#publicly reading smut on my phone and don’t care

[akabbyrenee]

I thought I was going to be bad ass like Tsunade or somthing when I was growing up. I turned out to be more like kakashi 😳😅

I’m so addicted to Smut/lemon/spicy FanFiction. I’ll even read it on my phone at work (on my brakes, of course )

[icallhimjoey]

Caught Red Handed

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

 Summary:  You are a chronically-online girlfriend to a boyfriend who very much isn’t. You introduce Joe to an online world that surrounds him, and he hates it. A lot. Especially Steddie. 

CW / disclaimer: 18+, smut, rpf (don’t read if this makes you uncomfy), fem!reader, mention of Steddie, mention of the NSFW Eddie audio

 Author’s note: idk I have so much shit written, but this was nice enough to post on its own, pls don’t leave hate im enjoying myself too much within this fantasy OK PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU DO ENJOY  Wordcount: 5.2k

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

You were both spread out on the sofa. The coffee table held empty plates, bar some pizza crust and crumbs, and empty glasses. Each of you tucked into their own corner at opposite ends, but your legs had found each other and had intertwined. Joe had your left foot in his hands as it laid on his stomach and slowly kneaded it with strong fingers, eyes glued to the TV screen. You were on your phone, scrolling endlessly, sometimes laughing and showing Joe a funny video or reading a funny tweet aloud. Sometimes Joe would smile at what you showed him, other times he’d just slightly raise his eyebrows in acknowledgement. It’s not like you cared if he found the same things funny; you just wanted to make sure he didn’t feel left out. Joe wouldn’t feel left out though, even if you showed him none of what made you laugh, but he thought your giggle was cute and didn’t want to discourage you.   "Oh my God, no way!" you sat up abruptly, and Joe eyes turned to look at you, not moving otherwise. Your eyes grew big, and your grin followed suit as you had come across images of you and Joe, walking the family dog in the park earlier that day. You turned your phone to show Joe who just smiled and turned back to the TV. "We're so adorable," you commented, relaxing back into the sofa, scrolling through photos of Joe with arms around your waist, looking over his shoulder right into the camera. You zoomed in on his face in a couple other pictures. "Ugh, so cute," you whispered under your breath. “Look at that face.” “That face is literally right here.” You glanced up at Joe, finding him lazily watching you through half-lidded eyes, still kneading that same foot. Content, you thought. This man was so content right now.

You kept scrolling, and then you found the shot where you made a funny face and Joe was just about to push your hand down and step in front of you, his face panicked as your hand was holding up a peace sign. "Jackpot." you said smugly and saved the image to your phone. "If they think you're my sister still, I'm gonna have to publicly come out and tell everyone I'm not fucking a sibling," Joe said, eyes now on the foot in his hands, playing closer attention to what he was doing. Joe's fingers felt nice. Soft. "You're not going to publicly say anything about me," you stated, sending the image into two family groupchats - one that has your dad in, the other that has his mum in. Your dad’s groupchat because your sisters think it’s hilarious people think Joe’s your brother and therefore also theirs. His mum’s because it’s their dog in the image. Joe saw his phone buzz on the table, noticing the notifications are from you. "Oh God," he groaned. You weren't done though, as you sent the same message into each groupchat: Quinn siblings take family dog out on walk. You didn't know why you found it so funny, but you were sure the disdain Joe had for the sibling-comments just added to your giddy joy. Joe grinned to himself. He did really dislike the sibling-comments, but the fact that they would send you into fits of giggles meant that he knew you were right; he wouldn't be publicly announcing anything about you to anyone. He stared at you for a second, deciding to lean into the joke, seeing how would like it. 

“Come 'ere,” Joe let go of your foot, tapped your leg, and stuck out an arm for you to grab. You put your phone down and let Joe pull you on top of him, his arms wrapping around your back tightly. "Let your brother kiss you," he tried his best to sound seductive before sticking his head down to kiss you on the side of your face. "Oh no, gross," you groaned, immediately wanting to move away. "Don't do that.". But he kept kissing you, his grip strong and you shriek-laughed trying to fight yourself free. "Your older brother Joseph will take care of you," Joe was laughing now too and when his grip relaxed, so did you, your body heavy on top of his as both your laughter faded out.    Your cheek was pressed up against Joe’s bare chest, his open shirt only half covering him, as Joe’s fingers started scratching long ways over your back. You stayed like that for a bit, watching TV, listening to Joe's heartbeat, tingling skin from his touch. One of your hands found Joe's side, the fabric of his shirt ridden up slightly, exposing bare hip. You used a fingernail to lazily trail small circles there. When your fingers moved down and started trailing over the fabric of his underwear, Joe shifted his hips a little. It was a familiar move caused by the blood Joe could feel pumping into his groin. You noticed his heartbeat picking up, your right ear catching every beat. He kept trailing his hands up and down your back slowly though, not making any indication of wanting to move on from this moment fast. 

You decided you did, and snuck your hand way up his torso, pushing his shirt to the side, exposing his full chest underneath your face. You started pressing slow openmouthed kisses into it, using your tongue to swirl his skin, making him shiver. When you made your way over to kiss and touch a nipple which instantly hardened, Joe suddenly exhaled a breath he'd been holding in, groaning as he did. Joe's hands had also found their way underneath your T-shirt, going slowly up and down your sides. It made you shiver, his hands inching up the sides of your chest, almost grazing your breasts, before slowly cascading down towards your shorts and back up again.You felt Joe shifting his hips under you, one hand escaping your body and roughly readjusting himself in his boxers. "Oohh, hello," you joked, suddenly feeling his throbbing bulge against your lower stomach. Joe grinned and went straight back to touching you under your shirt. Slow hands and soft fingertips.

You pushed yourself up from his body, your legs spread over his crotch, knees on either side as you sat back on your calves. Your hands made its way down to the waistband of his underwear. Joe looked at you, smitten. The most relaxed man ever, you thought as you grinned widely, palming his penis over the fabric. Joe’s full body jerked at your sudden pressing touch. You remembered the first time you'd touched Joe like this. It was well before you confessed your love to each other, and you had both been very drunk. Too drunk. Neither of you properly able to consent in the state you were in, but both horny and eager and there. You were both there, wrong place, wrong time, wrong amount of alcohol in your systems. The whole ordeal had been clumsy, bumping heads, clashing teeth, scratching fingernails and it was all over way too fast. You weren't sure either of you had properly finished, but it had stopped just as quick as it had started and the day after, you both only vaguely remembered snippets. Joe had convinced himself for months that nothing had actually really happened. But you remembered sloppily tugging on his member, because it had made Joe growl in your ear and the way your body had reacted to the sound had really surprised you. The next time, you both knew that this was something you both also wanted in sober states, the situation had been nerve-wracking. You’d shared your first kiss, both of you with clear minds this time. You remembered that right in the middle of the two of you touching each other up, the vibe had suddenly shifted and Joe had changed demeanor in an instant. Confidence. You had asked him about it later. What was that? Joe had smiled and shrugged, knowing exactly what you were talking about. "Just realised right there and then that you were all mine."

If back then Joe had started stroking your back the way he had been doing tonight, you'd be long finished by now. Your hands would always clammer at each other, eager to be under each other’s touch, quick to take off clothing items and get straight to it. But you were a few years older and had learned to take your time. The rewards grew the longer you'd spend on each other, and you both knew it was well worth the extra attention. Joe's hands were under your shirt now, kneading your breasts, playing with your nipples and you felt yourself swell in tandem, pressure slowly building inside your body.

The sudden unlocking of the front door interrupted you. Joe froze completely as you ducked down over him, hiding his hands in your shirt and his boner pressed between the two of you."Don't come in here!" Joe's voice was shaky but loud as he called out to his flatmate who'd just entered the apartment. You tried to hold in laughter, barely able to, the feeling not unlike earlier today when Joe had tried to hide you from a photographer. Except this time, you were sure that if his flatmate walked into the living room, he could see your wet patch in your underwear as you hunched over Joe with your knees wide apart."Ggggot it!" you both heard a sloppy voice from the hallway, followed by three loud footsteps. You both waited to hear a bedroom door open, but it stayed silent. Joe called out again. “Are you still there, mate?” Joe tried to look around you to peek at the doorway. “To be honest- I’m vvvery hungry,” his flatmate was obviously plastered, wanting to get into the kitchen. “Did you not just come back from dinner?” Joe started a conversation, making you roll your eyes. This was taking too long. “Go in the bathroom a minute!” you yelled, the directions loud and clear for his flatmate. And he obliged. You heard him mutter “all right,” before you heard the bathroom door open and close, followed by sloppy fiddling with the lock from inside.

  You nearly jumped off your boyfriend and leapt your way to the fridge. “Quick!” you instructed Joe, “Bedroom!”. Joe got up, picked up the remote to turn the TV off and made his way to his bedroom. You quickly grabbed two bottles of water before following him, finding him in the hallway, one foot and two palms pressed up against the bathroom door, making sure it wouldn’t swing open as you were about to walk past. You flew right past Joe into his bedroom and heard Joe slap the bathroom door with an open palm. “Thanks mate, coast is clear,” before jogging after you and closing the door behind him. In the bedroom you barely have enough time to set the water bottles down as Joe grabs you by the waist and slings you onto the mattress. You squeal in delight, immediately clasping both hands over your mouth, now very aware there was another person inside the apartment. Albeit drunk, he still had ears.    “Enough with all this slow teasing shit,” Joe says before letting himself fall on top of you, mouth straight to you neck, finding the sweet spot that gave you goosebumps. “Teasing?” you breathe, your hands finding Joe’s dick in his boxers. “I thought we were loving on each other,” you grin, one hand slipping into his underwear, grabbing a firm hold onto him. “Oh, I’ll love on you,” Joe copies your moves and slips a hand into your panties. Your breath catches and Joe grins deeply as he makes strong eye contact with you. His fingers are everywhere, outside, inside, on top of, behind, pinching, rubbing, tracing – it makes you whimper, and you forget you’ve got a hand full of hard flesh, twitching, begging for your hand to move. But your brain-space is completely taken up, not a single thought behind your eyes, stilling your arm as you enjoy what Joe’s doing to you. You start to wiggle, trying to snake your way out of your undies. Joe helps, pulling them down your legs for you before his hand is back at you, pressing hard, feeding touches right where you want them as he hovers over you.   “My God, Y/N,” Joe looks down in between your bodies and sees the shine on his hand, not stopping his fast firm movements. Joe said it like he was surprised, but it was like this every time. This man could shoot a simple look at you, and you’d feel moisture escape you. It was embarrassingly easy for him to get you wet. But Joe was surprised. Always afraid that one day, he wouldn’t be able to get you there anymore. And so he kept his expectations low, not allowing himself to get used to anything, even after years of the same. You felt yourself edge closer to ecstasy, and Joe could tell by your facial expression, the twinge of your eyebrows, the high quick breaths and so he stopped at exactly the wrong time, leaving you panting.    “Fuck you,” you muttered through a smile, your orgasm ebbing away from you fast. Joe was quick to guide his penis into your warm squeezing walls, going excruciatingly slow at first. It felt great, but you needed more after Joe left you aching. Your hand finds your bundle of nerves in between your bodies, but Joe is quick to try and stop you. You swat his hand away from yours and place it right back where you want it most right now. “You- you gotta let me,” you pant, applying pressure and moving in quick circles.   And so he lets you, picking up the pace in his thrusts and it doesn’t take you long to get back to the point you were before. Joe is still wearing the opened short sleeve shirt; it’s hanging down between the two of you as he hovers over you. You decide to bite into the fabric of it, plastic buttons slotted between your teeth, as you feel your orgasm inching closer. “Oh, shit” Joe pants, his face falling into the crevasse of your neck, his body heavy on top of yours, your arm stuck in between the two of you leaving just enough room for your hand to keep moving. His thrusts become deeper, and you whine – it’s high pitched and shaky from Joe filling you entirely.   “You’re close,” Joe grunts into your ear. It’s not a question. “Joe,” you’re louder, warning Joe to keep doing what he’s doing. “Shh, he’ll hear you,” Joe hisses, trying to shush you, but his hips keep rutting into you in the same pace, steady on. It finally tips you over, your pants and moans high and loud. Joe quickly caps his hand over your mouth to muffle the noises escaping you as he lets you ride out your orgasm, your walls clenching him inside you. It makes him moan, closing his eyes and pushing his forehead hard into yours. Joe doesn’t let up, now chasing rapidly after his own satisfaction. You let your hand escape the tight squeeze of your bodies and you bring both up to rake through Joe’s curls. Joe’s grunting, making intense eye contact you’re scared to break. He’s working up a sweat, and as you notice his breaths becoming shorter you decide to toy with him the way he had toyed with you earlier. “Quick,” you pant, doing your very best to sound as sexy as you can. “Do an American accent for me,” your voice is breathy, but Joe detects the laugh stuck in your throat. He immediately halts, pulls out and rolls off of you, annoyed, still rock-hard, groaning at you for absolutely killing the mood. “Fuck you,” he says, copying your earlier statement, emphasis on you. It only makes you laugh louder.   It had been a couple weeks ago when you’d told Joe to listen to an audio file you had sent him. Joe had absolutely hated you for subjecting him to it, and absolutely hated himself for listening to the full 25 minutes of it. “Does he not sound like you?” “No!” “I think he does. That’s Eddie.” “It’s fucking disgusting, is what it is.”   Back in bed, Joe glares at you from his new spot next to you on the mattress. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” you’re still laughing, two hands apologetically clasping one of his biceps, not meaning a word of what you’re saying. “I had to!” “You absolute bitch.” Joe grins catching his breath, head turning and staring up at the ceiling, his dick twitching in the fist of his right hand. You watch it for a second before positioning yourself on your knees next to it.   You move his hand out the way, flip your hair over to one side and start treating Joe with you mouth. Joe reaches behind him, positioning a pillow folded under his head, propping it up so he can look at you. You take him like a champ, occasionally looking up to see him staring right at you with your sucked in cheeks as he pants and groans. “Louder,” you instruct, your voice stern. His noises do something to you.   Joe shushes you through a grin, eyes shooting from you towards the door and back. The two of you can hear clattering in the kitchen, and if that noise can travel to your ears, Joe knows that whatever’s happening in his room is making to his flatmate’s. So you direct attention to his balls. If Joe doesn’t want to be louder, you were just going to have to make him.It's works. Obviously.   Joe’s hands fist into your hair, his head tilting back firmly into his pillow, loud growls escaping his throat. Your hand works fast along his shaft, the other cupping his nuts, tickling, and your mouth covering his tip, tongue swirling. You keep up the pace until Joe’s breaths scatter and his built up pleasure breaks, riddling through his body and right into your mouth, hips spasming under you.   Joe tries so very hard to be as quiet as he can, bottom lip tightly tucked and bitten into. It’s exactly what you don’t want to see and you pinch the skin of Joe’s balls, making him cry out in pain loudly. The instant karma is evident as, in turn, the hand that's still in your hair yanks a clump of it harshly. Joe’s hips stop bucking and he relaxes, his breathing heavy, his voice seeping through his exhales lowly. He then reaches over for a water bottle, passing it to you, knowing you don’t like the lingering bitter taste in your mouth. You take a sip and look at Joe’s face, skin glowing, flushed cheeks the perfect colour and that fucking perfect lone curl stuck to his forehead. “Pretty,” you compliment him, using his usual praise for you on him for once. He really was. “Prettier,” he breathes back at you, the hand that previously had strongly pulled at your hair now apologetically combing softly through your strands. When you twist the cap back onto the bottle, Joe grabs your arm and pulls you close to him into a cuddly position. You wipe your mouth on the linen fabric of his open shirt on his shoulder and swing your right leg over his lap. But it’s hot, and you’re both sticky and sensitive so your limbs only linger there for a second before you roll back off of him.“Nooo,” Joe whines, reaching out, doing his best to place your body back where it was. “This room is a sauna,” you fight against Joe’s grip. He manages to pull your face close enough to press a kiss against your temple, then relaxes his grip and lets you find your own space on the bed next to him.    But Joey’s a needy man and he craves at least some physical touch, so he opens a leg to stick out his knee to touch yours. You move away again, just out of his reach and instead inch your right foot over to his.“We can touch big toes,” you tap yours against his, “That’s it.” You state, opening your water bottle once more, rehydrating as you take big gulps. Joe shakes his head as he laughs and does as he’s told, resting his foot against yours. This was usually prime time for the two of you to talk, your thoughts would flow freely as you slowly came back into your brains, your bodies recovering from the physical activity. Except you didn’t have words to say, so for too long, it’s just the two of you, next to each other on the bed, looking at your feet as you both wiggle them in an out of contact. “Man, if I had foot fetish, this would be such a turn on.” Your random statement made Joe smile before he frowned in thought. “You don’t have any strange fetishes, do you?” he asks, genuinely interested, trying to think back to previous escapades but nothing out of the ordinary coming to mind. You peek at Joe from the sides of your eyes, confused. It had only been a couple of minutes since you referenced it. “Well…” you start. “There’s one…”. You know he knows what it is – had you not just mentioned it to him? You also know he fucking hates it. It takes him a second to get what you’re hinting at. You peer at his expression when suddenly he squeezes his eyes shut in a deep frown. “Okay,” he groans, moving his foot away from you, regretting innocently bringing the topic up. “Oh, you have it so difficult,” you couldn’t be more sarcastic. “Oh no, my girlfriend’s celebrity crush is me, this is the worst thing that could ever have happened to me! Woe is me!” you mock him, crying out theatrically. Joe grins softly, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “It’s so weird!” he complains, wanting to forget how he had discovered this pivotal piece of information you had withheld from him. Sure, Joe knew you liked him in the wig; he had sent photos and short clips from early fittings, and you had replied with heart eye emojis. But Joe was disturbed to find out that it was just the tip of the iceberg with you. 

You snapped your laptop shut fast as lightning and quickly squeezed your thighs tightly together spinning onto your stomach, head propped up on your hand. You’re facing Joe who’s standing in the doorway, who had clearly just seen you scramble before pretending to be casually relaxing on your bed. What had he just walked in on? “…… hi.” he states, side eyeing you suspiciously, absolutely not trusting the situation in front of him. Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide – you’d obviously been caught red-handed, but you tried not to let Joe catch you smelling yourself on the fingers underneath your chin. “What’s going on here?” Joe circles his finger at you, his eyes darting to your closed laptop before finding your eyes again. “Nothing. I was just… reading, something.” You stutter, trying your best to sound super casual, wishing Joe would turn on his heels and leave, the whole thing far too embarrassing to confess to. “Reading, huh? What, like, an article?” But Joe doesn’t leave, instead stepping closer to your bed, suspiciously slow legs taking suspiciously slow steps. “Mmh mmh,” you nod all innocently, big doe eyes look up at him and holding his stare. Joe’s too quick for you, pouncing towards your laptop, landing his full body on top of it. You shriek as you try to get to it before he does, obviously failing. Joe gets back up onto his feet, now holding the laptop and threatens with wiggling fingers to open it. “No,” you warn him. “Do not open that.” Your arms are stretched out in front of your body, reaching for him to give it back to you. “Oh no,” Joe’s face suddenly falls. “Is this where I discover you’re into some obscene shit, like beastiality or something?” “Ew, no!” It’s worse than that, you think. Joe’s eyes linger on the device in his hands, seemingly pondering his next move. “Want to tell me what I’m about to see before I actually look?” his eyes twinkle, but you’re seriously petrified. The way Joe had told you time and time again to not search his name on the internet so much. To stop spiraling down deeper into fan sites of his. It’s unhealthy, Y/N! And he’d been serious about it too, not a hint of playfulness in his voice. You think it over half a second before clambering up to your knees, sitting on your calves and taking a deep breath. “So,” you start, squeezing your eyes shut tightly and pinching the bridge of your nose. You’re not sure where to start. How you were going to break this to him without him absolutely losing all interest in you for the rest of his life. “Okay. I was browsing the internet-” “You were watching porn.” Joe translated your statement. “I wasn’t.” you defended immediately. “Not- … not watching porn.” you corrected your boyfriend, wincing at your confession. Joe’s face broke out a wide grin, eyebrows raised high. “Look at you, so intellectual!” You held your breath a second, wishing your very hardest that time would rewind, and Joe would put the laptop down back next to you on the bed and walk out of your bedroom in reverse. “You were reading porn.” Joe nods encouragingly at you when you take too long – the truth of his words pushing the air right out of you, almost in an annoyed sigh. “What kind?” Joe pressed, way too into what he had walked in on. “You’re not going to like it.” You squeeze your brows together apologetically. Joe studies you for a second and then groans loudly. He knows. “Y/N….” Joe wants you to say you’re joking. You can’t lie and instead just nod, your face a painful grimace. “Fan fiction?” Joe cries out. “Joey, it’s so good! These girls are unbelievable writers and Eddie-” you reach for the laptop, now wanting to show him, but before you can take it from his hands, he hugs it tight to his body. “If I had known…” Joe can’t even look at you, his voice raised, very stern. “That this,” still not looking at you, but flailing an arm in your direction. “Is what Eddie fucking Munson was going to do to you-” “Not Eddie.” You interrupt, regret washing over you fast, your brain apparently on the truth-train and needing to get all of it out. Joe’s eyes snap back to you again, studying you face, hoping you were about to deliver some good news. “Not just Eddie, anyways,” you face still reads apologetic to him, but he’s not following you, so he decides to check for himself, now opening the laptop and scanning the screen as it lights up. “Who the fuck is Steddie?” “It’s- it’s Steve. Steve and Eddie.” The disgust he had shown you before had now ten folded. “Steve?! You’re fantasizing about fucking Joe Keery?!” he is practically shrieking in your direction, and you grow frustrated, because no, you weren’t. He’s not getting it. “No, I-” “Right. That’s it.” His voice suddenly way softer in volume, but still just as annoyed. “We are – you are, never hanging out with Joe Keery again, especially- especially! not without me!” “It’s Steddie!” Your frustration made you find your voice too and you decide to argue back. “It’s Steddie - not Steve!” Joe is taken aback slightly, but his stance remains. He’s not backing down. “Fuck Steve!” you say, but when you hear it, you backtrack. “Wait- no, that’s not- Not fuck Steve, I mean – yes, but not me- it’s Eddie. It’s Steve,” you hold out your left hand. “And Eddie,” you hold out your right, and then fold them together, your hands too close to Joe's face for his liking. “This isn’t helping!” Joe had finished the shouting match.   You didn’t know what to say to help the situation. Joe didn’t know what else to add about what he had found his girlfriend doing. You thought he was overreacting. “It’s just innocent fun,” you tried to carefully to save yourself.   Joe had had a long day, and really didn't know how to cope with anything that was going on at the time. This had been the last drop. Joe looked at you for a bit, trying to make up his mind but then granting you your wish as he handed you your laptop back and left you in the room by yourself. Joe had needed to step out, have a think by himself, just some quiet time to reflect. He had gone for a walk, and when he came back he just walked in and before you could let any words pass your lips, he had hugged you, squeezing your body tightly. It was a hug that told you more was at play; an emotional embrace that only broke when limbs grew tired of gripping. He had nuzzled apologies into your neck, he’d been silly, and you had done the same, saying you’d never google his name again, and everything was fine after.   It had all turned back to normal; Joe had cooked for you, and you had told him about things that happened earlier that day at work. Normalcy is what he had needed, and walking into your apartment earlier, he had come in looking for you to ground him. Instead, you had thrown information his way he didn’t know how to process.   You didn’t talk about it for a while, but it popped back up after you had gone to a concert with a group of people. Joe Keery had been there too amongst others, and your boyfriend had been dangerously touchy that night, hands barely ever leaving your body. He mostly stuck to your shoulders, upper arms and the top of your head – places where he would quite literally touch his stepsister – your privacy always at the forefront of his mind. But hidden in the crowd, people closely surrounding you and with the safety of everyone’s attention on the stage, Joe had held your hands and would touch your hips and he’d sometimes rest his head atop of yours as he hugged you from behind. It felt like a dangerous game, but you weren’t the focus of the night. It also helped that Andrew fucking Garfield was stood at the edge of the balcony. It had made Joe feel the most anonymous; when people weren’t looking at the stage, they were looking up to see if Andrew Garfield was still there. No photos of that night had found its way onto the internet afterwards and you’d been glad, because you didn’t need reminders of how flushed your cheeks had been. Head bopping along to the live music, you had admitted silently to yourself that, yes, reading Steddie fanfiction was a fucking weird thing to do, because now you were there, in a crowd of people, Joe’s hands on your shoulders as he stood behind you, easily looking over you and the rest of the crowd and a few people over was Joe Keery, clapping hands and cheering as the band finished a song on stage. They weren’t Steve and Eddie, but at the same time, yes they were and it was icky. So very icky. And then Joe had teased you, threatening he was going to tell on you, his eyes on his friend. The absolute embarrassment you had shown in your cheeks had made it up to him completely. 

