************************************

“What’s wrong with you? Did they get your order wrong?” Tony asks as you poke at the slab of beef on your plate. 

“I’m just not really hungry,” you say. “You know, since our whole company is falling apart and everything.”

“Well, it’s still standing the last time I checked.” You appreciate how straightforward Tony is. Granted, he isn’t under the same kind of pressure as you, but you need someone who can be this cool under pressure in your life. “And I know you can’t be productive on an empty stomach. Should we order those crab legs you like?” 

“No more food please,” you mumble, pushing your plate away from you. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Hurry back. Or I’ll order the whole appetizer menu!”

“Okay, whatever.” But you smile as you walk away from the table to the back. You look at your reflection in the gold gilded mirror, noticing the clear stress lines in your forehead, the darkness under your eyes, the way your cheeks are more hollowed in because you aren’t eating your usual 4,000 calories a day.

You rinse your hands in the sink and pat water on your face. You hear the door open behind you and your heart starts pounding faster. Had your plan worked?

“What’s wrong, honey?” Her voice snaps you to attention, velvety and seductive just like how you remember hearing it the first time. You turn to see Natasha Romanoff leaned against the wall, wearing a white blouse ready to burst at its buttons along with black slacks and towering heels. Her hair loosely bounces on her shoulders and her exposed wrists and neck are adorned with more jewelry than you can count. 

“You,” you growl, striding over to her in three big steps and glaring down at her. “Are we adding stalker charges to your growing list of crimes now?”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha tilts her head to the side dumbly. “I’m here for lunch, just like you. A coincidence isn’t a crime–”

You pull the little audio device out of your pocket. Natasha’s eyes widen for a second before she quickly turns her expression into one of defiance, but she’s already given away her familiarity. “So this is how you’ve been stealing all of our ideas, huh?” you ask. 

“You have no proof that came from me,” she objects.

“I guess not.” You toss the device to the floor and stomp on it so hard with your Gucci loafers that it crumbles with an audible crunch. “And now we’ll never know. But now you’ll have to leave alone for a little bit, right? You have to give us some time to come up with more ideas for you to steal–”

“It’s nothing personal,” Natasha insists. “Business is business, isn’t it?”

“Well, once you put my reputation at risk–” You move one step closer until your chests almost bump. “–My future at risk–” You lower your head until you’re practically breathing on her face. Natasha doesn’t shy away. In fact, you think you see a glint of triumph in her green eyes. “–It becomes very, very personal.”

The tension between you is so thick it’s suffocating. You refuse to break eye contact with Natasha, but you’re not even sure what your next move should be. You know that you should hate this woman, should be calling for her head and outing her to the media for the literal crimes she’s committed, but you also want her. She hadn’t left your mind since the day you met her and knowing that she had been spying on you this whole time was both infuriating and a little arousing. 

Natasha suddenly grabs onto the front of your shirt, yanking you closer to her until your lips crash together. You hate that the contact makes you feel relief, and you wonder if part of your recent frustration can be attributed to the fact that all this time you were secretly yearning for the same woman who was responsible for ruining your life.

“Things between us are very, very personal,” Natasha whispers, her hands slipping under your shirt to scratch across your abdomen. The coldness of her skin makes you want to cringe away, but her fingers hook onto your belt to keep you from going too far.

“Did you get jealous listening to all the girls I was fucking?” you ask.

“No,” Natasha says, but her cheeks redden and you know she’s lying. “But none of them could make you moan the way I do.”

“I wished they were you,” you admit, panting against her forehead as she undoes your belt. “Which is a fucked up thing to say given what you’ve been doing to my company.”

“I’m very good at what I do, baby,” Natasha says, pressing another hot kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll make your life hell if you don’t stop fucking with my company,” you growl, but your threat is significantly undermined by the whimper you let out when her fingers trace down the V-line of your hips to your center. 

“Would you rather I fuck you over your company?” she asks.

“Shit,” you gasp, unable to focus on her question when two fingers slip into you. You’re embarrassingly soaked for her, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had wet dreams of letting Natasha Romanoff fuck you ever since your first encounter. You fall back against the wall, panting as she pistons her fingers in and out of you. “Someone might walk in,” you warn, suddenly reminded about the forbiddenness of this relationship.

“I locked the door,” Natasha says, using her free hand to tug down the collar of your shirt so she can lick and kiss the skin of your neck. You bite on your lip to muffle your moan, your hands going to hold her hips roughly, pulling her closer to you. Her fingers curl and her thumb presses hard into your clit. You feel yourself clench tightly around her and your knees are ready to buckle. “For the record, I did miss you too.” 

“What took you so long?” You have no idea how you’re able to hold a conversation with Natasha Romanoff while she fucks you, but here you are. Your hands wander towards her ass, cupping her solidly and almost lifting her off the floor. 

“I had to wait,” she answers simply, her thumb flicking against your clit and your stomach burns with the stimulation. The slick noises of her fingers sliding into you is downright filthy and you rock your hips forward to urge her to move faster.

“What did you…have to wait…for?” you pant. “Your stocks to…overtake…mine?”

“Sure, baby,” Natasha says, nibbling at your collarbone and marking you with a dark hickey. You still have enough consciousness to notice the way she dodges your question. “You want to cum for me?” she asks, pistoning her hand faster.

“Yes, yes, please,” you beg, already on the verge of finishing. You adjust the angle of your hips so she can reach deeper, her fingers brushing past the sensitive ridges that make you see stars with every touch.

“Wait until I say,” she demands and you whine at her dominance. But you’re in no position to negotiate, so you keep your back pressed against the wall, desperately fighting the tidal wave of arousal threatening to crash down. 

“Nat,” you say, your fingers digging hard into her ass, “Please let me–”

“Wait,” she repeats, sounding both annoyed and aroused. She pumps into you harder and faster, until you’re quivering and don’t think you can physically hold back anymore–

“Babe–”

“Cum for me.”

You feel like your body is tearing apart as you explode over her hand, arching your back off the wall, pressing your heaving chest into Natasha’s, heart pounding like you’ve just sprinted through a marathon. Natasha’s thrusts slow as you ride out your orgasm, and as you slump against the wall, she pulls her fingers out and, sticking them into her mouth to suck off your juices. You watch her hungrily, still dizzy from the rush of endorphins. 

“My turn,” you say, hooking your arms under her thighs and her arms loop around your neck. You pick her up effortlessly and shuffle with her into the handicapped stall. This time, Natasha’s back is pinned to the wall as you crash your lips into hers, reigniting the heat between your legs. But you’ve already got your release and you are more than eager to return the favor. 

You pull down her pants and panties, mouth watering at the sight of her glistening center. You crouch down to pick her up again, this time letting her thighs rest on your shoulders so when you stand up, her pussy is perfectly in line with your mouth. Natasha’s hands tangle tightly in your hair as she draws your head towards her center, her calves locking across the back of your neck.

Without needing any more prompting, you pull forward to taste her. Her moans are music to your ears as you lap at her dripping heat, your tongue pressing deeper in search of more. All you can smell is her, all you can taste is her, and all you can think about is her. Natasha is sinful heaven to you and for a few seconds, you let yourself completely forget about how she’s ruining your life.

Suddenly, you hear a knock on the door.

“Hello? Why is this locked?” someone’s voice on the other side says. 

You reach up with your right hand and cover Natasha’s mouth. She bites into the side of your hand and you hiss at the pain.

“Go get one of the staff.”

“You better finish soon,” you hum, nipping at the insides of her thighs while she squirms on your shoulders. “Or the whole world is going to hear me eating you out in here.”

“They should,” Natasha pants, gripping almost painfully at the back of your head, trying to force you back between her legs. “They need to know that you’re all mine, baby.”

You want to tell her that you don’t belong to anyone, and certainly not her of all people, but the protests die in your throat as she squeezes her thighs around your head. You truly are some kind of servant to Natasha Romanoff. Your tongue runs up and down her slit, poking at her throbbing clit as she bucks forward against your face.

“Fuck, take me already,” she whines. 

“So impatient,” you tease. 

“Less talking, more fucking,” she demands.

“Same to you.” You shove your fingers into her mouth to quiet her, and she sucks on them in a way that you try to mirror against her pussy. Wrapping your lips around her clit and thrusting your tongue into her until she’s a puddle in your arms.

“...I don’t know why the door is locked. Let me speak to the manager to get the key.”

Natasha’s whimpers are muted so you have to gauge her reaction by the rest of her body. The way she grips onto your hair like it’s some kind of lifeline. Her walls milk your tongue desperately, slick spilling onto your chin. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to get enough of this woman.

The door clicks open just as Natasha finally comes undone. Your fingers muffle her moans as you quickly lick her clean, wishing you had time to bring her to a second orgasm, but the heels on the floor indicate the two of you are no longer alone. You slowly lower Natasha to the floor, suddenly feeling the burn in your shoulders as you finally relieve yourself of her weight.

“Call me next time you want to fuck someone,” Natasha pulls you in for one final kiss and slips something into your pocket. It’s her business card. 

“We’ll see,” you say, still not exactly sure of this arrangement, but not having the time to hang around and discuss. You leave the stall first, washing off at the sink and slinking out.

***********************************************************************

Natasha waits until you’ve left the bathroom to adjust herself in the mirror. She reapplies another layer of lipstick, smoothing down her blouse and tucking it back into her pants. She struts out of the restaurant, her body tingling in the aftermath of her sexcapade in the bathroom with you.

She steps into the alley adjacent to the restaurant and stands by the overflowing dumpster. She takes your wallet out of her pocket, unfolding it and laughing at the photo on your driver’s license. It was almost disappointing how easy you were. You weren’t cut out to lead a powerful company like Envy Industries. While you might have had the intellect, you clearly could not handle confrontation and even the idea of failure.

Natasha almost feels bad for you, but not bad enough to stop.

She empties the cash from your wallet, the several crisp hundred dollar bills fluttering to the ground. Maybe they’ll make some lucky homeless person’s day. Natasha pockets your heavy metal credit cards, despite having no intention but to use them as paperweights for her office. Then she finds what she’s really after: the solid black card that’s your apartment key. 

Natasha discards your wallet into the dumpster and walks out to the street to be picked up by her driver. 

***********************************************************************

You return to the table, smoothing back your hair and pulling at the newly-formed wrinkles in your shirt. You barely remember to button your shirt back up to your throat to hide the collar of hickeys Natasha left to remember her by.

“You were in there a while,” Tony comments. “You need some Pepto?”

“No, I’m fine.” You sit down, staring at your cold steak while you think. “Can we go now? I have some stuff I need to do.”

“Sure, sure.” Tony calls for the waitress and the check. You slip your phone out to view the location of the tracking device you (literally) implanted into Natasha.

It was a tiny, tiny device, probably about the size of a grain of rice. You could barely feel its weight when you have it balanced on the tip of your finger. 

“This GPS will provide an accurate location down to a meter,” Dr. Pym explains. “Designed and manufactured right here at Envy Industries, so you can rest assured this is the highest quality product you’ll find on the market.”

“Don’t mention this to my dad, will you?” you request, placing the little tracker back in its foam-padded case.

“Of course,” Dr. Pym says. “I answer to you and only you now.”

“Good.”

You weren’t a hundred-percent sure how successful you’d be, but you had tried your best to hold the GPS on your fingertip before sticking your fingers in Natasha’s mouth. Her natural reaction would be to suck and swallow, and you were hoping that the rice-sized GPS would easily find its way down her esophagus into her. 

