episode three: the case of the missing lifeguard
You glance at your door, worried your mom has heard Steve’s pathetic fall, while he clutches at his knee and groans. Through gasps of pain, he manages to respond, “Give me a second to recover my pride, Y/N.”
“We need more than just a second to recover your pride.” You crawl out of bed and offer the boy your hand. “Get up, dummy.”
He accepts the help and stands, brushing himself off. “Your bed is freakishly high.”
“Have you ever considered that you’re just clumsy?”
“I’m an athlete, angel.”
Summary: dustin blackmails you for $5 and then dubs steve as boyfriend material for you, robin cracks yet another russian code, you all almost waterboard yourselves after sneaking onto the mall's roof, you have a sexy nervous breakdown, and jonathan takes you for a drive in his sick car
Rating: general, some swearing
Warnings: swearing, use of y/n, fem!reader
Words: 7k
Before you swing in: hi my loves !! had a hectic final week of classes but im finally done !! (technically i have one more final but thats a later issue). this chapter is a lot of banter and chaos and theres some sad feelings towards the end that im a bit frightened to see the reactions to so ,,,, enjoy !
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When your alarm goes off for work, Steve accidentally kicks you off of your bed in his panic.
“Fuck!”
Your brain barely has time to process that you’re awake as you begin to fall. “What–”
Steve manages to catch you from face planting just in time, flinging you back onto the bed as he struggles to untangle himself from the blankets. “Fuck! Sorry!”
“What’s going on?” you rub your eyes and realize that the screeching sound next to you is your alarm. Slamming your hand against it, the cloud of sleep starts to lift from your brain and you realize why Steve is a storm of chaos right now. “Oh, fuck.”
The two of you accidentally fell asleep together last night.
He never went home, he never snuck back out your window with a kiss farewell.
Now, as you take in the situation you’re currently in, you can hear your mother making breakfast in the kitchen, blissfully unaware that there’s a boy in her daughter’s room.
“Yeah, fuck!” Steve shakes at his leg, which is somehow twisted within your bedding and prevents him from escaping. “Get me out!”
“Shit!” You quickly untwist the bedding and free him, but as he rolls off your bed, he misjudges the height and fails to catch himself. He lands with a horrifyingly loud thud, and you throw a pillow at him. “Will you shut up?”
You glance at your door, worried your mom has heard Steve’s pathetic fall, while he clutches at his knee and groans. Through gasps of pain, he manages to respond, “Give me a second to recover my pride, Y/N.”
“We need more than just a second to recover your pride.” You crawl out of bed and offer the boy your hand. “Get up, dummy.”
He accepts the help and stands, brushing himself off. “Your bed is freakishly high.”
“Have you ever considered that you’re just clumsy?”
“I’m an athlete, angel.”
You place your hands on his chest and gently shove him towards your window. “Well, if you’re such an athlete, then it should be no problem for you to hop through this window and get to work, Harrington.”
“At least pretend you’re sad to see me leave–”
Someone knocks on your door. “Y/N? You awake yet?”
Hearing Dustin’s voice, you and Steve exchange a horrified look before you’re shoving even harder at his chest to get him out of your room. “Go!”
Steve stumbles over his feet and makes as much sound as humanly possible. He knocks into your desk and sends a stack of comics falling and he almost slips on them, only narrowly catching himself. Frustrated and bewildered that he keeps falling, he exclaims, “Why does this keep happening?”
The knocking on your door stops. A beat of silence passes before Dustin hesitantly calls through the door, “... did I just hear Steve?”
“No!” You almost throw Steve out your window with the force you shove him, which he curses at and gives you a dirty look, though you ignore him. He’s the one who got you into this fantastically horrible mess in the first place. “I–uh. I stubbed my toe!”
You anxiously wait for Dustin’s response, mentally running through all possible explanations in your head, but after a few minutes pass and you don’t hear anything; you exhale with relief. Seemingly sensing that you’re in the clear, Steve breathes out as well. “That was close.”
“Ew!” Your brother’s screech could rival the Demodogs with how loud and terrifying it is.
Gulping, Steve looks at you and laughs nervously. “Whoops?”
You glare at him. “Get out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He kisses your forehead and does as he’s told, crawling through your window. Thankfully he lands gracefully this time, and as he begins running towards his car parked down the street, he calls over his shoulder, “See you after your shift!”
Despite your annoyance, you can’t help but laugh as you watch him run away. It’s reminiscent of the boyish charm you saw a few years ago, back when you had almost hit his car with your bike and he had pretended not to know your name in order to get you to laugh.
Your reminiscing is cut short by Dustin’s obnoxious groaning. “Oh, god. Why did it get quiet in there? Get off my sister!”
You march over towards your door and fling it open. Your brother stands there, a horrified look on his face, and you glance behind him to make sure your mom is still in the kitchen. When the coast is clear, you sneer at him, “Nothing happened!”
“I’m fourteen, not an idiot.”
“We didn’t do anything.” When Dustin snorts at you, disbelieving, you want to strangle the kid. You’re mortified and cannot fucking believe that your little brother thinks anything else happened between you and Steve. “I swear.”
“See, I’d believe you, but mom…” He shrugs with a smug look on his horrid face. “I don’t know, Y/N.”
You drop your head and sigh, knowing where this is going. “How much money do you want?”
“$5, please. I prefer exact change, too.” He extends his arm out and opens his hand, silently demanding the money.
“You’re horrible, you know that?” You go into your dresser and pull out a five dollar bill before handing it to him.
Clutching the cash, Dustin smirks. “You raised me well.”
“Get out of my room.”
Hearing the anger in your voice, your brother knows he has about five more seconds before you start throwing things at him. “Yes, ma’am.”
–
Work is slow, as usual, and when it’s time to pick up Alex from the pool, you wish Mrs. Waters a good day and get into your mom’s car that you borrowed today. With fewer shifts at the bookshop, Alex has started working at the pool to make extra money; on days when he’s there before a shift at Bookstrordinary, it’s your job to drive him to work.
It’s pouring as you drive to the pool, setting an eerie tone on the first day of July. The summer’s heat causes the thunder to shake your car, and your knuckles are white from how tightly you hold onto the steering wheel.
When you pull up and see Alex hunched over and drenched from the rain, you laugh at him. “Well, looks like someone’s shift ended at the right time,” you say as he quickly jumps into your car.
Alex doesn’t return your good mood. “Not funny, Y/N.”
Sensing that there’s something more to his foul mood than just being rained on, you look over at him in concern as you begin to drive. “Is everything alright over there?”
“Billy and Heather never showed up for work, so we were short handed fending off dumb kids who wanted to swim with lightning.” Alex wrings out his t-shirt and shakes his hair to dispel excess water, and you cringe as some of the water droplets land on you. “Telling a bunch of scary twelve year olds that they can’t swim… I thought I would die.”
The genuine terror in his voice is amusing, though his words unnerve you. It’s not like Billy to just not show up for work. He’s a lot of things, mainly a dickhead, but the few times you’ve driven the party to the pool, he’s always been there working; he’s dedicated to discipline. Hell, you’ve been to Max’s house, you know her family isn’t the wealthiest.
Billy can’t afford to skip work.
“They just… never showed up?”
“Nope,” Alex curls into him in a feeble attempt to warm himself up. “We all think they ditched to hookup.”
You think about how rough Billy had looked yesterday, with fresh blood still dripping from him and the feverish chills he seemed to have. Something hadn’t been right, and a knot forms in your stomach. You highly doubt he had ditched work to go hookup with Heather, not if he’s still in the state that he was in yesterday.
Regardless of what he’s done to you, you hope he’s okay.
Something about this feels wrong.
“Yeah, probably.” Your voice is weak as you respond to your coworker, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on your now solemn mood.
The rest of the car ride is spent with Alex gossiping about where Billy and Heather could be, so it’s a relief when you finally arrive at Bookstrordinary and he leaves your car. You sit in the parking lot for a few minutes, your stomach twists and the knots multiply. The rain patters softly against the windshield in an almost rhythmic pattern as you try to calm yourself down with deep breaths.
The only sound in the car is your own breathing accompanied by the raindrops.
–
It’s Dustin’s idea to spend the day looking for evil Russians.
Steve isn’t sure where he got the binoculars, but at this point he’s learned that it’s best to not question the kid. Makes things easier.
Which leads to now: the two of them hunched behind fake plants at Starcourt sharing binoculars as they look for people who could fit the “evil Russian” description, all while ignoring the fact that Dustin caught Steve in your room.
“I don’t know what an evil Russian looks like.” Steve is holding the binoculars up to his eyes as he scans the food court area. He has no clue what he’s looking for and he swears that Dustin is purposely staring him down to try and get him to confess about this morning.
“Tall, blond, not smiling.” The kid responds, knowing that Steve is trying to distract him with stupid questions. He’s squirming under Dustin’s gaze, which he gets a sick joy out of. Between the $5 you coughed up and Steve’s obvious distress, it’s a pretty good day for Dustin Henderson. “Anyways, look for earpieces, camo, duffel bags, that sort of thing.”
Steve continues to look through the binoculars, relieved that Dustin seems to be playing along and hasn’t hounded him about this morning. “Right, okay. Duffle bags.”
As Steve busies himself with the search, Dustin waits a few seconds to lull him into a false sense of security. He’s been waiting all day to do this. Clearing his throat, he prepares for the attack. “Hey, uh, Steve?”
“Yeah, little Henderson?”
“While you look for evil Russians, keep an eye out for idiots who traumatize their friends by sleeping with their sisters.”
Steve yanks the binoculars away from his face as if they’ve burned him. His eyes are wide and panicked as he turns to Dustin with a horrified look on his face. “That is not what happened!”
“Tell that to the traumatized kid.” The younger teen waves a hand over himself to emphasize his point. “You owe me like, at least five years of therapy.”
“I didn’t sleep with Y/N, dude! That’s–that’s gross–”
“Are you calling my sister gross?” Dustin crosses his arms now, daring Steve to go on.
He groans and rubs his face. “That’s not what I meant, alright? I just… She’s your sister and–and we aren’t even together–”
“That’s a good point, actually.” Dustin snatches the binoculars out of Steve’s hand and starts to look for any signs of Russians. “Why aren’t you with my sister?”
Steve stares at him, dumbfounded. “You’re sending totally mixed signals, dude. Do you want me dating Y/N or not?”
“It’s not preferable, especially when I catch you sneaking out of her window like some skeezy douchebag–”
“How many times do I have to tell you nothing happened–”
“But, besides that,” Dustin shrugs, narrowing his eyes when he sees a possible blond teen who could fit the evil Russian description. “You’re not so bad, even though you’re a massive tool for not asking out the perfect girl right in front of you.”
Steve rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, entirely over this conversation. “You sound like Robin.”
The blond teen Dustin had been eying sits down and starts eating a hot dog, so he concludes that he isn’t Russian if he has an affinity for American food. “And Robin would be correct. Just ask Y/N out, she’s been waiting for like, at least a year now.”
“It’s not that easy.” Steve slumps over and bangs his head against the plant display they’re leaning against. “I have no idea how to ask her to be my girlfriend.”
“What, do you need my blessing or some shit?” Dustin removes the binoculars from his face and looks at the older teen, making sure to catch his eye. Then, in a horrible British accent, he says, “I give thy my blessing.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Steve deadpans, shoving the kid’s face away from his, uncomfortable with the eye contact. “But your blessing isn’t the problem. Y/N is just–she’s different and has been through a fuck ton of shit that I can’t even comprehend, and I’m just supposed to believe she wants to be with me?”
“Yeah?” Dustin cocks his head at Steve, not all understanding why he’s so confused about this. “You literally slept in her bed last night, man.”
Steve releases a quick breath and scratches his nose. He feels like an idiot and just really wishes you were here right now. “I… Well, yeah. Then there’s that.”
“It astounds me that you were once known as King Steve with a million girls drooling over him.” Dustin mumbles, baffled by the other’s patheticness, before going back to looking for Russians.
“Let’s remember that it was my advice that got you that girlfriend of yours, alright? Girls love me, that’s never been the issue, ” Steve flicks the kid’s nose, a habit he’s picked up from you. “So cool it with the arrogance, dipshit.”
“Steve, do I need to remind you that it’s not okay to call my brother a dipshit?”
Your sudden appearance causes Steve to clutch his chest and scream. He spins around and gasps, terrified of how much you may have heard from his conversation with Dustin. “Y/N! Y-you’re here!”
“I am…” You frown, unsure why he looks so scared; normally he’s excited when you surprise him at work.