[soleilnomoon]

Hello there. New follower here... I just saw your Law fic for your 555 milestone event and it was amazing. The next work of yours I read was also amazing. Your writing is superb and I can't wait to read your other works.

I wanted to congratulate you on 555+ followers, so, congrats! The event you put together looks like a lot of fun; I would like to make a request for it, but when I click on the rules link it brings me to your home page, so apologies if I'm doing it wrong. Call me out if I've done something incorrectly.

Could I please order a parfait, lollipop, and glazed donut with caramel and Poppy seeds with either Trafalgar Law or Suguru Geto (idk if you write for the latter, but either one is great). Thank you kindly for considering and congrats again :)

hi & welcome! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ꕤ i'm rly happy you enjoy my work, i'm always striving to write immersive pieces for everyone to engage with! i chose geto for this one, since i haven't written a fic for him yet, so i hope i did him justice 😊 thanks so much for requesting 💛 also i meant to say this like last week, but thank you for letting me know about my rules link. i'm such an old-school tumblr user, i forget most ppl use the app so those links work best on desktop but i fixed everything now (i think lmao) but no you're fine! i had so much fun writing this.

3.3k words (i know, i got carried away), fem reader, smut + hurt/comfort, nsfw, 18+, mdni; reader has an established friendship w. geto (through gojo, ofc); very angsty, idk what came over me but that's the life of a writer yk; there's fluff if you ignore all the angst and drama in the beginning; reader is feisty but geto is in2 it; feat. a bit of blood (not too much), brief mention of masturbation, a crummy ex-bf, alcohol, and balcony sex -- gojo sort of makes an appearance but not really.

“you are terrifying and strange and beautiful, someone not everyone knows how to love.” — warsan shire

a small vinyl record player sits in the back corner of your living room, a melancholic song on repeat, permeating the air, suffocating you to no end. the record keeps skipping, but you can’t be bothered to change it. crushed rose petals sit in the palm of your hand, your fist still clenched tightly, your nails tearing through the petals, a musky, sweet scent wafting in the air — but you don’t think about any of that. you’d torn at the roses as soon as you got inside of your apartment; your left hand is cut from the thorns, the blood dried, the wound barely noticeable, while your right ripped the rose off each stem.  fury sits in the pit of your stomach, bubbling menacingly as you continue to stare at the deep wine stain on the fluffy white rug in your living room.

a bottle of wine lays next to your feet, cold and solitary — like me, you tell yourself bitterly; you’ve yet to pick it up, fearing you’ll cause more damage by throwing it at the wall and knocking off the picture frames that hang neatly. you clench your teeth so hard your jaw aches, but you don’t feel it — how can you, when just hours prior you were told, very publicly, that you’re an insensitive, unfeeling, bitch.

your throat is raw from how much you yelled after that, your eyes sting from unshed tears — if you cry, he wins; if you cry, you’ll come off as weak; if you cry, then it means you cared more than you said you did. you made sure to laugh in his face loudly, to strategically flip your blown out hair over your shoulder, to smirk at his date before stealing a chocolate covered strawberry off her plate — fiancée, you remind yourself for the tenth time — before strutting off.

each step you took hurt more than the last, but you walked with confidence, your head held high, and took a cab back home. the roses were a gift from an admirer — the anonymous kind, someone who clearly knows you but you don’t know them. you feel bad for destroying them, feel bad for knocking over the wine after having a few glasses, and feel bad that you’re sitting alone, filled with emptiness and regret.

you grab your phone and call gojo satoru — a good friend with bad timing and even worse tact — it rings for a long time before going to voicemail; his voice is saccharine, annoyingly coy, and overall obnoxious. for some reason, it pisses you off. your anger comes to a boiling point and you lash out.

“first of all, you’re the absolute worst,” you say loudly, the words like ash on your tongue, guilt plaguing you as you glance around the room, eying the picture frames and various trinkets you collected with him over the year. you know it’s not gojo’s fault, he was looking out for you — he kept telling you to open your eyes, you just didn’t want to listen. you didn’t want to acknowledge that your boyfriend — now, ex-boyfriend — was cheating; but that’s not the story, now, is it?

he swore to you that you were his one and only, pledged his love more times than you could count, only to find out that you were actually the other woman in this equation — mistress, really — and you had no fucking idea. the truth sits in your chest, expands and then clamps tightly around your rib cage making it hard to breathe.

“you were right, satoru. so damn right, i’m so stupid, god.” you hang up after that, toss your phone onto the coffee table and stand up to stretch your legs. the rose petals fall from your hand and you sigh loudly, eyes glancing around at the mess you’ve made.

your heels lay abandoned by the front door and as you walk over to pick them up, the doorbell rings — loudly. a sigh coasts out of your mouth, and you call out, “i’m coming, damn!” because whoever’s at the door keeps ringing the damn bell. you forgot to lock the door earlier, so you yank it open, a scowl on your face, ready to curse whoever is interrupting your saturday night pityfest. when you realize who the stranger is, surprise takes hold of your face.

“suguru?” you blink, and blink, and blink. “what are you doing here?” any residual anger you have slowly seeps out of you in his presence. you’re not sure why, but he’s always had such a calming effect on you — something gojo likes to jokingly say is just the universe bringing two halves of a soul back together — you grip the door handle tightly, the memory of that conversation knocking into your chest repeatedly, a warmth spreading that you desperately try to snuff out.

“the one and only,” he says lightly, lips tilting upward in a slow, knowing smile. “you seem…,” he glances down at your left hand, notices the dried blood and frowns at the sight. “you need to clean that properly.” you open your mouth to tell him that it’s fine, that you’ll deal with it later, but geto is already making his way inside your apartment so you simply close the door behind him and lock it afterward.

you’re not sure why he rang the doorbell when both he and gojo have keys — in case of emergencies, gojo had said with a mischievous grin, twirling the key ring around his finger after he made the copies; you reluctantly let it slide, and while gojo tends to misuse the key, geto doesn’t — but you don’t question it. you rarely do when it comes to him. “it’s fine, really.” you’re the opposite of fine, but you do your best to put a brave face on, following after geto with light steps. “i’m capable of cleaning a tiny cut,” you huff when he ignores your words, moving swiftly into the bathroom as he rustles around the cabinet for your first aid kit.

“i’m well aware of your capabilities,” he glances over his shoulder at you before grabbing the small kit, “but everyone needs help every so often, right?” he doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead he motions for you to have a seat on the bathroom counter. you narrow your eyes but your night already spiraled hours ago, so you don’t see the harm in obliging him. geto takes a step back to give you room but crowds your space as soon as you hop on the counter. again, you realize, you can’t breathe; your face heats up and you swallow back a retort, unable to string words together properly as you shift to make yourself more comfortable.

geto is as unbothered as always, leaning forward to study you for a minute, dark eyes locked onto yours — expansive, startlingly clear despite, yet still elusive; you find yourself falling into them, drowning in its depths, perpetually shrouded in mystery — before blinking and releasing his invisible hold on you. inhaling deeply, you close your eyes and try to will your heart to stop beating so damn fast.

it’s not healthy, the way you easily allow him into your space, how quickly you’ve forgotten all your misfortunes; when his lips ghost along the curve of your ear, a shiver falls onto your spine, rippling and causing you to swallow hard. geto’s voice comes out softly, but his words ring in your ears loud enough to sober you up completely, stoking a small fire that you keep hidden deep inside of you, an infuriating ache traveling through you. “good girl, now let me see that hand.” he grins as you stumble over your words, fingers gently holding your hand as he checks for anything out of the ordinary. “care to explain?” he opens the kit and grabs an antiseptic wipe to clean off the blood.

your silence speaks volumes, but geto is patient, allowing you the space to speak your truth freely. you barely feel the sting when he presses down a little harder than necessary, but your lips part and words spill out of your mouth without restriction. “i…” you try your best to remember why exactly you grabbed the roses by the stem like that, “i was pissed off and the roses were right there.” geto clicks his tongue at you but doesn’t offer any scathing or chastising remarks.

“they were from satoru, actually,” he says while cleaning your wound; he’s gotten the blood off and brings your hand to the sink and holds it under running water. “he might be a little sad to know you destroyed them.” although, geto’s smile says otherwise; it’s hilarious to him. he told gojo not to get you the roses, but his best friend is wont to do as he pleases whenever his whims pass over him; gojo insisted that roses would make you feel better, but he knew if he signed the card, you’d throw them out immediately.

he was right.

“oh,” you look down at your hand, the one that ripped the petals to shreds, “not a big deal then.” your callous remark has geto’s shoulders shaking as he attempts to hold back a laugh; you eye him warily, but your lips twitch and you find yourself laughing right with him. it feels nice — freeing, even — and as he dries off your hand, you watch him work with precise, yet graceful movements. he handles you delicately, as if you’re too fragile for someone like him to touch, but you want to tell him that you can handle whatever it is he throws your way. the words die on your tongue, you swallow back your courage and allow cowardice to take over.

it only takes a few minutes, but he’s carefully applied ointment to your wound before wrapping it. you look at his handiwork, smiling to yourself as he washes his hands. “thanks.” your voice is quieter than usual, which has geto glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes. “i mean it, thank you.” his sudden presence was a welcomed sight.

“you’re welcome,” he takes a step back to really look at you, “satoru told me about…well, you know, so i came to check on you.” which was mostly the truth; he also just needed to see for himself if you were actually trying to get over your ex, or if you were going to go back to him just like you’ve done in the past.

“are you leaving already?” your question startles him and he does his best not to look too surprised.

“do you want me to?”

balling your hands into fists, you decide to take the plunge — to say the one thing you’ve been meaning to say since he stepped foot into your apartment. with a shake of your head, you look up at him, voice steady as you answer him. “no. stay.”

after ordering takeout and opening yet another bottle of wine, you both eat and drink your fill, laughing at various things — bad jokes, the terrible stain on your rug, the voicemail you left on gojo’s phone — and given how cool the weather was, you tug on his hand and lead him out to your balcony. you tell him the gritty truth — about how your ex tricked you, about how you caught him at your favorite restaurant, about how you knew something was off but didn’t want to admit it. he listens to all of that without much commentary, until he sees you grab the railing tightly.

it’s purely instinctual, he tells himself, the compulsion that suddenly takes hold of him; he wraps his arms around you snugly while standing behind you, his face nestled on the crook of your neck. you sigh and lean into his touch, and slowly let go of the railing. geto brushes his lips against the length of your neck before kissing it tentatively. a soft whimper slips out of your mouth when he kisses your neck again — and then again, and again. something tells you that you should slow things down, but you’re tired of thinking rationally, tired of doing things the “proper” way, tired of letting fate have its way with you.

the night sky is clear, the stars gleaming brightly; you attempt to find a familiar constellation but fail when you feel geto’s tongue flick against your skin. another shiver traipses down your back and he chuckles before pulling away. “i’ll tell you a story about the stars,” he says out of the blue, reaching a hand to point to a spot off to the right. he’s quite the animated orator, captivating you with his words — making you laugh at certain parts, although the story ends a little sadly. you ask him how he knows so much, and he tells you, candidly, that stars were the one constant he had in his life as a child.

you’re not sure why, but that revelation makes you turn around in his arms and lean forward; when you press your lips against his and kiss him, you feel like your heart will lunge out of your chest. he moves his lips against yours, slowly, at first, taking his time to taste you before slipping his tongue into your mouth. the kiss transforms quickly, going from exploratory to fervent, his tongue stroking yours hotly. your mind grows hazy with desire as your body arches against his, fingers clinging onto his shirt with need. you moan against his lips when his hand slides lower and he grabs your ass; already you can feel his cock press against you through his pants, goosebumps traveling down your arms as your hips eagerly rub against his.

a small — very, very small — voice in the back of his mind tells him that he should stop before it’s too late, that he shouldn’t indulge in a rebound-fuck, but he knows if he doesn’t see this through now, he might not ever have the chance again. little does he know, you were fully planning on seeking him out anyway, infinitely liking his company to everyone else’s in your life.

without thinking too much about it, geto picks you up, your dress riding up your thighs as your legs wrap around his waist. he groans into your mouth, pushes you against the wall and presses his stiff cock against your aching pussy. your hips jerk forward, a dampness you pointedly ignored earlier coming back in full force, reminding you of how much you want this. you pepper kisses along his sharp jaw, teeth nipping at the skin on his neck, your name a sinful whisper that tumbles off of his lips with ease. in between heated tongue kisses, you tell him about how much you need to feel him inside of you; he’d be a terrible friend if he didn’t fulfill that request for you, especially because he’s spent one too many nights angrily fisting his cock to the thought of you.

he unzips his pants and pulls his cock free, breathing uneven when he feels you rub your clothed pussy against it. he’s pretty sure he can cum just from that stimulation alone but knows it wouldn’t do to finish that early. normally, he has much more patience than this, but he’s found himself at his limit tonight, doesn’t flinch when he rips through your lace panties, his fingers stroke the folds of your pussy and you yelp at the contact. “d-don’t tease me,” you pant, arousal dripping along your slit, “please, suguru, i need you.” the urgency in your voice has him rubbing the thick head of his cock against your pussy, your hips bucking against him roughly.

geto chuckles at your impatience, although he’s not much better, angling his cock and inching his way inside of you without giving it a second thought. you moan loudly, fully aware that if your neighbors were to step out onto their balconies, they’d hear you; but you don’t care. all you want — all you need, rather — is him. this. the feeling of fullness finds you quickly, his hips snapping forward as he buries his cock into your tight cunt. you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging on the dark strands as he kisses you again — sloppy and with tongue, his teeth trapping your bottom lip between them. the wall is hard, but you don’t care; you squeeze your legs, plush thighs pressing against him, driving him to pull back and snap his hips again, slamming his cock into deeply.

you’ve never been the religious sort, but you’d gladly pray to whatever altar built in geto suguru’s honor; the way his hips pound against yours mercilessly has you rolling your eyes back, as if you weren’t on the brink of tears over your loser of an ex a few hours earlier, making you forget all of your anger and sadness. he’s annoyed at how lackluster his imagination is — because there’s no way he could ever conjure up something as warm or tight as your pussy, the way it wraps around his length snugly, your arousal coating his cock with each thrust. he knows there’s no way you both can go back to just being friends after this, but he’s not worried about that. yet.

“fuck,” he rasps, voice low and husky, your hips rolling to meet his, stirring up an intense feeling — half fueled by mania and what he perceived to be unrequited feelings — that washes over him completely. he’s never felt this out of sorts, but everything with you is unpredictable. he’s not sure what it is, but he can never get enough of you, made only worse by the tantalizing way your pussy clenches around him. you tug on his hair roughly, almost as if to say yes. harder. faster. more, more, more.

his pace picks up, his strokes turning rough and feverish, his balls heavy as they slap against your ass. you cry out his name, yank on his hair again when he bites down on your neck, legs trembling as you try to hold out for as long as you can. he fucks you like you’ve always been his, like he wants to erase all the others from your memory; you gladly take each of his thrusts, enjoying the brief bouts of pain mixed with pleasure. if you’re honest, your ex never fucked you like this — like you mattered. a tear rolls down your cheek, one that geto licks away, making you shudder and kiss him tenderly in response. you can hardly breathe, but you somehow find a way, clinging onto the man before you as he powers into you — possessive, brutish, and addicting.

“ah, suguru, i’m—” your cunt clenches around him enough to push him over the edge.

“go on,” he coos, kissing you over and over again, both of your lips swollen, “cum for me.” it’s all the instruction you need, your walls — soft and plush, gummy-like and a little treacherous — tighten and you buck your hips wildly, panting as you call out his name, loud enough you’re sure everyone in your apartment building can hear you. and you don’t really care; you realized this half-way through, that you’re so much more at ease, more like yourself whenever he’s around, so you let down your walls and give in a little. geto follows you shortly, his thrusts getting sloppy as he grinds his hips against yours, making you moan again, his lips latching onto your neck as he licks and kisses the skin there. his cum is hot and thick inside of your pussy, some of it spilling out once his hips finally slow down. you lean your head back against the wall, holding onto geto weakly, and laugh at how absurd your life has become.

“what’s so funny?” he asks once he catches his breath, amusement flitting across his face as he watches you.

“nothing,” you say, a small smile tugging on your lips, “just… i know my neighbors are probably so pissed at me right now.” you know you’ll hear about it tomorrow morning, but you don’t really care about that. you lean press your forehead against his and kiss him again, slowly and with purpose, hoping that geto will decide to stay around a little longer and tell you another story about the stars.

[wincore]

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts. 

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less. 

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is. 

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business. 

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model. 

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’ 

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue. 

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.” 

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation. 

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others. 

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack. 

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing. 

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation. 

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite. 

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year. 

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question. 

Do you love it? 

Of course you fucking do. 

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things. 

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’. 

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal. 

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with. 

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it. 

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West. 

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence.  You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun. 

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?” 

Joohyun shakes her head.  “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least. 

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy. 

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement. 

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so. 

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot. 

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course. 

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s. 

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell. 

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness. 

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive. 

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are. 

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime. 

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places. 

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside. 

Afterparties are not your thing. 

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time. 

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.” 

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous. 

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him. 

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her. 

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps. 

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing. 

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze. 

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns. 

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you. 

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could. 

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough. 

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this. 

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head. 

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty. 

You were not one of them. 

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation. 

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it. 

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it. 

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line. 

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.) 

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.  

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate. 

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit. 

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear. 

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused. 

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception. 

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong. 

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly. 

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”  

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown. 

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little. 

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard. 

Secrets. 

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it. 

And perfection is your dear old friend. 

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel. 

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him. 

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works. 

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck. 

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director. 

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.  

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes. 

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

 Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard. 

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.” 

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.” 

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute. 

“Sour.” 

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays. 

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.  

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that. 

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models. 

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration. 

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too. 

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.) 

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore. 

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave. 

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not. 

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said. 

Why are those the words that make you worry the most? 

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again. 

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you. 

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that. 

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head. 

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint. 

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”  

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?” 

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of  a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist. 

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here. 

Or is it him? 

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile. 

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response. 

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit. 

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you? 

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes. 

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours. 

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be. 

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit. 

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then. 

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you. 

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even. 

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny. 

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid. 

Afterparties are still not your thing. 

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief. 

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…” 

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you. 

“(name), thank you.” 

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though. 

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words. 

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on. 

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship. 

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out. 

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”  

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here.  He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall. 

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.” 

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high. 

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches. 

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.” 

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?” 

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he���s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

[yn-rollcall]

Momento Bakugo X Reader Chapter 29

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Summary: So I was always told to look on the bright side. The bright side is that I’m finally meeting the Number One and Two pro-heroes Deku and Dynamight. The downside is that I was publicly dragged out of my job for a string of robberies that I did not commit and am being detained for questioning.

Length: 3.3k

Warnings: Oral Sex, Food Kink, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Mirror Sex, Quirk Kink (My Hero Academia), Shameless Smut, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Emotional Constipation, Chocolate Syrup, Fluff, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Temperature Play, Hate Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Panty Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Creampie, Bondage, Body Worship, Light Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Pegging, Public Masturbation, Office Sex, Wank and Tell, Polyamory, So like at the very very end there’s KatsukixReaderxKirishima, But it happens so last minute I don’t feel justified tagging it as one of the main relationships, Constructive Criticism Welcome

A03

Wattpad

A/N: Beta Read by Inanna6315

I was in a daze when I got back to the bakery. I was too busy concentrating my gravity on my skirt, trying to make sure that my inner thighs stayed hidden. It's embarrassing enough that his coworkers knew, I couldn't handle jabs from the regulars today. I didn't even remember getting there, I just noticed that I wasn't cold anymore. Auntie looked at how I carried out my duties and smirked.