There was no way she would know about it (or even be able to taste it) in the heat of the moment, and after a few days, it would pass through and the evidence wouldn’t be in her system anymore. You didn’t need more than a few days to track her location and habits. 

With a sigh of relief, you see the red dot on the map indicating that she’s still waiting by the street side of the restaurant, probably for her driver. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself, wondering what Natasha would say when she realizes you’re willing to play just as dirty as her.

The waitress boxes up your steak and hands it to you in a paper bag. You and Tony leave through the back entrance to the cramped parking lot and you wait until you’ve climbed into his Aston Martin to say, “Are you still in touch with that…uh…Buck guy?”

Tony is quiet for a moment. “Oh, you mean Bucky? Yeah, I see him from time to time. Why?”

You’ve never made a request like this before in your life, and you know the moment you do, it’s going to change everything. You take a deep breath, fighting the anxiety in your chest.

“I need him to get me a gun.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Click here for Part 3!

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[whatifyoulivelikethat]

never not mine | jjk | "i hear..."

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

Bygones will be bygone eras, fading into grey. Breaking up with Jeon Jungkook had been a vicious, clean break. He tried to take it back, but the damage was already done. You walked out of the world you didn't belong in, at least until Kim Taehyung calls your name.

this is part i | part ii | part iii

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of controlling behaviors in a romantic relationship; reader is emotionally distant after said breakup; second chance romance?; angst and fluff and feels; your POV

non-idol!AU; fashion model!Jungkook — ft fellow model/actor!Kim Taehyung and model/businessman!Kim Seokjin; and a certain Maestro cameo; reader is not part of the entertainment industry

--

“Please love me again.”

You could hear him saying it but you pretended not to hear. You pretended not to know. You pretended he wasn’t there. He was persona non grata. No, he was simply another blurry face amongst many that faded into the grey background of grey days. He was only a ghost. If he happened to be in the same place as you were, it wasn’t any of your damn business. People were allowed to be wherever they wanted to be.

“I’m sorry.”

Yes, he was.

Sorry that he couldn’t walk all over you like he wanted. Sorry that he couldn’t control you on that leash like he wanted. Sorry that you had the balls to cut all ties and not put up with his selfish bullshit anymore. Sorry. What a word. Your response had not been a vindictive one, though. You hadn’t blocked him on social media. You figured he would block you himself. The last moments were him berating you for being late, what if something happened to you, I was worried, and you snapping. It had taken every fiber of your being to not fling your clutch in his face and tell him to take himself out if he cared so much.

“I understand what you meant now.”

The first couple times he attempted to speak to you after it all, you were ice-cold furious. So angry that you simply refused to speak to avoid spitting literal fire. So, you didn’t. And then it became a habit. Then you stopped caring. You stopped feeling. You lived your life.

Alone.

Like an abandoned puppy, Jeon Jungkook followed you every chance he got, but there were less and less chances as time went on. You would walk past him. He would follow until it was definitely too creepy and simply stop, staring after you with a lost look in his empty eyes. Everyone could see the broken heart in his stare.

A lot of people asked you what happened.

It was a valid question.

It was just as valid for you to not answer.

“I’m not going to talk about that. We can talk about something else.”

You avoided people who couldn’t let it go or cut them out altogether. What was the point of shit-talking, taking sides, making yourself angry over things that couldn’t be changed? What was the point of being upset over nights that couldn’t be taken back? Over phone calls and you sitting alone in a restaurant, empty chair in front of you and the reason in your hand, an opportunity came up, I’m leaving for Los Angeles in the morning, I need to pack, bye. Over trips suddenly cut short in the middle, the agency called, another model got sick last minute so I gotta go, just stay here and have fun. By yourself. Over accusations, what are you doing right now, send a photo, now. Over doubts, are you really at the supermarket, I don’t know, you could be doing anything, I’m not there after all. Over being five minutes late because the taxi you had taken was driven by an older gentleman chatting away, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him to shut up simply because of a boy.

Five minutes.

“Where were you? You need to tell me if you’re late. What if something happened? I was worried.”

“The driver was talking to me.”

“And you couldn’t text that you were okay?”

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Am I not your priority?” he had hissed.

Snap.

All those times, all those moments, okay, I understand, it’s fine, you can make it up to me later, they all came back to you in vivid recollections, and you had stared at Jeon Jungkook. All those people saying how lucky you must be having such a good-looking guy, an actual fashion model, must be so nice, and you only said nice things about him because it didn’t occur to you to complain, no, it would be silly to complain about someone you loved. That was part of loving someone, wasn’t it, being in love was putting up with these things and believing in their words. All those instances, prove what you’re doing, send a photo. Now. All that shit got you to this moment right here, right now, under this furious scrutiny, his dark brows furrowed, his pretty mouth twisted in a frown, his question ringing in your ears.

His accusation in which he had already deemed you guilty.

“The fuck you say to me?” you had growled softly.

Never once did you ask him what he was doing in the destination that he was at. Never once did you fault him for going out and having fun. Never once did you say anything about the multiple social posts of beaches and hotels and nightclubs and everyone scantily-clad, his arms around fellow models, pressed up against fabulous guys and glamorous girls. If he didn’t answer you for a couple days, you assumed it was due to long shoot days and combined jetlag making him crash. The very answer he gave you the first time you asked. You believed him then. There was no need to ask for confirmation over and over if you trusted him. And you did trust him.

Now, this.

“I was five minutes late. If I thought I would be later, I would have texted you,” you explained with emotionless calm. “At least I showed up. At least I didn’t make you sit down in the restaurant, wait around for an hour only to get a text that you aren’t coming. Not even a phone call anymore.”

You hadn’t raised your voice.

He had looked taken aback.

“But… I thought you would understand.”

“Of course, I understand.” The seething anger was white-hot but your tone was crystal-clear cold. “I can understand, as long as you show me some grace and appreciation for not losing my shit every time it happens. Am I not your priority? When have I ever been yours?”

He tried to answer quickly. “You’re always–”

But you were already pulling up the rideshare app, calling another car to come pick you up. “Am I? Then why accuse me the second I get out of the car? Where was I? In the taxi. You saw me get out of it. Why are you holding five minutes over my head like a death sentence, as if I surely betrayed you in those extra five minutes? If it’s you it could be five, thirty, hours, but I have to understand you are networking. I have to understand you are being personable. I have to understand that you are practicing being friendly because it doesn’t come naturally to you.”

Jungkook simply gawked at you, wide-eyed.

You narrowed your eyes, creating a distance he could no longer cross.

“Am I just here so you have someone to visit when you’re bored? Someone to fuck?”

Maybe the vulgarity was taking it too far. Maybe saying all of this in public right now was in poor taste. His jarring question rang in your head. Am I not your priority? Maybe you were wrong to say it all now, but it was the way he said it, as if your love for him had become invalid once you were five minutes late to the appointed time for this date that you didn’t know whether or not he would abandon you in the middle of or take you home and rock your world – and you realized you didn’t care what the outcome was.

You just didn’t give a fuck anymore.

There were so many things he could have done. He could break up with you if his career was more important. He could say sorry more. He could find ways to make it up to you. He could, but he didn’t, and you understood. But this. This you could not understand. This he could not do.

No.

This you would not let him do.

If this was innocent concern, he made it worse by coming off as suffocating and hovering. Now, you realized that no excuse would have been good enough to convince him otherwise. He had already made up his mind to attack you the second you walked out of that car, delivering in the fatal blow instantly. All those moments. All those times had become hair-thin cracks, marring the bond between you and him, tiny little slices to kill the relationship and your will to be in it.

“I don’t think…”

He trailed off, not completing his thought.

The car pulled up.

This was surely the meaning of quiet treason.

“No, you don’t,” you had finished for him with icy agreement. “You expect. You expect me to be here and hold your hand when you want it, and now I know you will never ask me if I ever need my hand held.”

You had stepped away from the curb, not once raising your voice, no longer looking at him, your knuckles digging into your beaded black clutch. You expected it to hurt at least a little.

It was nothing compared to this death by a thousand cuts.

“W-Wait!”

You didn’t.

You had opened the car door and closed it quickly. The driver  requested you to confirm your name. You tersely nodded. They didn’t ask any further questions even as you witnessed Jungkook’s shocked face in the side mirror as the vehicle drove away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t even cry. Maybe you should have given him a chance to say something. A chance to change.

Except you had.

This wasn’t the first time that you had this conversation, although the first time was you sitting him down and saying, hey, if you’re not sure about your schedule, let’s not arrange any dates around those days. We can go out when things settle down. The answer was agreement and all was well for a couple weeks. And then it would happen again. And then you would bring it up again. Whoops. And again.Then he would ask you what you were doing when he wasn’t there. Oh, really? Send pictures.You asking, this is a bit much, isn’t it? The answer being, I want to know you’re safe. You finally admitting that it drove you a bit crazy. Him laughing and saying he was a bit of a handful, brushing away your concerns in light of his own.

Five minutes.

Am I not your priority?

The anger had nowhere to go.

Like how summer turned into fall and then into winter, the anger grew cold and dense and concentrated. A stone. Then one day you turned it over and found nothing underneath. You stopped caring. On one hand, you could have been the bigger person and reached out. On another hand, you didn’t see the reason in wasting any more time. What good was closure? What good would it do, talking it out and getting the same result? Deserve this, deserve that. Fair or not, at the end of the day, it didn’t work and there was no forcing something if neither party wanted to really try. I understand, until you couldn’t anymore.

Now.

Now, you would sit alone at restaurants and not be disappointed.

Table for one, yes, thank you.

Now you would spend hours at the games store and no one would be asking you to take pictures and prove that you were there. He used to play video games too, but he gradually fell out of them. Busy. Felt like he couldn’t keep up. Sold his PC because he was never home.

Emptiness where he had once enjoyed spending that time with you.

You would stay at the music store for a long time, looking over albums and wondering if you should buy them. It had been such a long time. You never listened to CDs anymore although you had been obsessed with music as a kid. The past felt like a different time. Memories of a clunky CD player and wired headphones with the metal arch over your head and those spongey earcups. Now you had wireless earbuds and a phone. Still, you looked over the colorful albums and wondered if you should get one, just to have it or maybe even put it on display. He used to listen to a lot of music too. Probably still did, on planes and in cars. He used to share your taste.

Now you didn’t have to share anything.

You stuck with your favorites, still, for years. It was an ever-growing list of popular artists as well as lesser-known indie artists that you never forgot. You made sure to listen to the top hits as well since those songs were popular for a reason. The occasional earworm could lead you down a pleasant rabbit hole, too.

You picked up an album of a band you liked but had never owned and went home.

Got that dopamine unboxing it and smiling at the photocards. Looked through the extras with the album on repeat playing through your Bluetooth speaker. You didn’t do these kinds of things in front of Jungkook usually. You had always prioritized engaging with him. Listening to his stories, looking at the photos of places he had been, shaking your head at the long hours or difficult call times. Every moment precious because you would never know when it would be cut short.

You had made everything about him when in his presence.

You hadn’t blasted the relationship all over social media although it was obvious. For the most part, people had been respectful. You hadn’t deleted all the photos he was in, the photos he had taken of you, nor had you blocked him. People asked. You repeated the same thing over and over. I’m not going to talk about that. We can talk about something else. People eventually stopped asking. Old news was old news. There was no visible resentment, and so the interest died out.

You caught Jungkook looking at you from across the concessions stand at the movie theater.

Those big dark brown eyes filled with rueful invitation.

You didn’t know what movie he was going into, but you turned away and didn’t think about it much.

Watched the movie you paid for, alone.

Went home.

Alone.