“Uh,” Steve clears his throat and straightens his shirt out, trying to come off as collected rather than five seconds away from losing his shit. “I, uh. How much did you hear, ya know. Standing there?”
“Not much…?” Truthfully you’d been lost in thought, still worrying about Billy as you had approached the two teens hiding behind the fake plants. “All I heard was you calling my brother a dipshit.”
Steve deflates, and his reaction only confuses you further. Clearing his throat once more, he nods. “Oh. Yeah.”
You look over at Dustin, hoping for some type of clue as to what the fuck is wrong with Steve right now. “Did I miss something?”
“He was giving me horrible dating advice. Can we get back to looking for evil Russians?”
“Dating advice, huh?” You raise your eyebrows at Steve, who blushes furiously, and you giggle at his misery before turning back to Dustin. You eye the binoculars in his hand and point a finger at them. “And you can’t seriously think you’ll find evil Russians this way, right?”
“You got any better ideas, Y/N?” Your brother snarks as he brings the binoculars back up to his eyes.
You nudge him with your shoulder. “No, but I’m positive I can think of something less childish than whatever this is.”
“Just help us look for someone tall and blond with duffel bags.” Steve sighs.
“Oh, because duffel bags are so scary and Russian.” You roll your eyes at the boys, ashamed of their antics. Their logic is flawed and biased with so many gaping holes, it’s almost comical, but it’s enough to distract you from your anxiety from earlier. “Guys, why can’t we just go back to Scoops and figure out another way–”
“Target acquired.” Dustin suddenly interrupts you.
You share a look with Steve, who leans closer to the kid. “Where?”
“Ten o’clock. Sam Goody’s.”
Steve snatches the binoculars from Dustin’s hands and takes a look for himself, which you scoff at. They’re being ridiculous right now. However, when the older teen exhales in disbelief and announces the person has a duffel bag, your curiosity gets the better of you.
“Hand it over, pretty boy.” Before he can argue, you’ve snatched the binoculars from Steve and bring them up to your own eyes. It takes a few moments for you to find what the boys had been looking at, but when you finally spot the tall, blond man dressed in all black with sunglasses and a duffel bag, you can’t help but admit that he looks suspicious. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Steve and Dustin turn to each other and say in unison. “Evil Russian.”
The three of you chase after the guy, weaving between the crowd of people at the mall as you trail him. You and Dustin side step a woman with her kid as Steve speeds ahead of you guys. Struggling to keep up, your brother berates Steve to slow down.
“We’re losin’ him.” He responds, only speeding up even more.
“You’re getting too close.” Dustin warns, and you almost trip over your shoelaces in your haste. He’s right, Steve is getting too close to the guy, and it’s making you nervous.
You quicken your footsteps and tug at his uniform. “Steve, we need to be careful–”
Suddenly the Russian looking guy stops in his tracks and slowly begins to turn around. You all scramble and try to appear casual; Dustin runs to the phone and pretends to make a call while Steve pulls you to the corner and places his hands on your waist to pull you close.
“Pretend we’re a couple!” He whispers, throwing your hands over his shoulders.
“This is wholly unnecessary,” you mumble, face burning at the close proximity. His fingers burn your sides, it’s been too long since he’s held you like this.
Steve chuckles at you and pulls you in closer, enjoying the moment far more than you think is needed. “Gotta admit, this is pretty romantic.”
You roll your eyes. “Totally. Super hot hunting down evil Russian spies with you, Steve.”
“Stop sucking face, the guy is getting away!” Dustin yanks at you and tears you from Steve’s grasp, disturbed and annoyed that it only took three seconds before you distracted the teen.
Soon you’re all following the blond guy again, and when he starts to slow down, the three of you hide behind a column and poke your heads out. Watching, you see the guy enter into the Jazzercise studio and pull a speaker from his duffel bag.
“Oh, this is much better than him being a Russian spy.” You snort, entirely amused by how this has all unfolded. The guy unzips his hoodie and reveals an incredibly muscular physique, and you can’t help but bite your lip. “His arms… Oh my.”
Steve sees you eyeing the guy and scrowls. “His arms aren’t that nice. “ He starts pulling you away now, sending death glares at the now confirmed zumba instructor, obviously jealous. You laugh, knowing your comment would annoy him.
“I don’t know, honey. His arms were huge.”
“Please,” Steve rolls his eyes, unamused. “They looked like twigs to me.”
“You and I both know you’re lying.”
Steve groans and kisses your hand as he tugs you towards Scoops Ahoy. “You’re killing me here, angel.”
“It’s what I do best.”
While you and Steve argue, Dustin gags at you both and sighs in disappointment. He listens to you two argue the whole way back to the ice cream shop, and he’s never wanted to bang his head against a wall more. Here Steve is, claiming he can’t ask you out, yet he’s pathetically moping about you finding some random guy’s arms hot.
Dustin thinks the poor guy is doomed.
When you arrive at Scoops, you break away from Steve’s whining and greet Robin. “Dude, you won’t believe the hot zumba instructor we followed–”
The girl rushes past you, not at all acknowledging your presence, as she exits the shop. You stop walking and share a confused look with Dustin and Steve as you all watch Robin run outside and jump on top of one of the benches.
“What the hell?” You follow after her, concerned by her franticness.
Robin is mumbling under her breath when you catch up, repeating the first sentence of the Russian code you deciphered over and over again as she spins and looks around the mall. “A trip to China sounds nice.”
“Hey, is everything okay?”
“A trip to China…” She ignores you as her eyes scan around the area once more. She looks as if she’s searching for something, repeating the phrase to herself.
You look around as well, not fully understanding what she’s doing, but it’s clear she’s at least looking for something to match the sentence. In the center of the food court, all you see are chain restaurants and vendors. Frustrated, you sigh. “Robin, I’m not sure what we’re looking for.”
“There!” She points at a restaurant called the Imperial Panda. “A trip to China!”
Bits of the code start to piece together in your head. If the message corresponds to stores in the mall… Unsure if you’re understanding Robin correctly, you hesitantly point towards the local shoe store up above. “If you tread lightly?”
“Yes! God, I knew you were the smart one in that weird trio!” Robin nods eagerly and tries to recall the rest. “When–when blue and yellow meet in the west. What could that mean?”
You both spin around, trying to find anything that could align with the line. As you’re studying a poster sign, Robin snaps her fingers and nods her head towards the giant clock that hangs below a bay window. Its hands are blue and yellow. “Think this could be it?”
“Robin Buckley, you’re a genius!” You throw your arms around her, in disbelief that she was able to figure the bizarre Russian code out all on her own.
Robin is stiff in your arms for a moment, having not expected the praise, before she slowly melts into the embrace. She coughs slightly, her voice a pitch higher than usual. “It was easy enough to figure out.”
“Robin, Y/N,” Steve and Dustin now join. “What are you two doing?”
“She cracked it!” You pull away from Robin but keep an arm thrown over her shoulder.
Steve frowns. “Cracked what?”
Robin gently shoves your arm off and jumps down the bench she had been on. Stepping towards the boys, she leans in close, a glint in her eye. “I cracked the code.”
–
“Is this even legal?” You shout over the thunder, shivering as the rain from the storm soaks through your clothes and into your bones as you sit with Steve and the others on the mall’s rooftop to spy on Russians.
You’re not at all sure how you ended up in this situation.
When Robin had cracked the code, you figured that the four of you would ask the other mall employees about their delivery shifts. Maybe hide out in Steve’s car and watch for deliveries during the day, eliminate other variables.
What you didn’t think the four of you would do, however, is sneak onto the roof of the mall in the pouring rain for an impromptu stakeout.
Thunder rumbles above you as lightning strikes, causing you to jump further into Steve’s side. He wraps an arm around you and rubs soothing circles to try and comfort you, knowing that this entire situation is your nightmare.
Seeing your fear, Robin tries to reassure you. “We’re fine, Y/N.” Then she turns to Dustin, who is holding his stupid binoculars up as he surveys the group of delivery men below you. “Look for Imperial Panda and Kaufman Shoes.”
Your brother takes a moment to look around before he spots something. “They’re with that whistling guy, ten o'clock.”
You look down and watch the guy cart a series of boxes into the shipment alleyway. “It’s just a bunch of boxes, guys.”
“Sure, but what do you think’s in there?” Steve questions, absentmindedly drawing you closer for warmth when he feels you shiver again. He loaned you his raincoat, but clearly it doesn’t seem to be helping much with how much he can feel you shiver. A twinge of guilt sears through him for putting you through this in the first place.
“Guns, bombs?” Dustin guesses.
Robin throws in her own suggestions. “Chemical weapons?”
“How about delicious noodles and sensible shoes? Why haven’t we considered those as options?” Your teeth are chattering now as more rain slams against you.
“Shut up, Y/N.” Dustin raises his binoculars up again. “Whatever it is, they’re armed to the teeth.”
“Armed?” You exclaim as more thunder clashes. Your switchblade warms in your pocket ominously; you didn’t sign up for men wielding fucking weapons.
“Great.” Steve wipes water out of his face, feeling just as overwhelmed and defeated as you. “That’s great.”
The metal doors in the alleyway start to open, and faintly you can see the outline of more boxes within the storage room, it looks almost like a vault, though it’s hard to tell. Next to you, Robin squints as well. “What’s in there?”
“It’s just more boxes.” Dustin has to raise his voice in order to be heard over the rain.
Steve reaches for the binoculars. “Let me beck it out.”
However, he only ends up in an intense game of tug-of-war with Dustin as they start to fight over the binoculars. They grapple over it, argue about who needs it more, before the rain causes the thing they’re fighting over to slip out of their hands and bang harshly against the guardrail.
The noise rings out through the night and catches the men’s attention from below. Gasping, you yank everyone down before they can see you. Instinctively your hand reaches for Steve’s while Robin reaches for your other hand. With your backs to the ground, the four of you pant as the adrenaline of almost being caught courses through you.
Steve looks over at you to make sure you’re okay, and his eyes land on Robin’s fingers intertwined through yours. He frowns a bit, finding the physical affection from her odd, but sends her teasing wink.
When Robin sees his wink, she only clenches her jaw and turns away before releasing your hand.
–
“Well, I think we found your Russians.” Robin says as you all re-enter the mall.
“That was too close.” You mutter, wringing out your soaked t-shirt as your hair drips onto the floor. While the others seem to have already forgotten how the men with giant guns almost found you on the roof, you haven’t. It’s been on your mind the last ten minutes; it’s all you can fucking think about.
You’re in too deep again. You can feel it.
Dustin passes you and now walks in step with Robin. “What’s our plan now?”
“Well, strange child, I think it’s obvious that we gotta break into the vault.”
“I’m sorry?” You step in between them now, not at all liking what you’re hearing. “No one is breaking into anything. Do you have any idea how dangerous and stupid that is?”
“C’mon, Y/N, loosen up a little!” Dustin whines, wanting you to just be on his side for once.
“Loosen up? Guys, this is serious.” You look around at the others, lacing your voice with urgence. “We could be dealing with a national crisis, this isn’t just some stupid spy mission. We aren’t at all qualified to handle this.”
“I mean, aren’t we?” Steve hesitantly speaks up. When your angry eyes meet his, he flinches slightly. “Y/N, I know you’re scared, but–”
“I’m not scared.”
“We’ve been through… a lot,” his eyes flick over towards Robin, knowing she’s listening and that he can’t reveal too much. “All we’re doing is breaking into a vault. I mean, c’mon. We can do that, easily.”
Dustin nods eagerly at Steve’s words and Robin hums in approval. The three of them seem to almost form a unit against you, which makes you draw into yourself. Suddenly you feel like the odd man out, with no one on your side. Feeling panicked and defensive, your anger rises. “We shouldn’t have to break into anything! We can call Hopper, tell him what’s happening and at least have someone else on our side in case something happens.”
“Oh, like Hopper would believe us.” Dustin scoffs at you as if you’re some idiot, which doesn’t help the insecurity you feel.
“I know he’d listen to me.” You still regret having not called Hopper two years ago when you had found El in the woods. Had you told him about her sooner, about everything sooner, you know that you would’ve saved your brother and everyone else the heartache they endured because of you.
You can’t make the same mistake again. You refuse to.
Robin tries to appease you. “Look, we can just take a peek inside the vault, maybe dig through a box or two, then we can rat the Russians out to the cops! I promise, we won’t be doing anything dangerous.”
“We don’t know that.”
Your words ring throughout the empty hallway the four of you stand in. An echo follows them, as if taunting you of your fears and worries, and no one says anything else. You all stand there, frozen, with Robin, Steve, and Dustin facing you. As if there’s a line now dividing them from you.