"So he finally snapped huh?" She asked.

Wait a second.

"That's what you were up to?" I said, snapping out of my trance.

"Don't get me wrong I definitely wanted to try to do a café event which was a huge success! And I wanted you and Dynamight to resolve your issues. Two birds, one stone." She hummed happily.

I wanted to pout or get irritated but I genuinely couldn't. My body was still sore and tingly from earlier. I just huffed half-heartedly and wiped off a table.

"I just wish it didn't happen in front of his coworkers." I mumbled.

"WHAT?" Auntie exclaimed. "Holy- In front of them? Like right in front of them? Katsuki!" She gasped, scandalized and impressed.

"No! Just...it was in his office and they came in sometime after the first O-" I explained.

"The first-" She parroted.

"And I'm like 95% sure they heard me because I was loud and it was so embarrassing but it felt so good and I don't think I'm gonna be able to function around him. That didn't help at all!" I whined.

"Well I mean, you guys crossed that threshold now so it's no longer such a big deal, right? Unless he needs more time?" She asked delicately.

"No um. He seems okay actually. He said we were more than okay." I smiled and could feel myself getting all fuzzy at the way he gazed into my eyes.

Huh? Gross. Wait.

The bell clanged as someone walked in. I was too distracted by the conversation to really greet them. I mean I was head over heels for him but am I that head over heels? I could practically feel the world being dyed pink as I remembered the sweet nothings he whispered in my ear.

'You did so good baby'

'I love you so much'

'You were so good for me, let me take care of you'

Take care of me? Do I kinda want that? For Katsuki to stick around? For me to rely on him?

"Aww!" Yoko gave me a huge hug. "You guys are totally gonna get married!" She cheered.

Oh no. Why don't I hate that? Getting married?

Thoughts swirled in my head of having a wedding, walking down the aisle to Katsuki with a tux. Katsuki...with a tux. Him picking me up, carrying me to the threshold of wherever the fuck we end up living and wow it's kinda nice? Do I want that?

"As long as they manage to not fuck in public, which at this rate..." Deku trailed off.

I glared at him as he and Denki walked in. He stared back at me unapologetic about his comment while Denki kept texting enthusiastically on his phone.

"Kirishima texted me all flustered!" Denki laughed. "The work group chat is also blowing up."

"Oh god..." I groaned.

He's definitely not going to be able to look me in the eye for a while. Can I look him in the eye? We didn't stop for a second when he and Hawks came in. And Hawks...he watched me...well like a hawk. I couldn't believe my former hero crush saw me like that.

"So I take it everything's settled?" Deku asked, giving me a hopeful look.

"Yea. We talked it out." I smiled.

"Good." Deku said, flashing that boyish grin.

The rest of the day flew by and I was getting ready to walk home. By the time I took the trash out and cleaned my station, I spotted Katsuki at the front waiting for me. My body heated up at the sight of him and I knew I was in trouble. When we locked eyes, it seemed he knew what I was thinking too. A smirk lined his features as I shyly walked up to him and adjusted the bag on my shoulder. I waved goodbye to Auntie and we walked onto the street.

"Did you get in trouble at your job?" I asked sheepishly. "Is Kirishima okay?"

Katsuki laughed. "I got chewed out a little bit but it's fine. And Ei is okay."

"That's good." I sighed.

Katsuki's hand laced through mine as we walked. Once again, I'm smiling like a lovesick schoolgirl. We walked by an alleyway. Katsuki paused for a second then suddenly tugged me into it. He surveyed the area and pulled me into the more obscured part, mostly shielding us from potential eyes. His hand cupped my cheek as he pressed his lips to mine.

"I thought about you all day." He murmured.

Me too.

I closed my eyes and immediately deepened the kiss. He paused for a second before pulling me closer. Then he grunted and flipped us around, holding me against the wall. He held me up as I wrapped my legs around him. Soft kisses trailed along my jaw as my breath started to pick up speed. Our bodies were shifting, trying to gain more access as our actions became more hurried. Then Deku's words suddenly hit me.

If they manage not to fuck in public

If this keeps going I would actually fuck him in public. I would actually fuck Katsuki, the second up and coming hero in the country, in PUBLIC. This is bad, really bad. I gently pushed him away and he stopped, eyes concerned.

"What's wrong?" He asked quickly.

"We should get home." I said hastily.

"I..okay." Katsuki gently agreed.

We walked in silence up to my apartment complex. I kept a set distance between us and crossed my arms to prevent myself from touching him. He pursed his lips but didn't say anything. The look of concern on his face grew as we got closer to my apartment door. I smiled weakly at him before unlocking my door. He squeezed my hand, making me turn to him.

"You okay?"

"Yea!" I said too quickly, causing him to narrow his eyes.

I didn't elaborate and he waited a few moments before sighing.

"Cut the shit." He asserted.

I shuffled a bit from foot to foot. "It's the intensity thing...I just need time to adjust to it."

"You promise that that's it?" He asked softly.

I snuck a look around to see if anyone was watching and I moved my skirt. He sucked in a breath. I was dripping down my legs.

"I-" He gulped. "I could help with that." He said huskily.

My body shivered and I shook my head.

"I think that'll make it worse. And you still need sleep."

"But-"

"Let's try waiting it out and seeing if it calms down a bit. You also have to get more settled in on the case right? Give it a week." I said quickly.

"Fine." He groaned.

He pulled me into a kiss and then walked to the elevator, clearly put out. Which I would've found cute if I didn't feel the exact same way. I walked inside, said a quick hello to Iris, showered and closed my door, already resolved to run the battery on my Dynamight vibrator all the way down tonight.

The next few days were hell. No work to distract me since Costume Week was already over and there's only so much cold showers can do. My mind, during every quiet second, would wander to that moment in Katsuki's office. And honestly I was still trying to figure out if I liked being watched or if that was the intensity at play. Theoretically though, if someone WAS going to watch...I wouldn't mind it being those two.

Auntie told me that the costume week was such a success she planned on doing it next year as well. We made about three months' worth of profit in that one week and have had a general increase in clientele - at least according to the last couple of days. Some people even asked for me but Auntie told them I was on vacation. The amount of times I thought about walking to Katsuki's office for round two is almost embarrassing. Every single day crawled by and every night I used that damn vibrator like it was my lifeline. I stuck to texting because if I called I was definitely gonna beg him to come over.

I did, however, get a call from him last night. He invited me to a hike this morning. Us being alone and sweaty together screamed outdoor sex. So I panicked and invited Kirishima since Deku would just tease me. Kirishima didn't exactly get it but decided he wanted to support me anyway which was really nice of him. I arrived at the hiking trail and met Bakugo who gave me a dead look. I smiled sheepishly and waved to Kirishima who blushed a bit and waved back.

"Scared to be alone with me?" Bakugo said and I cheesed at him.

"Just a...precaution." I said

"No one would be around." He said vaguely.

"We agreed to wait and see." I said, pretending to have more willpower than I actually do.

We started on the trail and I focused on my burning muscles rather than Katsuki. We're not thinking about the sweat dripping down those rippling muscles or how great his thighs look in those pants. Definitely not focusing on his arms and how strong he is. Absolutely not pondering how he could totally lift and lower me onto his cock. Or how great his ass looks. We are fully and successfully avoiding all sexual thoughts. Katsuki cleared his throat, suppressing a laugh. I realized I was staring at his chest while he was waiting to help me cross a gap. I took his hand, avoiding his teasing look, climbing up to where he and Kirishima were waiting.

"At least it's mutual." Kirishima mumbled and Katsuki laughed.

My face burned a bit but I just kept walking. Eventually, we reached our destination and overlooked a huge forest. A sea of oranges, yellows and greens coalesced with soft sounds of nature rustling in the wind. The air was clearer up here and smelled sharp and clean. I looked back at Katsuki and Kirishima.

"This is amazing!" I said, beaming at them.

"Glad you like it." Katsuki said with a small smile on his face.

We all sat down on that overlook, eating some protein bars and fruit we brought up with us. I distributed the water in my bag to the other two as they zipped up their packs. Kirishima looked at Katsuki who looked away. Then he tapped him with his foot and Katsuki swatted him off, annoyed. I raised my eyebrow looking between them before I set my water down.

"Want to say something?" I asked them.

Katsuki glared at Kirishima and pointedly looked at the horizon, his cheeks reddening a little bit.

"I took the day off so we could go to the festival later."

A date?

He glanced at me then quickly looked away.

"Only if you want to." He murmured.

"Yes!" I practically shouted, my body floating a little.

Both of them looked at me, eyes wide and I cleared my throat. I floated back down and adjusted myself.

"I mean sure. When are we going?' I said casually.

Kirishima laughed a little and Katsuki covered his mouth to hide his smile. I smiled into my water, excited for tonight. We talked a bit more before hiking back down. This time Katsuki stayed close, holding my hand almost the entire time. We made sure to joke around with Kirishima to make him not feel like a third wheel. Based on his easy smile, I think he appreciated the effort. When we got back to the starting point, we parted ways with Katsuki agreeing to pick me up later at around 7.

I briefly wrestled with what to wear before I settled on something warm and cute. I rested up for the rest of the day, noting that even though the hike wore me out, I recovered quickly. My quirk seemed to not be as much of a drain either. I smiled, pleased at my recovery progress. The doorbell rang and I opened the door to see Katsuki dressed up, armed with a smirk. He had on his dark wig which makes sense; since the chances of him being recognized and mobbed are high in this case.

"You look cute." He said.

"Thanks! One of us has to." I replied, earning a flick to the forehead.

We got in the car and he drove us to the festival. The dark night slowly filled with noise, light and laughter. When we arrived at the entrance, the festival was in full swing. Booths everywhere, crowded enough to where I had to stick close to Katsuki. At first holding hands was fine but as we got deeper inside, I clung to him to keep from getting swept away. I kept one hand holding his and my other arm wrapped around his arm, holding it to my torso. A faint red blush slowly made its way across his face as we navigated through. Over the crowd, I spotted a stuffed animal that looked really cute. I didn't know why but I kind of wanted it. Suddenly, Katsuki steered us in that direction and led us to the booth runner.

"What do I do to get that?" Katsuki asked as he pointed to the plush I was staring at.

"Toss the ring around the bottle with that number back there and it's yours!" The booth runner said cheerfully. "You get three tries."

The booth runner handed him three rings as Katsuki rolled up his sleeves. I tried to not stare at his arms as he focused on his target. He missed the first three tosses and I could see that competitive glint appear in his eye. Uh oh. Eventually I got my fill of the view because we were 20 tosses deep and I could see the veins in his head popping out. I knew if I mentioned that he didn't have to get it, he'd be mad. I could see in his eyes it's moved past wanting the doll, it was now about pride. And the booth runner was very happy with how much money he was getting from Katsuki.

I raised my hand up.

"Can I try?" I asked.

"Sure!" The booth runner said with a cheshire smile.

"No, I'm winning you that damn prize." Katsuki grumbled.

I ignored Katsuki and handed the booth runner some money, looking at the prizes. There was an angry pomeranian stuffed toy that had Katsuki's exact expression on his face.

"And I'm winning you one too." I said with a smile. "We can have matching ones."

He looked like he wanted to argue but he sighed a slight smile on his face.

"So fucking stubborn."

"You know it." I said sticking my tongue out.

I've tossed the damn ring about 15 times and I've come to a conclusion. This game was definitely rigged. There's no way I'm this bad. Katsuki watched me rack up just as many tries as he did with amusement. I looked at him, ready to blow up.

"I have good aim! What the hell's going on here?" I screeched as yet another ring bounced off.

"Don't look at me." He suppressed a laugh.

"One more round!" I seethed.

"We should probably eat." Katsuki suggested.

"No! Not 'til I get that toy!"

He laughed as the booth runner gave me another set of rings. I took a deep breath, calmed down and focused. I'm getting that damn toy. I tossed one ring, It was too far. I adjusted my aim and tossed the second one. Close, but it bounced off. Then with the last one I practiced the wrist motion and tossed it. It rattled around and finally sunk around the bottle with the number. I jumped up and cheered.

"Look look! I got it! I got the toy!" I squealed.

Katsuki beamed at me before realizing he still hadn't gotten my toy. Then he yelled at the booth runner to get him more rings while I was making grabby hands at the toy they were bringing me. Once the toy was in my hands, I hugged it with a cheery smile.

"It looks like you!" I joked.

"No the hell it doesn't."

"It's even got the angry vein mark." I said, holding it up to Katsuki's face. "Twins."

He huffed shoving it away from his face as he tried a few more times. He grumbled and I teased him. Eventually, taking two more tries than I did but who's counting, he won the toy. He held it out to me. I looked at it, then him.

"You keep it." I said.

"Hah?! I was winning this for you!"

"Yea but this one looks like you and I really want to keep it so you keep that one." I said

He rolled his eyes, then looked at the toy. A soft look came over his eyes as he looked at the stuffed dog.

"Kinda looks like you."

"What? No." I said

"Yup when you were a dog you looked kinda like this."

"I think you need your eyes checked."

We argued back and forth going from booth to booth. We started competing to see who could win faster. I wasn't really keeping track of the number since I was having so much fun. I could tell he was too by the way his eyes sparkled and that beautiful feral smile spread across his face. My stomach grumbled and I smiled sheepishly.

"We should eat." I said, getting up from the yo-yo tsuri booth.

He agreed and we visited some food stalls. After getting probably too much food, Katsuki looked at the time.

"It's almost time for the fireworks."

"Oh yea! We gotta find a good spot."

"I already scouted one." He said with a proud smirk.

He took my hand and weaved us through the crowd, leading us to a near silent grassy cliff in the woods. The moon hung high in the sky as the sounds of the festival faded in the background. We sat down, eating the food. Katsuki looked at his watch again as we were finishing up.

"Just in time." He said as a bright red firework exploded behind him.

I've never personally cared for fireworks. You've seen one, you've seen em all but somehow this was different. This was special. The exploding lights reflected off of Katsuki's form as he watched the fireworks. I turned towards the show and felt Katsuki lace his fingers through mine. We watched one big explosion happen right after the other so close, the ground vibrated. It was a little scary but exciting.

It was a little exhilarating being alone with Katsuki, like the world consisted of just us. The longer we sat together, having this moment, the more this big, deep emotion surged in me. I loved Katsuki for a while, but now I am overwhelmed with it. Katsuki's hand tightened around mine and I looked at him. He was staring at my lips. I leaned in, closing the gap. He gently moved his lips against mine. Soft, unhurried and full of love. We broke apart. Suddenly he hugged me, squeezing me tight against his body.

"You're so damn cute." He murmured.

My heart beat faster as we watched the fireworks in each other's arms. Soon, the show petered out and we headed back. As we weaved through the crowd I could feel that intense love forming into a need to be close. A need to be with him. I pulled out my phone asking Iris to spend the night somewhere else. To my relief, she texted back almost immediately with a thumbs up. We got to his car and drove home in comfortable silence. When we got to my door, he let go of my hand, scratching the back of his head.

"So...better than last time?" He asked.

"Yea. I had a lot of fun." I said smiling.

"Good." He said, eyes soft. "Goodnight."

He turned to leave and I fidgeted, trying to build up courage.

"Katsuki!" I called out before I could lose my nerve.

He turned around. I reached out and pulled him in by his belt, bringing him chest to chest with me. His eyes darkened with lust immediately as we stood there for a moment. I stared at his chest, trying to force myself to say what I wanted to say. I eventually buried my face there, too shy to say it directly.

"Please touch me." I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "I need you."

"Are you sure?" He asked, holding me tighter.

His hands cupped my chin, tilting my head up so he could look into my eyes. Looking for any sign of hesitation. There wasn't any to be found.

"Yes. Very sure."

TO BE CONTINUED

[kolsmikaelson]

fwb part two- sidney crosby

word count- 1.1k+ | warnings- reader asks sid to fuck them. no actual smut. sort of implied fem reader(one sentence) talk of hateful comments. other than that i think thats it.| a/n - wrote this pretty quickly so hope you all enjoy. also rushed their ‘relationship’ a little but its for a reason:). gif creds to owner. join my taglist | kind of proofread.| part one feedback is appreciated:)

You arrive at the address Sidney sent you earlier that morning, but you sit there anxiously not knowing how this was gonna go. You know that the nasty comments from his fans would not be stopping until he said something, which makes you question being friends with benefits with Sidney at all. You know he would understand your reasoning, but you needed to speak to him before cutting it off. You’re brought out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on your window. You look up at sidney and sheepishly roll down the window. ‘’Hi Sidney. I’m sorry, didn't realize I had gotten distracted.’’ you sputter out sidney shakes his head with a soft chuckle, “ It’s alright. Come on in, we should probably have that talk now.’’ Your heart skips a beat, realizing you had forgotten your original reason of coming to sidneys home. You turn your car off and slowly get out and follow Sidney. 

once your inside he leads you towards his couch and gestures for you to sit. “make yourself at home y/n. want something to drink? water? coffee? ‘’ he starts rambling trying to make you comfortable. you shake your head with a small laugh, ‘’ i’m okay sid, calm down.” you place a soft hand on his knee. his shaking leg stills at the feeling of your hand on his bare leg, just at the hem of his shorts. “ what was it that you wanted to talk about y/n?” he asks quietly. “ this morning jaz woke me up and showed me this,” you say pulling up the article to show him, knowing he doesn’t get on his phone much he most likely hasn’t seen it yet. his eyes widen upon seeing the photo of you both above the headline. “ i’ve also been getting some pretty ugly messages on social media since this came out.” you murmur before he can respond.

 sidneys face morphs into one of confusion, “what the hell? why?” he asks angrily. you shake your head at him. “ you have some...possesive fans. they definitely do not like me.” you say in a quick breath. “can i see some of the messages?” he murmured softly.you nod softly pulling up your twitter and handing him your phone. you sit in silence watching him scroll through the many messages you had received over the past few hours. you could see his face morphing from anger to disgust. “these are- tell me you don’t believe what they’re saying. right? he cuts himself off not believing what his supposed fans were saying to you despite not knowing who you were.

“haven’t read many of them, kinda hard not to though. most of them are saying the same thing.” you shrug it off almost regretting bringing it up to him. “i really only brought it up because if we’re gonna continue this friends with benefits thing we have to be more careful. i don’t wanna stop this before it even begins, but i’m not sure if i can deal with messages like these daily.” you rush out. “i know, im sorry about them y/n. is there anything i can do to make you feel better?” sidney questions. your face lights up with an idea,”will you fuck me sidney?” he shakes his head with a laugh, “c’mon,” he mutters standing you up. he rests his hand on your cheek and leans down to bring you into a deep kiss. quickly kissing down your neck leaving love bites in his path. “bedroom or couch?” he mutters pulling away breathlessly. “both.” you say with a smirk.

————

you wake up a few hours later, sidneys heavy arm laying across your waist holding you close to him, and a good pain between your legs. you turn closer to sidney and press multiple kisses to his chest hoping not to wake him. you begin to think about how you feel about him. when you started this agreement you both said no strings attached. he was busy with his career and you with the new job you’d gotten with your degree. “i can’t fall for him. he’s way too busy for me.” you think to yourself. but little did you know that sidney had woken up and begun to think about his budding feelings for you. looking up at sidney again you see his eyes open and already looking down at you. neither of you saying anything, just admiring each other.

“sidney,” you begin catching his attention. “ i know its early and i know we said no strings attached, but i think i may be developing feeling for you. You dont have to return them and i can leave now and you never have to see me again if you want but i think it was necessary for you to know before we kept going with this. Just say the word and i’m-” he cuts you off with a kiss. “y/n..it’s okay. i don't completely know how i feel about you but there is definitely something there, can we just go slow please?” he trails off getting quiet, a small but noticeable blush rising to his cheeks. you had heard about how his last relationship ended,the girl whos name you dont remember, though you’re glad you don’t, had cheated then publicly said she didn’t care and had been using him.

“of course sid, we can go as slow as you want,”you mutter realizing you’d been lost in thought, while peppering his chest with soft kisses, assuring him you didn’t mind taking things slowly. “thank you y/n. my last girlfriend she..” you stop him saving from having to go into detail, knowing how much it must hurt talking about it. “ i know sid i saw, it’s okay” you say while pulling him closer to you. “huh how do you know? i didn’t tell you did i?” he rushed.”no, i uh may have been looking you up and saw it then.” you say embarrassed. a grin breaks out on sidneys face,” you were looking me up huh?” he teases, the conversation of his past relationship long forgotten. you playfully hit his chest with a quiet “shut up” before hiding your face in his chest trying to hide your embarrassment.

“was looking for your social media, hadn't realized you didn't have any.” you murmur into his chest, tracing patterns into his skin with your fingers. Sidney pulls you close to him while chuckling at your confession, “maybe i’ll make one for you one day.” you smile at his comment closing your heavy eyes. “Mhm yeah, maybe..” you trail off falling into sleep. Upon hearing your soft snores sidney kisses your forehead before closing his own eyes.

taglist- @samsteel @joshsandersons @stars-canucks @2manytabsopen @only-goalies-allowed @passthehockeyplease @sidscrosbyy

[ktheist]

2 | exclusives only.

final installment to the to my dear friend series.

prompt.“don’t confuse your party friends with your real friends.” (x)

muses. jungkook x reader

genre. university au. fwb. f2l.

words. 8.9k

first installment. friend in me.

warnings. implied smut, mentions of name calling

synopsis. the goody-two-shoes. the girl who always sits in one of the front rows in class. that girl that has literal models as friends while she comes to classes in sweats.

you identify with all of these.

but what you don’t ever want to be known as, is that freaky girl who had sex at a semi-public place, in the back room of the student lounge with the most drool-worthy man at the faculty.

and that’s exactly what kim namjoon, your ex-boyfriend, manifested when he publicly announced to everyone from your faculty of your oh-so-sweet time together, “come on, ___, everyone wants to know if you begged me to be your first and how we fucked in the back room of the student lounge.”

x

the moment jeon jungkook’s name which you have saved as koo, flashes across the screen - time stops. so does your heart as you meet taehyung’s eyes which were just fixed on your phone before you flip it over and press the stickers engraved case with the your hand as though afraid he might be able to see through the aluminum and read the text jungkook sent you.

which is just-

koo: heyy

“um, excuse me,” jisoo, having been more focused on the group you lowly pointed out to be stealing glances your way and unlike you, she’s in the middle of raising her hand with an index finger pointing upwards, deep maroon lips pursed in annoyance as the group begins to whisper amongst them and looking back at your table as though in disbelief that someone would actually call them out, “yes, you guys - especially the girl with the fake channel jacket - ever heard of minding your damn business?”