You used to watch movies twice. Once by yourself when it released, then a second time when Jungkook could make it. When he could. Sometimes he couldn’t and the movie was already out of theaters. Then you both would watch it at home when it released on streaming services. It was what it was. You enjoyed movies. You had the time and money to watch them twice. But now you didn’t have to.

That was nice.

You weren’t sure if Jungkook was deliberately going places that you often frequented or if it was coincidence. It was likely the latter, because he usually wasn’t alone. He had a group of friends that lived in this area and often came to visit them. He used to joke that it must have been fate for you to meet as your friend circles didn’t overlap. At least he had not shown up to the video games store or the music store you usually went to, so you didn’t feel threatened in any way. Maybe he was visiting his friends more because he was sad. Maybe he was visiting them more in hopes of seeing you, the same tactic he used when he first asked you out. Maybe it was both.

It was probably both.

Sometimes you would cry in frustration.

Sometimes you would play games to distract yourself.

Sometimes you didn’t mind too much as the days passed. Sometimes you would look outside and admire the sun. Sometimes it would rain and that was nice too. Sometimes you were sad but it wasn’t a negative feeling. Such was the natural course. Sadness was the promise of happiness to come, because one couldn’t exist without the other.

At least, you believed so.

Ther wasn’t much more you could do than that.

For a bit there you had almost thought the relationship hadn’t mattered because you had walked away so coldly. In some ways, you wished you could take it back. In other ways, you didn’t. It was hard to discount years of your life simply because of how the chapter ended. There had definitely been unique experiences that you were unlikely to relive. You used to attend lavish parties with Jungkook, especially many around the holidays. You would dress up in your best and put on a brave face. A lovely dress, the high heels he brought you, carefully done makeup and hair. Jungkook would walk in with you gliding beside him, silently holding his arm. People would tell you how fun it was working with him and how lucky he was to have such a pretty and understanding lady. These were all work events full of unfamiliar faces. Jungkook used to be reserved and hang out with you in corners but, as he got more popular, more people roped him into conversations, remember this, and he would slip in with his friends, naturally, laughing and smiling. You would wait nearby, at yet another party surrounded by better bodies, and somehow he would find you at the end of the night, ask you if you had fun.

And you would smile and assure him.

“Something like that.”

The best parties were the ones thrown by his friend Kim Taehyung. He had been in the entertainment industry for a long time, becoming Jungkook’s friend though their crossed paths in modeling. He had an affliction for celebration and Jungkook was always invited, which meant you, too, bore witness to many magnificent events hosted by him. The most extravagant were his own birthday parties. Quite so, as the date was after Christmas, and he continued the festive mood. Taehyung loved a theme. He would rent specific venues, arrange for live music, impose a dress code, everything. One year, he flew everyone out to Paris and rented an entire restaurant to celebrate. Even if you barely knew anyone there, it was fun being in a different world created by Taehyung’s magical vision. Everyone was thrown into it together, experiencing the vibes of an old American jazz club, the white beaches with glass waters during Christmastime, or a playful night filled with Taehyung’s favorite childhood games and sweet treats, complete with food stalls from the area of Daegu he grew up in.

You didn’t fit in, but no one did because these were all Taehyung’s fantasies brought to life.

He always sent the invitations by physical mail, on stunning stationery to match the theme. Someone else must have created them, but seemingly Taehyung approved them all as every single one contained his unique flourishing signature. You kept them in a box. They were too pretty to throw away.

You had received an invitation this year too, to a midnight masquerade ball, but you didn’t go.

Perhaps he didn’t know yet. Or, perhaps he did know and Jungkook asked him to invite you. They were quite close. If there was a plan, you didn’t take the bait. The date came and went. Maybe Taehyung considered you a friend, but that was probably a stretch. Jungkook didn’t like you talking to Taehyung too much.

Apparently, you made him smile too big.

Or something.

Taehyung had an entire party to get to every time you met him, anyway. You would have to shoo him off because there was very little night and Taehyung wanted to speak to every guest one-on-one. He was sincere like that. He was romantic like that. He was dark and handsome and in his own head, in his constant dream of living his wonderful life that, from what you could discern, he deserved. He even always remembered to ask the staff working at his party to eat cake with them. At the end of the night, Taehyung would pick up the microphone and thank the guests for coming and thank the staff for working hard to provide everyone with a good time. Taehyung always remembered to say thank you and he always made sure to express his gratitude to everyone, no matter their status.

You missed being at his party, a little bit, if only just to witness a fairy-tale in real life.

But you weren’t part of Jeon Jungkook’s world anymore.

And so you missed the party.

Please love me again.

On quiet, grey days, you realized how very boring your life was. On quiet, grey days, you were tempted to think about the good times. About his laugh, about his starry eyes when you came into view, about enchanted nights where you would both make magic between bodies. On quiet, grey days, you were tempted to pick out all his flaws until the memories were burned, images stricken with ash, never to be the same again. On quiet, grey days, you had every chance to run back or run away, at least in your head, but instead you lived your very boring life doing neither of those choices.

Whether you loved him or hated him, the result would still be the same.

You entered the artisan tea shop and greeted the staff. You talked about how your father was into tea, chatted about what would make a good gift. The prices of the sets. The amount of loose-leaf tea and how many cups it would make. The various flavors and strength. You smelled a bunch of different ones. Rejected some, remained indecisive about others, accepted a few as contenders.

You heard the bell by the door chime again, musical and clear.

A male’s voice, deep and polite.

You tensed. Your body knew before your mind caught up. You pointed to several flavors you had liked, and the employee suggested a gift box sampler featuring a watercolor camellia-printed limited-edition teacup set that you agreed to readily, all the while vaguely aware of a tingling behind your neck and a vigilant tension forming in your lungs. But it wasn’t until your name was called that you turned around by instinct, and then froze with recognition. Dark brown eyes under graceful black-brown waves. Tan skin glimmering under the lights. The image completed by a three-piece chocolate brown suit paired with a ruffled warm gray dress shirt and sharp dark leather oxfords. The stylish man smiled widely, box-like, and walked towards you without hesitation.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Kim Taehyung must have known, and yet.

You bowed lightly. “Hello.”

The sales associate was immediately charmed by Taehyung’s deep voice and dashing appearance, their gloved hands hovering over the half-packed box and openly ogling the demandingly handsome gentleman that took your hand warmly before lightly kissing your knuckles. Straight out of a movie. Probably learned it from one, or from traveling in Europe. He let go after a lingering moment.

He had said your name with the same velvety warmth he had at all of his parties.

It had hurt, but it wasn’t his fault.

“How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while. Are you buying something?” He raised his head and daintily smiled at the employee before giving you his full attention again. “Let me pay for it.”

“No, ah,” you interrupted him quickly, handing over your card before Taehyung could reach into his heavily lined pockets. “No, sorry. I’m buying a gift for my father.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he apologized immediately, retracting his hands. “I meant to do something nice for you and I’ve overstepped.”

“It’s… It’s alright,” you chuckled softly, trying to dissipate the awkwardness. You turned slightly to sign the receipt, not looking at the price. Your card went back into your black leather bow purse. “You had no way of knowing. How are you? And your parents?”

Taehyung was still a little sheepish but he remained next to you at a respectful distance. “Me? I guess you could say I’m holding on. I think I might take a small break soon and spend a week with my family. How did you know I was thinking of them?” He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a mind-reader.”

You shook your head with a smile, taking the beautifully wrapped bag and bowing in gratitude to the employee. “No, you’ve just never been a big tea drinker. It was only a guess.”

He scratched the back of his head and sighed lightheartedly. “Ah, you’re right. I wanted to buy a grown-up gift, but maybe I should have asked what they wanted. I don’t know the first thing about tea.”

You both began to walk towards the entrance.

“You’re their adorable child. They will love anything you gift them.”

Taehyung grinned. “So, you think I’m adorable?”

You opened your mouth and then.

Then you were suddenly hyperaware of the brightness of the lights in the tea store. Suddenly aware of all the customers around you milling about and chatting with their friends and the employees. Suddenly the scents of the store were too strong and too varied and suddenly a phantom grip on your arm from a time long past pulled you away from your center, into the past, and you remembered all the times you stood in a corner of a party, on the outskirts of alcohol, music, and magic, wondering why you were so, so alone.

You plastered a smile on your face and replied pleasantly.

“Of course, you are, Kim Taehyung.”

It lasted a second.

Maybe less.

Taehyung gazed at you with curious eyes.

You kept the smile on your face.

He stepped past you and opened the door, gesturing you to walk out before him in the most gentlemanly way, smiling with his eyes crinkling as they usually did when he laughed or was in his comfort zone. “Come. Let me at least treat you to lunch,” he insisted.

You accepted his graciousness and turned as you walked to face him as you spoke. “That’s really not necessary. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

He chuckled, the sound coming deep from his chest. “Of course, I’m busy, but I always have time for a friend.” He shrugged nonchalantly, grinning. “My manager expects this kind of behavior from me anyway.”

You paused, looking up at him. “Friend?”

Flutters of lashes and confusion in dark brown orbs.

“Are we not friends?”

People around you continued walking, giving you and Taehyung weird looks. He didn’t seem to notice, undeterred by the world around him that wasn’t currently in his focus, the main character at every moment in his life, oblivious to anyone trying to get under his skin with their judgements, never the accessory to someone else.

It turned out to be more difficult than you thought, saying the words.

“I… well… Don’t you know that Jeon Jungkook and I aren’t dating anymore?”

Taehyung tilted his head with childlike innocence.

“Um… so you don’t eat lunch anymore?”

You blinked at him.

“Huh?”

He gave you this look. You stared back. For a moment the disconnect was so tangible that you almost had a word for it. A zephyr ruffled Taehyung’s soft curls. The sun made his skin glow and his dark eyes sparkle. Small signs of Mother Nature affectionately acknowledging one of her children. He smiled. It was then that you realized this was a decision you could make. A decision of a lonely self, not a lonely self that was an extension of another. A yes or no that didn’t have to be polluted by the past.

“Well…”

Your hands tightened on the straps of the gift bag.

“If you’ll have me.”

Taehyung grinned. “I know just the spot! You’ll love it.”

-

It was nice lunch.

No, it was wonderful time.

You had been worried that you would be underdressed in your calf-length flowy black dress and chunky knit lavender cardigan, but you fit right in. Taehyung had picked a busy rooftop brunch spot. It was French-themed, or at least as French as Korea could get. There was a bit more wood than brass and crystals. It still made for a nice hideaway. It seemed Taehyung was well recognized here, and yet people maintained a distance regardless. It must have been his polite yet stern demeanor. When he sat down though, he seemed to relax, waving a hand and telling you to order whatever you liked.

You never could turn down good brioche.

You thought it would have been awkward, at least. It wasn’t. He talked about his work, asked about yours. Asked what you thought about this or that. Memories from past events, what you liked or didn’t like. What he paid too much for that nobody noticed, along with a hearty laugh, and moments he loved, such as having a group photo at every one of his events. You asked him if he enjoyed planning the events themselves. He confessed with a roughish smile that he had a planner for all those details. You thought it strange to spend so much money on such occasions, but there was something pure about it too. Besides, you ended up getting your answer.

“What’s the most important lesson in your life you’ve learned so far?” Taehyung abruptly asked, sitting up in alarm.

You blinked at his suddenness. “Uh… I don’t know. I would have to think about it.” Your lips upturned slightly, then you tilted your head and looked back at him. “What about you? What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned in your life so far?”

He relaxed back in his chair. His expression became pensive. You paused in mid-bite, seeing him look a bit sheepish.