Steve’s heart pounds in his chest as your eyes land on him, silently pleading with him to say something, anything. “Y/N…”
But he can’t. Even though he heard the rising anxiety in your voice, even though he knows the weight behind the words you’ve yelled, Steve can’t meet your eye.
He knows that you carry so much guilt within you, and he wishes he could offer you more. He’s torn between wanting to defend you and ease the fear that you’ve confessed to him before, how you feel this overwhelming need to protect the ones you love, but he also wants to follow through with the Russians. To see where it takes him, if he can redeem himself.
You stand before the three others, chest rising and falling rapidly, wondering if you’ve gone too far this time.
Dustin is the one who steps forward first. He stares at you for a moment, his eyes sad, knowing that there’s more to your reluctance than just the possible danger. He understands how hard you fight to keep him safe, and how much harder you blame yourself when something goes wrong. With a sigh, your brother grabs your hand and starts to pull you away from the others.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Dustin says to Steve and Robin. Then, with an uncharacteristically gentle voice, he says to you, “let’s go home.”
You’re too tired to argue and you’re afraid you’ll start crying if you try to say anything else, so you follow after your brother and leave Steve and Robin alone in the hall.
–
At home, you lay in bed trying to ignore the twisting feeling in your stomach that you’ve let everyone down. That you’ve let Steve down. You’ve never really argued with him before, at least not like this. You’re not even sure if you can call what happened earlier an argument, and the thought makes you groan and shove your face into your pillows.
You’re exhausted.
As your thoughts spiral, your phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey, bug.”
Jonathan’s voice settles over you in slow, soothing waves. You close your eyes, having not known how much you needed him until now. “Hi, bee.”
“You sound tired.” He notes with slight worry, always able to read you.
You sigh. “It’s… been a long day.”
He hums over the phone, and the sound is familiar and lovely, though just as tired. “You too, huh?”
“I take it you’re not doing too well, either?”
“No,” he sighs, a slight gruffness to it. “Meet me in your driveway in ten minutes?”
“Deal.”
He hangs up and you crawl out of bed, despite your aching bones protesting. You throw on a hoodie knowing to ward off July’s brisk night air and lazily lace up your sneakers. Slowly, so as to not make any loud noise, you open your door and poke your head out.
The house is quiet. Your mom and Dustin must be asleep in their rooms, so you softly close your door and make your way outside.
It doesn’t take long before Jonathan’s car pulls into your driveway. He has his headlights off, long familiar with the routine of picking you up late at night for drives around town. The two of you used to do it every night the summer he first got his license.
You get into the car and the heat kisses your cheeks. Jonathan greets you with a tired smile as you put your seatbelt on, and when you nod your head at him, he starts the car and drives.
Neither of you say anything for a while as Jonathan drives the route you always take together. He has an old mix tape playing and you hum along, familiar with the songs. It’s peaceful, your fears from earlier have now faded; for now, it’s just you and Jonathan as you drive around Hawkins.
“I’m sorry for being M.I.A recently.” He finally says after a while. You sit up a bit, knowing he’s ready now to talk about what’s brought him here tonight. The two of you never just drive around anymore for the fun of it, you know he’s here because there’s something bothering him. “Nancy has been… worrying me.”
You lean closer to Jonathan, now concerned. “Is everything okay between you two?”
“Honestly?” He breathes in shakily. “I–I don’t know.”
“Talk to me, bee.” You grab his hand that rests on the stick shift.
And he does. He explains about a woman named Mrs. Driscoll who called the Hawkins Post and how Nancy had decided to check out the story without telling their boss, roping Jonathan into it. He explains the rat they saw at the woman’s house, how it had looked sick, maybe infected with rabies, and how he had taken pictures of it to show their boss.
When Nancy showed the men at the newspaper what they found, they had all laughed and belittled her.
As Jonathan tells the story, he shakes his head in anger. “They were horrible to her, bug.”
You sigh, feeling awful for Nancy as well. “She’s smarter than all those men combined. She deserves better.”
“She does,” Jonathan shakes his head again. “But Tom, our boss, ordered her to drop the story. But Nancy…”
“Refuses to back down?” You guess, knowing how stubborn and passionate the girl is.
Jonathan swallows. “Yeah.”
“What happened tonight, Jonathan?” You sense there’s something he isn’t telling you, that there’s more to this than just men being shitty to Nancy at work.
“Nance, she–uh. She wouldn’t back down, even after I told her I was scared we’d get fired if we kept investigating Mrs. Driscoll, but she–she needed to prove she was right and I just–I can never tell her no. She’s relentless, ambitious, it’s what I love about her, but… Y/N, we found Mrs. Driscoll eating fertilizer after breaking into her house.”
“Oh my god,” you gasp and drop Jonathan’s hand. “Is she okay? What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Jonathan clenches his jaw. “We called for help and they took her to the hospital. When I dropped Nancy off at home, she… She wants to go visit the woman in the hospital.”
You’re silent for a moment, now understanding why Jonathan seems so shaken up. “Nancy still wants her story.”
“She does.”
“And you think she’s going too far.”
“I do.”
You sigh. “Jonathan…”
“I don’t know what to do, Y/N!” He raises his voice now, his anger surfacing. “I mean, we could get fired and she doesn’t seem to care! When Tom finds out that we’re the ones who put Mrs. Driscoll in the hospital… I–I can’t lose this job, bug. I can’t. Especially not because of some douchebags my girlfriend wants to prove wrong.”
As Jonathan unravels, your heart aches for both him and Nancy. It’s a tough situation, you understand both sides, and you can’t imagine having to go through any of it.
Sighing, you grab his hand again and try to find the right words. “You have every right to feel scared, bee. I completely understand, this job means so much more to you than just some summer activity like it does for Nancy, but…” You bite your lip, worried you’ll say the wrong thing. “I also think Nancy’s ambition is admirable. From the stories she’s told me, those men are fucking vile and treat her like shit. I think you should try being more supportive of her.”
“How am I supposed to be supportive if I lose my job?”
You sigh again. “By holding her hand and recognizing that while it’s hard being poor in this world, it’s also hard being a woman. Both of you have a reason to be upset, and while I’m not saying it’s fair of Nancy to disregard your financial situation, I think you both need to sit down and talk about this without the other getting defensive.”
Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Neither one of us gets defensive.”
“You two are the most defensive and prideful people I’ve ever met, it’s a miracle you haven’t fought until now.”
He laughs at this, knowing you’re right. “Maybe another conversation wouldn’t hurt… I just, what’s going to happen tomorrow?”
You shrug. “I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you that you’ll need Nancy just as much as she’ll need you, okay?”
“It frustrates me how you always manage to say the right thing.”
“You’ve known me for years now, it’s your fault for not getting used to it.”
Jonathan laughs again and his shoulders relax, his anger and fear now dissipating. While he’s still unsure what tomorrow will bring, he knows that at least he’ll have you. Then the two of you drive past Steve’s house and Jonathan remembers how tired you sounded earlier on the phone.
“So, we gonna talk about why you had such a long day today?” Though it’s phrased as a question, you know that Jonathan understands if you don’t want to answer.
However, your own fears weigh heavily on your mind and you indulge him, because you always do. “Dustin intercepted a Russian code a few days ago and roped Steve, Robin, and I into helping him decipher it.”
“A Russian code?”
“Yeah. Not sure if I can explain it any better than that, honestly.”
Jonathan raises his eyebrows at you. “Is it anything dangerous?”
“I don’t know,” you groan, dropping your head into your knees. “That’s the million dollar question right now. Dustin and everyone else wants to keep investigating this, they want to break into a goddamn vault, and I just… I have a bad feeling about this, bee.”
“What does Steve think about all of this?” His voice is light, but his hands tighten ever so slightly on the steering wheel. You see this and look away, knowing he won’t like what you’re about to say.
“He’s why I sounded so tired earlier,” you confess, eyes closed. “He wouldn’t listen to me tonight, and I just–”
You stop mid sentence, your words catching in your throat. Jonathan looks over at you with concern and makes a quick decision to pull to the side of the road and park. “Hey, bug. Look at me.” Swallowing back tears, you do as you’re told. When your eyes meet his, Jonathan brings your hand to his lips. “Talk to me.”
“I’m terrified he’ll be another ‘almost.”
Jonathan’s lips ghost over your hands and you feel his breath stutter slightly at your words. He knows the pain that comes with “almost”, he knows he’s the reason why the word stings your tongue as you say it out loud. “He’s not another ‘almost’, Y/N.”
“I don’t know anymore.” Tears start to fall down your face and you’re mortified. You hate the words coming out of your mouth, they feel like a betrayal to Steve and the promise you made him, and you hate that you’re saying all this to Jonathan. “He–he seems interested, sometimes, but it’s July now and–and he hasn’t… He couldn’t even look me in the eye tonight, Jonathan.”
Jonathan doesn’t say anything. He can’t say anything.
You’re crying in his passenger seat over a boy you love, a boy who isn’t him, and all Jonathan can do is hold your hands as you cry.
“I’m sorry, bug.” He apologizes for more than just your upset over Steve. Jonathan apologizes for it all, for the years between you two, for the almosts and what if’s and missed chances.
“Yeah. I am, too.” You wipe your eyes, embarrassed now. “Can you, uh, take me home, please?”
Jonathan nods and wordlessly starts the car again.
It feels like last year, back to being unsure about love and relationships and being exhausted by it all, and you can’t help but laugh at the irony of it. The small laugh turns into a louder one, then into full body hysterics, and Jonathan worries for a second that you’ve lost your mind. “Y/N, you’re scaring me a little.”
You clutch at your stomach and laugh even harder. “S-sorry, I just–oh my god. I can’t believe I–I’m here again.”
“I’m lost.”
“Just drive, bee.” You try to calm yourself down, though giggles still rise through your chest. You think you’re delirious, honestly.
Yet some things never change, and it feels good to be in Jonathan’s car and breathless from laughter, even if your heart aches as you do so.
-
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Titty-Shirt! (18+)
pairing: pervert!rollercoaster operator!jeonghan x bigtiddie!fem!reader
genre: theme park au??? lmao, coworkers to lovers, kinda enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, lil crack, lil angst
description: you start your new job and your mentor, jeonghan, is the biggest piece of shit you've ever met. you swear you hate him. you swear. he's just also the most gorgeous man you've ever seen.
warnings: whew this requires a lot of warning, first of all a lot of DUBCON BEHAVIOR FROM JEONGHAN INITIALLY (we know she enjoys it to some extent, but he doesnt know), hes a sleazy perverted fuck, tiddie playing, tiddie sucking, tiddie fucking, fingering (f. receiving), dry humping, mirror sex, praise (f. receiving), dirty talk, FINGER SUCKING HNG, a lil degradation (f. receiving), meanie condescending jeonghan turning all soft for ur tiddies :(, V TIDDIE-CENTRIC IF U COULDNT TELL, belinda loves jeonghan, WEED LOTTA WEED, explicit depictions of smoking weed, high sex, this fic sounds rough but it actually has some really soft cute moments, im pretty sure thats it lmk if i forgot smth
quotes from babygirl (@joshibambi): "shove ur cock down my throat treat me like the whore i am", "FUCKING STEP ON ME", "omg hes so disgusting..... im so attracted to him"
wordcount: 13.2k
a/n: the way i raced 2 finish this before im actually moving out... ALSO thinking ab making this a series? like one for each member, the theme being "unusual jobs". like not stuff youd immediately think of like coffee shop or lawyer or ceo or whatever. like. strange jobs. would u guys b on board?
“We’re so excited to have you working with us.”
She had a mole on her nose that was hard to ignore. It was big and exceptionally round - your thoughts flitted back to your dearest Discovery Channel, and how amazing it was that nature could create such perfect spheres. The thought of your couch and your blanket and your most cherished nature docs brought upon a wave of uncertainty. You could just be lying at home, you thought.
“Happy to be here,” you smiled tightly. She was your new manager and she was short and stout and had gray hair and a lovely smile and a round mole on her nose. You tried not to make it obvious you were staring at it.
You were standing in your city’s local theme park under a long path with flower archways. People, kids and parents and ninth graders, swarmed around like bees, standing at booths and in lines to old, janky, rusted roller coasters. It was summer and you were wearing the branded shirt they’d given you, slightly too small, and the matching cap. Insects buzzed past your stray hairs and you looked up at the bright blue sky.