“jisoo,” you hiss, yanking her hand back down and slamming it against the table, “i don’t care, they can say whatever they-“

“at least have the decency to be original if you wanna shit talk someone,” lisa speaks over you, as though she can’t hear your protest.

“taehyung, stop them,” you lean over the table in a hushed whisper, catching the man’s blank gaze whilst he slurps on his smoothie as though he sees nothing wrong with the whole setting. and it’s definitely not the nasty bruise around his eyes that’s impairing his vision - nor judgement for that matter.

“what?” he chirps, willfully unaware of the tension in the air.

“oh god,” you finally slump into your seat, head lowered in an attempt to let your tresses fall over your face and cover it as you pretend to rub the temple of your head, hoping - wishing a hole would open and up and swallow you right here and now.

hurried footsteps of the group trying to pretend like they’re not in a rush pass behind you. words like, “rude much?”, “ugh, we don’t even care”, “attention whore.” among other things echoing in murmurs into the air before the tranquil blanket of silence settles back over the vicinity.

lisa’s glare of death takes on a much cheerful light as she grins at the older girl as they high five over the table.

“guys, thanks but you didn’t have to do that,” is the first thing you say after you lift your head, a half-hearted smile on your lips, “i don’t really care and quite honestly they have every right to be here as much as we do.”

“sweetie, the fact that you were laughing with us just a minute ago and stopped all of a sudden means you do care,” jisoo says pointedly, deep maroon lips pursed together in a ‘don’t lie to me’ manner and once she sees your lips clamping together and possibly said lie getting swallowed into your throat, she continues, “- and that’s completely valid. they should’ve know to keep their mouths shut if they wanna eat here too.”

“okay, maybe i do care but i can’t stop them from stealing glances or pointing me out to anyone who doesn’t know me or doesn’t know how i look which i’m sure is just meh,” before lisa could interject, you hold up a finger, “i know i can look pretty at times,” you offer an assuring smile before sighing at your next words, “but honestly, at this point, i can literally hear the ‘that’s the girl that tricked namjoon into dating her last year’ everywhere i go and i’m kind of used it.”

“but you didn’t trick him and he started it first,” taehyung doesn’t exactly slam the cup onto the table but he doesn’t gently set it down either and the sound is audible enough the little corner you’ve booked for yourselves.

“does it matter? that’s what word has it around here anyway,” shrugging, you take a spoonful of the vanilla ice cream into your mouth.

“it sucks,” jimin, ever the listener and the one person who’s never put his phone down until now, finally speaks the word of the day - not a particularly profound one but they fit the situation, “but i mean, this’ll all blow over in a month.”

almost as though they share the same wavelength, lisa and jisoo begin grumbling out protests

“ugh, jimin.” lisa narrows her eyes at him, face contorted in disgust while jisoo gasps, wide-eyed, “park jimin, i raised you better than this.”

“what?” the man in question - questions, crescent eyes turning into a pair of full moons, shining with utter confusion as he looks he repeats the same word over an over again with increasing remorse, “no- seriously, what did i say?”

“it’s easy for you,” jeongyeon chirps from next to you, perfect nude acrylics gleaming mutedly as she holds a fry she stole from his plate in the air, “you’re a guy,” and only then she pops the fry into her mouth.

“where did she come from?” a frown etches itself onto taehyung’s face as he stares at the newcomer as though she grew another head.

“unless jeongyeon has witchery powers then my best bet is through the door,” shrugging, you pick up the vapor dotted cup, the sound of ice clicking against each other as you twirl the straw around gets drowned by the series of agreement from the two girls.

“what does that even mean?” with hair mussed from and eyes almost as wide as a mad man in search for the truth - the only thing he’s missing is an overgrown unkept beard - jimin’s raised voice brings you back to the issue at hand, spurred by jeongyeon’s ominously vague prophecy.

“it means,” you set the cup down after sipping on the chocolatey goodness , “guys get worshipped like some sex god when their body counts get exposed and people will be lining up to get laid by him but when it’s a girl who gets her, for once, healthy sex life and keeps to one partner like me gets ‘exposed,’” hands raised, you curl your index and middle fingers inwards in an indicative nature, “let’s just say it doesn’t really help me climb up the social ladder.” 

shrugging, you continue, “like yeah, maybe it’ll blow over like you said and our friends probably don’t care - they’re treating me the same but i can see our mutual friends becoming distant even though they don’t show but just this morning i went up to jennie kim was the to ask about the thing we have to do for a group project and i can kinda see it in her eyes. she sees me as that girl who begged kim namjoon to have sex with her, dumped him and got with the next cute guy of the century. and that impression of me is always gonna keep lurking in the back of everyone’s minds whether they do it consciously or not.”

a pause lapses in between you, not quite as profound as jimin’s jaw-drop is making it to be but maybe it is for him. the others continue to munch on their fries and jeongyeon just stole jimin’s drink, opened the cap and took a sip instead of using the straw, murmuring something about not taking any chances because ‘don’t know where his mouth’s been.’

it’s several heartbeats until jimin recovers from the load of information before he lets out an-

“oh.”

“yeah,” lisa nods, shooting him a ‘now you know’ look before turning to you with a pointed expression as though she’s ready to move on to a more pressing topic which was absurd because what else could be more pressing than your mid college term crisis-

“and you should say what you said just now to jungkook instead of ghosting him” 

-except the fact that you thought you were subtle enough in flipping your phone’s screen upside down and pretending like you were listening to whatever whoever was speaking.

all of a sudden, the heat of five pairs of eyes are on you. but those who are truly stricken by the news are jimin and jeongyeon, the latter’s gaze being unavoidable because she’s sitting smack dab right next to you, “wait,” a tense pause wedges its way in the miniature space between you and her, “you’re ghosting jeon jungkook?”

“i-i just-“ there’s something in the way her tone rises at his name and the sheer absurdity of it all that makes your heart wrench in guilt and discomfort, “i’m not gonna ghost him for forever-“

“you should though.” taehyung waves a fry in your face before popping it into his mouth.

“-i just need time to like, process everything. i mean, it happened just yesterday,” by the end of your attempt to explain yourself, you can feel your shoulder line falling as you sigh, back leaned against the chair, the fries no longer looking appetizing.

“it’s partly his fault for flaunting out your sex lives to the entire world,” taehyung points out.

“shut it, tae,” jisoo hisses before turning to you, “take all the time you need, sweetie,” she rests her cheek on your shoulder as she side hugs you, probably finally comprehending the level of confusion and frustration all at once that forbids you from texting jungkook back the moment he texted you which was just minutes after the car disappears around the intersection and his figure disappear from sight last night.

the moment jeongyeon stepped through the crowd and stopped next to you with the clack of her boots and the sheer ‘oh honey, you’re not ready for that talk,’ nature, you decided right then and there, if jeongyeon asked you to shave off your hair and hand it over in a tray, you would in a heartbeat.

“since ____ didn’t wanna say anything, i figured she did get you to sleep with her but felt bad about it,” the hand she kept tucked under her arm falls away to reveal the hundred bucks she’s holding in your face.

by then, you had a hunch of what she was planning in that wonderful head of hers but the weight of the tens of pairs of eyes had made you wary. it was jeongyeon’s plan, all you had to do was just run with it, not run it.

wordlessly, you took the folded note, smoothed the cripple out of it as best as you could before folding it in two and tucking it into your bra. the bouts of gasps that broke out was what gave you the push to meet namjoon’s gaze with a blank one and shrug, “what? i went through all the trouble to get you to sleep with me and put up with dating you for six months - i should at least get my pay,” murmurs echo through out the room as well as several ‘ooh’s at the revelation.

the man’s face had turned several shades darker. eyes trained on you like you were all he sees. like a predator to his prey. once upon a time, you might have found the way he was so rapt with something heartfluttering - attractive even as you sat at the bleachers, cheering on your secret boyfriend whilst he instructed his team through the mic. circuit breaker had never came out anything but victorious when kim namjoon was that focused. 

if only looks could kill, you’d be dead. 

“that’s right, it was just a bet we made in first year,” jeongyeon’s tilted crimson smirk had been tucked with something like wicked humor as her shoulder line jolted with her laughter.

first year, you were that lost kid who bent over backwards to be everyone’s friends and ended with none. namjoon knew that, like how he knew this was all a lie and yet perhaps that was why you could almost picture the brood of clouds looming over his head. the same look that would settle over his face as he shifted through courses of action to take for that one possible outcome that lead to circuit breaker’s victory.

your heartbeat stuttered when he began to stand straighter, arms crossed over muscled chest. his naturally tall stature had allowed him to look down on you like gum under his shoe, “quite pathetic that she had to beg to win a bet.”

the ground opening up and swallowing you whole right then and there had remained but a wishful thinking. the seconds seemed to stretch on for hours on end with gazes burning right through your skull. you could almost hear the ghostly whispers of “oh my god,” “who does she think she is?” “what a slut.”

“wasn’t that like a year ago?” somewhere from your other side, a snicker hit the air like a mockery and a hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a familiar scent of lemongrass and musk. how your own arm went around his to side hug his waist had been a surprise to you too, the action was as natural as breathing.

“i mean,” jungkook drawled with a shrug, “kinda sad that you’re still hung up over a girl but i get it - i know how amazing ____ is,” with a slight lean towards the older man, the low murmur couldn’t have been any louder, “we did it on the side of the street once,” a gasp from the ever loyal audience, “the balcony,” another gasp, “under a bridge,” there isn’t any more gasps - the audience must have ran out of responses, “in the changing room,” just when you thought he was going to spell out every single spot you had sex at on the list, jungkook finally laughed, “honestly any place you can think of - but yeah, keep dreaming about the back room of the student lounge cause that’s probably the most adventurous a dude like you would ever be.”

the shock painted over jimin’s jaw drop, jisoo’s eyes glancing from left to right, jeongyeon’s pursed lips and muted whistle didn’t exactly go past you. but you were more focused on the way the man in front of you, the one you thought you gave everything to, was the one speechless between the two of you.

the smile you wore was a lazy one but the words you threw back at him didn’t bloom in your chest with satisfaction of retribution the way you thought they would, “get over it, namjoon.”

in hindsight, you should’ve known it would come back and bite your ass. but you didn’t think the reaction would be this immediate. by monday morning, you were already getting strange looks and one not-so-pleasant experience of hearing snide laughter as you passed a group of students with the faintest but clearest, “what a whore.”

by noon, your reputation was pretty much set in stones - though your closest friend circle tried to convince you that it wasn’t as bad as it seems. that was, until another group of students walked into the cafe and most of them kept glancing at you like you’re some wild animal in a zoo.

“oh!” you could almost see a light bulb going off on jeongyeon’s head - as though a thought just crossed her, “i forgot what i came here for but anyway, i got tea!”

“girl,” lisa raises her brows with an obvious ‘what-are-you-waiting-for’ smile, “spill.”

and from the way way everyone else is quiet but focused on the woman, including you, it’s safe to say lisa’s words spoke for all of you. knowing that she holds the sole attention of the people at the table, jeongyeon smirks playfully, “guess what?”

“what?” taehyung says plainly.

“you’re supposed to guess, idiot,” she rolls her eyes but recovers from the brunette’s lack of effort as she basically bounces in her seat like a ball of excitement, “kim namjoon got kicked out of circuit breaker! the dean himself had a ‘little word’ with him. just. now.”

it would have come off as a pleasant news - cheer-worthy even. if not for one simple fact: that the dean is none other than jimin’s mother.

“oh my fucking god, yes!” lisa yelps, while jisoo extends her arms across the aforementioned woman to reach for the giggling man on her other side, “come here, let me hug you park jimin!” since it’s a round table, it makes the notion of hugs more plausible but since lisa is sitting between them, she ends up sandwiched with jisoo’s arms around her and jimin leaning into her in order to let the rest of jisoo’s arms encase around his neck.

“to be fair, he got kicked out because he and tae got in a fight,” the bleach blond man chuckles, “so tae’s punishment is being professor yoon’s unpaid assistant.” the position doesn’t seem ideal but the three doesn’t seem to mind - they look like they enjoy it.

“it was worth it,” taehyung shrugs when he catches your eyes, knowing full well the wave of guilt that rushes through you so instead, you mouth him a ‘i owe you one.’

by the time lunch ends (for you and jimin at least since the others seem to have another free hour before their classes start), you find yourself taking up jimin’s offer to sit with him at the back instead of the fifth row from the front that was just perfect for a not-so-serious-but-not-so-laxed-student vibe. 

“hey, jimin - thanks,” you say in between the class filling up and him texting someone on his phone which he puts down on the table after your words of gratitude fill the air, “for talking to your mom for me.”

“that’s the least i can do,” he fixes you with a half-hearted smile - probably wishing he’d be able to throw a punch where it was needed but you know park jimin wouldn’t be park jimin if he wasn’t this adorable, good natured person with the kindest heart that could barely hurt a fly let alone a person. even if that person is a douchebag like namjoon, “‘sides, mom’s always preaching about equality for both genders and kim basically sexually harassed you, i’m sorry i couldn’t stand up for you like tae-“

“no, don’t say that,” you frown, hands tugging on his biceps. slipping your around the aforementioned biceps, you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the rising tension of your pursed lips, “everyone has their own friendship language - and finding a peaceful way to get back to someone who hurt your friend, is yours. so thank you for being you,” you pause just for the briefest moment when you accidentally meet the eyes of one of your friends - the flash in their eyes projecting their not-so-friendly thoughts at the sight of you, “thanks for being my friend, jimin.”

 something soft bumps the top of your head as you feel his neck crane briefly, “thanks for being my friend too- jisoo would beat your ass for saying this though.”

at the mention of the spirited friend of yours, you both break out into fits of giggles. “jisoo would probably buy chicken tie my to a chair while dangling a drumstick until i promise to stop saying ‘weird things.’”

by ‘weird things’ it meant thanking them or even projecting any form of gratitude which shouldn’t even be a thing to be grateful for because, as she would aggressively yet lovingly insist, and as jimin acts out, “she’d probably be ‘it’s obvious we’d be friends because you’re the baddest bitch - girl, you’re that bitch.’”

it’s even funnier when he tries to mimic her way of speech and tone. for a moment, as you continue to narrate what your two other best friends would have done in the setting, both of you laughing into each other’s faces, the watchful eyes don’t seem all that intimidating.

x

throughout the evening, you spend it with your friends. watching movies and sleeping over at jimin’s - since he’s the only one who owns an apartment and doesn’t have a cranky roommate, going to class with yesterday’s jeans and jimin’s stolen hoodies to which he looked slightly perturbed at the realization that that’s three hoodies he probably wouldn’t get back even though you promised to wash it and give it back. but he the matter seems to fly out the window once you stopped by mcdonald’s for breakfast.

you may or may not have neglected pending projects group work but your friends didn’t seem to care -jisoo and jimin were rushing to group meetings this morning but after lisa’s five minute therapy-esque session for you to stop apologizing for inconveniencing them when you thought they must have (they did) pushed back on a lot of plans just to spend time with you and make sure you’re okay, you’d finally turned the ‘sorry’s to ‘thank you’s.

it was some time when you were walking to a class you shared with taehyung, that his looming frame easily catches what exactly you’re doing on your phone and begrudgingly points out, “ugh, you’re still texting him? after promising you’ll choose yourself first?”

to be fair, it was a short and sweet text saying ‘hey, i’m fine. sorry i didn’t reply to your texts, just have a lot going on atm’ without any emojis but also no period at the end because you didn’t want to seem like you’re mad. but besides that, you’re not entirely sure what exactly you feel for jungkook because like taehyung said-

“he‘s a different kind of asshole,” his tone was light but if there’s anything a whole year of knowing kim taehyung did, it was catching onto the way his voice strains and his avoidance to look at you as he speaks, “does he even know what he did to you? what you’re going through right now?”

it was true that the after effect of jungkook listing out the places you both had sex at has finally come to bite you in the ass. but-

“nobody would’ve thought the things jungkook said would backfire like this,” and yet you tug on the sleeves of jimin’s hoodie, voice small.

the man’s abrupt stop forces you to stop too, leaving you no choice but to meet his frowning face, “everyone knows what stuff like that’ll do more to girls than guys.”

it’s the pause that you took. the hesitance that taehyung must’ve seen shining brighter than your reputation allows it.

“you know what- do whatever you want,” and with that he leaves you on the side of the corridor to stare at his broad back as he walks away.

there’s no way you’ll go up and sit with him at the back like you did with jimin. but it wasn’t the empty spots next to you that made your heart clench - it was the way he deliberately turned away from you when your eyes met as you entered and he took a seat.

it’s some time after the professor left the class, whilst your phone vibrates rapidly with onslaught of messages, do you finally pick it up with one goal in mind.

koo: oh okay

koo: hope you’re doing okay

koo: i’m here if you wanna talk

he hasn’t finished typing when you tap out a simple ‘sorry’ and switching to-

you: thank you really but i think it’s better if we don’t text anymore

only to see another blue bubble pop on the screen at the same time as yours.

koo: i miss you

x

by the end of the very, very, very long day, you’re finally able to throw yourself onto your soft plush bedsheets. your friends don’t know that taehyung’s mad at you and isn’t talking to you - his sporadic off-days being the reason for them to assume that this is one of those days.

and they didn’t really push you to talk either, choosing to give you space after they robbed you off yours by kidnapping you to have a best friend’s night last night.

much to your dismay, not even five minutes into melting into the comforts of your bed, your stomach starts growling like a wild animal that hasn’t been fed in weeks. despite distantly remembering finishing the last pack of ramen last week, you still drag your feet to the kitchen in search for a instant noodles that, after opening the cupboard, you confirm, isn’t there.

and that’s how you end up trudging down the streets with flip flops and hair poking underneath the hood of jimin’s hoodie. a surge of gratification shoots through your veins when you see the last cup of your favorite spicy ramen on the shelf. not bothering to go back, you take a seat at one of the high stools facing the wall-sized window after paying for it.

it takes a few texts and scrolling through instagram before the ramen is ready. but it’s jeongyeon’s panic-induced tone that takes up most of your time.

jeongyeon: ok so ik you’re gonna be mad at me but pls don’t be 

you: what issit tho 

jeongyeon: you gotta promise 🤙

with a growl of your stomach demanding to be fed, you place your phone down with a misspelled loophole ‘yea i pro mizz 🤙🤙🤙’

and if getting a certification as your faculty’s resident hoe isn’t enough, in that moment, with ramen dangling from your mouth and puffed cheek, your eyes stops on a brunette boy who stops dead in his track when he sees you.

somewhere on the smooth surface of the table, your phone vibrates with a pop up notification.

jeongyeon: ok so jeon jungkook texted me about you and i kinda told him he should ask you himself but then i thought it kinda indicated that something’s wrong 

another ping.

jeongyeon: i didn’t tell him anything else tho!!!

x

“i don’t know what to say - i’m sorry, didn’t think it would be this bad,” jungkook confesses, head hung low, hair hiding most of his face and disallowing you from reading his emotions.

after jeongyeon ominously told jungkook to ask you about why she can’t tell him anything about how you’re doing now, jungkook had rushed to your place because it was obvious that his texts would be left on read, “maybe i should’ve taken it for what it is but i-,” he’d stopped short of what he wanted to say before he’d met your gaze with wishing stars in his eyes, “i just needed to see you and make sure you’re okay.”

“it’s not,” you admit, “most of the time they just look at me like i’m some animal in the zoo but sometimes it still gets to me.”

“you didn’t seem like the person who would care,” he says smally, almost as though it wasn’t meant for you but for himself.

you want to laugh, “that’s cause that’s what half-drunk me is most of the time and you’ve only ever known her - but on campus, i’m that girl who walks in the hallway with her head down and wanna be as invisible as i can... because i hate conflicts and being seen means i’ll most likely get into some shit... like i did with namjoon.”

kim namjoon saw you when no one else paid attention. mostly because the outstanding ones in your batch were taking the spotlight in freshmen year. the positions became apparent a little over two weeks after the first class. and you were still wondering around, in search for like minded beings. instead of finding friends, you found a god.

or so what they call a once in a lifetime genius.

“yea- i don’t really know you,” if it isn’t for the way his head snaps your way and the heartbreaking strain in his voice, you would have had a better time holding out, “i don’t even know what your favorite color is but i promise i’ll never hurt you like he did,” when he meets your gaze, all control seem to seep out of you and all you want is to take everything back

“i’m sorry- i just- it’s stupid, cutting you off just ’cause of that-“ the sound chains of the swing echo into the chilly night air as you prop your elbows on your knee, torso bent forward while you cup your face with your hands, maybe if you rubbed hard enough the stupid will come off, “i know it’s nobody’s fault but then there’s tae and he was the only one who thought i should stop talking to you- but he’s also the most reasonable person in our friend group and i-“ you almost choke on pure air, “i’m sorry.”

and so you end up at a park a few blocks away, you choosing to sit on the swing whilst he leans against the monkey bar a few feet away.

“it’s not okay,” jungkook’s voice fills your ears - he doesn’t sound as mad as you thought he’d be but his words say otherwise.

until you hear the scrape of soles on dirt. and just as you thought he was leaving, a hand lands on your knee, “but i forgive you.”

the smile you see when you peek through your fingers is familiar. boyish like its owner but endearing all the same,“and nothing that makes you feel like your peace is disturbed, is stupid,” but then the smile down turns into a frown, eyebrows knitting together, “i just wish you told me so you didn’t have to go through this alone.”

“i wasn’t alone - i had my friends,” it’s right after the words hit the air and a flash of disappointment crosses jungkook’s eyes, do you belatedly realize that you were indirectly calling him a non-friend.

“right,” the smile he fixes you breaks your heart - even more so when you see how he’s struggling to be happy for you whilst pushing down the hurt in his eyes, “that’s great - it’s great that you weren’t alone.”

or someone outside of your exclusives-only circle. well, he was - he isn’t exactly someone you’d befriend like you would your current friends. but it must have sounded like he was demoted to a friend who you say hi’s to and don’t share personal hardships and happiness with.