“You’re not the first person to ask me about the parties,” Taehyung chuckled deep from his chest. “A lot of people tell me it’s a waste of money. And it is to other people, but it isn’t to me. The most important lesson I’ve ever learned was…”

He raised his head with a small smile.

“You can’t get time back.”

You remembered the extensive decor, the delicate hors d'oeuvres, even the various perfumes sprayed into the air complimenting the theme of each party. Exquisite and memorable details. Taehyung ticked his head, seemingly recalling it all too.

“I think I’ve mentioned this, but my grandmother was the closest maternal figure I had,” he explained, fondly smiling. “I’m close to my parents too, but they had to work a lot to give me a good life, so I spent a lot of time with my siblings and grandparents. My grandmother used to hold celebrations for the achievements I had, even if they were mediocre or not that impressive. Nothing extravagant, or anything. A little cake or my favorite sweets. She would sing for me and clap her hands. She would say, it’s my duty to give you good memories. As I got older, I became busy, of course, chasing dreams, and I didn’t make time for her small celebrations any more. I was just out of university when she passed away. I often think I hadn’t spent enough time with her. Time is money, as they say. Next time, I would say, until there wasn’t a next time.”

The weight of his words settled on the table.

“It’s not your fault,” you reminded him, but Taehyung simply smiled and shook his head.

“It wasn’t anybody’s fault,” he agreed. “But that wasn’t it. I couldn’t get all that time back. Sure, did I take jobs that put me in a really good place now? Yeah. Yeah, of course, I make a lot of money now since young me jumped at every chance to model for a small brand or do a single-run commercial. I really love my career. I love that, because I did the hard work, I even get offers to act in primetime dramas now. But I should have made less. I should have made time. I should have gone to see her and let her do her duty to give me good memories.”

He waved his hands in a slight shrug. You could tell he was still regretful about it, but there was something else too. He looked directly at you with that boxy grin of his.

“I decided, then, that I too  wanted to give good memories to the people that are precious to me. I have all this money, anyway. Why waste it on things? I want to waste it on memories. I want people to look forward to special days, to celebrate life, to look back on a fun time.”

So that was why.

“That is what is really important to me.”

Kim Taehyung wasn’t only good looks, of course.

“I’ve yapped long enough. What is really important to you?” he asked again, chuckling.

“Oh, I…”

And there were no words.

You straightened, startled by your own silence. There were lots of important things, weren’t there? There was… and there wasn’t. Friends, sure. And, also, friends came in and out of your life. You didn’t take it personally. Family, yes. Cordial but not deep. They had their own lives to live. You almost opened your mouth to say these generic things, and then you caught the look in Taehyung’s eye and stopped.

This basic question was not so basic after all.

“I… Am I boring?” you blurted with a start.

“Boring?” Taehyung frowned. “No, you’re not.”

Your brows furrowed. “Aren’t I?”

He laughed, hearty and deep. “Trust me. You’re not boring. We wouldn’t be having a conversation if you were boring.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why are we having a conversation?”

Taehyung smiled warmly.

“Because I appreciate your outlook on life.”

You were taken aback.

“What?”

He nodded. “Isn’t it obvious?” He waved a hand carelessly. “I’ve met so many people doing what I do. Some people are just nice to you because of money. Or think you can boost their reputation. Or they think they can take advantage of you. You’ve been around all that too, no?” He did not mention Jungkook.

“Oh, well…” you hesitated. “Not anymore. I’m pretty ordinary.”

A small frown. “No, everyone is extraordinary.”

You scoffed. “I’m only an accountant. Not even one that works closely with my own clients – I’m just the one at the firm that does the final review over everyone’s work to make sure we don’t get into legal trouble. That’s nothing like what you do.”

He impatiently swept your words away. “Everyone is extraordinary,” he repeated.

“I don’t think–”

“You are different,” Taehyung pressed. “You had been introduced to a different world than your own and you could have been a vulture. You could have taken for your own sake. You could have done everything you could to be ‘one of us’. You could have scorned us too, called it all superficial and stupid. But you didn’t.” He crossed his arms to make his point. “You observed. You listened. You treated me, the people around me, everyone as their own person. We weren’t just some dumb rich people to you. We were individuals.”

You didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t something you had ever consciously thought about before.

“There are so many people that believe in using others, either in a beneficial way or in a cruel way,” sighed Taehyung. “It’s a difficult world. We all need to live.” He reached over and made you jump by placing his hand over the back of yours. “Don’t give up on that, okay?”

Your stared at him with wide eyes. “On… what?”

Almost. You didn’t quite have an answer for the most important lesson in your life you had learned so far. But almost. Kim Taehyung cocooned his palm over your hand and trapped you with his determined brown eyes, straight from a drama scene. A heavenly prince in a fancy café. He looked back to you very seriously, taking all of your attention away from the whispering conversations on other tables, away from the clinking plates and glasses, away from all distractions.

“Don’t give up on the way you want to live.”

Those small moments.

From eating dinner alone to watching movies alone to buying that album and unboxing it yourself to looking outside, days and nights, wondering what could have been and killing that thought over and over again.

“The way… I want to live?” you echoed breathlessly.

The clear, musical chime of the bell by the entrance sang through the air, mingling with the conversation and consumption. A halo of sound that rang true over every table to reach every customer. It was as striking as it was lovely, flawlessly melding into the moment. A pure sound that could trigger a pleasant déjà vu, the recall of a good chat over good food.

Taehyung grinned with his beautiful, perfectly white teeth.

“I want you to have good memories. Whatever you decide, let us make good memories with those precious to us.”

You decided, then and there, that you needed to start doing things.

-

“Oh, good, you’re home. That would have been awfully embarrassing.”

“W-What…?”

You backed up in your slippers as a stunningly well-dressed man flourished into your home like an astronaut landing on the moon. That was, if the moon was your front door. The black mat was space-themed, printed with abstract stars and a grayish circle. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Your pajamas were also soft black cotton with a twinkly star print, although your slippers were simple, white furry poofs that felt like walking on clouds.

“Take this.”

“What is – oof!”

In contrast to your outfit, the man who had entered your home looked like he had stepped off the runway. He wore light blue trousers that you almost mistook for jeans, however they had a tone-on-tone print that clearly indicated the luxury designer. Underneath the navy-blue duster coat was a crisp white shirt pressed to the gods with distinctive sky-blue trim. A quick glimpse and anyone would know the inner lining of the duster was blue silk, the matching tone-on-tone print subtle and obvious at the same time. You nearly buckled under the weight of a wooden box, gasping as you saw the slices of high-grade beef in a gold bow. The man gestured with his hand in a swooping manner.

“I heard all about it from Taehyung,” he was saying, shrugging his broad shoulders heavily.

“Heard…?” You were still reeling from the unexpected guest and a box of meat. “What’s this, I can’t accept th–”

The man shot you a scathing look. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he chided, dismissive. “How unbelievably rude I would be dropping by your home if I didn’t have a gift? Psh, why, I wouldn’t be Kim Seokjin!”

And so he was.

Although, as far as you knew, you and famous-actor-turned-businessman Kim Seokjin were not close friends. Not close enough to be gifted with a house call and meat, anyway. He had been close to Jeon Jungkook back then. They often sought each other out when they both attended the same events. You were well aquatinted with Seokjin’s boisterous personality and his worldwide-known handsomeness. He was no different today, looking sculpted from jawline to broad shoulders to the regal way he stood. Glowing skin. Lightly permed, chestnut brown hair. Full lips, currently in a slight frown.

You bowed awkwardly. “S-Sorry, I just didn’t expect…”

“Ah, it’s alright.” He called you by name, although somewhat awkwardly, as if he was unsure if he should be more formal or not. “I won’t take too much of your time.”

You were still confused about Seokjin saying he had heard something from Taehyung. Actually, you didn’t even know how he got your address, although it wasn’t impossible. After all, Taehyung’s party invitations came in snail mail. It wasn’t that shocking. You probably might have been more annoyed if you were in the middle of something, but all you had been doing was getting ready to heat up some leftover takeout. You shuffled slightly, trying to block the view of the kitchen counter. Not necessarily embarrassed, per se, as your apartment was quite spacious and neat, but nothing here was comparable to Kim Seokjin’s lifestyle. It was kind of pointless to do so, though, since Seokjin was quite tall.

He seemed not to notice or care about the current state of your kitchen.

You stood there, dazed, clutching a box of high-grade beef.

He cleared his throat very firmly. “I came to invite you to the opening of my new establishment. Two weeks from now.” He rattled off the opening date. “But don’t come on opening day. It’ll be too crowded. Some day after. Let me know when and I’ll make special arrangements for you,” he added, stepping forward to tuck his business card into one of the folds of the gold bow. “Call the number on there. My assistant will connect me to you. I can link you with talented professionals if you are interested, which I’ll pay for, of course.”

“I– What – I’m sorry?” you sputtered. “Me?”

The handsome man exaggeratedly whipped his head from side to side. “Uh, do I see anyone else? Yes, of course, you,” he affirmed gruffly. “I came to invite you in person.”

“Well…” This must be how deer felt when confronted with headlights. “I’m not trying to be rude, but, uh… why?”

Seokjin looked offended. “Why? So you can meet people, silly.”

You struggled to connect the information given to you but he was not making it easy. “Meet people?”

“Yes,” he tutted. “You want to meet people, don’t you?”

Did you? You gave him a confused look.

“As Taehyung said,” Seokjin continued as if you completely understood. “People like you need to be surrounded by good people. And I happen to know a lot of them. We need people like you in this industry.”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t have any intention of–”

“Precisely.” He barreled on as if your front entryway was his own stage. “That is precisely why.”

Silence.

A bird cawed outside.

“H… Hah?”

Something in his expression softened. You almost forgot the weight of the wood box in your hands. You almost forgot the ridiculousness of you in your pajamas and Kim Seokjin in his luxury designer clothes. You almost forgot that you were in a completely different class, completely out of your element, completely ordinary.

He sighed and slipped his hands into his pants pockets, neatly tucking back his coat. “Look, I understand if you absolutely don’t want to have anything to do with me and the others. I don’t blame you. But,” he added, nodding lightly. “Your presence is missed. I do believe your interactions with those around you have done them a world of good. Maybe not everyone, yes, but you’re still spoken of, even now.”

“What…?” You blinked, doubtful. “Really?”

Seokjin chuckled, nodding. “You are good company.”

You thought all those times. All those events, dinners, parties. You mostly remembered Jungkook letting you be. Sure, you had light conversation with those around you. You couldn’t remember all their faces. They had been simple conversations, you thought, but they weren’t superficial once you really thought about it. You didn’t have basic industry chatter to talk about, so instead you had asked about aspirations. Asked why instead of what. Why acting? Why modeling? Why entertainment? Talks of the past, the present, the future. Pretty normal, you thought, but maybe…

Maybe it was more normal to ask what they were achieving.

Maybe it wasn’t so normal to ask who someone was.

“Anyway,” Seokjin coughed, breaking you out of your daze. “I wanted to give you ample time to think about it.”

“More than two weeks?” you mused.

He waved a hand. “Don’t know about you, but I need time to schedule and plan things. I need time to get myself ready to interact,” he muttered, half-joking and half-bitterly.

The meat was getting heavy. “Ah… What’s the dress code?”

“Aish, didn’t I tell you?” Seokjin tapped the side of his head. “Think about it. Then give me a call, and I’ll arrange for hair and makeup and fashion. No, don’t even bother asking about price. I’m inviting you to introduce you to people, so I am paying. End of discussion. And…”

A loaded pause.