You needed a job, you had known, and your mom had certainly known it too, so you could only lounge around after graduating for a short while, before you opted to apply. This had been your last choice. You’d tried to become some sort of lobby-worker, tried makeup stores and even regular stores. You used to make fun of the people who worked here. But now that person was you, and standing under the archways in the summer sun slathered in sunscreen, you figured you would make the best of it until the busy season was over.
“So,” your manager, Belinda, began after a brief pause of polite nods, “new employees such as yourself are required to be trained and surveyed by an existing worker for a two-week period, but after that you get to run the rides all by yourself.”
She said it like it was something to look forward to. You tried to believe that it was.
“Of course,” you said, and once again the space between you was filled with polite and exaggerated nodding. “Need to learn first before you get to be the master.”
“Exactly!” she said. Her lipstick was barbie-pink and a little overlined on the right side. She smelled faintly of gasoline. “So we’re handing you off to one of our star-employees!”
You hummed and noticed her taking a step backwards, indicating you to follow. She began walking, trudging over the cobbled paths and shuffling awkwardly in between walls of people. You followed behind. “He’s been working here for the past two years, so he knows the place in and out.”
As you walked, passing twisting, gnarly tracks with screams emanating from them and stands with oversized, China-made plushies hanging from them, you tried to imagine what a star-employee at Caratland Theme Park looked like.
It was probably someone that loved roller coasters, maybe someone like yourself, who strived for approval and perfection, maybe someone that found a certain joy in being a good service experience for guests. Someone who was good with kids?
“So you’ll be training with him for a bit before we leave you alone with the coasters, of course, but it should be no trouble, he’s a fun guy!”
You passed by a haunted house, where a group of kids psyched each other up in the queue. Dodging a tree, you finally came up on a certain blue ride where Belinda stopped and put her hands on her hips, power posing in front of the creaky, old machinery.
The Pirate Swing. That’s what it was called, and it was a big ship attached to a huge, metal pole on each side, and it was currently swooshing up and down with a large, grating sound. You cringed at it. Belinda noticed and frowned, fingers fiddling with the edge of her shirt. “Maybe we should oil that one.”
Kids and parents were lined up at the stairway leading up to it in a parade of artificial polyester colors, and on the edge of the platform where the ship was shoveling through the air, a little booth was sat. Peeking through the frankly grimy windows, you could see him. He was slumped back in a wooden chair, wearing the same shirt as you and Belinda, and wearing big, blocky, black sunglasses.
“Jeonghan!” she called, and you saw the figure jolt. He looked briefly dazed, before he snapped his head up to peer through the glass, smiling and waving. The kids in line turned to glare at you. He scrambled up from his seat clumsily and with sporadic movement, and you both watched how he hunched over the door, shaking it in its frame before it finally let open. He took one long step out the door and was finally outside, looking down at you from the platform and leaning on the railing.
“Belinda! Nice to see you,” he breathed, smiling in a way that seemed to indicate he did not find the prior sequence of events embarrassing. In fact, he seemed to think he had the upper hand - the confidence rolled off of him in waves. You grimaced.
You could see him much better now that he was outside, not broken up by the greasy glass, and whatever you had envisioned the star-employee to look like, this was not it. He was young, maybe just a little older than you, and he was thin, with long black hair that just kissed his shoulders. About half of his face was hidden away behind the frankly humongous sunglasses on his face, but he had pale pink lips and a pronounced cupid's bow, and even though you were a little skeptical of him, the cockiness in his smile was well-received.
“This is Y/n!” Belinda said (yelling to overpower the severely loud child glee), gesturing to you, and you almost felt self-conscious when he looked over at you and smiled. “She’s a new employee and you’ll be her mentor during her training period.”
“Sure thing!” he said simply. Again with the polite nods, you thought, before you felt Belinda’s hand on your shoulder. You glanced over and she squeezed.
“Good luck, Y/n! You’re in great hands!” Now that you weren’t so sure about. Had the two of you not seen the same thing?
You mumbled a thanks and she padded away, once more dodging and weaving through huge chains of people, and you squinted after her, before you turned back to Jeonghan. He was already looking at you, a lazy smile on his lips.
“Welcome to The Pirate Swing, matey! Get up here and let me show you the ropes,” he padded back to the booth, now visibly more relaxed, as his back returned in a hunch. “I should probably stop the ride,” he mumbled to himself, pressing a button on a long controlpanel with a grid of eight buttons.
You climbed up the stairs unsurely, hand smoothing over the railing as you went. At the top you squeezed in beside Jeonghan. It was a fairly small space, just big enough for the two of you to stand next to each other. Jeonghan smiled a straight smile at you, before brushing past you to let out the dizzy guests.
“Was it a good ride?!” You heard him ask distantly, while you studied the interior of the booth.
It was reeking with a sweet herbal stench, and for a moment you might’ve chalked it up to sweat and cologne, but when your gaze danced over the grid, you became aware of a small, open ziploc of weed on the countertop, crumbs of it dotted by the opening. An energy drink, most certainly warm from the sun flowing in, was perched next to it, and you saw more cans by the foot of the wooden chair (it seemed like a chair that had been dragged in from somewhere else - it was almost reminiscent of the one from your grandma’s house).
You grimaced, looking over to where Jeonghan was waving kids off and shuffling over to let in people from the queue, a big sign for checking heights in his hand. The sunglasses, of course, you thought and frowned at the room. Luckily it seemed pretty straight forward, so maybe you could escape this Jeonghan character earlier than two weeks.
“Right,” Jeonghan clapped his hands together, pushing past you again. “This is how you turn it on,” he said and pressed one long, skinny finger to a black button that read ‘dispatch’.
Sure enough, the huge metal set to work again, screeching as it lifted a boat-full of nuclear families through the air.
“You turn it off with this other one. Usually rides just stop by themselves when they reach the end, but since we got a little shitty one today it’s manual.”
“Okay,” you said, nodding along and watching when his hand danced and pointed to the set of buttons.
“That’s pretty much it!” he said, collapsing in his chair again, sunglasses sliding halfway down his nose and revealing his bloodshot eyes.
“What about the other buttons?” you ask pointedly, arms crossed.
“Don’t worry about them, sweet cheeks,” he waved you off. “They don’t do much.”
The empty cans by his chair clattered when he reached down a hand for one, toppling over and hitting the metal flooring. You scrunched your nose in disgust.
“I like your shirt,” he mumbled, nimble fingers picking up a particular empty can. It was bent on one side, little holes pricked in it - it was a makeshift bong. You scoffed at him. This was the star-employee?
“We have the same shirt,” you deadpanned.
“Yeah, but I like yours better,” he grinned lazily, can now in hand, when he leaned forward to fetch the ziploc of weed. “Nice and tight.”
“You’re gross,” you spat, brows furrowed. “This is a kid’s establishment, you know that, right?”
“Ninth graders fuck here all the time,” he shrugged. You gasped, not only because it was an extremely gross fact, but also because that was not what you were suggesting. “I’m referring to the fucking weed in your hand, jackass!”
“Woah, calm down!” He shushed you, and you might’ve genuinely scared him, because he looked around each window of the booth, light cascading down his tan skin. He was wearing a pair of shorts, and you saw his knee bounce. When he’d secured the area, he turned to you with a hiss: “That’s a secret, woman! You can’t just throw words like that around.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t smoke here!” You snapped, but Jeonghan was doing exactly the opposite. Ducking down so it wasn’t totally visible from the windows, he’d placed a little nugget of weed on the grate, and was now setting it alight with Transformers-print lighter.
“This is your first day, right? Trust, you’re gonna end up being high on the job too,” he ended his sentence by placing his lips around the mouth of the can, sucking in smoke.
“That’s such a safety hazard,” you murmured, looking down at him from where you stood. He pulled away, smoke still in his mouth and you saw a twinkle in his eyes from above his falling sunglasses. Then he lunged forward and blew it into your face, a concentrated stream of weed smoke bouncing off your shiny cheeks. “Hey!”
You sputtered and spat, shoulders tense and straining against the fabric of your shirt. Jeonghan settled back down in his chair, legs spread.
“The kids love me! With or without weed!” he said, voice a little groggy from the smoke. You coughed, discontent.
“Maybe they love you because you get them contact-high,” you mumbled under your breath. Jeonghan grinned at that.
Suddenly he leaned back in his chair to study you, one hand on the can, the other taking off his sunglasses. He stared up at you with fire-red eyes and soft, long hair and a bemused grin on his lips. Seeing his full face, you gulped under his intense gaze. He was really pretty. Annoying. More annoying than pretty. But still.
Distantly, kids screamed and a constant buzz of countless conversations overlapped in each inch of the park. Jeonghan reached out a finger and poked your jean-clad hip once.
“You’re funny,” was all he said, something resembling curiosity in his eyes. “Yeah. Funny girl with the tight shirt.”
You were going to retaliate (they truly had run out of your size and had opted for this as a temporary option, it wasn’t your fault!), but Jeonghan coughed suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as he sat back up in his seat.
“Oh shit, should probably stop the ride now.”
_____________________________
You thought about quitting.
You could honestly say that Jeonghan made you think about quitting, and maybe you would even have brought the plan into action, had it not been for the fact that you had been rejected from just about every other job that you’d applied to. It seemed you were stuck.
You showed up the next day in your shirt and it felt even tighter than the day prior, and the cap tightened around your scalp like you were a toy in a claw machine.
Fortunately for you, the park seemed much less crowded today. It was a Wednesday, parents were still working and apparently no one sought out the thrill of scary, old, decaying rides on such afternoons. You admired how much lovelier it was when it was still, as you walked up to The Pirate Swing.
“Hey, titty-shirt!”
The loveliness was ruined.
Jeongan was standing on the railing with someone else you didn’t recognize, long, black hair swaying out from the rim of his cap. He waved enthusiastically, watching your form slump at his words.
“Hey, Jeonghan,” you muttered, approaching the steps. The boy beside him looked mildly uncomfortable at the interaction.
“It’s a good thing you’re here, N/n - can I call you N/n?” he didn’t let you answer, simply continued talking like a telemarketer. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here. Me and my buddy, Junhui, from the Beetle Bug ride were just discussing something that I think is extremely valuable to learn about this place!”
“Are you gonna teach me about the rest of the buttons?” you drawled, eyes half closed in feigned boredom (as much as you disliked him, it certainly wasn’t boring).
“No!” Jeonghan snapped his fingers at you. You noticed he had this way of smiling, that irked you. It was void of sincerity and was instead wolfish and teasing, something genuinely animalistic and mean-spirited. It was distasteful.
“On days like these-” he hovers and outstretched hand to gesture to the mostly bare land of the theme park, “- you can steal food from the restaurants.”
After just one eight hour shift with Jeonghan, you find yourself not even remotely surprised at this. You cross your arms over your chest (Jeonghan’s eyes briefly flick down to them, and you think you might actually hate him): “I have a packed lunch.”
“Packed lunches are for geeks and nerds,” he said, unbothered. “You can come along if you want to get some delicious, warm pizza, or you can stay here like a loser and explain to every kid that comes by, that you’re not allowed to give them a ride on the coaster and watch them cry until you get fired. Your choice, babe.”
“Don’t call me that,” you snarled. Jeonghan shrugged with puckered lips and the Beatle Bug guy - Junhui - scrunched his face in disgust at the two of you.
“Not gonna lie, I’m gonna go find Seungkwan,” he said, not even attempting to hide his dismay for your dynamic. He brushed past you on the stairs, hands buried in his pockets. “If you guys fuck, do it in the bathroom Chan uses!” he yelled, trudging past the pillars that held up the haunted house.
“Sure thing, Jun!” Jeonghan smiled, and you could punch him. Again that animalistic, joyful, laughing-at-you-not-laughing-with-you smile.
“What if I snitch on you?” you asked, hoping it would knock some sort of sense into him, but he only shrugged.
“Belinda loves me. Whenever she works on Valentine’s day, she cries in her office and I let her rant about her shitty boyfriends,” the visual was somehow not hard to imagine. Belinda in her office chair (you’d seen it once, and all you could say was the interior looked like something from a log cabin) and Jeonghan, 19, feeding into everything she said. “You can say what you want, but she’ll just fire you for making up rumors.”
Your brows furrowed. “That’s so concerning.”
“Nothing about this place works right,” he admitted and it was maybe the only time you’d sensed an ounce of truth in his words. “So, are you coming?”
You hesitated. You really were working up a real distaste for Jeonghan, but talking to spoiled, crying kids seemed worse than anything else at the moment. You decided you could live through Jeonghan’s lewd comments and maybe make friends with some other park workers.
“Okay.”