“yeah,” you echo in agreement before biting your bottom lip, gaze switching from his hand to his arm and finally his deep brown eyes that appear hazel underneath the light of the lamppost, “can we still be friends?”

the short but straightforward, “no” on jungkook’s part echoes in the air.

it takes a moment for you to register the two-letter word, as if it’s the hardest to fathom and before you know it, your jaw is on the ground, after a surprised, “what-”

in all honesty, you were the one who wanted to cut jungkook off from your life - for an absurd reason at that - but still, with how he patiently listened to you and even forgave you, you thought he’d at least want to stay friends. maybe he doesn’t want to be that kind of friend anymore. or maybe he doesn’t want to be your friend if you’re not that kind of friends anymore. maybe-

“i don’t wanna be just friends,” the confession falls out from his lips when you least expect it. almost as though you weren’t the only one who could read the other like an open book.

but despite his confidence the first time, you still see the traces of hesitance in the way he takes a moment longer to continue, “i... i want to know you- not the drunk you, not the campus you, but you you.”

this time, you can’t control the trickle of laughter that tumbles out of your mouth. it’s dry and a little bit broken, but still comes from a humorous place, “you’re probably gonna be disappointed as hell.”

“is that a yes?” the flash of starlight in jungkook’s eyesmile causes your heart to swell with a sort of fullness. the chains clink into the air as he grips it with his hands, using them to hoist himself up - but he doesn’t stand straight. instead,he leans his forehead on yours, “say yes.”

the smile that slips on your face is involuntary. completely out of your control as you affirm, “it’s a yes.”

x

“so is that tae’s hoodie?” jungkook asks as you walk down the street to your apartment.

the “what?” that slips out of your mouth is more surprised than anything else but it seems like that’s what made the man rush out his explanation - which he didn’t really need to but you appreciate it anyway.

“it’s just- you’re not a hoodie girl,” you don’t miss the way he scrunches his nose as he struggles to find the proper words, you think it’s cute - you think jungkook’s cute, “you’re more like a sweaters girl - or like, that’s what i see you wear in the morning before you kick me out.”

chuckling, you relieve him of his curiosity with a “no, it’s not tae’s.”

he beams at you like a morning sun until you add, “it’s jimin’s.”

“o-oh,” he nods but doesn’t press on.

“he’s also one of my best friend - they dragged me to movie’s night and we crashed at jimin’s last night,” you say.

“oh.” the pearly whites peek from underneath his lips again, eyes lighting up like stars.

but then, before you know it, you’re standing at the entrance of your apartment. 

“thanks for walking me home,” on your part, you don’t really want to part.

“yeah, no problem,” if you didn’t know any better, jungkook’s foot scuffling against the dirt doesn’t really give off a willing farewell vibe either.

until you both blurt out at the same time-

“do you wanna come in?”

“i mean it when i said i missed you.”

an echoing silence settles between you for the longest moment - or in fact, just a second too long but with all that’s happened and the friendships you can see breaking, jeon jungkook’s is one you’re not going to let go that easily.

not again.

“come inside,” you say.

and this time, you’re not asking.

x

 jungkook’s breath is hot against your neck as you groan from the impact of your back and head hitting the door as soon as it closes, his hands under your thighs.

but you’re fast to recover, hands snaking up his chest until they reach his strained jawline, tilting his head and forcing him to look at you, “show me how much you missed me.”

 a familiar glint flashes across his eyes at your challenge before his gaze falls to the borrowed deep blue hoodie you have on, “take that off. now.” 

deciding against taunting him some more, you pull the piece of clothing over your head before dropping it next to the can of beer, snacks and energy bars you bought from the convenience store.

it doesn’t take much for you to lean into him enough not to let yourself topple over backwards - maybe it’s the hundreds of times he’s carried you like this, maybe he’s the only person you trust to grab you by the bottom of your ass and you’d instantly know where to wrap your legs around. 

or maybe, just maybe, you missed jungkook too.

but either way, you kiss him once after he slams you against your bed. you kiss him a few more times as he slides in and out of you like every crevice of your core is made for him. you’re in the middle of kissing him when he hits ghat sweet spot that gets you moaning mid-kiss. he doesn’t seem to mind as he bites your bottom lips, letting you ride your high whilst he dedicates himself to you. to your pleasure.

and you kiss him when he thrusts deep into you as you both reach a different kind of euphoria together, holding each other tightly as if the other would fade if you didn’t.

since your bed is a single bed and you were occupying most of it, you have to scoot to make space for an extra person. you let him have the pillow while you keep your head raised midair until he slips his arm under it, his other hand pulling your back against his front before he pulls the cover over you.

the digits in the corner of your phone tells you that you’re probably going to end up rushing to your 8 am tomorrow but at the moment, with the moonlight pouring through the window and a distant sound of cars in the main street filling the room, there’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here.

“it’s orange - my favorite color is orange, like the sunset,” you’re pretty sure your voice is half-slurred from the fatigue of the day creeping up to you, but jungkook surprisingly heard it right because-

“we should go sunset watching someday,” he suggests.

“mhm,” you hum, not opposed of that idea at all, “what’s your...” you drag out, shifting through words until you find the one you’re most curious about, “favorite dessert?”

“besides you?” he chuckles when you let out an involuntary gasp at his insinuation before humming in contemplation, “ice creams.”

“are you free this sunday?” you ask.

“yeah, why?” his voice is laced with a hint of wonder.

“let’s go to an ice cream parlor,” by now, you’re pretty sure he barely understands what you’re saying as your eyes begin to droop, “let’s do things people do outside of parties - i wanna get to know you, koo.”

for the longest moment, you thought it’s him that’s fallen asleep because of the lack of affirmation. 

that is, until he murmurs with the smallest voice, “yeah, i’d like that.”

x

you wake up to the sound of your daily alarm blaring across the room. but much to your dismay, when you slip your hand under the pillow -  which unnaturally becomes a texture of spiky but fluffy treads - you come to a morbid realization that isn’t there.

which means wherever your gosh darn phone is, you’re going to have to find it to hit the snooze button because you can’t sleep with that deafening noise but if you do get up, you won’t be able to fall back asleep.

that is, until a different kind of sound, one that knows your name, grumble out a, “___, turn that shit off,” while a hand band around your waist, pulling you into a whole body.

for the briefest moment, you forget about the sound, heart skipping a dangerous beat as your mind shift through your memories, searching for something you can use for a self defense before it finally settles down with a realization that the only other person who could be complaining about your alarm because they were in bed with you, is jeon jungkook.

“god damn it,” you grumble with eyes barely open and mind half-awake while you pick up each article of clothing that are strewn across the room, “where did you throw my phone, jungkook?”

the man in your bed slurs out some incomprehensible words, leaving you with nothing but your wits and your wills and a little bit of urgency because your roommate may not be home most of the time but she definitely is in the morning. her schedule is more unpredictable than yours.

after a good one minute, you finally found your phone not on the floor but under the sheets right next to jungkook’s thigh. considering you spent a good chunk of your remaining sleepiness looking for it, you’re now out of the sleep essence and wide awake.

it looks like you caused quite a stir. jeongyeon’s text alone amounts to 36 notifs while each of your friend private messaged you an average of 5-12 texts each. the lowest being jimin and lisa who teetered on the line of ‘hey jeongyeon told me’s and ‘text me when you see this’ while jisoo’s are full out capsing and taehyung is a mixture of jimin and lisa with a missed call.

but what you don’t expect to see among the pile of notification, is the one pushed to the bottom by your friends’.

“oh, wow, kim namjoon texted me,” you blurt out, not knowing that a slip of tongue would cause a burst of reaction from the sleeping male in your bed.

shooting up with the sheets still covering his head, he yanks them down and fixes you with a wide-eyed, disbelieving gaze, “kim namjoon what now?”

it takes you a moment to digest the fact that he couldn’t even form a proper sentence or even grope around on the bed to help you look for your phone yet a single name and a verb could literally shock the sleep out of him. but you’re not one to hold onto grudges so you casually say, “he texted me.”

when you don’t offer anything else, the man finally asks, “well... what did he say?”

“’hey,’“ you echo the one worded text before slinging your towel over your shoulder.

“and?” hurried steps follow you into the hallway, an awkward ‘don’t-look-pressed’ laugh accompanying them, “...what did you say?”

“why?” you turn around abruptly, almost causing your follower to run right into you before he quickly halts himself, eyes slanting to the wall as he scratches his unclothed chest.

“i- uh, i don’t know - just curious i guess,” he mumbles out.

at that, the chuckles you’ve been holding back spills out of your mouth like waterfall. he opens his arms for you when you slip yours around his waist, locking your hands on his back, “i didn’t reply but if i did, it’s probably to tell him to stop texting me.”

the heartwarming ‘oh’ that tumbles out of his mouth is followed by a tuck in the corners of his lips, doe eyes filling with a sort of heat that makes your heart skip a beat.

that is, until fear flashes across his face, “wait, what time is it? don’t you have 8 am’s on tuesdays? i should leave-”

“nah,” you shake your head, a smile making home on your lips, “i’m skipping. you wanna get breakfast at mcdonald’s?”

instead of an affirmation, jungkook’s panicked face turns to a frown, hands coming to cup your cheeks as he twists it from left to right, as though looking for something and you know why-

 “who are you and what have you done to sober ___?” he demands.

laughter trickles out of your mouth as you struggle to get out of his grasp while he demands you return you back, “___ would drag my ass to the door at ass crack o’clock when she has 8 am’s. bring her back!”

but in your fit of giggles and his exorcist-esque shouting, jungkook stops and pecks you on your mouth, “just kidding,” you don’t think you can ever get used to that boyish smile of his, “i would love to have our first sober date at mcdonald’s.”

as if a giggle switch has been switched on, you laugh some more, cheeks hurting and tears pooling in the corner of your eyes at the way he makes it sound like you’re asking him to a date.

and you’re not quite against that idea.

x

so you find yourself at the mcdonald’s five minutes away from your campus. if you have any fucks at all to give, you would be worried about meeting your casual friends. but something about jeon jungkook and your friends’ - your real friends - endless support from yesterday has turned you into a woman of steel. or, really, just mixed party-you and sober-you together.

“apparently he wants to get back together because he thinks it’ll help fix everything but i know he just wants to save his ass - oh, did you know the dean, jimin’s mom, kicked him out of circuit breaker?” you casually say before chugging on your coffee before the sound of someone choking a whole lung drums in your ears.

turning to you with flushed cheeks and post-lung cough, jungkook demands, “you can’t just dump things like this on me- you gotta give me a warning first.”

“i did,” you counter, and just as his face spells ‘when?’ you quickly add, “at home - when i said kim namjoon texted me.”

“babe, that was 30 minutes ago,” jungkook says, in a matter-of-factly.

but all you hear is the name he calls you, “i kinda like that.”

he smiles shyly but still say, “what? babe?”

“yes,” you place your phone on the table, forgetting the open text as you lean closer to jungkook before enunciating the word “babe?”

his hand finds its way to your chin while yours slip underneath his shirt as he guides your face to his lips. but just before you’re about to kiss, the sound of voices - familiar ones at that - pour into the otherwise quiet vicinity. drawn by your curiosity, you tilt your head just the slightest bit to peak at the newcomers when you feel the heat of pairs of eyes burn into your head.

“shit,” you blurt out.

x

“oh my god,” jisoo gasps while lisa lets out a muted whistle, murmuring a “whew, chile, the audacity of some men.”

jeongyeon snickers as she leans away from lisa who’s holding your phone with namjoon’s text open, “i know what’s going on,” she waves a hand gun at you, “you’re doing great now and he’s sad and lonely-”

“or he wants to show the dean you guys made up so he can get into circuit breaker again,” taehyung chimes in, leaning against the chair, volunteering to pick up everyone’s order from the counter, “you know, just a thought.”

“no, no, no,” lisa interjects, “it’s more than just that with these men - he wants you to think that he’s the only one that can... ‘save’ you.”

“from what?” jimin asks, innocent round eyes looking around until jisoo sighs.

“god, jimin, it’s obvious,” she fixes him a pointed look, “___’s being labelled a manipulating bitch,” she turns to you and winks, “which you aren’t, manipulating - mean but a bitch? yes, and the baddest,” and then she shifts her attention to jimin, “and he’s saying if she gets back with him, he’ll ‘clear things up’ because apparently people tend to take men’s words more seriously than women and he knows that.”

“word,” lisa shakes her head.

“but ___’s not gonna get with namjoon because she has a jungkook,” jeongyeon’s proclamation isn’t entirely baseless yet the way all eyes turns to you tells you that it’s not exactly an established fact - especially when everyone at the table knows that you were ghosting jungkook just yesterday.

“i mean,” jungkook begins from next to you, fidgeting in his seat but avoiding your gaze when you turn to him, “___ can do whatever she wants.”

a pregnant silence lapses between you as you feel your friends exchanging dubious looks with each other. taehyung’s disapproving frown is the hardest to miss because it must have come across as jungkook not being serious enough with you.

but knowing the aforementioned man and how he never assumes your needs and wants - unless you’re having sex because he knows exactly how you like it - you know he doesn’t want to pressure you to be with him.

“i’m not getting with namjoon,” you announce for yourself, shooting the him a smile just before taehyung leaves to get your food.

“i’ll go help tae,” and with that, you skip over to the taller man, catching onto jisoo’s interrogative “so, are you guys like, exclusive now?”

“hey,” you greet the man that’s about to lift the tray of cheeseburgers, drinks, apple pies and mcflurries.

he echoes your greeting with a passive one and you both walk to the chili counter in silence. when he sets the tray down, you’re already picking up one of the tiny paper cups, “so, jungkook came and check up on me yesterday and stayed over to make sure i’m okay.”

he doesn’t need to know you had sex in between.

“he’s a really good guy - and he only said what he said just now cause he doesn’t want me to feel pressured to choose between being with him, or with namjoon or just being single,” you add when it doesn’t seem like he doesn’t have anything to say.

“i’m sorry for acting like a dick yesterday,” he finally breaks his silence with a one breathed sentence, his hand picking up the chili sauce filled cup off your hands.

and that’s when you see your opening, “it’s fine,” you quickly accept but stand your ground, “but jeongyeon also said something about a bet but you didn’t criticize her- i’m not trying to point out who did what worse but it looks like you’re more critical of jungkook because you don’t personally know him.”

“i thought i know a fuck boy when i see one,” he grunts like a sulking child.

“honestly, what does fuck boy even mean?” shrugging, you raised your brows at his okay-get-to-the-point look, “jimin’s kind of a fuck boy if you think about it but we love anyway.”

when he doesn’t seem to deny your allegations, you continue, “and if jungkook’s a fuck boy, then i’m a fuck girl because i-“

“uh,” he recoils like a teen getting sat down for the birds and bees talk,“okay, okay. i get it - spare me the details.”

rolling your eyes at his dramatic reaction, you end with a “see, name calling doesn’t make sense, not to mention hurtful to the person being called that name. they’re a a human being with feelings.”

it’s the ‘i know’ at the end that got him. even though he hadn’t seen you being taunted and ridiculed that day, didn’t mean it stopped. you were just good at masking it because you knew  better. knew that you had friends that would stand by you all the way - heck, jisoo even made a scene out of people looking at you the day before.

“i’ll try to not be so judgy,” taehyung announces before scrunching up his face, “but is him hanging out with us gonna be a permanent thing?”

“thank you for trying,” you fix him a proud smile as he picks up the tray to head to where the others are, “and he’s my friend too so yes, it’s going to be a permanent thing.”

“... say ‘cactus jack sent me’?” jeongyeon is in the middle of putting jimin up to walking over to the counter and saying the infamous line to the worker when you slip back into your seat.

“and travis scott’s burger,” and apparently lisa too.

jimin’s eyes disappear behind his lids as he chuckles at their attempts but he doesn’t exactly oppose the idea.

“hey,” jungkook’s eyes lights up when he sees you.

“so how was the interrogation session my girl friends?” you can’t help the devious grin that slips onto your face at the admittance that you may or may have not purposely left jungkook with your friends for the ice breaking slash interrogating session whilst you patch up your own friendship with your other friend.

“not bad,” he shrugs, “they even showed me your sleeping pics to scare me off but they forgot i wake up to that face almost every few days a week.”

at that revelation, your jaw drops to the ground, mind recalling the many times your open-mouth sleeping pictures have been sent into the group chat as a meme and it was not pretty.

“they did not,” your cheeks heat up as you make a mental note to gather everyone up and force them to finally delete that picture.

“don’t worry you’re not getting rid of me that easily babe,” unaware of the extent of the war raging inside you, he pecks your forehead and continues eating his fries.

x

“do i really look like that when i sleep?” you finally ask after clicking on the safety belt.

even though you could have rode with your friend in jimin’s car, jungkook insists to send you to class as a proper mark for the end of your first date.

“mhm,” jungkook hums casually as he turns on the car.

“and you still like me?” you’re not sure what kind of face you’re making but it has to be something between disgust and bewilderment because damn, he’s a real one.

“what?” he says between chuckles - as if he doesn’t see anything wrong with the picture and it makes your heart bloom with a sort of endearment while your core heats up with a sort of want.

throwing him a sly smile, you cock your head to the side, “get in the back.”

with a mixture of surprised and impressed blink, he doesn’t need to be told twice to unbuckle his seat and climb over to the back seat. long legs spread out to welcome you into his lap.

x

taglist: @gukksluv​ @illwritetomorrow​

shout out to my biggest bestest friend in me-loving baddest b @koochiekoo​ !!! highkey without you, i probably would take longer to finish but you’ve been super supportive and i love you so this fic is for you neinya!!!

note. the first part (friend in me) wasn’t showing up on searches no matter how many times i posted it and my earliest readers would remember it being called ‘to my dear friend’ before i changed it to fim bc i wanted to see if it’ll show up on searches but it didn’t. idk if this one will but i dont have much hope bc the preview also didn’t show up on searches (weird) but i have lost the rest of the f’s i have and decided to post this with a mindset that it’ll reach the right people though probably be less than 50 ppl. but i hope those who came this far enjoyed the fic!

[jenomark]

Part 1

➔Pairing: Idol!Haechan x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: Renjun, Jeno ➔Genre: Smut ➔Warnings: The taking of Haechan’s virginity + vaginal penetration + emphasis on the use of no condom. ➔Word count: 4,640

➔Summary: He’s an idol, a friend, and now you’re taking his virginity. Beginning your friends-with-benefits relationship with Haechan wasn’t the best idea, but you just can’t help yourself when it comes to him.

↠  Part 2 

“I’ve got swag.”

   As soon as those words left Haechan’s mouth, you could see the regret spreading across his face. He was trying to appear confident in your presence, like he was just one smirk away from becoming the bad boy of your dreams. Indeed, his face did say Devil, but the way he held his body slightly slumped over in embarrassment spoke volumes about the boy he was inside. Twenty never seemed so scary.

“Is that what you call it?” you asked. You smiled to ease any awkwardness. 

  Haechan poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He looked away from you then, his eyes scanning up and down the street. Five minutes ago, he was meant to be on his way back to the dorms in a car with his manager. Somehow, all of that charm was put to good use and he asked to stay behind to wait with you while your car came; it worked. 

“It’s cold tonight.” he said. He stuck his hands in his jean jacket and hugged them around his front. 

“It’s January.” you said, your voice sarcastic.

   He looked back at you, his face hiding none of his feelings. Confusion. Somehow, an understanding of the person before him. You watched his breath spill out in wisps of smoke, the cold air circling up towards the night sky and disappearing. You were leaning against the wall, just inches apart, but you wanted to take a step forward and warm his lips against yours. It was all you could think about since you first met him.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” he said. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  Haechan laughed. The sound of it must have carried all across the city, winding through the streets and getting trapped in the bare bones of trees. Oh, how you’ve thought about how his mouth would feel pressed against your body as he laughed, the vibrations travelling up your stomach and over your breasts. 

“No,” you said, finally. “ I think you’re very intelligent. You’re probably the most clever man I’ve ever met. You know what you want. Sometimes, you’re too scared to ask for it, but, when you do ask for it, Haechan, it will be beautiful.”

“Do you know what I want?” he asked.

   If his question caught you off-guard, you didn’t show it. Haechan was good at calling you out, just like were at keeping him in check. You watched your car roll up and come to a stop, black and ominous on the curb. You closed the gap between you and Haechan, your face just a whisper away from his. He couldn’t stop looking at your lips, his eyes tracing over every line. You poked your tongue out just a little before you spoke.

“Yes,” you said. “But the question is, are you brave enough?”

 You moved past him, bumping your shoulder against his. You did not look behind you. You could feel his eyes on you, the heat warming you on the cold night. You could have offered him a ride home, opened your car door and let him into your life publicly, but that would get too many people talking. You were always less about talk and more about action. 

  Starting a friends-with-benefits relationship with Haechan wasn’t for the faint of heart. Going into it, you knew it was trouble. You also knew it would take up a lot of your time, cause your friends to notice, and create a dependent attachment with each other. The promise of it ending badly wasn’t a matter of if but when. When the kiss of death came, life as you knew it would change. As much as you geared yourself up for it, you’d never be ready.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said. “I’m starting to think you want to spend time with me.”

  You were sitting in the company cafe, your table far from prying eyes. Your head was buried in your phone when he walked in, but you didn’t need to hear his loud voice to know he was there. The air changed whenever he was near. Your body felt warmer, your hair standing on end, like it was confused with the temperature. Hot and cold is the way you liked your relationship with him. With Renjun and Jeno, he seemed more relaxed in his environment. None of them saw you, at first, which was alright with you, because you could watch him a little longer. On his own, without you, Haechan did act like a fool, and you liked it. He didn’t act more mature, didn’t stop himself from looking too ugly when he played around. When Renjun joked, Haechan laughed freely at the ceiling, his hand clutching his stomach like his intestines might fall out if he laughed hard enough. He pulled his cap off, ran his fingers through his hair, and replaced it. He kept checking his phone while waiting for his coffee, his eyes scanning the screen.

Haechan: I’ve been thinking about what you said.

  You looked down at your own phone. Saved under Devil, his text came up with a Ping!, your phone's volume all the way up. Several people turned in your direction. You made eye contact with them all before settling on Haechan who was making his way towards you. 

“I’ll see you later,” Haechan called to Renjun and Jeno. “Tell everyone I’ll be late.”

  He sat down across from you, took his cap off once more and ran his fingers through his hair again. You noticed that his hair was a few shades darker than the last time you saw him. He saw you looking and leered in a way that suggested he knew how attracted you were to him. 