Tick of the head and Seokjin very seriously asked you.

“If Jeon Jungkook is there, will you be fine?”

You answered honestly.

“I don’t think it will be an issue.”

He surveyed you for a long second and then nodded.

“Alright. Let me know when you’ve decided. Have a nice night. Don’t hesitate to contact me if I can help in some way. I’m not a stranger. By the way.” He added one last comment before leaving, spinning back around with a hand on your now open door and the other pointing to the side of the box. “The butcher shop I purchased this from is owned by a friend of mine. Make sure to send your family and friends his way once you taste how delicious and high-quality it is.”

-

You walked into the nightclub, oddly at peace among the blaring music and bustling bodies, stepping into a world of light and dark and pushing boundaries.

The past couple hours had been spent in a chair, fussed over by a detailed makeup artist and equally talented hairdresser. It had been more enjoyable than you originally thought. Perhaps it had been Seokjin’s excellent choices or their own expertise. They even both asked for your input and offered their advice. It felt like a joint effort. Even the fashion stylist who came later was as informative as they were considerate. You had found out that they had taken your name and your photos to have your fortune read and performed color analysis, respectively. That explained why Seokjin had asked you to take those plain photos. This had made color and style selection much simpler, as you naturally liked all the choices. You were no stranger to tight outfits, although this type of nightlife was not the kind of place you frequented. The stylist had brought a rack of choices, and just in case, a black slip dress looks good on everyone, and all of them were compelling in one way or another. All nightclub appropriate. You asked what to try first. The stylist had asked you how you were feeling.

Feeling?

The answer came out before you could stop it.

“Like revenge.”

You had laughed it off, and so had the staff, but you had seen the gleam in their eyes as if they, too, relished in being part of this so-called revenge.

Well, they were.

You weren’t perfectly sure if this was actual revenge yet, no. You were certainly dressed for it. Black lace corset. Tight lilac short skirt. Black patent leather jacket cropped so severely that it was nearly a bolero. Delicate black pumps with a thin ankle strap. The kind that was a bit fiddly to get on, but was worth it in the end. There was a power in this type of outfit, the kind that made you hold your head high and walk alone with confidence. Perhaps similar to a superhero costume. Just as impractical, too, heh. But that was okay. You weren’t here to prevent any crimes.

Just commit them.

Maybe.

In any case, you weren’t even sure what was going to happen tonight. Something had been planned for you, so you walked in and looked around, wondering if you should ask for help. The luxury was obvious from every corner of the building. From the furniture choices to the expansive bar to the crisp, pressed uniforms of the employees, every detail oozed sophistication. You admired the tastefulness of it, surprised that it didn’t feel gaudy or overdone. Must be the refined touch of Kim Seokjin. Even the clientele was jaw-dropping. You spared a moment to look from face to face, wondering if you should be less obvious about it, but then some paused and gazed back, unafraid, offering a simple smile.

They didn’t know you didn’t really belong, yet.

The sheep’s clothing worked, then.

You almost laughed at your own unspoken joke, and then, either compelled by fate, chance, or some mixture of both, your eyes rose and you saw him. It was definitely him. It was only the back of his head and black leather, but you knew it was him even before he turned around.

Jeon Jungkook.

You had seen him many times after the fact. However, this time was the first time that you came with weapons at your disposal, subtle as they were. For a moment, you wondered what to do. You stared as those brooding dark eyes widened in surprise. His hair was slicked back. Leather jacket, white tank, dark jeans, probably black boots. You couldn’t see it all from this angle. Still, you knew him too well. He wasn’t a suit-and-tie breed unless he was forced by the occasion. And, anyway.

You had mildly hoped that he would dress down these days, as it both suited him and reflected your preferred personal taste.

Egotistical, yes, and, now that you could see, true.

You broke the gaze first, seeing a waiter approach you. Bowed lightly, walking with him as he explained what was in store tonight, and yet your mind was still fixated on that shocked gaze from the far table up above. It did register that you were going up the stairs too, but somehow you knew that you weren’t going near that table.

You wondered if he regretted everything.

You wondered if he saw you differently now, dressed up and on a mission.

You wondered if Jeon Jungkook understood, truly, how deeply he had hurt you with his misdemeanors and you wondered if you, truly, understood how you didn’t help by always sweeping said misdemeanors under the metaphorical rug. You wondered if there was a chance for reconciliation or if this was all a big mistake. Maybe this was only another instance of two ships silently passing in the night. A pair of parallel lines that would never intersect. Or… would this become a pattern that could only be completed by intersection?

Whichever one it was, it was going to be evident tonight.

You raised your head, seeing a champagne bottle and another of expensive liquor.

“Are you ready?”

Your eyes shifted and you smiled up at the waitress.

“Yes, I am.”

She smiled and bowed her way out. Revenge. You savored the word. You had never thought of it that way, but then again that was because you always believed in the higher road. In enduring. That was how strength was formed. Vindication was unladylike and uncouth. Or so the story goes. You became aware that you were being watched.

I don’t belong here.

You twisted your body and stared directly into Jeon Jungkook’s eyes.

He pivoted away immediately. Unable to hold your gaze. Ashamed, probably. You pondered quietly. He brought you into this. All this around you – beauty, opulence, and the shadows between gold. Even without him, your connection to these people remained because his friends believed in you for some reason. You agreed, because maybe there was still something here for you.

But that was no reason to believe that you belonged here nor to act like it.

You realized, suddenly, that some part of you still thought you had to keep up the front.

“Excuse me.”

You looked up to a man who had the expression of a pleased kitty cat. His eyes disappeared from his smile. Radiant, cream skin. Long, bleached-blond hair that was half-tied back from his face but still skimmed along his shoulders. He wore a suit and tie, perfectly tailored, and was noticeably shorter than nearly everyone here. Then again, almost everyone here was a model, in high heels, or both.

“Did I interrupt?” he asked lightly, his intonation hinting at a Busan dialect.

“Oh, no,” you answered with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me to space out like that. Please, sit down.”

The man laughed behind his hand before pulling out the chair and sitting down. He had elegant fingers that reminded you of a pianist. “It was cute,” he commented, somewhat shyly, before turning away and clearing his throat. He faced you once again, composed now, and bowed in greeting, stating his name.

You hurriedly did the same.

“I hope I’m not thinking too highly of myself by sitting here with you.”

You shook your head. “No, no. I want this to be an open invitation.” You poured him a glass of liquor to start off the night. He had a noticeable presence. Not a towering one, rather, as someone who knew himself well. Still, you could sense an introverted soul. “Don’t feel too pressured. I only want to ask a question.”

His eyebrows raised, curious. “A question?”

You smiled. “Yes. And I want you to promise to answer honestly.”

His lips upturned thoughtfully. There was something playful about his expressions. Very cute. Perhaps unintentional. “A promise right away to a stranger?”

You allowed yourself a little mischief. “Do I look like I could hurt anyone?”

The man across the table caught the bait and toyed with it. An expert. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean It wouldn’t be pleasant.” He smiled again, with that same kitty cat contentment, and nodded. “Okay, I’m ready to tell the truth. You only get one chance. Use it well.” His tone teased, but his voice was sincere.

The question.

You stared into a stranger’s eyes and asked.

“What is the most important lesson in your life you’ve learned so far?”

-

i hear... | ... the whispers... | ... in your eyes.

--

masterpost

[kissohee]

I keep thinking about you.

i keep thinking about you. loser!ex!friend!taesan x popular!fem!reader ☆ nsfw ; wc : 8.7k+ ☆ one-shot mdni! synopsis; taesan never would've believed that there would be a time where popularity would get in the way of you and him. but it wasn't just popularity, it was also your boyfriend. so when you needed an escape from your boyfriend, you found yourself with taesan. the problem is taesan is attached, and you have attachment issues. warnings; referring to taesan as dongmin, cheating, toxic relationship, mainly written in his pov, its literally just sex again and again, angst, oral sex (both m and f receiving), cum eating, both protected and unprotected sex, use of pet names (baby, pretty boy, angel, good boy), i know im a small dick taesan enthusiast BUT he has a big dick in this, taesans very vocal, cockwarming, taking virginity, dry humping, making out, male masturbation, jaehyun and leehan cameo, itty bit of crying. a/n; almost fully based on taesans self composed song "i keep thinking about you." a lot of inspo for this fic came from that, so thank you taesan! if u read the lyrics of the song, a lot of things in this fic might make a lot more sense 😭 listen to his song here ♡

For as long as Dongmin has known you, he believed you were an angel in disguise. And there was a moment where you two couldn't be separated. Every little thing about you was perfect, and he was so lucky to be by your side.

Until you drifted away from him. It was fully your decision,, Dongmin would never give up being close to you for anything. But there really wasn't anything he was able to do about it.

You had started dating this guy, and he became the number 1 man in your heart, Dongmin knew he couldn't be mad at you over it, you had found someone that you took interest in, and for the years Dongmin has known you, this has been a first. But him no longer being in your heart wasn't the problem. The problem was that you had gained popularity and started to pretend you didn't know him. He knew he wasn't popular like you, and he had little to no friends, but he never would've thought there would end up being a time where you would just give up on your friendship without hesitation. You met your boyfriend. And suddenly you were gone. Your entire friend group shifted, you only became friends with people who were just as popular as you, and you had started to also tolerate when your new friends made jokes about him or other people. He had no clue what happened to that angel he once knew. Dongmin especially felt his whole world collapse when you had found out that he liked you. He had watched your contact disappear from his phone, as well as you blocking him on all the social media accounts that you had owned. He believed life was out to get him, So instead of getting over you like every other human would do, he watches as you and your new friends have a very loud conversation in the library. He's sitting at a table alone, writing down whatever comes to his mind every time he steals a look at you. "What a slut." He overhears one of your friends say, "I mean she's practically slept with everyone." He assumes they're talking about some girl who probably doesn't deserve it, because it's all he seems to notice you guys do. "Well not everyone..." One of your other friends raises her eyebrows and tilts her head towards him, everyone catching him staring. He  immediately looks down embarrassed, fixing his headphones to pretend like something was playing. Your friend responds to her, "No one would sleep with Dongmin." She jokes, "He's really quiet, I bet he's a secret perv." He sees you laugh from the corner of his eye,,, you would never laugh at people talking about him like that. Well at least the old you wouldn't, the new you absolutely would. "Alright guys," You grab your bag from the library seat, eyes glued to your phone, "My boyfriend says I have to meet him at the lunch hall in less than 10 minutes or else he won't buy me food." You make quick eye contact with Dongmin and rush out of the library. Your friend looks at him one last time before rolling her eyes, "Can't believe she was actually friends with that guy." They both laugh about another comment made, and follow you out of the library. The library returns to being peaceful. Dongmin was very good at pretending like he couldn't hear people talk about him, which happened more than he liked. Your 'friends' also constantly make fun of you for ever being friends with him. He wasn't strange in the slightest, just kind of a loner. But you always used to tell how cool he was, and how you'll never be friends with someone the way you're friends with him. He hated the term friends. And if there was one thing Dongmin couldn't do, it was that he couldn't stop thinking about you. You have a boyfriend, and you treat him like shit, but you still occupy so much space in his head. How could he forget you so easily? How could you forget him so easily? He starts playing music in his headphones, looking down at the open page of his book, only a few words written down.

He finds himself writing yet another song about you.