“I knew you loved me,” he teased, and then grabbed your wrist from the top of the steps, bouncing down and pulling you along with him. “Hey!” you yelped, but Jeonghan was, as always, unbothered.
He pulled you by a narrow walkway into the toilets, passing by a single, confused family, as you stumbled behind him. There was a fountain with a hen figurine on top, which he steered around, your arm jerking limply, as he went down a flower-walkway.
“You do this often?” you remarked, out of breath from jogging to match his strides.
“Oh yeah. Mingyu works there and he’s like 16, he lets me do anything,” Jeonghan giggled evilly, glancing over his shoulder once, and you gulped, and hated the way his eyes were so big and pretty, and the way his hair blowed softly along carvings of his cheeks.
“It’s great that you have so many people here to enable your bad habits,” you said. Whatever sarcasm you portrayed in your tone, Jeonghan ignored it, still smiling when he said: “Right?”
When you stopped you were standing on the backside of a blocky building - one of the many offers of food you provided, prices marked up to drain the suburbs of their cash. You felt something underfoot, and looked down on the gravelly, rustic pavement, only to see circa 20 cigarettes jammed in between the rocks. You scrunched your nose.
“What? You don’t like cigs?” you looked up at Jeonghan’s voice, to see him grinning cheekily at you. His eyes sparkled and for maybe just a second it was kind of attractive.
“I don’t..” you broke off eye contact. “I don’t mind, it’s just.. Is everyone here like you?”
“Sweetheart,” he tutted, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his long fingers tapping your cheek, cool on the warming skin. You looked back up at him and he had tilted his head to the side. Why was he being attractive? Why were you finding him attractive? “There’s no one like me.”
Before you could respond, Jeonghan pushed open the backdoor, the heat of the kitchen simmering out in one brief wind, before it slammed shut behind him, and you were left, alone and dumbfounded on the stones in a mountain of cigs.
Then you scoffed.
You stood for a moment, letting the fresh air cool the inevitable warmth on your cheeks, huffing (because you were annoyed, you told yourself, not because he had just done something terribly, horribly attractive!) and puffing with your arms crossed over your too-tight-shirt.
Then you pushed open the door and stepped inside the tiled kitchen.
The room was filled with steam and it smelled like canned marinara sauce and fake cheese and most of all it was unbearably hot - so hot and humid, you felt the particles of water sitting on the fabric of your shirt. There was a decidedly oversize pot simmering with sauce on a stovetop, and on a hotplate three untouched pizzas sat; one with potato-topping, one pepperoni and one margarita.
A very tall boy was running frantically around the kitchen, three different kitchen utensils in his clenched fist like claws. Sweat was dripping down the side of his frowning face and red speckled his shiny cheeks. Jeonghan draped himself against the counter lazily.
“It’s just me today,” the boy, Mingyu, cried, “Thomas sent home the other two because there’s no one in the park, but I can’t do this alone!”
“Seems real stressful, Gyu,” Jeonghan mumbled, leaning on his hand.
“Yeah, so if you aren’t too busy, maybe you could stir the marinar-”
“That’s really great, man. You’re doing God’s work. But hey, we’re just gonna-” While Mingyu’s back was turned, the tall boy hunched over the sauce, Jeonghan limply pushed the pepperoni pizza to the edge of the hotplate with a pair of tongs. He winked at you, scooping the pizza into his open palm. “We’re just gonna head out now.”
“Jeonghan, please help me out and don’t-”
Mingyu turned around and his tortured expression dropped into one of shock, his tense limbs falling limp at his sides. Jeonghan stood, hand in the cookie jar and pizza in his palm, frozen in front of him with a sort of cartoonish ‘oopsie’-face. Steam clouded the room while you watched from the doorway.
Mingyu’s eyes narrowed and when he spoke again, his voice was lowered in warning: “Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this. Put. The pizza. Down.”
There was a moment of indifferent silence. Jeonghan contemplated.
Then he nodded, lips pursed and eyes cast down to the pizza.
“You know… I would.. But. Y/N, OPEN THE DOOR OR KNOCK HIM OUT!”
“WHAT?”
“OPEN THE DOOR.”
You did. Apparently Mingyu hadn’t seen you, because he jumped at your voice behind him, body twisting to see you just in time for you to open the door and Jeonghan came scrambling out of it like a rat. You cannot believe you just aided this man’s crimes, you think, Mingyu’s expression of horror forever imprinted in your retina, before you followed suit.
However bad Mingyu’s puppy expression made you feel, the rush of adrenaline as you bolted down the pavement under row after row of flowers and sunbeams brought forth something sinister and mean that had you giggling at your evil-doing. Jeonghan was laughing as well, and his genuine laugh was bright and bubbly and very unlike him.
Mingyu sprung open the door behind you, yelling over your shoulders: “HOODLUMS! THIEVES! YOU’RE LUCKY I CAN’T LEAVE THIS SAUCE.”
This made the both of you laugh even harder, disappearing behind another building, leading up to the chicken-fountain. You caught up to him, still holding the pizza in his open palms, now sweating and panting in between bright, heart-thrumming giggles.
“I thought-” you panted, bending at your knees and warding away the image of the betrayed Mingyu. “I thought you said he let you do whatever he wanted.”
“Yeah,” Jeonghan heaved, cheeks rosy and shiny, as he gently padded over to a bench with the pizza out like the plate in the hand of Oliver Twist. “That’s my bad. I forget he was 16 two years ago and has since then lost all respect for me.”
This made you laugh. This had your eyes squinting closed and a deep, ringing laugh bouncing up your ribcage and your throat and exploding into the summertime. Eyes closed, you missed the way Jeonghan’s face lit up at that.
“That made you laugh? Self-deprecation?” he asked incredulously, but somehow amazed.
“Oh,” you cried, opening your eyes and willing your laughter to calm. “I think it’s just the first time you haven’t been baselessly confident and cocky.”
“Baseless?” Jeonghan echoed, face screwed in poorly-concealed glee.
“Yeah,” you nodded, face also screwed in poorly-concealed glee.
“What? Am I supposed to collect, like, fuckin’ data?”
“Yeah, evidence.”
“EVIDENCE?”
You and Jeonghan went back to The Pirate Swing, splitting the pizza in the booth and every 45 minutes or so, letting guests on when they came by. He was still annoying and in all fairness he’d dragged you into his crimes against humanity. But. He was also a little funny and sweet.
And the pizza did taste better than your packed lunch.
_____________________________
Two days of normal work followed.
There were too many people to really fuck around, so you and Jeonghan stayed in the booth, and you even managed to pressure him into telling you about the rest of the buttons, as well as the mechanics of the bigger machines.
Everytime Jeonghan saw you he greeted you with “Hey titty-shirt!”, equally enthusiastic each time. Everytime the clock hands read 8 PM he pulled out his weed and began smoking. Everytime he began smoking he snaked a hand on the back of your leg where you stood (still no chair!) beside him, rubbing the flesh under his palm. You shooed him away half-heartedly, then felt guilty for not meaning it. Jeonghan was a sleazy piece of shit, but his hand was warm and felt nice on your thigh. You liked to tell yourself you were just lonely or something.
“TITTY-SHIRT!”
That Saturday you came walking into work, still wearing your shirt and your cap, and was immediately alerted to the fact that something was off; Jeonghan was ecstatic.
He always had this front of joy and constant bemusement, but you’d learned to read how he yearned for his shift to end - you saw it sometimes when he gazed out of the windows of the booth, thinking you were surveying the kids. That day, he was happy. Genuinely.
“TITTY-SHIRT!” he called again, causing a family of blonde children to turn their heads in dismay. He paid them no mind, rushing down the stairs with loud, trampling steps, to meet you at the foot of the platform, before you could even settle down in the booth. He grabbed your forearms in his hands and grinned at you childishly. You couldn’t help the small, bemused smile that parted your lips.
“Great fuckin’ news,” he said, “Belinda is fucking gone. M.I.A.”
“Okay?” you grimaced, unsure of what he was getting at.
“Okay?! Do you know what this means?”
“No, not particularly,” you mumbled.
“This whole fuckin’ area,” he let go of your arms to motion vigorously to your part of the park. "Unsupervised. Unaccounted for.”
“Okay?”
“Okay?! This means we’re gonna go shoot the shit at the arcade, come on!” He threw a hand over his shoulder to gesture to the arcade area. You frowned and crossed your arms challengingly.
“Shouldn’t we go take care of our coaster?”
“Are you kidding me? If no one is working it, people just assume it’s shut down for maintenance. Come on, this only happens, like, twice a year!” He whined, stomping his worn-down Nike sneakers into the pavement and pouting at you. You hated to admit it made your facade melt like an overpriced ice-cream in the hand of a child.
“Alright, but-”
“Yes!”
Without further nonsense, Jeonghan grabbed your hand in his, and began to once more drag you through the park. As you ran behind him, you looked at your interlocked hands and thought, briefly, that it wasn’t too bad to look at. And it felt kind of good.
“What happened to Belinda?”
“God knows, I think it was something with her kids.”
“She has kids?!”
You and Jeonghan messed around at the arcade - Jeonghan miraculously had been granted the keys to the arcade by Belinda (something about her trusting him?), and unlocked the machines and you played games with already-used coins.
First was Whack-A-Mole, then the boxing game, then those motorcycle races, and then you played the basketball game.
“I’m gonna beat you!” you squealed, throwing a miniature basketball through the hoop with a small jump. You grinned in triumph when it landed right, punching the air like a dork and turning to him with victoriously glean.
Jeonghan wasn’t even played, you realized. You’d been so caught up in actually landing the ball in the hoop that you’d managed to forgo the way Jeonghan leaned against his lane, eyes half lidded and shadowed under his cap. You turned to him, now much more aware that you’d been acting like a dork.
“Uh, aren’t you gonna play?” you asked sheepishly, blushing. You wished you’d missed how Jeonghan’s lips quirked upwards at the sight.
“No,” he sang, “I think I’m just gonna stay here and watch you play.”
You narrowed your eyes, suspiciously, and that was all Jeonghan needed before he sighed and shrugged in defeat, like a criminal caught for his crimes.
“Sorry, I just like watching your tits bounce when you get all excited,” he deadpanned. Your mouth gaped open and crossed your arm over your chest.
“You’re so gross, Jeonghan!” you said, now thoroughly uninterested in playing anymore. Jeonghan only scoffed though, to which you snapped your head back to him with an outraged expression. He smiled at you in that cheeky son-of-a-bitch way.
“Oh, don’t act like that,” he said cockily.
“Like what?”
He laughed, rolling his eyes, letting a small pause linger in the space between you. You hoped he couldn’t see the way your eyes twinkled with excitement every time he said something like this. As hot as he was, Jeonghan was a cocky, sleazy piece of shit and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Like you’re scandalized,” he said simply. You wanted to respond, wanted to defend your honor, but Jeonghan saw right through you, and he took one step forward to speak again: “Like you hate the way I talk to you. You act all innocent and nice and so uptight, but you know what?”
He took daring steps forward, one after another, until you were half-sat on the basketball machine and he stood, looming over you, surprisingly menacing despite the get-up. The air seemed to suddenly thicken and warm, tasting foul in your mouth. Then he leaned in, eyes glimmering brilliantly with amusement and that evil smile on his lips, breath hitting yours.
“I think you love being treated like a slut.”
Fuck.
He was so close to you, body heat rolling into you. You knew he saw the mechanisms of your brain turning behind your eyes, saw the fear when you realized he had seen right through you, and he smiled, and he might as well have had fucking horns.
He tilted his head, and, fuck, if every angle of his face wasn’t perfect. It was unfair. It was so unfair.
“I-I don’t-” your voice was a meek, half-hearted protest, cut off before you could even begin.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I think you do. You don’t just let any man massage your thigh, hm?”
At those words, his hand dropped onto your thigh, finger digging into soft flesh. You mewled at the feeling, causing his grin to spread wider.
“Oh, poor baby,” he pouted in fake-sympathy. “Am I making you wet?”
“JEONGHAN!”
Thank God for Kwon Soonyoung with the impeccable timing.
Soonyoung was “the pool boy” - he did not work at the pools, but he was the victim of a dunking-machine that was set up in the summertime. Kids and adults alike paid to throw balls at a big, red button that would lower a trapdoor and dunk Soonyoung in ice-cold water. You’d seen it in action and it was pretty hilarious.
At his voice, you and Jeonghan scrambled apart, his hand flying off your thigh and body twisting to back away from you, and you dropping off the machine and landing flat on your feet, blushing wildly and somewhat out of breath.