“You didn’t give me time to text you back.” you said.

“I’m here in the flesh, “ he said. “Answer me now.”

“But you didn’t ask me anything.”

  Haechan placed his cap back on his head. He took his phone and started writing out a text message to you. You watched his fingers working, their slight crookedness mesmerizing. Everything he did was beautiful. Every move he made kept people wondering what he would do next. You were caught up in it, too, the hype. You found yourself giving him more attention than he deserved, more than you knew was good for you.

“There,” he said, his voice coming out childishly. “Question has been asked.”

   You looked at your screen glow. You could read the last few words before your screen shut off. You locked eyes with him. In that moment, all smugness was gone. Haechan looked terrified and worried that you would say no. You made a show of looking down and reading the whole message in front of him. Underneath the table, you took your foot and slowly worked it up his leg. 

Haechan: Will you take my virginity? 

  Reading the text made Haechan’s fear strike you like a hot chord through your stomach.  You placed your phone face down on the table and locked eyes with him again. Before his phone lit up with a message that felt like it had never been typed with your hands, you silently prayed to yourself. Haechan looked down at his phone, at the answer he had waited months for.

You: Yes.

  You find yourself waiting on a street corner in the rain for him. He’s late because he has schedules, and you’re on time because you faked being sick. When he gets there, he apologizes profusely, ducking underneath your umbrella like getting wet with the rain will burn his skin. Everything feels weird, like you’re in a movie where neither of the lead actors know what the hell they are doing, so they try to remember the lines they know they should not have forgotten. 

“You could have waited inside,” he said, taking the umbrella from your hands so that he could hold it higher. “Where it’s warm and dry.”

“I didn’t think you would find my apartment all on your own.” you said.

“Wow,” he said. “You really do think I’m a fool.”

   You lived in an apartment above a tiny seamstress shop. The rent was decently priced because she stored half of her belongings in the space.  If you didn’t complain, you could stay there as long as you wanted without burning through your paychecks on rent. The storefront sat nestled between other businesses, the door to your place narrow and unassuming. Too many take-out delivery men scrambled to find you, their faces growing hot with anger every time you weren’t there to meet them at the pavement. You had, in fact, learned your lesson. Haechan folded the umbrella before he stepped in through the door, shaking out the droplets back onto the street.

“I’m so cold.” he said. He pulled his sleeves down over his knuckles. The adorableness of it made your heart do a twirl. 

  You shut the door behind you and stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to your place. You removed your soaked shoes and he followed, his body shrinking down an inch once he took off his boots. You took his jacket from him and hung it on a hook after taking care of yours. Haechan shook out his wet hair, splatters of water making dots on your dry clothes.

“I’m going to kill you.” you said.

“Honey, “ he pouted. “Not until after we’ve had our first date.”

  You began to wonder if sex was too formal, which felt like a silly thing to do. Not dating didn’t feel normal, yet, being with him in such a confined space felt as normal as could be. You were comfortable with his humor, his cockiness dripping down the walls, flooding every room in your life. 

“You’re impossible.” you said.

  You went upstairs, your wet toes squishing against the carpet. Before you opened the door to your living area, you wondered what he might think. You didn’t live in a nice dorm like he did. Before figuring out where you would play out your relationship, you both briefly entertained the idea of having sex in his bed. According to Haechan, it was more comfortable, smelled nicer, and his bathroom was just a few feet away should you want to engage in shower sex. Compared to your small place, his dorm might have felt like a palace. You had told him it was too risky. “Oh?” he had said. “You have a problem with Johnny watching us?”

“What do you think?” you asked.

  Though you didn’t want to know, you knew you had to ask. As a friend, you appreciated his approval, and friends is what you were. Haechan looked around at your shoe box of a home, at the normal bits of your life scattered here and there, and the random boxes that belonged to the lady you rented from, and he whistled. He saw your kitchen counter scattered with your laptop and files, the pieces of junk that were stacked mile high.

“I like it, “ he said. “It’s sweet, like you.”

“Sweet.” you repeated.

  You moved further into the apartment, removing old mugs and placing them in the sink. Haechan hovered in the doorway, his awkwardness thick and uncomfortable. You let the last dish fall into the sink with a clatter that disturbed the weird silence growing between you. You approached him and touched the bottom of his hoodie. From the rain, the edges were soaked. Without saying anything, you peeled it up his body. Halfway through, Haechan moved as if he remembered he could, lifting his arms so that you yank the hoodie over his head. Underneath, he was wearing a white t-shirt that looked gossamer thin.

“Feel better?” you asked.

 Haechan grunted in response. You took another step forward until your face was close to his. You touched your fingers against his fingers. In surprise, he pulled them away. You didn’t think he would be very confident about his prowess, but you never expected him to be so shy. In a way, it was a let down. You wanted Haechan to push you back by your shoulders, put his hand on the back of your neck and pull you to his lips like he couldn’t survive another moment if he couldn’t taste you. The reality of Haechan was much different. 

“I’m sorry.” he said.

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “It’s okay. Things take time.”

  You couldn’t wait an eternity for him to make the first move. You turned around, your hair whipping him in the face, strands of it wet with his spit. You didn’t look back as you removed your shirt and tossed it aside. You walked towards your bedroom and turned back once you crossed over the threshold. Haechan was holding your shirt in his hands having caught it, his fingers rubbing the fabric. You ushered him forward with a crook of your finger. He shuffled on his feet, dropping the shirt as he came. The moment his body crossed the threshold to be with yours, you balled his shirt in your fist, pulled him into you, and kissed him on the lips. Kissing him made you feel high. Your body felt relaxed and at peace. His hand pressed against the small of your back, his tongue colliding with yours, the hotness of his breath turning you on. You brought your fingers into his hair and tugged on it so that he would reveal his neck to you. You kissed his moles, your teeth nipping at his throat and causing him to moan. 

“Whoa.” he said softly. 

  He had kissed before, but never like that. He had told you his first kiss happened because of the pressure from others. The moment his lips met hers, it felt like it was over. You were not that girl from his childhood. Haechan kissing you was like a flower opening up to bloom. He wanted to peck you at first, his lips tight, his eyes closed even tighter. You let him take his time and explore your mouth. Gradually, his hands moved over your body with the rhythm of his tongue. Before you knew it, he had turned you both around and pushed you against your bedroom wall.

“Easy.” you said, placing your hand against his chest.

  You could feel his erection poking you. He placed his hands on either side of you against the wall and tried to calm his body down. His kisses became eager, and it was hard for him to catch his breath. If he had it his way, he would have dropped his pants right there and fucked you against the wall.

“I’m taking off your bra.” he said.

 Haechan went behind your back to feel for the clasp but there was none. You raised your eyebrows at him, at the desperate look on his face as he searched around for what he thought should be there. He believed he was doing something wrong by not being able to find it. For once, you’re the one that felt smug. You pushed out your chest so he would get the hint. He looked down and saw a little clasp sitting between your breasts, its face shining with betrayal.

“Go ahead.” you whispered.

  His fingers touched the coolness of the clasp before unfastening it. Your bra bounced back to your sides, your breasts falling out of their cups. You angled your shoulders and let your bra slip down to the floor. Haechan looked at your breasts, your pert nipples standing almost as erect as his cock. When he didn’t immediately touch you, you took his hand and placed them over the softness of your breasts. You kissed him impatiently on his mouth, your body rubbing against his hard cock to tease him. His hands still on your breasts, you pulled your leggings off your body, your panties rolling down with them. 

“You can touch me,” you said. “Mr. Swag.”

   Joking around with him lightened the mood a little. Haechan laughed, his comfort level rising with each chuckle. Though he didn’t touch you further, he felt confident enough to remove his own clothes. In the light, you could see his body perfectly. His collarbones and neck were on full display. You could see the beginnings of a hickey covering the mole on his neck. You would have to be more careful next time. His nipples were small, his skin glowing. When he breathed in, you could see his rib cage, each delicate rung begging to meet your tongue. A light smattering of hair ran from his belly button down to his cock. His pubes were newly trimmed with the hand of someone very nervous. You wanted a good look at his cock, but he was covering himself with his hands. You kept your eyes traveling down his toned thighs, his knobby knees, and the white socks covering his ankles. 

“It feels like you’re judging me,” he said. “Is it bad? Do I look good to you?”

“Bad?” you asked. “You could never look bad. I am missing part of the picture., though”

  Haechan looked down at his hands and slowly removed them like he was unveiling a gift. When you saw his cock, you smiled. Hard, he was bigger than you thought he would be. Just from the look of his body, you knew he would come quickly the moment he felt any intense friction. Haechan held so much pent up energy in his body that no amount of jerking off in the dorm shower could release. You knew making him come was in his best interest, but you really wanted him to hold off for as long as possible. 

“Beautiful.” you said.

“I think I’m supposed to say that about you,” he said. “I think-”

  Your fingers were lightly stroking his happy trail as he spoke, or rather, became quiet. He closed his eyes as your hands tickled up his body until they found his nipples. You bent down and licked his small, dark bud, your tongue wetting him so much he was glistening. Your hands were on his ass, a handful of him being kneaded by your fingers. Once you started touching him, it was you who looked desperate. Unexpectedly, Haechan tucked his hand underneath your chin and brought your face up to look at him. The kiss he gave you was needy, his breathing so heavy you were worried he would come from the sheer excitement of it all.

“On the bed or standing up?” you asked. “Where do you want me?”

 It was a simple question, but he couldn’t answer it. If you had your phones in front of you, no doubt Haechan would fire off witty remarks about how he’d have you everywhere. The person before you now was incapable of making a decision, so you made it for him. You spun him around, walking him back into your bed until his knees hit the mattress and his body fell down into a sitting position. He looked up at you with wonder, his mouth parted slightly. You leaned down until your nipple touched his cupid's bow. Haechan opened his top lip wider and took you into his mouth, his eyes darkening as he watched your satisfied expression. 

“You have a grip on me that no one else ever has,” you told him. “You little fuck.”

  Using his chest, you pushed him back down onto your bed. He wasn’t done sucking on your nipples and doing so made him angry. He tried getting up to finish the job, but you pushed him back down again. His cockiness had returned, his smile baring teeth. Laying down, his cock sprang up and against his stomach. You could see the wetness highlighting his skin. Haechan brought his hands behind his head. You got onto the bed and straddled his thighs. When you took his cock in your hands, his body shivered, but he tried to play it off.

“There is nothing I want more than your cock in my mouth right now.” you said.

“Please.” he said. 

“Are you begging?”

“No,” he said. “I would never beg. I’m giving you the option, since I know you want it. I know you want me badly. You’ve dreamed about this, about me. I see the way you look at me when I’m in the practice room, when I lift up my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face. I know you think about me every day.“

“You know too much for your own good.” 

“I know,” he said, using that childish voice that always got under your skin. You stroked his cock and watched as he tried controlling his response. 

“As I was saying,” you began. “I would love nothing more than to suck your cock, but we can’t do that, because you’ll come too soon.”

Haechan placed a hand over his chest. “You hurt my pride. I’m a man.”

“Exactly,” you said. “And there is nothing wrong with you coming, but I want the first time you come to be inside of me.”

  Hearing those words made Haechan lean his head all the way back in utter bliss. His hands scrambled for you, his fingertips scratching down your stomach. You could feel him wanting to whine, to buck his hips up for more, to have your mouth around his cock any way he could. He was used to getting his way with others, but with you, it would be damn near impossible. You moved up his body a little, his cock still in your hands. You hovered over him, waiting to make eye contact. Until then, you would wait to fill yourself with him. When he didn’t give in right away, you stroked his cheek with your other hand so he would be forced. When his eyes finally met yours, the look he gave you was very fitting to his nickname: Devil. Before your arrangement, he had asked about contraceptives and how he wasn’t ready for pregnancy scares. You told him about your birth control and asked him if he wanted to wear condoms. Haechan declined. As you sunk down onto his cock, the raw feeling of him made you more excited.

“I’m going to move slow,” you said.  “Okay?”

  Haechan didn’t answer. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of being inside of you. He looked down at his cock having disappeared between your legs. When you started riding him as slowly as possible, he couldn’t keep his eyes from watching himself move in and out, in and out. He was moaning, the sounds coming from his mouth high-pitched and frequent enough to make his throat feel sore the next day. You rested your hands against his chest and moved up and down his cock so that he would get the full visual of how wet his shaft was after leaving your pussy.

“You feel good.” you told him. 

  It wasn’t a lie. Having him between your legs made you feel like you were in control, and you loved that feeling. Haechan looked at you like you were bringing every new sensation to him, a new world, and new emotions. Your body felt different than his own hand. The way you smelled, how you sounded as you rode him, and everything in between made his first time more special. Granted, you were faking a lot of it for his pleasure, but he didn’t need to know that. You focused on how he was feeling, knowing that at any moment he was going to explode. He was hanging on longer than you thought he would, which made you happy because it was possible that he would be ready for another round soon after.

“Haechan,” you moaned. “Haechan. Haechan. Haechan.”

  You touched yourself. You flicked your hair over your shoulder. You pretended like his cock was giving you the best sex you ever had, and it worked in your favor.  When you thought he would come, his body seizing, his face pulling ugly expressions, Haechan started moving your body off of him. You expected him to lay back and let you fuck him as you wished. You expected him to be thankful to you for giving him his first orgasm with another person, but you did not expect him to steal the lead. Haechan flipped you over until you were on your back, his cock having slipped out of you. For a moment, you laid on the bed in shock, and he moved over you in that same shock, his eyes unfocused. He rubbed his hands over his face and looked down at your body against the sheets. Your body felt empty without him, your pussy throbbing.

“Say my name again.” he grunted.

“Haechan.”

“No,” he said. “My real name.”

  Haechan was on top of you, holding his body up so that you could see all of the muscles he never talked about. He was strong and young, and he was ready to fuck. 

“Donghyuck,” you said. “Donghyuck. Donghyuck. Donghyuck.”

 Haechan lifted your legs up until they were resting on either side of his shoulders. He squatted down low, his own legs bent, his ass hanging off the edge of the bed. You could see a bead of sweat working its way down his chest. He lifted your hips up a little before penetrating you again, his cock thrusting deeper and deeper. He didn’t last long in that position, and you didn’t orgasm, but you were so impressed that it didn’t matter. You watched him coming, his eyes closed, his body stiff and his hands grabbing onto yours, and you were spellbound by him. You wanted all of his cum inside of you, every last drop. You wanted it to fill you up until it dripped out of you, and then you wanted him to stuff his cock inside of you again, until you were the one begging him to say your name.

  You jerked Haechan off while his balls were in your mouth. Stroking his length with your palm made the most joyous sounds come from his pretty lips. You sucked on his balls, your tongue soaking them. One of his hands was holding the back of your head, the other was rubbing his wet fingers against his nipples. You had his cock in your mouth a million times since the day you took his virginity, but it was always a delight seeing how wild he went when you surprised him with a slip of the tongue. You let his balls drop out of your mouth before licking a circle around his asshole. Haechan jumped a little, his head lifting up to glare at you.

“You have to warn me when you do that!” he said.

“I thought you liked it?”

“I do,” he said. “I just need to be prepared for it. P-R-E-P-A-R-E-D. Prepared.”

  You shimmied your way back up between his legs so that you could suck on his cock instead. He was so handsome looking down at you, his starry eyes focused on the way you took his head past your lips. 

“You’re so sexy.” he said.

“I know.” you said. You took his cock out of your mouth and licked the underside, your eyes never leaving his. 

“Ayyyy,” he said. “Don’t get too cocky.”

  You took him deeper into your mouth, in an attempt to make him come faster. He always lost himself when his cock hit the back of your throat. Each time you were together, it was your inside joke to see who would come the fastest. Most times, you easily won, but Haechan always put up a good fight.

“Baby, the things you do to me.” he whimpered.

 The things you do. The things you had done. For weeks you’ve been fucking him, and it’s only getting started.

[cnfsd-bisexual]

I've reached the point where I don't give a fuck what people think of me. If someone asks me what I'm doing and I'm reading fanfiction abt fucking Idk, the hobbit or smth, I'm just gonna tell them. I'm sick of lying and hiding my phone screen from people. If I'm reading fucking erotic asf supernatural smut that'd make any practicing catholic have a heart attack, I'm just gonna say so. If I'm reading the fluffiest gay Haikyu fanfiction, I'm just gonna say so.

I'm sick of pretending that I don't read fanfiction. And I'm sick of people looking down on those reading fanfiction. Does that mean I'm gonna publicly share my ao3 history? Absolutely fucking not. Does that mean that I'm gonna show people whatever's on my screen if they ask? Abso-fucking-lutely.

I'm on my phone in class and a friend asks me what I'm doing? Oh, I'm writing poetry to send to one of my favourite fanfic authors to show my appreciation for them and their fics. Or my sister asks me why I'm typing so fast? I'm anonymously sending my thanks to an author that wrote an a/b/o star wars fic that was really profound and that really got me through a dark time (@himboskywalker this is not targeted, but it slightly is)

Am I going to be judged? Most definitely. Do I care? Not particularly. I don't give a fuck anymore ✌️

[tatertotthethot]

Haaay Baaaeee, ew that was cringe 😂 OK so, I feel kinda beat down at the moment? Today is one of those days where I'm sick in bed and just binge watching YouTube and I stumbled across this channel that did a watch/read review on After(that Harry Style's FanFic turned book turned movie series) now I've never been into it but it's a solid over 30min long video and I wanted to kill time, so I'm watching it. I made the mistake of reading through the comments as the reviewer was on a tangent about the book and I started reading people saying a lot of nasty things about FanFic writers. And specifically people who write fanfic about real people. I even saw some recently comments about BTS in there and I just couldn't switch off my phone and stop reading. I dabble in writing myself and it just broke me down. Are we really that creepy and wrong for writing and enjoying fanfic over really people? (in this case BTS) They were bashing everyone from OC's, Self-inserts, shipping EVERYTHING. I felt so gross seeing so many people indirectly (but very much directly?) felt about me, my mutuals and people I look up to in the fanfic community. I even saw some fanfic writers saying how much better they are because they only write about fictional characters not real life people! Sorry just feeling really blue about this and it's just brought a whole new level of self doubt on me and what I enjoy 😣

Oof I remember reading “After” when it was growing popular on Wattpad and I only read it cuz of its clout and... no hate.. but I still can’t believe they made until a movie even though it’s a lot different than the book lol. But Omg I know exactly what you’re talking about and yes it pisses me off too. It’s local mentality tbh lol. I know some people write fan fiction just for smut but that’s merely on the surface— if they actually dug deeper into the millions of literal stories that star idols without automatically deeming it as “creepy” then they’ll be able to detach the actual persona away from the character and realize it’s just a way of using a persons face and name, and the inspiration from an idol that we love and support and interpreting that into something we’re more passionate about. Mostly just using the “idea” of them as a way to excorsize our creative writing skills. They’ll also see that when an idol is used as the main character in these stories than it’s already 10 times easier to visualize their characteristics and become invested being as they’re already familiar— and it makes the story itself all the more riveting. But what they don’t realize or seem to even care about us that at the end of the day, fan fiction ain’t hurting nobody. I see that shit on Twitter all the time. If we’re not getting criticized for writing famfics in general then we’ll get criticized about how we portray them. Ironically one of my favorite nsfw artists threw shade at writers here recently saying that it’s so unappealing and unrealistic when they see a certain member smoking cigarettes and having a bad attitude and I sooo badly wanted to point out how ironic it was that someone who can draw a member getting fucked by a 6 dick’d incubus clone of himself, draw the line at bad boy tropes that smoke cigarettes in fanfics and basically say that it’s ridiculous and therefore “off putting”. Like if it’s not your cup of tea fine, but for some reason I was under the impression that they were apart of a judgemental free zone as they could empathize enough to not bash other people’s form of creativeness just because it doesn’t appeal to them? At least not publicly, on an account with hella followers that has a good bit of writers following them? But thankfully I had already seen people say that a character is a character and doesn’t have to be true to the actual person, and that’s something that also needs to be said to ppl who frown upon fanfic writers in general. Don’t generalize an entire group based off the little bit of cringe shit you’ve read. There’s THOUSANDS of us fanfic writers that blow after clear out of the water but they’re too stuck up to give it a chance. I get soooo fucking heated cuz I never see any YouTuber hyping up good content, they just find the worst ones to shit on for clout. Fuck those people.

[missaudreyhorney]

(Almost) Every Idea Ever

Although I rarely ever finish writing a fic, that never stops me from getting new ideas for them. Terrible, horrible, dumpster fire ideas. Okay, some of them are wholesome on occasion, but mostly it’s just filth. I've excluded a couple of things because either they were just too awful to mention or I’m currently working on them and I want it to be a surprise.

The first story I started to write this year was original fiction but with the main male character heavily inspired by Jim Hopper. It was about a recently married young woman having an affair with her father-in-law. This really set a precedent for the rest of my ideas and should indicate to you the level of depravity on this list.