Making songs was Dongmins therapy. Which is why he's hunched over his computer, trying to get rid of any thoughts of you from today. And it seemed helpless considering every lyric he wrote down today traced back to you. Somehow he was able to hear the doorbell ring, despite his headphones being on full volume. He places them on his keyboard, leaving his room to open the door. And the last person he expected to be there, was standing right in front of him. "What are you doing here?" You smile at him, glad to finally see his face up close for the first time in a while. "What? I can't see you anymore?" "Aren't you like banned from ever being in the same room as me?" He says sarcastically, not moving his body an inch. You look up at him before looking at your shoes, "No.. Well yes. But I'm willing to make risks." He takes a deep sigh, knowing he'd most likely regret his actions but he moves his body out the way and holds the door open for you, welcoming you inside. Once you enter, he locks the door and heads to his bedroom. You follow him after taking your shoes off, "Are your parents home?" "They're never home, you know that." He responded without looking at you, which you take as a sign to be quiet. You close his door behind you and look at his computer before he slams it shut. "Were you making a song?" "No." He shakes his head, closing his lyric book before putting it away. You tilt your head, "Cmon you can tell me, I know you have a passion for music. I support you.!" He looks at you with a straight face, "I was just messing around with the app." "I don't remember you being so secretive." "That makes two of us." The silence was getting unbearable, Dongmin watches as you fidget with your fingers, knowing this was just as awkward to you as it was to him. "Why are you here...?" "He cheated on me." You blurt out. You weren't sure who else to go to about this, "He doesn't know that I know. But I found out." Dongmin's face softened as he approached you, wrapping his arms around your body. "So why don't you break up with him?" He asks, "Why'd you come here instead?" "I don't really know.." You look up at him and let out the cutest giggle he's ever heard, "I'm not upset, I mean I'm not even surprised. Guess I just needed to tell someone." You both stand there, his hand now caressing your back, "You still care about me right, Dongmin?" Now it's his turn to laugh lightly, "I don't want to. But of course I do." "I'm such a terrible person." You frown thinking about the way you've disregarded him. He wasn't sure if you were trying to gain pity from him, you didn't need his pity, you had him no matter what. "No you're not." He lifts your face up so you can see him. "Your boyfriend is. He's a very unpleasant person. I don't know why you're drawn to him." He smiles at you, "And don't pretend he's not, we all know he is." You stare into his eyes and hold back a smile, "He is, isn't he?" Dongmin just nods back, taking glances at every feature of your face. How are you so beautiful? You place your hands on both sides of his face, "Can I kiss you?" He wants to, more than anything, but he hesitates, "What about your boyfriend?" You lean closer to his face, staring at his lips, "Let go of him right now, it's just us." You place your lips onto his, immediately noticing how soft they are. This is everything Dongmin has ever dreamed of. Maybe not in this particular situation, but the kiss was just as perfect as he imagined it. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him. He pulls away and your eyes softly open before you're staring into his eyes, "I want more."

Anything you want. He places his lips on yours again, this time a little more desperation shines through, you're backing him up to his bed, sitting him down so you can sit on his lap, all without breaking the kiss once. His hands are exploring every part of your body, still unsure if this is actually happening or not. What if it's just another one of his wet dreams? When you bite down on his lip, he's more than positive that this is actually his reality. The bite making him let out a moan. "You sound so pretty," You chew on his lip, "My pretty boy." The pet name sent shock waves all throughout his body, forcing him to freeze. He dreamt of the day you would say something like that to him. He had dreamt of a lot of things. "Don't say things like that." He whimpers, "I can't handle it." You run your fingers through his hair, feeling his bulge grow underneath you. "I can tell." You tease him, moving your hips against him to see his reaction. "Oh fuck.." He holds your hips, covering his face on your shoulder. It's embarrassing for him when he gets needy like this, especially in front of you. "How far are we going?" "As far as you want." You smile at him, looking down at his boner. Just the thought of fucking you already had him up, "Do you have condoms?" He presses his lips together, holding onto the hem of your shirt. "No." "Buy condoms next time." You brush the hair out of his face. "Next ti-?" He's cut off with you grinding against him, shutting his eyes closed. His nightmare would be cumming in his pants before even getting to third base with you. "Dongmin, have you ever had sex before?" You ask, not stopping your hip movements. He shakes his head and you start feeling bad. You'd feel horrible if you took his virginity when he was hoping to lose it to someone he had a relationship with. "Hey, than maybe we shouldn't do th-" "No." He puts his hand over your mouth, "I want to." You take a deep breath and nod. Your lips are back on his as you proceed your grinding on him. Dongmin is starting to get impatient, the grinding not enough for his painful boner. He starts unintentionally thrusting up against your clothed cunt, and a whimper escapes from his mouth with each thrust.

Your boyfriend is nowhere near as cute as he is. You can tell he's starting to get more desperate with his humping, trying to actually gain satisfaction out of it, and that's when you suggest you both remove the clothes in the way. Finally seeing his cock outside of his pants made reality really sink in. He's bigger than most cocks you've seen, and it surprises you. But you're determined to get genuine pleasure so you line him up with you. Dongmin's very lucky that his first time is raw. The second he enters, you immediately feel like his dick was made for you. It was the perfect size, bigger than average but not an uncomfortable size. "Oh god you're so big Min," Your grip on his shoulders tightens and he moans from the compliment alone. You adjust yourself to a comfortable position and look in his eyes, "I'll do the moving since this is your first time, okay?" He nods, resting his hands on your waist, he's so excited that you feel him twitch inside of you. You lift yourself up and down, taking notice on his facial expressions and noises, unable to stop yourself from smiling, "You're so cute." His cheeks become a shade of red, his cock twitching again. "You respond to compliments huh.?" "Not on purpose.." He says, trying to rid himself of embarrassment from being unable to control his cock. "I know," You pat his head, slowly feeling your energy go down as you get closer to your climax. "But it's okay because you're being such a good boy." And just like suspected, his cock twitches again. "So cute." You whisper under your breath. "Are you getting close? Cause I am." He doesn't respond, but instead starts lifting his hips up into you at a faster rate, taking control over you both. His hips twitch, and you feel it. His cum inside of you. And the thought of it brings you to your own orgasm. You moan his name out, and grip onto his hair. Hearing you say his name in such an explicit way makes him cum a second time. For the first time in months, you actually had a really good orgasm. "You're so much better than him." You touch his cheek softly. Dongmin almost cringes at you bringing up your boyfriend after just having sex with him.

"Break up with him, please." He whispers.

Dongmin won't lie and say he wasn't heartbroken when he saw you with your boyfriend again the next week. His arm wrapped around your waist, as you talk to your friends. He couldn't understand how you could happily continue going out with him even after sleeping with Dongmin. You cheated on him. Granted he did cheat on you first but still. Despite all that, you stayed. Why? He's only watching you from a distance. He wants to approach you, or at least just wave, but he can't move. So instead he's creepily watching you and he only then realizes it's a problem when your friend nudges your shoulder and points at him. Now he's more than aware this could turn into a problem. So he waves, because he thinks it might be able to justify why he's looking. Instead of waving you back, you take a deep breath, raise your eyebrows at your boyfriend and look back at him. Dongmin starts biting the inside of his cheek, opting on putting his headphones on and just walking away. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, and yet it's still just as awkward as the first time. And he's about to leave before he sees you speed walk his way. "Can I help you?" You look at the ground behind him, playing with the strings of your bag. He shrugs, now feeling awkward, "Just saying hi." "Yeah well don't" You respond quickly. He's back to biting the inside of his cheek, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweater. "I'm confused on why we can't be friends.." "Friends don't sleep together." You say, face deadpanned as you make eye contact with your boyfriend, far away enough where he can't hear you. He sighs, you've put him in such an odd position. You're not his friend but you're also not his lover? "So that's it? You sleep with me once and I'm not allowed to talk to you?" He looks back at your friends who are staring at him harshly, almost burning a hole in his skin. Your boyfriend however is on his phone, trying not to get too upset over the fact that you willingly wanted to talk to Dongmin. He hears you sigh loudly and you stand in front of him so he's forced to look at you, "It's much more complicated than that, okay?" You copy him and glance at your friends too, "If it was up to me, things would be different." And that's all you say before walking away from him.

-

Dongmin's just had the most boring class of his entire life. Mainly because he was yawning the whole time, trying his hardest not to fall asleep in case the professor decided to say something worth hearing. There's no one to blame Dongmin's tiredness on except himself, he hasn't been able to sleep well these past few days because of you. Every time he closed his eyes to fall asleep, the exact same moments with you would replay in his head. Thus, lack of sleep. So he's pretty happy when the class is finally over, he can go home and maybe, hopefully, take a nap. So he grabs his stuff in a hurry and walks out the classroom, all to see you standing there with your arms crossed on the other side of the hall. Maybe he's hallucinating, or maybe you're waiting for someone else, so he just walks away, not willing to embarrass himself anymore. "Dongmin? Hello??" He hears you call out to him, until eventually your arm is on his shoulder. So maybe you were waiting for him. "I needed to talk to you." He's not upset in the slightest, in fact he's actually really happy that you actually want to talk to him. "How'd you know I was in that class?" "Oh uhm." You say, taken aback by the question, "I asked around to see if anyone had any classes with you and eventually someone did and so yeah uh.." You had gone through all that trouble, for him? "Look," You start, "I really needed to tell you that I did enjoy that night with you. And you know, if you're down, maybe we could do it again?" Again? He swears his heart is going to explode. "When were you thinking?" "Tonight,,, maybe.?" Your voice had a little shake in it, exposing you for being a little nervous about asking him if you guys could sleep together again. Dongmin smiles softly with a nod, "Sure." He does his absolute best to play it cool in front of you but the thought of you and the past few restful nights finally coming to end makes his heart pound. And so the moment he gets home he's kicking his feet over the thought of you coming over again. Deciding on ways for the time to pass by quicker, he decides to clean his entire room. Like yes, you've seen his room at some of his messiest times, but that doesn't change the fact that he wants to be impressionable on you. But even cleaning his room didn't take up that much time, and he finds himself looking at the clock every minute. He probably should've asked you for a more specific time. He's just really excited to have you with him again. He's willing to get hurt if it means being able to be close to you somehow. He wants you any way that he can. Why was it taking an hour for each minute to pass? It must've taken another hour of staring at the ceiling before the ring to his door was pushed. And it took a lot of self control for him to not run to the door to see who it was, despite knowing it's most likely you.

And you it was. "Hey." he says, trying his hardest not to smile super hard, opposite from you, who is smiling. "Hey you." You poke his shoulder, walking into his house. "I couldn't stop thinking about you." He couldn't be happier. Dongmin closes the front door, motioning for you to kick off your shoes so you can go to his room. "How about we continue that hm?" He says before leaning slightly down to kiss you. Just like expected, you return the kiss, making sure you can taste every bit of him. "Your room, now." You say against his kiss and he nods slightly, grabbing your hand and walking urgently to his room. You automatically sit down on his bed and wait for him to close the door so he can sit down next to you, which doesn't take him very long because he's just as needy as you are. His hands find their way into your hair, and you're as close as you can possibly be to him. He breaks the kiss to be able to place them down your neck, "Careful about leaving hickies." You warn him, earning a groan from him against your neck. It doesn't stop him from pulling your shirt off so he can plant kisses across your chest, some getting close to your tits. You're holding onto one of his arms so hard he feels like your fingerprints will be engraved on it. "Did you get condoms?" "Not yet," He looks down at you, "I'm nervous to buy them." That part's entirely true, he's way too nervous to have someone actually watch him buy a pack of condoms. Like yes, it's normal but that doesn't change the fact that he's also way too scared.