Soonyoung, the poor boy, was sprinting through the park, stopping awkwardly where you and Jeonghan had been standing. He was out of breath and had a wild look in his eyes, like he was being chased by some supernatural monster.
“Belinda is back! Get back to your coasters!” If he’d noticed your philandering he certainly didn’t mention it, breaking into a sprint again the second the words had left his lips.
“Shit, thank you, Soonyoung!” Jeonghan yelled, receiving only a limp thumbs-up from the trackstar in response. Jeonghan grabbed your hand and the two of you ran back to The Pirate Swing as fast as your legs could take you.
Your heart fluttered at your interlocked hands again, and you stared at them, focused on them, as the world became a blurred mess around you. His warmth streamed into you.
You couldn’t even look at him the rest of the shift. Something about his confrontation stirred a mimicking phenomenon in you. Did you want to fuck Jeonghan? You did, you realized, and thus you were unable to raise your gaze from the floor, pressing yourself against the wall to be far enough away from him, that he couldn’t touch your thigh again. He didn’t. He just let your cheeks blaze and pressed buttons and talked to kids, and he even waved at Belinda when she walked by, and she smiled wide and waved back.
You went home at 9 PM, shirt too tight around your chest, and chest too tight around your heart. You simply couldn’t believe it, because not only did you want to fuck Jeonghan;
You had a fucking crush on him.
_____________________________
Having a crush on Yoon Jeonghan was maybe the worst revelation you’d had in your life.
You’d kept all the things you admired about him hidden under the veil of your shirt; he was sleazy and gross and he smoked weed at work and had a certain disregard for child safety. But, and there was always a but, you realized, he was also witty and easy to talk to, and it was cute when he was happy or he got excited about something, and he was so damn charismatic, and you realized you would do anything to see him with that childlike joy again.
The worst part was that Jeonghan did not like you back. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine him liking anyone. He thought you were hot and wanted to fuck and that was the end of it. All the ways you cared about him were unreciprocated. He did not care to see you happy. He did not care for the twinkle in your eyes when you were excited. He liked your tits in your shirt and was working his fingers up, day by day, to touch you. Yoon Jeonghan did not like you back.
Three days of work passed, three days of being muted and awkward around him. Jeonghan’s shine was not dulled by your lack though. The kids loved him, Belinda loved him, and he didn’t love anyone back - just let himself be showered in admiration. He was greedy like that. He took all the love and gave none out.
On this particular day, all you did was lay in your bed before work, willing time to stop so you wouldn’t have to go. Legs flopped on top of your bedsheets, work shirt on and cap on your bedside. You waited.
You waited with a metal ball in your stomach, rolling around and causing a ruckus. It rested heavy there, rolling to and fro and grazing your heart from time to time, and it hurt.
Maybe the reason it felt this bad was because you did it to yourself. Of course, Jeonghan wouldn’t like you back. He was Jeonghan. And yet, you’d had your guard down and his effortless charms had worked their way into your brain. You wondered how many girls had been in the same exact position as you; being graced with Jeonghan’s presence, being smitten by it, and now lying in bed, realizing the admiration would never be bounced back to them.
You went to work.
In the damn shirt, you walked in through the staff-door and journeyed towards The Pirate Swing.
There were so many people that day, you could hardly believe your eyes. The queues were mile-long stretches, and every pathway was spotted with body after body, walls of families, crowds swarming like insects. It was enough to induce a slight panic.
“It’s good that you’re here, Titty-shirt,” Jeonghan said, when you walked into the booth beside him. He had a bit of a wild look in his eye and he was chewing on a banana. You stood by the door of the booth, looking out at the queue - a genuine queue? To The Pirate Swing? - as the boat swung catastrophically behind you. “We’re fucking busy.”
You hummed, then turned your head to him. He had sat down, seemingly exhausted and pouting a little.
“You brought a packed lunch?” you asked, nodding towards the banana in his hand and he looked up at you. His cheeky smile made you want to die.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I stole this from Seungkwan,” he said and you laughed, and you hated that he made you laugh. The walls of the booth muffled the loud, indistinct buzz and shielded you from the chaos. The flimsy, windowed walls had never felt as intimate.
“It’s gonna be a shitty day,” you declared ceremoniously. He grunted something in agreement, voice strangled by the now finished banana. Forever himself, he discarded the peel on the corner of the control panel, among his ziploc of weed and empty cans.
It was a shitty day.
The constant swarming of people, crying children, the non-stop screech of rusted roller coaster tracks; everything brewed together into a pounding headache, as you and Jeonghan hunched together in the booth. Beads of sweat collected on your skin, where the unforgiving sun streamed through the windows.
Around 8 PM you’d had just about enough. Your head was pounding, you were hungry, and most terribly you were sad. You were sad, sitting next to Jeonghan on the dirty, hard floor of the booth, and you could cry every time he said something snarky and lewd to you. He would never like you and you were a fool for ever letting yourself get attached.
The day was constant work, constant talking to kids and putting on an energetic front. Finally the crowd seemed to thin out. Slowly but surely, the suburban families returned home and only a few people remained, and the night time glowed soft and warm.
“Dude,” Jeonghan said, neck craned to look at his phone. With most of the guests gone, he’d finally gotten a chance to waste away on his phone, putting his mouth to his makeshift bong and smoking pot. You kept the booth-door open to let the smoke out. “Wanna go see a crowd of teenagers dunk Soonyoung? Junhui just texted me.”
You were so tired. Every inch of your body yearned to relax where you sat, cross legged on the metal floor. With dark, sunken eyes and no courtesy left, you simply shook your head.
“You sure?” he asked, eyebrows raised. You were just tired enough to miss the small frown on his lips.
“I’m tired, you just go.”
Jeonghan shrugged then and stood up. He left the bong on the floor and stepped over you to exit.
“I’ll be back ASAP!” he yelled out, and you didn’t even try to look at him, to call something witty back. You just sat.
And as if it weren’t the last thing you needed today, just thirty minutes before closing, a woman and her son strolled up The Pirate Swing. You saw them, eyes glazing with worry as you flickered your head to Jeonghan’s empty chair.
“We want a ride!” cawed the woman, holding her son by the hand. You scrambled to your feet, stuttering as you dusted off your pants.
“Uh, I-” hopeful, you looked around, hoping to see Jeonghan and his long, poodle-y hair somewhere near. The pathways were deserted. “I-I actually can’t-”
Not waiting for an explanation, the woman clucked once more: “You’re still open, aren’t ya?”
You nodded, tiredness painted thick and greasy on your face. “Yes, we are, um, open, but I-”
“Well, then give us a ride?!”
This woman was going to be the death of you. Why were they even here now right before closing? You closed your eyes, collecting yourself and mustering each ounce of patience you had left.
“I’m not allowed to because I’m new-”
“Well, where is the operator? Why are you here if you don’t know how it works!”
“He’s, uh,” your face fell, “He’s using the bathroom right no-”
You’re not even sure why you lied.
“Alright,” she huffed, strained and impatient. “Well, you just ruined me and my son’s night!”
She tugged her blonde kid by the hand and began to turn around, grumbling with a red face.
“I’m so sorry, but- it’s a matter of safety-”
“Next time just say you don’t know how to do your job!” she yelled over her shoulder, mean glare coming out over her shapely glasses. Then she was jiggling away with a pouting child.
Your mouth fell open in shock. A part of you wanted to be angry - a part of you was angry - but you found yourself weighed down and sliding down the wall of the booth with a much heavier feeling; you were exhausted.
This was the last straw for tonight, you decided, resolve melting like a dropped ice cream. Booth door half-creaked open and weed vapor in the air, you buried your head in your hands and began to cry. It was small. It was not loud and sorrowful, it was small and petty. Nothing grand about crying on the dirty floor at your workplace. Sniffles and single, wet tears and a quivering lip, all dying out in the soft glow of the fairy light decorating the park.
“Y/n?”
“Shit,” you lifted your head from your hands, wiping hard on your reddened cheeks. Jeonghan was standing in the open door, looking down at you on the floor.
“Sorry, uh-”
“Why are you crying?”
You paused, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt and effectively covering your breasts. Your breath was shaky and snotty, eyelashes coated in tears. Red patches your skin around your puffy eyes, and your lips pressed into a thin line.
Jeonghan did not look like himself when you looked up at him. It must have been a completely different person, you decided, because his features had tightened and screwed into an expression you had never even seen a hint of before: concern.
It looked so utterly foreign on his face - there was always a lightness to his expression, a joking, teasing look, but now he was frowning and his brows were furrowed and his eyes were big and red and round. It made you feel small and frail. You didn’t like seeing him like that; unwell. But it seemed that feeling was mutual.
“Um,” you began, voice hoarse and shuddering like a frail old fence-gate, that’s been slammed shut. “I’ve just had a shitty fucking day and- this woman came and wanted to ride and she was just so fucking mean when I told her I couldn’t..”
Telling it all again made you feel so pathetic, it wracked another sob from you, hurdling past your lips. You caught it in your hand, pressing it to your mouth and squeezing your eyes shut up.
God, you were pathetic.
But your heavy, heavy eyelashes blinked open and you looked up to see Jeonghan’s expression softened into something else entirely;
Guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.
“No, it’s fine-”
He dropped to his knees in front of you, now at your level and up close, so you could see every tensed muscle and every strain on his beautiful face.
“I’m sorry I left you alone,” he said solemnly and for the first time since you’d met him, Jeonghan was merely expressing his regret, not bartering for some sort of gain. His words were dripping with sincerity and it was so strange, you had to laugh.
“What?” he asked, a small grin growing on his face. That was more familiar.
“I just- I’ve never seen you so serious, it’s okay, Jeonghan, I forgive you-”
He broke into a laugh as well, rhythmic clucks dancing through the air from the booth, and it immediately cheered you up: he was beautiful and practically glowing, a small rim of light encapsulating him.
“I’m very serious, I think,” he said. You rolled your puffy, old eyes.
There was a significant pause.
Your head lolled over and your gaze landed once more on the makeshift bong by the chair, now abandoned. It reminded you of how different you were. You tried too hard because you liked when people liked you, you were a hard worker, your shirt was too tight. Your shirt was too tight and that’s what had landed you in this situation.
“Can I…” you trailed off, daring to look at him again. “Can I smoke some of your weed?”
Jeonghan’s face was practically split in half the way he was smiling. There was something akin to triumph in his eyes, but it was almost fatally overpowered by sheer, bubbling, striking adoration. It made you blush.
“Of course, babe, I thought you’d never ask,” he breathed, still smiling when he scrambled forward for the bong and stretched out his arm to finger at the control panel, finally feeling the soft plastic and snatching it down to the floor with you.
“Just put your mouth to the can, baby, I’ll light it for you,” he giggled giddily, scrambling for the lighter in his pocket.
“I know how it works,” you tried to sound stern, but you were smiling and your eyes were twinkling.
Jeonghan messily pinched off a nugget of weed and placed it on the gridded holes in the can (which he had pricked with his work badge; “Hi, my name is Jeonghan!”), and you placed it to your mouth, while he held the lighter to it.
“You’re so hardcore,” he said sarcastically, face close to yours as he flicked the lighter, sending a warm flame onto the can, so the nugget lit ablaze.
“Shut up,” you said, and then you inhaled and the flame went out and turned into a glow, and warm, crisp smoke traveled down your throat, leaving it sore and burned. It felt great.
You held it in for a moment, then exhaled, and Jeonghan watched eagerly as your chest rose and fell under the restricting fabric of your shirt.
You and Jeonghan sat side by side for the last half hour, smoking together, eyes turning red and breaths turning sour and casting laughs into the night air. There was a warm buzz in your chest, a low drum, and you basked in the proximity to him, in how the heat of his body met yours in a fierce battle, at how he caught your eye when he joked, and how he smiled when you laughed. Your responsibilities melted away; your shirt felt looser.
“We’re closing now,” you hummed after a while, somehow lighter and heavier at the same time. Your eyelids felt heavy and your cheeks were warm from giggling. Jeonghan placed his hand on your wrist, squeezing and tearing your eyes to his.
“I have such a good idea right now,” he grinned lazily and you couldn't help but echo it. His eyes were red and half-lidded, and his voice was groggy from the smoke. He had run his hand through his hair one too many times and now it was puffier, poodlier than normal. He looked so handsome, you thought, studying the tan from many days in the sun. You figured he didn’t use sunscreen.
“What is it?” you breathed.
“Come on, come with me!”