Hopper x Reader:

Hurts So Good series - In 1982, Reader is Mayor Kline’s daughter and has a crush on Chief Hopper. She decides to pursue him and things don’t go quite as planned but they still end up having steamy, rough sex. A secret affair begins between the two of them but it eventually leads to heartbreak. Heavy emphasis on Dom/sub and pain kink. - Initial pursuit, fingering in the car, sex (60%) - Phone sex the following day (70%) - Rough sex, bordering on consensual nonconsent (partially written) - Introduction to Daddy kink (notes) - Body worship (notes) - Bruise kink (notes) - Facesitting (50%) - hurt/comfort throatfucking, an argument, angst/fluff (75%) - Orgasm denial/control (70%) - Possible gunplay? (Unwritten) - Disciplinary spanking (notes)

Dress You Up series - In 1985, Hopper meets plus-size!Reader at JCPenney when he comes in to pick out a shirt for his date. After Joyce stands him up, he decides to come back and ask Reader out instead. Probably the cutest idea I’ve ever had for smut. Inspired by flamehairedwritings and flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash. - 1st meeting, 2nd meeting, date, sex (50%) - 2nd date, a continuation of My First Drabble (partially written) - Meeting El and she’s standoffish (notes)

Domestic Smut - Reader and husband!Hopper are at the cabin alone together one weekend. After breakfast, she tries to wash the dishes but the sink is broken, the water squirting everywhere. A water fight turns into a tickle fight which turns into kitchen table sex. (50%)

Hopper blindfolding Reader during sex at the cabin (Notes)

Hopper blindfolding Reader during a blowjob in his office at the police station (Minimal notes)

Hopper rubbing a popsicle on Reader’s body then licking it off (Minimal notes)

Hopper coming over to Reader’s house, unannounced, late at night, in the rain, for a quick rough fuck. Inspired by one of the pictures from the Playboy shoot. (Partially written)

Licking Hopper’s hand and arm veins to get his attention while he reads the Sunday newspaper. (Unwritten)

Sucking Hopper’s cock while he smokes a cigar on the porch and either ignores you or looks at you with disdain. Inspired by a compilation video of David smoking a cigar on Instagram Live. (Unwritten)

Consensual nonconsent fantasy where Hopper touches Reader and tells her to say no to him while he’s making her cum. Rough, forceful sex immediately follows. (Partially written)

Bootlicker - anti-cop Reader has a secret fetish for cops and Hopper is more than happy to oblige them and keep quiet about it. (Notes)

Working out my own personal issues via smut, bigender-questioning AFAB Reader puts on Hopper’s uniform shirt and hat. Much to their delight, he says they look like a boy. He also says “If you’re going to dress like a boy, I’m going to fuck you like one.” Basically just incredible anal sex while Hopper calls Reader a good boy. Extremely niche subject but the fantasy of this is so affirming to me, I can’t not think about it. (Notes)

Hopper x Reader requests

A sequel to Little Magnum where the dog is a few years older. There is maybe also a cat? (Unwritten)

Fire & Ice - Reader is playing in the snow when it’s getting dark outside. Hopper tells them to come in but they don’t listen. Reader falls and hurts their ankle then Hopper gets angry at their disobedience. Not because he’s a jerk, but because he can’t imagine his life without Reader and doesn’t want to lose them. Angsty hurt/comfort. (~70%)

Replacement idea since Fire & Ice was much too angsty - Reader gets stung by a bee and Hopper freaks out. Reader is fine but he babies them nonetheless, because again, his greatest fear is losing them. Very cute and silly. (unwritten)

Freezeframe - Reader bought Hopper a Polaroid camera for his birthday and he hasn’t used it months later. Taking matters into her own hands, she uses the camera for some naughty selfies. Once Hopper finds the pictures, he decides to assume the role of photographer and gets some very intimate shots of Reader. (80-85%)

Morning Wood - Reader lets themself into the cabin early one Summer morning and sees Hopper in bed, fully nude, just a sheet covering the part they want to see most. Hop wakes up, invites Reader into bed with him, and a blowjob ensues. Very detailed description of his body. (Notes)

Hopper gets injured and needs Reader to patch him up. She gets pissed though for him being in yet another dangerous situation where he yet again gets hurt. Reader reprimanding him leads to confessions of feelings which leads to sex. (Unwritten)

Reader has been feeling ignored by Hopper lately and decides to make him jealous to get his attention. She flirts with another man at a bar while Hopper watches and seethes with rage. He punishes her by dragging her into the parking lot then spanking over the tailgate of his Chevy Blazer. Rough sex and more spanking goes down back at the cabin. Based on my jealous!Hopper headcanon post. (Partially written)

Principal Hopper  - One of the worst ideas I’ve ever had, which is saying A LOT. High school principal Hopper catches one of his 18-year-old female students spying on him between classes and confronts her about it. Sexual tension bubbles up until neither of them can control themselves. Based on a fantasy told to me by a friend who I will not name. (Notes)

Hopper x Reader AUs

Messing Around With Jim series - A continuation of The Big Game, Afterschool Special, and Third Time’s A Charm. Modern!Hopper and Reader having all kinds of sex. - Fingering, gentle sex, tender orgasm control (50%) - Period sex, vibrator (Notes) - First blowjob, a continuation of A Sampling (partially written) - Hop eating Reader’s pussy for his birthday (minimal notes) - Fingering in the car, truck bed sex (notes) - Another blowjob, rough sex over the hood of a car (partially written) - Pussy eating at the park (notes) - Hop not understanding FaceTime, fluff, smut (unwritten) - Roleplaying how they met, sex at Reader’s parents house (notes) - July 4th fingering, rough sex, surprises (notes) - Remote control vibrator (partially written) - More pussy eating, this time in Hop’s cutting edge shirt (partially written) - Yet another blowjob, this time in a movie theater (unwritten) - Jealousy resulting in overstimulation/”forced” orgasms (notes) - 4 part miniseries about butt plugs/anal sex (notes) - Confronting her parents, angst (55-60%) - Learning about Sara, ANGST! (notes)

Vacation series - modem!Hopper and Reader go on vacation together. That’s it, that’s the plot. Idea from David’s Croatian vacation pics and conversations with Tayler. All just notes at this point. - Christening the hotel bed - Bratty Reader getting semi-publicly punished - Hopper taking care of drunk!Reader, humor, fluff - Double date

carpenter!Hopper - Reader is recently divorced and hires Hop to make repairs on her house before she sells it. Graphic detail of him doing manly things like sawing and hammering. Porn with plot. Inspired by another friend, she knows who she is. (Notes in the form of a 500-word summary)

Detective Hopper - various bits and pieces of ideas inspired by David being digitally handcuffed to Darren Criss and Michael Stuhlbarg in Vanity Fair, plus a few pictures in 2016. (Unwritten)

Captain Hopper - a collaboration with @pkg4mumtown. She said she was thinking about fire captain!Hopper rescuing her from a burning building and I told her my pre-existing firefighter idea of being saved and then wanting to thank him in a variety of ways. Things snowballed from there and I decided we need to write it. Mostly just notes so far. - Initial meeting, first date, sex - Second date, making dinner together, sex

Hopper x Joyce:

There is a list of my Jopper ideas (Various degrees of notes)

Teenage Joyce and Hopper meeting in high school and their relationship that follows. Maybe a oneshot? Maybe a series? (Notes)

Hopper x Billy: (Over 18-years-old and no longer in high school!)

1940/50’s AU - Hopper meets expat Billy at a cigar club while on vacation in Havana. A familiar face, so to speak, in a foreign land. Hop pays Billy to take him back to his apartment and “keep him company”. Maybe two chapters? Inspired by a photo of Dacre Montgomery in GQ Germany. (Partially written.)

Hopper catches Billy “renting his time” at a truck stop outside of town and threatens to arrest him, but Billy bribes him with sex. (Unwritten.) I’m sorry but there’s just something about the idea of rent boy Billy that I absolutely love.

Hopper + Billy + Reader - completely implausible threeway (Unwritten)

David Harbour RPF:

AU where instead of being an actor, he’s a drama teacher at a high school in New York City and the kids from Stranger Things are his students. Pure fluff. (Please write this for me!)

Giving him a blow job before an important event. TWO different versions. Inspired by numerous photos of David wearing a robe. (Minimal notes)

Riding his thigh and everything that entails. Inspired by a picture of David from GQ Mexico. (Minimal notes)

touch-starved!David hires a sexworker during the pandemic because he’s lonely quarantining by himself. No sex. He literally just wants a hug and someone to be affectionate with him. Unconventional fluff. (Unwritten)

Other DKH-related shenanigans:

Let’s Ride sequel - Reader goes on a second date with Deacon from SoulCycle, they go out for sashimi and end up at his place. He has a cat that he inherited from a neighbor. Reader teaches him how to put her in a chokehold. (Unwritten)

Alexei Shostakov smut - some type of Bond Girl situation where Reader has to seduce him. Just an excuse for me to lovingly describe his large tattooed body in vivid detail. (Unwritten)

The Stranger - Reader has an ongoing affair with a mysterious man whose name is never mentioned. They meet at high society functions and hook up in fancy hotels. One night, he finds out that she’s married and punishes her for her dishonesty. Inspired by a photo of David looking annoyed in a tuxedo. (Notes)

Daddy Dom/little girl roleplay fantasy. Sweet, smutty, and slightly taboo. (Notes)

Daddy’s Little...Helper - Me, as submissive!Reader, watching Daddy jack off right in front of my face after he comes home from work. Based on a conversation with an Instagram friend and a picture of David in the play “Cal In Camo” where he’s holding a beer bottle between his legs. (65%)

Stranger Things x Twin Peaks crossover - Chief Jim Hopper comes to Twin Peaks to help Special Agent Dale Cooper solve some type of paranormal mystery. Perhaps a parallel between The Black Lodge and The Upside Down? I think this would work really really well, but I can’t write it myself. (Please write this for me!)

In conclusion: Yes, I know I need to have my head examined. Yes, I know I spend too much time thinking about Jim Hopper. Let me know if you LIKE these ideas. Please do not let me know if you hate these ideas.

Tagging: @manawhaat @strangest-hour @007swhore @kingphillipblake @david-harbour-arg @misshawkins1993 @oxforddrama 

[msjr0119]

Hold On

Part 23- Al Fresco Lunch

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing, smut🍋. If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

So sorry for the delay in posting this- as the series was due to end a few chapters ago, I’ve had ‘writers block’... 😫

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @butindeed @bbrandy2002 @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415

******

Liam was finally relieved that his meetings were all complete for the day, they took a bit longer than expected but now his priority was to spend time with Riley.

‘Gliding’ up to his chambers, still feeling like he was floating on cloud nine - he noticed that Riley was asleep on the couch. Deep down he just wanted to awake her from her slumber but would feel guilty. Instead he placed a warm fluffy blanket that covered her tiny frame perfectly.

Whispering- I love you in her ear, he decided to take a shower. Now she was pregnant, she would be tired all the time. Whilst showering he kept imagining what their baby would be like. Would they have blonde hair like him, or brown hair like their beautiful mom. What kind of accent would they speak? Would it be European with a twang of American? Would they be wrapped around his little finger- of course. All these questions didn’t really matter, as Liam knew the baby was already loved so much.

Bastien had helped him postpone some meetings tomorrow- tomorrow he had planned to propose to Riley again, hoping in his heart that this was now the right time. Liam left Bastien with one job to complete- to make an important phone call to someone close to him.

Liam sat admiring Riley whilst she slept- she was like a goddess, the beauty that surrounded her made her look radiant. She began to stir, he immediately knelt down near her, caressing her cheek. Her eyes blinked - eventually opening slowly, baby blues fixated on each other.

“Hey.” Riley noticed him smiling adorably towards.

“Hello, beautiful. Did you have a good sleep?”

“Yes, I didn’t mean to fall asleep it just happened.”

Liam smiled at her as she sat up and gestured him to sit next to her. Wrapping one arm around her, his other arm protectively went around her stomach as he kissed her cheek. Riley’s heart fluttered, knowing now that this was going to be her life- she was carrying the heir to the throne and Liam made her happy beyond words.

“I can’t wait to meet him or her..I’m going to treat you to lunch tomorrow.”

“I can’t either. I’m just scared. This is going to a long pregnancy if I’m already tired.”

“I’m with you for every step, Ri. I love you both so much.”

Riley snuggled into his embrace. After everything they had been through since meeting in New York, this was their new beginning. Scared. Relieved. Happy. So many emotions were running through her mind. As long as she had Liam she knew she could get through anything.

*****

The next morning, Liam woke up before Riley and ordered some breakfast. Hoping she wouldn’t feel nauseous and could hold it down. Suggesting many options- he wasn’t sure what she was fancying, if she had any cravings yet. He was intending on researching all the facts about pregnancy.

They quietly ate breakfast together, Riley sat picking at the food. She was grateful for Liam’s sweet gesture but wasn’t feeling entirely up to to eating. Liam ran her a bath, lighting candles surrounded it like he did that time in Lythikos with the hot tub. That night her eyes lit up. After her soak in the bath, she felt more relaxed and was hoping her appetite would be better for her lunch date with Liam.

“You look beautiful as always. Are you ready to go?”

“Thank you. Yes. Where are we going?”

“Not far. Take a walk with me?”

Riley nodded, linking her arm in his. She looked confused as they ambled towards the maze.

“This brings back memories.”

Riley noted, some good and some bad. The first night at the masquerade ball- they played ‘maze tag’ after secretly meeting up and the night of the coronation they shared a loving moment- Liam wanted more but Riley hesitantly just wanted to be held in his arms not expecting what was due to happen. Wondering why Liam had brought her here, her mind was racing.

“So, I wasn’t sure if your appetite had returned. I won’t be offended, if it hasn’t. But I thought we could have a light lunch al fresco style, ending it with a scrumptious cronut.”

Riley’s eyes widened and lit up. Remembering how she convinced everyone to sneak out on a cronut run. Remembering how Liam had to be the ‘naughty prince’ jumping out of his window- risking breaking a limb. Without realising, tears formed in her eyes and gracefully fell down her cheeks- damn hormones. Liam pulled the chair away from the table, allowing her to sit down- he was a gentleman after all. After eating, Liam became fidgety, he could swear that his heart was leaping out of his chest. Why he was so nervous, he didn’t understand- this time was different to last time. In the past there were so many obstacles- the break up of his engagement to Madeleine, Riley being confused about her feelings towards both Liam and Drake. Now it was fate- they were now having a baby together. They were going to be first time parents. Taking a big gulp, he stood up- gently taking Riley towards the hedge. Holding her in his warm embrace.

“Ri, I know this last year has been incredibly hard for the both of us. Losing you absolutely broke me. Seeing you fighting for your life twice- made me realise even more that I can’t lose you again. So many obstacles have prevented us from loving each other publicly, but you’ve always been in my heart-since the first night we met. It’s different now...”

Riley noticed Liam lose his usual stoic attitude, his voice was a nervous tone, he was shaking. Holding him tightly she had an inkling on what he was doing. They had been in this situation before. The night she broke his heart- for what? To be made a mug of. Regretting the first proposal rejection from the King, she had hoped this was why he was acting this way- in case she rejected him again.

“Li, I love you.” She said, providing him with a soft smile.

“Riley, I love you too. So much. I feel unbelievably lucky that you love me back.”

Liam cupped her cheeks, and placed a soft kiss on her cherry bud lips. When they parted, he slowly went down on one knee. Riley’s eyes became like a burst dam, pouring out uncontrollably.

“I am going to dedicate to be the best King and Father I can be, I am going to protect you both with all my heart. I know I will be a better man having you by my side. Riley Brooks, I’ve asked you this question before and I know that the last time was inappropriate timing. You’ve once again made my life complete, but... Will you marry me and make my heart burst with more pride? Please, say you’ll be my Queen?”

Riley bit her lip, before pulling Liam up and falling into his embrace. He held her protectively- impatiently waiting for her response. Both of their eyes contained tears due to emotion.

“I love you, my King. Of course I’ll marry you.” She whispered into his ear.

Liam was beaming, he rested his forehead against Riley’s. Taking her hand slowly, he kissed the side of her wrist- now knowing that his mothers ring would sit on her finger permanently. Taking her arm gently, he pulled her back into his embrace- before shifting her backwards towards the hedge, kissing her tenderly. The coldness of the hedge sent a shock down her spine. “Riley” he said softly. She’s mine, he thought.

“Liam, I want you my king.” Riley seductively demanded. A now mischievous smile formed on her face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Don’t you want to?” That was all Liam needed to know.

“Yes. Oh god yes!”

The next kiss was delicate before turning passionate and deepening. His hands roamed, her delicate frame. Both losing themselves in each other’s touches. Kissing her neck and shoulder, he slowly unzipped her dress, allowing it to drop to the floor.

“You are so beautiful. I know I keep saying it. But I will keep telling you until I take my last breath.” Riley blushed at Liam’s comment, he knew how to make her heart flutter constantly.

“Liam, you are handsome and the most caring man I’ve met.”

Riley eagerly removed his tuxedo, before placing her hands under his white shirt- feeling his abs, exploring his bare skin. Pulling his shirt over his head, She immediately felt the warmth from his body. Their baby blues both fixated on each other, taking in each other’s appearance. Liam cupped her breasts whilst kissing her neck , as she worked her hands down to his waistline- finally discarding his trousers on the floor. Running his hands down her thighs, he effortlessly picked her up- she wrapped her legs around his waist. Liam began to thrust against her holding her protectively and strongly- before their body’s rocked in perfect sync.

*****

After their moment against the hedge, he slid his mothers ring onto her delicate finger- the whole moment felt like a dream. Both still breathless from the waves of pleasure they had encountered, they both quickly got dressed- Liam held Riley in his arms, he could have stayed there all day but needed to discuss a ‘shotgun’ wedding as she was pregnant with Cordonia’s heir. Liam lifted Riley’s chin, whilst stroking her now ruffled hair idly.

“So, I don’t want to rush things. I’d do anything for you Riley. But...” Staring at Riley with sorrow in his eyes, he hoped she would agree to his plan.

“But?” Riley was now dreading what the King was about to suggest.

“Leo has just returned to Cordonia. If you want, we can have a small ceremony with friends and family - possibly just have Ana and Donnie there to keep our people in the loop. I know you’re tired and stressed with the baby- I don’t want you gaining anymore stress. Then once the baby has been born, we can have the big royal wedding including the heir- our beautiful baby.”

“Will it be acceptable to do that?”

She didn’t know much about Cordonian law- feeling like she was being naive asking such a question. Either way, for the first time in her life she felt content. After what seemed like an eternity, she was now getting the fairytale life- with a man she loved and having a baby who will be adored. This was both their second chance at happiness.

“I’m king. As long as we’re married in some way before the baby arrives it shouldn’t matter. We can get married tomorrow morning if you want?”

“That quick?” Riley needed to learn how to contain stoic expressions- she knew he would want to get wed quick, but tomorrow? Her stomach began to twist. Liam saw her eyes widen, as she stood frozen.

“Yes. If you-“ Riley interrupted, after the initial shock, she knew she had to do this. As long as she had Liam, everything would be fine. Tomorrow she was going to be Mrs Riley Rhys- Queen Of Cordonia.

“I’ll marry you whenever, Liam. I’m shocked at how soon. But I can’t wait to be your wife- your Queen.”

*******

His Majesty King Liam and Lady Riley Brooks announced their engagement earlier on today. They will have a small ceremony tomorrow between friends and family. Myself and Donnie Brine from the CBC have been invited and have been given permission to share photos with the public afterwards. We are all wondering why this ceremony is taking place so immediately. Is our future Queen possibly carrying an heir already?

The King has informed us, that at a later date they will have a blessing of their vows which they will share with the public of Cordonia.

We look forward to seeing Lady Riley as our new Queen. Congratulations to happy couple.

Ana De Luca - Trend Magazine.

[brightsun-and-darkmidnight]

Heartbeat: A Fragile Reminder

TITLE: Heartbeat: A Fragile Reminder

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 37 / ?

AUTHOR: brightsun-and-dark midnight

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki falling in love with a Midgardian and his words to Thor about Jane during Dark World coming back to haunt him. “It would be a heartbeat. You would never be ready.”

RATING:  M for Mature

NOTES/WARNINGS: ~▪︎~FOR THE WHOLE STORY~▪︎~

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Check Masterlist. It's going to be a long read. I try to keep each chapter around 3,000 words.

My Ao3: brightsun_and_darkmidnight

!-!TRIGGER WARNING(S)!-!

So many triggers, read ALL of them!

Swearing. Angst. Death. Depression. Violence. Self-harm. Regret. Carelessness for safety. Doubts. Torture. NSFW. Smut. Fluff. And Of Course- Mischief.

Summary: Loki and Alicia spend time together intimately and then publicly but Alicia's visions start to play out.

~ ~ ENJOY ~ ~

Alicia took Loki to her room. She looked to her bags that needed to be unpacked but Loki's hands on her arms as he stared at her gave her jolt of confusion.

She laughed a little. "What do we do now? It's been so long since we have been alone."

"Anything you want."

Alicia looked up to Loki and replied softly, "make love with me."

Loki's hands went to her waist. "Are you sure?"

She nodded as she placed her glasses on the end table. Everything was blurry without her glasses but she hated them getting in the way. "We were able to sit and talk, cuddle, you read to me, we had hospital food… we had arguments. The only thing we haven't had a chance to do was be intimate."

Alicia stared at his lips as they moved closer. Alicia released an unashamed moan when his tongue gently played with hers. 

Clothes were removed slowly by hand and kisses were passionate.

As Alicia moved onto the bed Loki was close behind. She laid down as her arms wrapped around him, pulling him onto her. She gasped as his fingers lightly touched her breast. With a few touches here and there Alicia was a panting, moaning mess.

Loki mused, "has it been so long that you have become so sensitive?"

Alicia bucked towards his hand. "Please stop teasing."

"But I like this." Loki glided along her very aroused entrance.

Alicia's back arched off the bed once Loki put those heavenly long fingers inside. "Oh Loki!"

"Calling my name already? Usually you save those towards your orgasms… tell me -how close are you now?"

Alicia was moving her hips to take more pleasure. "So close… please? Please Loki let me finish?"

"I like this very much. I am barely trying…"

Alicia felt him working her body to its maximum pleasure.

"Lets see how many times I can make you finish before you are begging me to stop."

Alicia's body was shaking in pleasure by the time Loki decided to finally participate in his own.

"You are so wonderful, wrapping around me so tightly, quivering with how your last orgasm ended and how a new one begins."

Alicia pulled him by the hair forcing a groan from him. 

"Stop talking."

She felt him smiling widely as she worked her mouth with his. 

Alicia craved Loki's touch for so long, so instead of feeling tired she seemed to have more energy. She moved and he let her be on top. He however sat up and kissed her. He held onto her back with his fingers pressing tightly as his hands went down her back and onto her ass. She felt him forcing himself deeper as his breath grew faster, her own breath was labored as she felt one more orgasm burning its way through her entire being.

Loki husked, "You're not begging to stop."

Alicia whispered, "I want you."

Loki put his forehead to Alicia's. "I love you."

Alicia enjoyed their bath and especially being wrapped in blankets with gentle caresses from Loki's slow hands. Alicia hummed as she felt Loki's fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps all over her skin. Feeling too relaxed she looked at the time and noticed it was time for bed.

"I guess I should go find Emma soon."

Loki never took his eyes off of her. "Are you tired?"

A shiver went through Alicia as Loki's fingers went over her chest. "A little."

"Time to get dressed then."

After a brief search they found Emma. She told Alicia a bed was ready in the healing area and to make a small bag just for the night and tomorrow morning. After doing the suggested thing, Alicia went to her sleeping room. 