"Okay so new plan." You sit up fully, confusing Dongmin, "I'll suck you off." His ears immediately go red, and his heart starts racing. His lack of words make you nervous, "Only if you want. I don't have to." He shakes his head semi-violently, feeling his cock react to your words. "I-I want you to." His response makes you smile, unzipping his jeans so he can get out of them. You're eventually face to face with his boner, which makes you happy, especially when it moves from just you looking at it. You barely even touched him at all and he's already super hard. He moves his hips closer to you, hinting at how badly he wants to be touched, "Relax Dongmin, I'll get to it." You pat his thighs softly, making him thrust up into nothing. "Oh? Are you sensitive there?" He doesn't respond, slightly embarrassed by it, but you think it's cute. You place a hand over his covered bulge, rubbing his cock through the fabric, as your hand travels up and down his thigh. "I need you to be a good boy okay, Min? That means no moving, let me handle everything." He nods, resting against the pillows on his bed.

The moment your hands touch his bare cock, Dongmin swears he won't listen. He wants to do what you ask, but it's hard when you're inches away from his cock. Your hands travel up and down it, pumping him in preparation for your mouth. He's biting his tongue so he doesn't make noise too soon. But when you lick his tip, he groans. Probably the deepest you've ever heard him yet, so it's obvious that you're driving him insane. And you enjoy that, which is why you lick around his tip, just slowly. His fists ball up, and they clench even harder when you take him entirely inside your mouth. "Oh my god," He moans,, what did he do to deserve this from you.? You don't respond but instead bob your head at a pretty reasonable starting pace. He's struggling to keep his hands in one place, moving them anywhere he can but nowhere seemed comfortable for him. That is until he places his hands in your hair, trying his absolute hardest not to move your head any faster. Dongmin can't believe how close he is already, but considering the circumstances he's currently in, he's surprised he's lasted this long. He's starting to feel more sensitive, which doesn't get better when he feels your tongue travel down the slit of his tip You know you're driving him crazy, and you're enjoying every second of it. His hips start twitching from how hard he's trying to not let them move like you had asked, but ultimately finding himself unable to when he thrusts up into your mouth. Nothing comes out of your mouth about it, knowing he can't control it which is why you let him push your head down with his hands. His head falls back and his eyes are shut. You stare at him in awe as whimpers pour out his mouth, some mentioning how he's close and can't hold it even if he tried. He looks back at you, and the sight of you looking up at him with his cock in your mouth sends him over the edge. His hips twitch as loads of cum gets shot into your mouth, and he watches as you swallow it all, making him moan.

You knead his thighs softly as he calms down from his orgasm, and when he finally regains consciousness, he lays you down in his place. Neither of you exchange words and yet you understand him entirely. It's your turn now. "No panties?" He comments when your pants are fully off. "None for you." You smirk a tiny bit, sinking into the mattress of his bed as he spreads your legs open. Dongmin starts feeling nervous when he looks at you, he's never given a girl head before. What if he messes up, or what if he isn't good? But he also wouldn't know unless he tries, so with a deep breath he finally places his tongue on your pussy. You wiggle into his mouth, liking the feeling of his hot spit on you. "Dongmin, please.." Your small beg for him, gave him all the motivation that he needed. He licks your clit until he's more comfortable exploring the rest of your pussy. Attempting to cover any places that might bring pleasure to you. He feels your fingers in his hair, similarly like how he was with you, except you don't move his head, you're just keeping them there for support. And so he goes back to sucking your clit, doing his absolute best to make sure he's able to give head right. Dongmin loves the way you're a moaning mess because of him, praising him while also babbling about how good it feels, and he's taking pride in that. Everything sent blood right back to his already aching cock. You feel the bed rock slightly, realizing it's because Dongmin is moving his hips against the surface to the pace his tongue is moving. And just on cue he moans into you, sending pleasure up, making you moan loudly as well. You've officially lost it when Dongmin uses his thumb to draw circles on your clit while using his tongue inside of you. You've never felt so good in your entire life, not with anyone else at least. He's doing his absolute best to focus on you only, so he doesn't even notice that he's unconsciously humping the bed until he feels another orgasm creep up. But he wants to get you there before him, so he speeds up his pace against you, watching as your back arches in a way he hasn't seen before. Your grip against his hair tightens, which makes him moan again, and you swear you're seeing stars. And before you know it, you're cumming against his mouth, rubbing against his tongue as much as you can to let the feeling last. Dongmin cums practically right after you, holding onto your thighs as hard as he can until he's cumming for the second time in an hour. He licks up all of your cum around his lips, smiling at you after. "Oh my pretty boy, that was so good," You smile back at him, voice low from tiredness. His heart pounds extra loud upon hearing your praise for him. He lays down next to you, exhaustion catching up with him, and with the way your eyes flutter, he can tell exhaustion caught up with you too. He takes an extra long look at you beside him, your eyes finally rest shut, and he moves a piece of hair out of your face and behind your ear. He's so lucky.

He's kissing you again. He swears he's addicted. Whenever you aren't with him, his lips feel bare. You're like a drug to him. He just can't get enough. He can't get used to the feeling of your hands in his hair, tugging on a few strands as you dig your tongue into his mouth. A small whine leaving his mouth as he brushes his bulge against you desperately. "Eager pretty boy?" He's unable to respond, so he just moans into your mouth, just the thought of entering you again makes his stomach churn. "I finally bought condoms," He says between breaths, "Took a lot of courage buying them." You wrap your arms around his neck, unbalancing him so he's laying down with you above him, "I love you." You love him.. "You know I love you too," His hands snake up under your shirt, lifting it off. "You're so good to me.." You say, kissing his neck, feeling his hips lift up into yours. You hold onto his hips, rubbing down on them, the friction between clothing causing Dongmin to moan. He loves any contact with you, just the feeling of you pressing against his dick makes his tummy flip. He's not sure what to do with his arms, eventually placing them on your thighs, feeling your body shift above him. You start undoing his sweats, gently pushing them down as he watches. You keep eye contact with him as you remove your sweats too, having less clothes keeping you away from his bare skin. You were feeling too lazy to actually remove the rest of the clothing so instead you just remove his dick from his boxers, and pushed your panties aside. Without breaking eye contact, you held his dick in your hands before sliding his tip against your folds. His eyes flutter shut, hands returning to your thighs. You circle your clit with his tip, your chest rising and falling. Dongmin letting out whimpers from the torturous movements. "Condom." You tell him in a quieter voice, you need him inside of you now. You watch as he messes with a box on his nightstand, pulling open the package. "You wanna do it?" You nod and grab the condom from him, slipping it onto him quickly. You take a deep breath before sinking down on him, biting your lip. Feeling Dongmin's hands tighten on your thighs, holding you down on his dick as deep as it can go. He pushes up into you, feeling your hands quickly hold him down. "Wait," You stop him from thrusting up into you again. "Let's just stay like this for a little bit." He doesn't respond, but he holds you tightly, as if you were about to float away. "I want this to last forever." It can. He can make that happen. "Angel.." Dongmin starts, kissing the top of your head, "I'm waiting for you.. I want this to last forever too, but I'm not sure if that's what you want.." You close your eyes, feeling the wetness from your tears, "It is what I want. I want you. I only want you." Dongmin's never been so conflicted. How can you want only him,, but not accept it when he's giving his all to you? He doesn't respond, he just does his best to ignore the aching pain coming from his dick, trying to enjoy the only intimate moments you give him. He's not sure how much more of this he could take.

He unclips your bra and slips it out between the two of you, loving the feeling of your tits against his chest. A tear unknowingly falls down your cheek and onto his chest, which he felt, "Are you okay?" "Mhm." You nod, face not showing in his direction, "You can,,,, go now." He thrusts up into you, placing kisses all over your skin. You whip away any leftover tears, and sit up. You put your hands on his chest for support, whispering his name under your breath. He's also moaning your voice, his senses heightened whenever he's with you. "I'm yours, right?" Dongmin continues to thrust into you, "Tell me I'm yours.." "You're mine baby." A small smile appears on your face after looking down at Dongmin, his cheeks are red and his eyes are glossy, "All mine." He's determined to make you cum first, holding in his orgasm for you. You're his priority, you're his #1. "Min I'm close-" You say, now grinding on him as he thrusts up, looking at the way he's breathing heavily. "You're close too aren't you?" He nods, not opening his mouth or else he wouldn't be able to control his words. He's now slamming his hips into yours, closing his eyes and opening them just in time to watch as your entire face mirrors the intense pleasure of your orgasm. He came too. But he hardly noticed over how focused he was on your effortless beauty. You got off of him, laying down right next to him as you kissed his lips softly. He's staring into your eyes when your phone starts ringing. "Fuck," You get up and grab your phone as he watches, "Hey babe. No yeah I'm on my way." You hang up and go searching for the close sprawled on Dongmin's bedroom floor. He's just looking at you, watching you gather your clothes. "He needs me to come over, and he sounds pretty angry too." You smile at Dongmin before placing a kiss on his cheek. "Do you know where my panties are?" You frantically look around his room for them. "Leave them here." He holds himself up by his arms. "You don't need them." You look at him and tilt your head, "What if he finds out I was here with you?" "So what?" "Dongmin.. He can't find out." Dongmin's such a fool.

If he's left with his thoughts anymore, he might go insane. It's been going on for 4 weeks, but it's been 6 days since he has last seen you. According to you, your boyfriend suspects something is up, but Dongmin's the last person on earth he'd think you were cheating on him with. You weren't responding to his texts or calls either, he's starting to wonder if he's lost you again. You kept posting about being at parties with your boyfriend for the past few days, you told Dongmin you couldn't see him cause you were busy with school workload. Dongmin offered to help you with work, he even told you that you'd do it for you, and you still said no. He needed to fill that empty space you had been occupying, which is why he's standing in front of the door to a classroom that was currently holding the school's 'aspiring artist' club. He's been meaning to attend for quite a while now, but never had the actual courage to show up. He just needed something, anything, to get you out of his head.