Then the two of you were sneaking from building to building and giggling indiscreetly, two hunched silhouettes becoming one with the backs of buildings. Jeonghan insisted the two of you go to the toddler playground (Sunshine Dance Club, as it were called), because, in his words: “those dumb prick security guards never bother to actually check it”. He pulled you into the pastel green, red, blue, and yellow dreamscape, pulling you up a wooden tower, where you would be shielded by the railing.
The two of you sat against the railing and waited while a security guard checked the place before closing.
The mischief had made the two of you even more giggly, scratchy throats producing choppy snickering, as you leaned into each other on the wood, breathing in each other’s air. You liked being so close to him, you thought, and you were almost high enough to just spit it out. The distant stream of light overhead revealed his pores, but you liked those too.
“Shut up, shut up,” Jeonghan whispered at one point. “I think he might be coming!”
“You’ve said that three times-”
His hand clasped over your mouth and he fought not to laugh at the surprise in your eyes. Sure enough, this time he was right, as you heard booted footsteps in the distance, and the beam of a flashlight danced across the sloping and bouncing playground.
You held your breath, not only because you feared, for the first time that night, getting caught, but also because Jeonghan had leaned so close to you, that you could see every stirred acrylic in his eye, every color of brown, swirly sundae.
Both of you stopped laughing and stared at each other.
His hand dropped from your lips.
“I have cotton mouth,” he whispered, footsteps fading away. You couldn’t tell if it was the weed or what, but the air seemed thicker and you felt heavier, like imaginary hands were tugging you down. Jeonghan was no better - you couldn’t quite place the emotion on his glowing face. He almost seemed vulnerable.
“Me too,” you whispered, breathless.
A pause.
His eyes flickered down to your lips, pink and plush.
“Can I kiss you?”
You were almost bristling for a moment in pure surprise, before you recollected yourself and nodded eagerly.
“Yeah.”
You thought his lips would smash into yours; you thought he would conquer you, because that would simply be the most Jeonghan-thing he could, to take what was his, to be cheeky and horny and sleazy.
To your utmost surprise, his hand was shaking when he lifted it, brushing so softly, so gently across the skin of your neck, resting on the back of it, cold from the icy, night breeze. His hand kissed the tips of your hair, and he gently slid it up, breath shaking, as he stared at your lips. Then he leaned in.
His lips were soft like the bouncy castle on the edge of the playground, so impossibly gentle and flowing and warm. He breathed out shakily against your skin, eyes squeezed shut. Had you seen it, you would’ve almost believed that the kiss pained him, with the furrowed brows, but you didn’t, and it wasn’t painful at all, it was just that his heart was exploding and so was yours. Tender and slow, that was what it was, and you had never thought you’d use words like that to describe him.
A moment of entangled lips, slow making out and warm air covering your skin, his hand in your hair. The Sunshine Dance Club was filled with the sound of spit.
Then he pulled away, breath still shaking, but now, less vulnerable. His lips curled into a smile, spreading that childlike joy on his face. It made you smile as well.
“That was-” he shook his head at himself, cringing. Then he restarted: “Can I show you something?”
You chuckled, cheeks heavily flushed and eyes twinkling. “What is it?”
The cheekiness returned to his eyes, as he scrambled to his feet: “A surprise.”
And once again the two of you were giggling through the park, this time hand in hand, looking over your shoulders for the security guard that by this time had definitely gone home. The halted steps over the cobbled paths echoed in the dead, empty park.
It would’ve been a strange feeling - seeing everything closed and dark and empty, every inch usually crammed with people strangely void - had you not been entirely consumed by Jeonghan’s presence. His hand in yours, his laugh, his starry eyes, his face softening when he looked at you.
Jeonghan led you into Belinda’s office (he had a key because he was her favorite, he said), allowing you to sit on the edge of her desk, while he sauntered off into an attached room. You sat there, overhead light dull and buzzing, and basked in the log cabin aesthetics. Your chest was warm.
Then, from beyond the other room, sounding much further away and thereby being much bigger than you had initially imagined the attached room to be, you heard the mechanical sound of several switches. They sounded heavy and important, having a sort of resonance that continued into your room, where Belinda’s desk chair was spun halfway.
“Jeonghan?” you called, a twinge of worry in your voice. “What did you do?”
He came jogging back into the office, all wide grinned and puffy-eyed.
“You’ll see.”
Once again he grabbed onto your hand, pulling you off the desk and barging out of the doorway.
The night air enveloped you completely, stealing you away from the warmth of the office, kissing your warm skin, as you stood on the cobble. The feeling was so great, you almost missed what Jeonghan had done.
It was beautiful.
The switches had turned on the lights everywhere. In every color imaginable, illuminating dramatically sloping tracks in the distance, fairy lights on the pathways, signs re-lit, and the whole park before your eyes seemed to have become a disco-ball, sending faint streaks into the star-spotted sky like aurora borealis.
You, now red and green and yellow and blue, let out a disbelieving laugh, smiling wide. You squeezed his hand, unable to communicate further. There was something about it that left you entirely speechless. It was an inability to overcome and conquer the lights before you - your eyes feasted on them much too eagerly.
“What do you think?”
Jeonghan was looking at you.
“It’s-” you sucked in a breath, trying to compose a sudden sincerity you felt. You looked over at him. “It’s so pretty, Jeonghan. It’s really beautiful.”
“I knew you would like it,” he murmured happily, body turned to yours. You turned to him as well.
There was a moment of silence. The two of you basked in the light and in the gentle glow and the cool night, and in each other.
“Thank you for cheering me up,” you said and pursed your lips. He smiled in a gentle way. It looked nice on him.
“It’s nothing,” he said, “we were having fun.”
The conversation lulled again, and while you turned your head back to the light show, the flickering lights and the ombre, Jeonghan continued looking at you.
You felt his eyes on you, and you turned to him, shyly: “You should look at the beautiful lights.”
He shook his head, lips twisting upwards: “No.. Not right now…” And that was all he said.
The words left a bit of a void in you, like a black hole sunk in your stomach and you turned to him curiously. Jeonghan sensed your confusion, because he licked his lips and gave you a knowing smile, and then explained.
“I wanna kiss you again, love.”
And his voice was so angelic, such a grave contrast to the boy you’d come to know, but he’d been so strange tonight. Your first kiss had been so tender, now he was looking at you and his pupils were dilated and a smirk spread across his face, and you needed to know something; just one thing, before you threw yourself at him, and gave to him, something you would not be able to take back.
“Do you just wanna fuck me?” your voice echoed off the walls of the empty park, resounding accusingly. He laughed.
“Of course, I wanna fuck you, baby,” he laughed a little, shaking his head in disbelief. You stayed staring at him, bristling. “You’re hot as shit.”
“No, I mean,” you paused, because suddenly your heart was climbing into your throat and it seemed like everything you’d worried about was true, that you were just another girl that was hexed by his charms. “Do you just wanna fuck me?”
His smirk dropped. There was a moment where all you could hear was wind and the electrical whirring of the many, many lights, draining energy from the earth by the second.
“Do you honestly think I’d do this for just any girl I wanted to fuck?”
“I-”
“I thought you were smarter than that, N/n,” his lips spread once more in a smile, but this one seemed more fitting on his face - condescending and confident. Whatever vulnerability had hung in the air was replaced by warmer, thicker danger. Was it the weed making you feel this way? On edge or excited?
“I just-” you stammered, feeling bashful suddenly. Did that mean he liked you? Yes, that meant he liked you. You had truly not even considered the possibility, not really thought it through the way you had the negative outcome, so now you were standing and you didn’t know how to respond. A stuttering, blubbering mess of red cheeks and avoidant eyes. “I just- I thought you just- because you talk so much about my boobs-”
“Shhhh,” he shushed you. The cocky motherfucker actually shushed you, staring you down in a way that made you feel like prey and taking two steps forward, and closing the gap between you. He was so, so close to you, chest inches away from yours and leaning his face down to tilt his head at you.
“You’re so cute, baby,” he cooed, eyes dancing around your face.
You and him watched it, as one lean hand lifted itself to your chest, tightly wrapped in polyester-fabric. You sucked in a breath. His fingers lightly grazed it, trailing over the soft plushness of it. Then he cupped it, experimentally, like feeling the weight of it in his hand. You whimpered pathetically.
“Hm,” he hummed, ripping his gaze from your tits very briefly at the noise, “you sound so pretty.”
In an effort to steal more noises from your pretty lips, his delicate thumb rubbed over your nipple, watching it harden under the fabric with a bemused smirk. Your breathing became heavy and shaky.
“Can we– please?” you whined, but he only tutted, watching the fat crook under his finger.
“Hang on, sweetheart, I’m having my fun,” he said, nonchalantly, another hand snaking up to your other tit. “Been waiting for this since the first time I saw you.”
You couldn’t help but whimper quietly, his caresses and his intense gaze sending electricity straight to your core. You fingers wrapped around his forearms where they flexed, as he kneaded your chest eagerly.
“That’s right,” he whispered and leaned into you, eyes half lidded and lips wet from spit. “Be a good girl and let me play with your pretty titties.”
Then he kissed you again, groaning into your mouth at the weight of your tits in his hands. His groping became more rough and hurried, as he bit your lip and slipped his tongue in your mouth.
“Fuck, baby, need to get your shirt off, it’s so tight,” he groaned, licking into your mouth. You whined, back arching into his hand. “Poor baby, shirt so tight it’s strangling your pretty tits.”
“Jeonghan, please!” You cried, putting one hand on his chest to push him away from you. He pulled away, lips red and swollen and cheeks delightfully flushed.
“Okay, baby,” he whispered, comfortingly. “Okay, okay, I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.”
You could cry. The way he was touching you so intimately, but refusing to snake his hand down to your burning core, where you could feel yourself fucking dripping. Your body was on fire and your voice was hoarse from the weed that still coursed through your body.
“Please, please,” you mumbled, and it was desperate enough that Jeonghan pulled his hands from your chest (which took more willpower than he was willing to admit), sliding them over your back and pulling you into him. You nosed into the crook of his neck, sighing happily.
“Alright, baby,” He breathed, hand in your hair. You felt his neck crane, looking around.
“Come with me, baby, I know just where to go.”
You didn’t even have time to whine that you didn’t want to go anywhere, you wanted him to touch you. Jeonghan grabbed your hand and crossed the pathway, and you saw the yellow, lit-up sign for the funhouse before you disappeared into the entrance.
The first room had a large circular hallway, and when you stepped onto the red plastic, it rolled a little. You and Jeonghan both stumbled rockily, and you nosedived into his chest. He laughed, steadying you with warm fingers on your waist. “Silly girl,” his voice cooed in your ear.
“Jeonghan, please touch me-”
“We’re almost there, baby,” he said, and he was being a little annoying, because he’d just played with your boobs and made you so fucking wet that your panties were sticking to your folds, and now he was trudging you through the hallways of a funhouse. You both skiddered out of the circular hallway with much trouble.
The next room was slanted, and in your intoxicated mind, this was more than a challenge. The whole room was blue and your knuckles became celeste, as you gripped the slanted railing.
“Jeonghan, I can’t-”
Not another word out of your lips, before Jeonghan was scooping you up in his arms, walking with seemingly no problem through the room. “Shit!” you yelped when he did so, but he only smiled at you, a mixture of adoration and teasing. He ran with you, his bride, through a black and white doorway.
The next room was the mirror maze, and Jeonghan’s face lit up at the sight of it.
“We’re here!” he panted giddily, gently lowering you. You found your footing and looked around, a little speechless at how quickly he’d constructed this plan. There were at least 20 different angles of you, and you cringed at your own disheveled appearance and how your tiny shirt dug into your skin. A hall of reflection, the roof and flooring was pitch black and only you and him existed in the void, copycats at every corner.
You saw Jeonghan in the mirror, walking up behind you. He was smirking, planting his head on your shoulder and peering up at you, as his hands caressed your waist, riding up your shirt and exposing your stomach 20 times over. You hated to say it, but seeing his veiny, big hands on you made your breath hitch.
“Was it not worth it, hmm?” he sang innocently, blinking at you with a bunched up cheek on your shoulder. His sleazy hands worked the fabric upwards, just under the impressive bump of your chest.
His eyes flicked over to the most nearby mirror. Breath becoming shaky, his hands lifted the shirt, finally, over your chest, exposing your simple, black bra and the soft skin of your tits. You could breathe easier, without the fabric digging into your chest.
“Fuck,” he hissed, soft hands immediately dipping inwards to touch over the skin. “Shit, you’re so perfect,” his voice was strangled, all composure gone as he looked at your chest with something akin to wonder.
You moaned, feeling his dick, fully fucking hard from just playing with your soft mounds, grinding into your ass. Like a horny teenage boy, he moaned shakily, big hands covering your boobs and squeezing, and rutting into you from behind. As much as you wanted him to touch you, you couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of Jeonghan so utterly fucked out, using your body to pleasure himself. It was so erotic, the way his pretty face twisted in place and his fingers dug into the fat of your chest, panting into your neck. Then the sight untangled itself from your body.
“Sorry, sorry,” he was out of breath, removing his hips from your ass. “I got too caught up.”
“It’s okay-”
He spun you around, pushing your body against the mirror. You stood back to back with your reflection.
“No, it’s not,” he breathed, working your shirt the rest of the way off hastily. You lifted your arms to help the fabric off.
You very barely registered Jeonghan snaking your pants off, and then his own clothes. You leaned your head on the mirror and you could finally breathe without the tight shirt, and you somehow felt stronger, not vulnerable like you would have expected. And when your eyes flicked to another mirror and you saw Jeonghan shirtless too, you realized the two of you were much more similar now.
Jeonghan was standing in his boxers now, and you in your panties.
“You know, I always thought you’d be more composed during sex,” you mused, returning your focus to him and smiling teasingly, because even now he was transfixed on your bare chest, heaving for air. Jeonghan scoffed, seemingly genuinely offended by this.
“It’s not my fault your fat fucking rack has been staring at me through that tiny fucking shirt every day,” he spat, and in a sort of retaliation he cupped your pussy through your panties.
Finally, he touched your cunt, and God, was it worth the wait, because it shot straight through your stomach, even the slightest touch on the cold, wet fabric. Jeonghan grinned cockily at the state of your underwear.
“You’re one to talk,” he teased. “Your pussy is fucking weeping for me.”
You moaned and your back twisted against the cold surface of the mirror, as Jeonghan slipped his finger upwards to circle your clit slowly.
“N-ngh, fuck..”
“There you go,” he said in fake sympathy, pouting, and even with his hand on your clit, you could almost believe it, because he just looked that angelic and pure. “Finally your greedy cunt has my hand, hm? Bet you’ve been thinking about this since we met.”
He couldn’t help himself. He trailed his free up to your chest again. It just looked so delectable, unblemished skin, jiggling at every twitch and shake from you, and nipples hardened to pebbles. “I’ve been thinking about you since we met,” he sighed happily, pinching the nipples between his fingers and relishing in your strangled whine.
Jeonghan slipped his hand in your panties, scoffing to himself at just how fucking wet you were, leaking from your hole like a slut, when his finger prodded at it.
“P-Please, Jeonghan, please, fuck-”
Your plea was cut off by Jeonghan’s hand gripping your throat. He smirked at your tortured expression, one hand circling your hole and the other wrapped around your neck, thumb climbing up your chin to rest on your lip.
“What do you want?” he tilted his head challengingly. You gulped, face flushed and baby hairs sticking to your sweat-gleamy face.
“I-I want you to finger me,” you mustered, building up all the courage you could to hold eye contact with him and his lopsided grin. He raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise.
“Really?” he sang, “you want gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up your tight, pink pussy?”
You squeezed your eyes shut. Of course, all those moments of shaming him for thirsting over you. Now you were basically fucking naked, tits perked up from your arched back and writhing under him for just a single finger in your glistening hole.
“Jeonghan, I’m sorry-”
His thumb on your lip tugged downwards, effectively muffling your words and shushing you. He watched your pretty lip bend to the will of his thumb, humming.
“Then say it,” he shrugged.
“Wha?” your speech was slurred by his heavy thumb.
“Say you want gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up your tight, pink pussy,” he repeated, acting exasperated, like it was your fault for not being able to keep up. Legs spread and utterly naked, you flushed and felt dumb, and you felt even dumber when you began to speak, and his thumb stayed where it was, weighing down your lip.
“I-I wan’ gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up my tight, pink pussy,” you slurred. Somehow the embarrassment translated into a wave of slick exciting your hole and landing on Jeonghan’s hand. He grinned at your obedience, hand pushing up so his thumb entered your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and the rest of his hand cradled your face.
“Good girl,” he purred, head craned down to look at you, suckling his thumb with wide eyes. He finally heeded your request, two fingers pushing into your sopping heat. “Now suck on my thumb like the good, big-titted girl you fucking are while I make you cum.”
He was immediately bullying his fingers in and out of you, curling them. Drool escaped where your lips wrapped around his thumb, as you moaned on it, feeling him poke and prod at your tongue with an evil smirk on his pretty face. You saw his dick print straining against his boxers in the corner of your vision.
“Been waiting for this pussy to be mine,” hummed Jeonghan, long eyelashes coming over his eyes when he looked down at you. “You know, if you’d been a little more cooperative I could’ve had my cock in you everyday for the past week.”
You sobbed around his thumb, panting for air through your nose. His fingers felt so good, pistoning into you and so thin you could feel the bulge of each crooking knuckle churning in and out. His thumb sneaked back up to rub your clit again, and you clawed at his shoulders, trying to stabilize your suddenly shaking legs.
Jeonghan let out the most erotic, guttural moan you’d ever heard, when he watched drool slip from your swollen, red lips and languidly ooze on your trembling chest. His face twisted in pleasure at the sight of them, becoming all shiny and slicked up from your own spit.
“Fuck, you’re so pathetic. Can’t believe you’re fucking drooling all over your tits,” he spat, cheeks flushed as he leaned back to look at them, all pretty and slick and glowing under the maze’s fluorescent tubes. He slipped his thumb from your mouth to begin smearing the spit all over your skin.
Your cunt pulsed around his fingers, clenching and unclenching as something in your belly tightened. You heaved for air, moaning loudly into the maze and practically crying.
“F-Fuck, Hannie, f-feels s’ good!” you whined, chest thrashing under his needy hands. He lifted his gaze to smile at you, where he was crooked over to look closely at your spit-slick boobs.
“I know, baby, I know. Cum on my fingers, now, m’kay?” He smiled cheekily, pressing especially hard on your clit. You saw white, orgasm so potent, you almost didn’t even register how Jeonghan dived into your chest, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples
The wet, smacking of his lips and his pleased humming into the soft skin only spurred on your orgasm, as your cum coated Jeonghan’s fingers. His nose, buried in the flesh of your tit, breathed out a dam of warm air into it.
His fingers stilled within you, slowly pulling out, while he continued to lap at your chest, warm tongue on your areola. You tried to catch your breath, but it was hard with how he moaned around your fucking tit, sucking and smacking his lips, while holding you to him. You cried out softly when he nibbled at it, to which he finally pulled away, smiling teasingly.
There was something about the way he was so shameless about it, that almost made you feel even more ashamed, especially when you saw your form in the mirror, and how wet and red your boob was from his insistent sucking. You blushed deeply.
“You gettin’ shy on me now?” he tapped your cheek, eyes twinkling.
“Not used to seeing myself,” you mumbled sheepishly. Jeonghan’s ever lust-filled gaze was overtaken with a very deep, fundamental adoration. His smile became genuine - not teasing nor in feigned sympathy. Despite being the sexiest person he’d ever met, Jeonghan found you so severely cute in that moment, all heaved breaths and glossy lips and rosy cheeks.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, tapping your nose. The action would’ve been annoying were not entirely too fond of him at this moment. His eyes wandered, trailing down your collarbones and back to your cleavage. Then returned the lust: “Beautiful, pretty, gorgeous girl with big, bouncing fuckin’ tits.”
His fascination with them was genuinely insane, but you thought he was pretty and sweet, so you let him marvel.
As if he could never get enough, he reached out one hand and cupped your tit again.
“Are you gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your pretty tits?” Jeonghan asked, experimentally pressing the mounds together and licking his lips at the sight. He had to swallow (and he would never admit this) because the idea actually had him salivating.
“Yes, Hannie,” you said sweetly, because although you really wanted his dick inside you, he had that twinkle in his eye that made your heart burst, and, indeed, you would do anything to keep the starlight blazing in his pupils. Jeonghan looked up with raised brows - this time, the surprise was not feigned. Swiftly, he grabbed your head and kissed you, deeply and appreciatively licking into your mouth.
“Good girl,” he murmured, rowing the two of you away from the mirror-wall with his tongue down your throat. “Good fucking girl.”
He pulled away from you, frantically looking around, and you simply waited for his command. He began to crawl onto the floor, lying down on the hard, sleek black flooring, resting on his elbows.
“C’mere,” was all he said, and you sat down on top of him, confused. He wantonly pushed you by your shoulder so you rested further down, while he lifted his hip to free his cock.
It was long and right by your fucking face.
Impossibly pretty and pink near the tip, it oozed sticky, white liquid, dripping down the veiny side, and now you were salivating, because you almost wanted to take it in your mouth and suck his soul out.
“Shit,” he groaned, studying your face next to his hard, heavy dick with a tortured expression on his face. It seemed his thoughts had traveled the same road as yours, because when he spoke, he said: “There’s so much I wanna do to you, doll. Give me another couple shifts, I’ll have your cum all over the fucking park.”
Without another word, he leaned forward and grabbed each of your tits, hovering just below where his dick extended out, proud and tall like a gothic church. You helped by crawling further over his tan body, lying down on your stomach with your chest raised up.
Jeonghan enclosed your tits around his dick, breath shaking and eyes blinking shut. The sounds he released were angelic, wetting and rewetting his fiery lips, and he struggled to keep his eyes open from the pleasure. He didn’t want to close them though, because the sight of you was insane.
You were so pretty, smiling in adoration where you laid between his legs. Prettiest girl in the world, he thought, just letting him bounce your fat tits up and down his shaft like a good, obedient girl. Your rack was like a fucking cloud around him, jerking him off and spurting pre-cum on the already slick skin.
“S-Shit, you’re so fucking- pretty-” he stuttered, breath trembling and face flushed. From every angle he saw you, perfect, pretty, cute and sweet you. Every version of you in the mirror was perfect, he realized, every copycat a perfect picture.
“You’re pretty,” you mused, wrapping your hand around the lower part of his shaft where your tits didn’t quite reach and squeezing it. Jeonghan moaned, stammering the breathy noise. He gulped then.
“I-I’m gonna cum, shit-” he sucked in a harsh breath. He could not believe how lovely you were, how witty and funny and sweet and how big your fucking tits were bouncing up and down around his cock. “C-Can I cum on them, baby?”
“Of course, Hannie,” you obeyed sweetly, watching how he desperately bucked his hips upwards. Squeezing your hand around the base of his cock, you let out a final admission to help him cum: “Want you to cum on my tits, Hannie, want it so bad.”
Sure enough, it was that easy, because without warning long ropes of thick, white cum spurted into the valley of your breasts and climbed up to your collarbones and neck. Jeonghan cried out when he came, eyes finally squeezing totally shut and hips stuttering into your chest. He sounded angelic, even with his voice hoarse from the weed and grunting.
You let him calm down, waited until his pants turned into soft, regular breaths, and released his now flaccid cock from your cleavage.
“Oh shit, baby,” he sighed happily. “Come up here.”
You crawled up to his chest, curling into his open arms and feeling him under your cheek. Your legs entangled on the funhouse floor, mirrors a little foggy from the sweat and the sex. It was perfect, lying in his chest, having him, knowing he wanted you and liked you. Perfectly timeless, you draped over each other limply.
Or almost perfect.
You wiggled your hips away from his body, hoping then he wouldn’t notice how you were still leaking from your poor, puffy hole. Jeonghan frowned when you did so, though, both hands grabbing your waist and tilting his head down to look at you.
“What is it, baby?” he asked.
You looked away bashfully, shaking your head, but Jeonghan gripped your face in one hand, just as condescending as his thumb had been earlier: “You’re covered in my cum, baby. You’re not getting shy on me now. Tell Hannie what’s troubling you.”
His voice was stern. You tightened your lips the best you could with his hand squeezing your cheeks together.
“I just..” you were embarrassed again, with how your words became muffled and slurred by his flexed hand. He paid it no mind though, looking at you intently to continue.
“YouweresoprettyearlierIgotwetagain.”
You squeezed your eyes shut. From beyond the dark void, you heard Jeonghan laughing. You opened your eyes and he removed his hand from your face, instead brushing it through your hair lovingly.
You were gonna get whiplash with how lovingly he looked at you, how sweetly and with so much wonder and adoration; and how it stood in such a stark contrast to the words that left his mouth:
“Baby, you just get up and bounce your fat tiddies around a little bit, I promise you, I’ll get hard in the next five fucking minutes. Then you can get my cock in your cute, greedy pussy. How’s that sound?”
Really fucking good.
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