When he opened the door, the classroom was empty. Did he have the wrong time? "Hey man, can you hold the door open for us?" He turned around to see two guys rolling a cart of instruments towards the door, he immediately moved out the way for them to get into the classroom. "Thanks. Are you here for club?" Dongmin just nods, the other boy putting the instruments in the back of the classroom. The first boy holds his hand out with a smile, "I'm Jaehyun and the one back there is Leehan." Dongmin opens his mouth to respond but Jaehyun continues, "It's only us here today because the other members had other things to do. But you're welcome to stay!" "I'm Don-" "Are you here cause you want to make music?" Jaehyun looks at Leehan, "We also want to make music! We love composing and all that, do you like composing?" "..." "You seem like you'd be more into writing lyrics, maybe even both." Jaehyun tilts his head, "Not much of a talker are you?" "He's not talking cause you're not letting him," Leehan playfully pushes Jaehyun out the way, "And I'm Donghyun not Leehan." The two of them stare at Dongmin, waiting for him to say something. "I'm Dongmin.. And I do enjoy composing and writing." Jaehyun looks like he could explode with happiness, "Would it be too invasive of me to ask if I could hear something?" Dongmin doesn't like showing people his music, not that he has many people to show it to, but what if the people he's showing it to doesn't like it? What if they're too judgmental? Thankfully Jaehyun and Leehan were very nice about it. They both had to cover their mouths from opening and made many comments about how talented he was, and that everyone should listen to it. "The girl you wrote the songs about is very lucky hm.?" Jaehyun attempts to make small talk. It would've worked literally any other day but Dongmin was here specifically so he didn't have to think of you,, and now he's forced to think of you all over again. He smiles at Jaehyun, helping set up the drum set they were unpacking, "I guess," He shrugs, "She has a boyfriend." "She has a boyfriend and you're writing a song about her?" Leehan raises an eyebrow, "Does he know?" Dongmin looks up at Leehan, "Her boyfriend? No he doesn't know.. But she does." Jaehyun and Leehan exchange a look before Jaehyun puts the parts of the drum he was holding down and grabs his computer, "I think you should upload your songs." Jaehyun opens the soundcloud website, "Make an account." "Why?" Dongmin asks, taking a seat next to Jaehyun. "Look man, you clearly have unfinished business with this girl, and we can't help you with it." He sighs, "But the music you're making about her is actually really good, and you may be able to benefit from your feelings if you upload your music." Dongmin takes a seat next to Jaehyun, staring at the website, "I won't be able to upload them right now." "So do it later," Jaehyun pushes his computer towards Dongmin, "I just don't think these songs should be for our ears only." Maybe Jaehyun's right, Dongmin has always wanted to make his music private, but he's always been too scared to. This was probably a sign that he should, and so he puts his artist name as 'Taesan,' creates the account and makes a mental note to actually do something with the account later. "You're like a male heartbroken Avril Lavigne," Leehan mentions, cleaning up the mess of instrument cases, "Maybe except a little more heartbroken." Dongmin actually smiles at that, sinking in the uncomfortable chair. Maybe he's a little glad he met Jaehyun and Leehan. And who knows? Maybe he'll go famous and you'll fall in love with him then. -

The moment he finished uploading all his songs onto his newly created soundcloud, there was a knock at the door. And when he opened the door, he couldn't be happier. It didn't even take you two seconds before you were shoving your tongue into his mouth, slamming the door behind you. "I have 15 minutes." "Only 15 minutes?" Dongmin repeats between kisses, guiding the two of you to his room. You remove your hoodie, holding his face in your hands, "I have a date." He holds your hands in his and presses kisses down your neck, "Yet you're here.?" "I've felt very Dongmin deprived." You let out a low groan when Dongmin kisses the sensitive spot on your neck. "Yeah cause you haven't seen me in a-" He's interrupted with you moving your hips against him. He mimics your actions, hands moving to hold onto your ass, "Just shut up okay?" You say quietly. And he listens, because he will always listen to you. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, leaning on his shoulders for stability, still grinding your hips on him at a comfortable pace. He closes his eyes, just focusing on the slight release he's feeling from his cock because of you. You kiss all over his neck, sucking on a spot under his ear, feeling his hips hit up into yours. Feeling more desperate, you speed up, earning soft moans from Dongmin. You keep looking at the time and right as he's reaching his orgasm, you stop. "Fuck, I have to go." "Are you kidding??" Dongmin groans as you get off his lap, picking up your hoodie from off the floor. "I'm sorry," You pout, palming his bulge once before kissing him, "I can't stay longer." You check the time one more time before quickly making your way out of his room. "Why can't you.?" He follows your hurried body into the living room, watching you put on your shoes, almost losing balance and falling. You search for your purse, "Because we are dating." "You're cheating on him." He brings up. "Don't start with that." You flare your nostrils, "That's not fair." Dongmin's voice gets smaller, "Yeah well it's not very fair on me either." "I thought of you while having sex with him." Is the last thing you say before opening the door and walking out. He could just die. For multiple reasons. 1, you left. 2, you just told him a piece of information that he will think about every second of every day. and 3, his cock is still hard. And he never got to cum. He's patting himself on the back for keeping your panties that one time. He also has zero intentions on returning them. So maybe he is a perv. He takes them out of one of his drawers and drags his thumb across the crotch of it. So thankful he never gave them back to you. Just looking at them made him remember that night, the way you looked, the way you felt. All the thoughts flooded back to his cock, pressed against the cotton fabric of the same sweats he wore that night with you. You. That was all he could think about.

It seemed like all he was doing was thinking, even as he was ridding himself of all clothes in the way of his cock. Laying down on his bed, wanting you on top of him like you always are. He wraps the fabric of your panties around the tip of his cock before moving it in circles, his hips immediately jolting at the feeling. "Fuck.." Your panties feel really nice against his skin, especially when he starts thrusting into his hand, releasing moans from his throat. He's desperate for whatever release he can get, especially since he's only been relying on you for the past few weeks. You. It's all he can think about. It's all he's imagining,,, He's imagining that you're the one surrounding his cock, and not your panties. He's imagining that you're with him. Knowing it's your panties touching him only makes his dream feel real, and he speeds up his, knowing he's been wanting to cum since he was with you. The way his hand moves around his cock causes him to breathe heavily, noticing his long awaited orgasm approach, making him go faster. He's repeating your name in-between 'sorries' as cum shoots out of his cock. His chest falling as he opens his eyes, reality setting in. He stares at your panties in his hand, now covered in his cum. He really hates your boyfriend.

Dongmin knows he can't keep fueling this. He knows cheating is wrong and yet he's helping you cheat. His heart doesn't know any better. At the end of the day, he's the one making you cum, he's the one taking care of you, so he really can't understand why you just wont end your relationship. I mean you let him cum inside of you the very first time you guys had sex. So obviously it meant something for you.. His brain just can't seem to overpower his heart no matter what he does. He could honestly just cry. He's starting to feel bad for himself. Your words don't match your actions, and he still doesn't exist to you outside of the privacy of either one of your bedrooms. But he keeps doing this to himself, he keeps entangling himself with you. And he's about to do it again. Your boyfriend just left, and you had asked him to come over. Normally people who know they're in a bad relationship, or whatever you can call this, would say no and turn around, and maybe even go home. But he's Dongmin. Someone who is so in love with you that he would do anything. Even if it meant just being a fuck buddy. Even if that meant helping you cheat. It takes you a moment to open the door, smiling at the sight of him. "Sorry, I was just tidying up a bit." "For me?" He can't help but smile, especially when you plant a kiss on him right after too. You make a small pout with your lips and softly caress his cheek, "Of course for you, silly. Who else?"

Dongmin loved everything about you. But if he had to dislike one thing, it would be the way you lead him on. How you pretend like you like him, but only when it's just the two of you. How you acknowledge your boyfriend is nothing compared to him, and yet you stay with him. Why? "I've wanted you so bad." He says, wrapping his arms around your waist. You look up at him, smile slowly fading as you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him again. Not speaking back, just responding with your actions. And he knows you've wanted him just as bad when you bite in his bottom lip so you can sneak your tongue into his mouth, earning a groan from him. "How badly?" You finally respond, batting your eyelashes, not taking your eyes off his. He leans in to kiss you, "So badly." He whispers before placing his lips on yours, holding your head up with his hand gently. You manage to wrap your legs around his waist, feeling his hands come to hold you up without breaking the kiss. He could kiss you forever.

He carries you to your bedroom like this, placing you on your bed as he stands between your legs. He wishes he could kiss you forever. You grind your hips against his, feeling his cock grow against you when you grab his hair. He's kissing you as if he's never kissed you before. Like he wants what he can't have. He can't have you. So he takes whatever time he can get with you, through all the obstacles in his way, even if it's a secret. As long as he gets some of you,, a little piece of you,, at least. He removes your clothes slowly, admiring you again, dragging his fingertips across any part of your body he can touch. Your hand grabbing his, "Dongmin." You snap him out of the trance you put him in, and he realizes he's the only one fully dressed. But he's frozen. He can't move. He doesn't want to move. Normally you would tell him to snap out of it, but today you don't feel like doing that either. Instead you help him out of his clothes, placing a soft kiss on the middle of his stomach. "Come on Min," You shake his arm, speaking in a very soft tone, "I'm sure whatever you're thinking about can wait." You. It's all he can think about. It's all he's ever thinking about. "Sorry," He let's go of your hand, heading to your dresser for a condom. He knows all too well about where you keep them. He pumps his cock a few times before sliding it on, going back to you. "My pretty boy..." Is all that you say before he's entering you, making your back arch. Your pretty boy. He will always belong to you. He holds onto your legs as he thrusts into you, watching as you hold onto your bedsheets, your fists balling up. Despite his head making him unable to think straight, he's still keeping up good momentum. He notices a tear fall from your eyes, voice breaking every time he thrusts into you. He doesn't know why you're crying,,, how could he know if you don't even know.? Yet it makes him cry a little too. And he still doesn't know why,, but the air in the room today is heavy, almost suffocating. Why does he feel like he's losing you? He thrusts into you with more force, but not at a faster pace. He's taking his time. Moving his hands from your legs to your waist, so that way he could look at you from above. The way every part of your face reacts, the way your eyelashes look with your eyes closed, and even the dried up tears on your cheeks. Those dried up tears. He's sure his tears dried up too. You start grabbing at his arms holding your waist, fingers digging into them. "Oh shit, Dongmin." You open your eyes, wanting to look at his face while you approach your orgasm.

And he's approaching his too, with the way he's speeding up his hip movements. Watching as he bites his lip really hard,,, he doesn't feel like making much noise right now. He only wants to hear you. You both reach your climax at the same time, feeling his cock twitch inside you. Remembering the way you moan his name every time he makes you cum. He swears the sounds only get sweeter and sweeter. He rubs soft circles on the skin of your thighs, comforting you through the intense feeling after your orgasm. Waiting until you're breathing returns to normal before pulling out. Dongmin removes the condom and makes an attempt to throw it right at the trashcan in your room. And he puts his boxers back on before collapsing on the bed next to you. For the next few minutes you just lay in comfortable silence, your arm wrapped around his stomach. Your grip on him tighter than he's ever felt, and you look like you're contemplating saying something. "Are you Taesan?" You finally ask, watching as his face drops. He doesn't even look back at you, "What?" "Are those songs about me?" "No." He lies. That's the first time Dongmin has ever lied to you like that. You sit up, placing a hand on his, "You can't lie to me, Taesan." Now it's his turn to sit up, "Who told you about it." "A friend of mine. She found it and sent it to me," You play with your fingers, "The lyrics were oddly familiar." "I can't deny it.." When you don't say anything, he continues, "You know I'm in love with you." You quickly respond, "You can't be." "Why not?" Dongmin says grabbing his clothes, handing you yours, "I know you're in love with me too." You take the clothes out of his hand, putting them on, "I'm not." "Yes you are,, You can't lie to me either... I know you are." Dongmin's voice gets slightly louder, a small quiver appearing. "I can't keep waiting for you." You place your hands on your face, "This was such a mistake." "What?" You try to talk but all that comes out is a deep breath, "I'm sorry Dongmin. This never should've happened." He can't believe this is happening. You stand up, opening the door to your room and leading him to wear his shoes are. "But it did. It did happen. Multiple times." Dongmin says following you, "And you liked it. That's why you still slept with me just now, knowing I wrote songs about you, knowing that I really like you." He sensed this the moment he walked through your door. He knew something was wrong, that's why you cried. That's why he cried. He somehow knew it would be your last time together, but he didn't even realize it. You open your door, watching as he puts his shoes on and steps outside, looking back at you. "You're right, I did know.. and I did like it. I loved you." You look down at your feet, sniffling, "I just wanted to be with you one last time." He's unable to say anything, his throat is clogged. He has so much more he wants to say, yet he's scared. "I'm sorry. Goodbye, Dongmin." You make an attempt to smile, not being able to hide the tear falling down your cheek. He went from looking at your face to now suddenly staring at the front of your door. Out of the 8 billion people on earth, why him?

© kissohee this fic is deep in my heart, hope u enjoyed it as much as i did. (not sponsored by soundcloud), i also cant write endings so im sorry 😭