Loki stayed for a little but Emma explained Alicia did enough by herself. "She just needs to be monitored in the beginning. That damn ring better do it's damn job."

Loki glared at the enchanted ring. "Alicia is determined Marcibeth has good intentions."

Alicia's breath became labored. 

Emma went to Alicia and grumbled. "Such a kind sister."

Hassiba smiled at Loki as she guided him to the door. "I am sure she will be fine. Get rest prince Loki."

Loki slept well enough but made sure to be at Alicia's side before she woke. Her eyes sparkled when she was fully awake with her glasses on to see him.

Everyone was called for lunch to reunite the team.

Alicia rolled her eyes with a light laugh as everyone joked and teased each other. It was nice to be with everyone again, to feel part of a family...

Alicia leaned forward in anticipation. "Is there any new information on my father or sister?"

The looks the team gave each other before Tony spoke. "Fury is working with all of us to plan another search mission."

Alicia nodded slowly. "Is there progress?"

Loki nodded as his hand went to her knee. "Tony has made devices for each person so we can make a map, as well as improved magic cancellation."

Alicia played with Loki's fingers, "I suppose I am going to be on the mission?"

Thor answered, "no. You will not go on this mission."

Alicia stopped playing with Loki's hand then looked to the TV as the news was on about the New Years party later in the evening. The news once again being concerned about Loki and herself being in a relationship again.

Loki shrugged, "apparently we broke up again."

Alicia shrugged, "such a shame we are going to have to make a public appearance tonight with the other."

Loki faked an upset look, "it is a real shame we are going to be happy."

Alicia gave him a small smile, "a real shame."

The party for new years was exciting but much tamer than the past ones. Tony kept checking in with Pepper most of the party and barely drank. The party lasted long enough until Tony decided to leave.

Alicia was away from Loki to visit the bathroom. When she was washing her hands a few women walked in quietly. Alicia's phone went off from a message and an odd shiver ran through her. Deciding to check it outside she walked to the exit but was stopped by two women that were waiting to use the bathroom stalls.

"You might want to get that."

Alicia narrowed her eyes at the hand on her arm. "Why?"

"Look or don't is up to you. But Luit is not patient."

A chill ran down her spine and felt the cold course through her veins. Her hands shook trying to get her phone out of her purse.

There was a picture of her dad tied to a chair. His face was bruised and an eye was swollen shut. The injuries looked fresh as of a few hours ago. The cuffs with Asgardian runes and symbols in the hands of Luit beside Marcus. Luit had the smirk he had when she last saw him during the attack on Asgard.

The caption, "You or him."

Alicia studied the women in front of her and noticed two of the other women behind her. "What do I need to do?"

"You come with us. We will be waiting in the lobby as you get casual clothes on. You have 20 minutes to meet us or we notify Luit to put those cuffs on your father."

Alicia glared at the woman as she let go of her arm. "I will be there."

Alicia hurried to her room, changed and undid her fancy hair into the mess of a bun. She walked quickly to the lobby, being sure to avoid the paparazzi and the team.

All four of the women were already changed and rushed her to an SUV.

Alicia held the pendant to notify the others of her location.

They took her down a gravel road that went into the woods then a large open field. A building in the center of everything. Alicia was happy no civilians would be in harms way, especially if the visions happened. It was not a hide out that everyone looked through often since no evidence of Luit and Edward being there. Alicia believed him but Loki was right that Luit did not leave a trail.

Alicia was guided through a series of tunnels with bends and turns that made it like a maze. Finally they stopped at a door and pushed Alicia inside. She glared at them.

"Alicia.. no."

Alicia hurried to her father but she was stopped by Luit. His smile made her stomach turn. The gesture for her hands made Marcus plead and beg for Alicia to leave.

Luit teased Marcus as he smiled down at Alicia. "Stop whining Grumpus. Your little girl decided this on her own. Besides aren't you glad you don't get to wear these anymore?" Luit gestured for Alicia's hands with the cuffs again.

Alicia kept her face as harsh and threatening as it would ever manage. "Let him go."

Luit smiled as he spoke to Marcus while still staring at Alicia, "your other daughter was always meant to be with us."

Marcibeth walked swiftly and stood Marcus up. Her face was void of all emotions.

Alicia stared at her sister, hoping things would go as Alicia has been playing out in her visions. Alicia felt a tingle of pain as she talked to Marcibeth..."Marc. Please. Take care of him."

Luit grinned, "oh she will. The first thing your father will do is get you help. He is the messenger to your darling Loki. Now hands."

Alicia offered her hands and it hurt worse than Marcibeth's cuffs. She couldn't keep her eyes open as each surge of magic was halted. She screamed and screamed each time the magic couldn't be freed. It just kept building inside of her. 

Alicia opened her eyes after a brief moment of no pain and saw her father being rushed out of the room. Despite him trying to fight back he was pushed out of the room. 

Her eyes closed tightly as the magic surged again, screaming. Then something was shoved into her mouth and tied around her head. She barely winced as her hair was tied into the knot as well. Another surge tore through her and she nearly fell. Would have if she wasn't practically being carried already. A moment of clarity let her catch her breath and she fought back against the ones holding her.

She felt them tie something around her eyes as hands grabbed her arms and legs. Then she felt herself being lifted off the ground. They carried her for a while. She groaned and twisted her body in pain. It felt like she was being carried downstairs. She heard the slamming of a door. Alicia's hands that were bound were pulled up and she heard chains. She was set on her feet, her hands were pulled above her head so she had to stand on her toes. "Remove the cloth over her eyes." A rough voice said. She remembered that voice. She felt someone rip the cloth down, forcing it over her nose and cheek bones. Leaving it around her neck. Alicia forced her eyes open despite the blinding light in her eyes. She glared around the room at the outlines of people. She saw a red dot, a camera recording. There was silence. Alicia kept her face harsh. "Alicia Mae Gad. Lets get to the point. We have been monitoring the Avengers' and Sheild's activity. The reports I have, says that you have gone on missions with the Avengers. You are the daughter of the man who killed my brother. A beasts whore, that killed few of the last remaining people I cared about." There was a pause. Luits calm voice echoed off the walls. "Lets Remove the gag. See if she has anything to say." She saw someone come at her. She got a good look at the one that removed her gag. Short dark hair, dark cold eyes, big ears... Edward. "Well?" Edward demanded, the voice finally matching a face. Alicia glared. "Why not kill me now?" Luit's voice was filled with amusement. "Make her remember she is able to talk because of her purpose." Edward took a swing to the side of her face. Alicia groaned. The pain from the impact hurt but her tooth cut into her cheek. She held the blood in her mouth for the time being. She stared at the floor, her head still turned from the punch. 

Edward grabbed her face and as soon as she saw his eyes, she spit. His eyes closed immediately and backed away. His hand wiped down his face and he looked as if he was going to kill her. He walked swiftly towards her. 

Luit tutted. "Be easy Edward. While she is some Asgardian she is pretty fragile. I don't want her hurt too bad, she is the trap after all."

She felt sharp pains in her ribs and sides as he used her as a punching bag. The only thing Alicia could do was close her eyes tightly and clench her jaw shut. 

She made a pitiful sound as another rush of magic went through her. She felt the cuffs digging into her wrists as the pain rendered her legs useless. Luit chuckled, "I think she has had enough." The punches stopped and Alicia opened her eyes. The man looked angrier than before. She saw him turn, then the blur of his leg. A sharp pain shot through her right ribs and she heard a terrible sound that made her hair stand on end. She cried, panted and felt the immediate sweat trickling down various parts of her body. She squinted. Saw the satisfied look on Edward's face. Alicia stared harshly. Luit rolled on his feet back and forth with a grin. "Your father was sent to be the messager. You really think he won't bring the Avengers' with him? SHEILD might come too in order to save their fortune teller." There was a low laugh. "Marcibeth told me about your visions. And I am aware of her enchanting your ring." 

Alicia heard him laugh as she groaned at her magic being stopped again.

"Doesn't seem she was too successful but it worked well enough for her first time. Anyway... I am sure your co-heros will be here soon, maybe not, it is possible they won't make it to you before you die." Luit patted her face with a smile then resumed moving back and forth on his feet. "The body can only handle so much before it shuts down… But you are gonna live, right? Your sister stated she saw the visions of you healing. Will time be on your side? Oh!-There is a clock behind me so you can time just how quickly your heros get here. Or even to time how long you last." Luit stopped rolling on his feet and paced back and forth in front of Alicia. "So lets say they do find you... As soon as the cuffs are removed a bomb will go off, blowing this place up like the fireworks of the new year. You should have brought people with you to try to end me. You probably would have had a better chance. But now... You put everyone in danger." Luit stood closer and Alicia could see his face. "Congrats...."

Alicia claimed a ragged breath before speaking. "What did you to my sister?"

Luit smiled. "I don't have to discuss this here. Until next time!" The gag was replaced. Before Luit left, he dug his fingers into where she was kicked. Alicia screamed but it was muffled by the gag.

Luit tapped his own forehead with a delightful laugh. "Oh yes. Need to send something to get Loki riled up and get here faster." Luit turned his back to Alicia, he held up a phone to take a selfie. "Hanging in there," was typed into the phone as Luit spoke slowly. He showed Alicia before walking out. The phone was tossed carelessly over his shoulder and clattered on the floor. 

"We have been recording your stay here,"Luit said in a sing-song voice. "We sent the video to the Avengers tower. With everyone seeing it at the tower the news will be sure to cover it."

Edward stepped into the light. His voice low and threatening, but oddly cheerful. "Ever since the night I went to your childhood house I have been inside Marcibeth's head. She might be my niece but the life she had is not the one she should have experienced. Your father stole your mother from my brother. From Marcibeth's father… Too bad you won't get to know the lies of your life. At least, not yet."

Alicia wanted the information on Marcibeth and her own bloodlines. Not able to do anything, she glared at him for dangling scraps of information over her head. 

Edward left with a sinister smile. "I will see you again soon enough."

[jenomark]

Part 4- Final

➔Pairing: Idol!Haechan x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: Johnny ➔Genre: Smut (with a plot!) ➔Warnings: Angst ➔Word count: 4,549

➔Summary: He’s an idol, a friend, and now you’re taking his virginity. Beginning your friends-with-benefits relationship with Haechan wasn’t the best idea, but you just can’t help yourself when it comes to him.

↞ Part 1 ↞ Part 2 ↞ Part 3 

  You couldn’t stop looking through the pictures. When you finished scrolling all the way through them, you started from the beginning. You tried to imagine what others would see when looking at them. Could the pictures be passed off as only a friendly exchange? You didn’t think so, but you were trying so hard to think of a way to save things. You held Johnny’s phone, as if it were a hostage in your hands, and your finger hovering over the SEND button, like it were a trigger. Your message just said: Why??, but you knew you’d never send it. The person on the other end didn’t care what you had to say. It was their business to make money off of the backs of others, to screw up as many lives as possible while trying to justify their actions. Someone had sent the pictures to Johnny through text. How they got a hold of his number, you didn’t know and didn’t ask. You looked at the unknown number, reading each number to yourself, but it didn’t matter which person sent it, just that someone was trying to away the one thing that mattered to you most in the world: Haechan.

  While you were sitting there contemplating every avenue, Haechan and Johnny were arguing in the background. Haechan was walking back and forth, addressing Johnny without honorifics, his voice too shaky to be confident. He was fighting for you, for the both of you. His points were messy, but they were being made. You should have joined, but you couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the future and how much it scared you. You could fight Haechan to be with him, but you didn’t think you were ready to fight the rest of the world.

  Johnny had sat down at your kitchen table, his arms resting on his knees. His voice was deep and colorful, a few shades darker than Haechan’s. You hadn’t spent much time with Johnny, but there was something about him that made you feel intimidated. Like a child would, you kept waiting for him to scold you for corrupting someone he considered a brother. He could be angry with Haechan all he wanted, but you were the real infiltrator. If it wasn’t for you, Johnny wouldn’t have found himself tangled up in your mess. 

  While Haechan was hysterical, Johnny was calm. You could hear the disappointment in Johnny’s voice poking through your trance. You asked yourself if you really cared what he thought of you. When you couldn’t come up with an answer, you got a good look at him. Johnny looked at Haechan like he adored him. You could tell that he would always be on Haechan’s side, but Haechan would refuse to see it that way. It would be hard for him not to feel like Johnny’s worry wasn’t a personal attack.

   Haechan took many things to his heart. He liked to pretend he didn’t have one, but that heart carried more love than it could handle. You looked at Haechan, his face stuck with the same terrified expression as when he first came.

  He arrived soon after you called him, which felt like a testament of how much he cared for you, and that he meant what he said the previous night. He didn’t knock, just ran up the stairs to your rescue, skipping two steps at a time. When he reached the top, you weren’t waiting for him. You were sitting across from Johnny, in silence. Before Haechan arrived, Johnny asked you if you knew what you were doing. He was polite, but there was an edge to his voice. You knew he wanted to curse you out, to make sure you knew he wasn’t happy with you. You weren’t using your brain, truthfully. You were using other parts of your body until those were used up, and then, lastly, you used your heart. You were still using your heart when Haechan entered the room. You could feel the tug in your chest when his eyes met yours. He had wanted to hug you and kiss you, but he decided to stand as far away from you as possible.

“This is my life,” Haechan said, his voice getting higher. “I don’t care what anyone has to say about how I live it. If I have to face the consequences, I will. Happily. ”

“It’s not just your life,” Johnny said. “You have twenty other people attached to what you do. Your consequences become our consequences. I wish it weren’t like that, Haechan, but it is.”

“Stop yelling.” you said.

 You weren’t aware they weren’t yelling anymore. You looked up to see both Haechan and Johnny looking at you. Neither had paid attention to you since they started talking about the scandal. You were just another piece of furniture in the room, another box full of junk.

“I hate this.” you said.

  You erased the unsent message and placed Johnny’s phone on the couch cushion next to you. Somehow, you had found your way to the couch, but you didn’t remember how, or when. You were moving through life feeling as if your body and mind were separated. With both boys attention on you, you felt too seen, too spread out . You stood and paced around the room until you found yourself beside Haechan, your arm brushing against his. 

 “It was stupid,” Johnny said. “You both know that.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.” Haechan said.

“Please,” you interjected. “Please, stop. This isn’t solving anything. Haechan and I are both adults. We entered a relationship knowing what we were doing. We didn’t need permission from anyone. “

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell Johnny.” Haechan said.

Johnny lowered his head. “Your relationship can’t happen. We can save this. We’ll tell them that you were just going on a date and that will be it. It didn’t work out. You decided you weren’t ready for a relationship. They can have the full press release, if they want. They’ll paint a nicer picture if you let them have control. As long as they don’t release all the pictures from last night, it will be fine.”

“A date back to his dorm?” you asked. “We were all over each other in those pictures. They’re not going to believe that story. They’ll want more. They’ll keep wanting more.”

“Not everything is how it appears,” Johnny said. “Everyone will deduce what they want.”

“We fucked on his bed,” you said. “We almost fucked on yours, too.”

“Baby.” Haechan warned.

 Johnny looked at Haechan like he was going to kill him. It was a low blow, you knew, but you felt helpless. You didn’t like lying, you didn’t want to pretend you didn’t like Haechan any longer, and you weren’t ready to let him go. The apologetic look on your face should have been enough to tame Johnny, but he stood up and groaned.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Johnny, all the times I’ve met you, I’ve always liked you. You have a good head on your shoulders. I trust you. I know Haechan does, too, but I think this is where we have to stop listening to other people and start listening to ourselves. I don’t feel comfortable giving those assholes any piece of my life.”

  Johnny shook his head. “And if it affects his career? What then? If you don’t care about his brothers, care about him.”

“Johnny,” Haechan said. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

  The anger dripping from Haechan’s voice made your head snap right. He reached for your hand and held it, his fingers clasping tightly around yours. Haechan stood firm, his chin jutted outwards, and his chest puffed out in a display of bravery. He looked silly standing up to someone so much bigger than him, but your heart swelled with pride.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny apologized.” This situation is fucked up. I’m stressed out. It will look bad if it’s done any other way. If you tell them to fuck off, those pictures will be released. Whether you like it or not, they’ll hold this over your heads for a long time, and it will all be perfectly legal.”

  Johnny sat back down. Haechan’s grip on your hand relaxed a little. The three of you were in complete silence for a few moments, each thinking of what conclusion seemed to fit best. When neither man spoke, you licked your dry lips and tried to take your best shot at making a logical choice.

“What if we just came clean about everything?” you said. “ On our own terms, I mean. Haechan could release his own statement through the company. Would that be too crazy at this stage of his career?”

“Yes.” Johnny said.

“Yes.” Haechan agreed.

“But that’s the only sane alternative,” you said. “Pretending we’re nothing won’t make people back down. We’re not breaking up. We’ll never be able to step foot publicly again, not even for late night walks to see each other. I refuse to live like that, Donghyuck. If the pictures will come out anyway, we might as well be truthful about them. Unless you want to break up with me right here, right now, what choice do we have? "

“They don’t know everything,” Haechan said. “They can’t threaten us.”

“We don’t know how much they know,” Johnny said. He looked at you, his face warm and inviting. “Knowing them, they’ll have your whole background by now. The world will want to know who you are, what you do, why he chose you. You’ll be compared to other people and ripped to shreds, all because you didn’t give them the story first. They’ll start to question every intimate part of your relationship and will actively try to destroy it. Are you ready for that? Are you ready for people you thought were your friends to sell your secrets? Haechan, are you ready for people to turn on you?”

“Maybe they won’t,” Haechan said. “Our fans love us. They love me. They’ll understand. ”

“Haechan, your optimism can’t save everything, “ Johnny said. “ As much as our fans wish us the best, there are people out there who do not. We can’t forget that.”

“I know.” Haechan said.

  You used your free hand to rub your face. You should have woken up today feeling happiness, from your head to the tips of your toes. You looked over at Haechan. He looked younger when he was stressed, his cheeks full, and his eyes puffy. Feeling your gaze, he looked over and gave you a tight smile. That smile could keep you holding on for a long time, you realized. When you both turned your attention back to Johnny, for the first time, you could see him trying to understand what the two of you were doing together. His sympathetic gaze was real, and it kept you clinging to tiny shards of hope.

“Help me understand,” Johnny said. “I knew something was going on when you didn’t go on the date, Haechan. She was perfectly your type. I thought there was someone else, a little crush you weren’t telling me about, but I didn’t think it was her. When I saw you together last night, I knew trouble was coming.”

“Trouble?” you asked, the word slipping from your mouth like a swear word. 

“I love her,” Haechan said. “It wasn’t supposed to happen, but you know me, I never do what I’m supposed to do.”

“And you would risk it all, Haechan?” Johnny asked. “For her?”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” you said. “For fucks sake.”

“Yes,” Haechan answered, his words coinciding with your own.

“I wouldn’t let him do that,” you said. “Believe or not, his career is important to me. I do care about all of you, too. I don’t want any negative press, especially any that is caused by me.”

“That wouldn’t be your choice.” Haechan said.

Johnny laughed. There was no humor, only emptiness. “If you say that you’re not dating exclusively, and that you broke up, you might avoid all of that. Look at other couples who have done it. ”

“Yeah?” you asked. “Do you think any of them are happy?”

“Do you think you will be happy once you lose your job?” Johnny asked.” Last I heard, fucking a fellow employee isn’t exactly appropriate. Losing your job would be kinder than everything else that’s at stake. For all of us.”

"All I want is to be happy,” you whispered. “Why is that so bad, Johnny?”

“It’s selfish.” Johnny said. 

 Haechan let go of your hand. Everything happened in a flash. He moved across the room and kicked down the boxes that were stacked. Releasing his anger on the cardboard didn’t help, so he started punching your wall. The screams that came out of his mouth were desperate and raw. You ran to him, tears in your eyes, your hands reaching out for him the moment he stopped. He let you hold his bruised knuckles in your hand. Johnny hovered behind you, his eyes assessing the damage. You cupped Haechan’s sweaty face and kissed the tip of his red nose.

“He has to get that checked out,” Johnny said. He checked his watch and cursed under his breath. “Fuck. We have to go. We’re late for our schedule. We’ll talk about this later.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Haechan said.  “I’m staying right here until this is solved.”

“Haechan.” Johnny said, the authority in his voice not fazing Haechan one bit.

You turned to Johnny. “Get out. I mean, give us a moment, please.”

  Reluctantly, Johnny left your apartment. You waited until his heavy footsteps were down your stairs until you kissed Haechan. You ran your fingers through his hair, resting your hand on the back of his neck. You tried looking into his eyes, but they were glossy and unfocused. 

“You have to go,” you said. “Treat your hand, go to your schedule, and I will talk to you later. We don’t have to make a decision right now. We have a little time.”

“No.”

“Haechan, please.”

“No.”

  You breathed deeply. When you exhaled, Haechan’s lips were on yours. He pushed you against the same wall he had punched. You accepted his love and held him in your arms, your fingers roaming up his sweaty back. He cried, his body shaking with sobs. You kept trying to calm him down with kisses, with strokes, and with soft words, but nothing worked. He let himself go, crying out everything in one long breath.  When he was done, he rested his forehead on your shoulder, his body exhausted. You had never witnessed him cry like that, and it scared you more than anything.

“No.” Haechan said one last time.

  In the beginning of your relationship, sometime in the first two weeks, you and Haechan used to talk about what would happen if you were ever caught. Once, you came close to it when Renjun walked into a room unannounced. You and Haechan were making out, your hands getting well acquainted with each other's bodies. You were planning on getting down on your knees and sucking the life out of him, when Renjun walked in and saw both of you. Haechan pulled away from you in a flash, turning around to address Renjun and blocking you from view as best as he could. You stood in place, your lips swollen from his kiss, and your t-shirt stuck underneath the wire of your bra. It all happened so quickly that you didn’t have time to cover yourself. You thought it was all over then, that you would have to give him up, but Haechan saved the day.

“This isn't the dance practice room.” Haechan said casually.

  He threw his arm around Renjun and guided him out of the room. Neither man looked back at you, and according to Haechan, Renjun never asked what the two of you were doing in the room. It was easy for Haechan to believe in his friends stupidity, but you knew what kind of person Renjun was. He was too intelligent not to know what was going on. Renjun ignoring what was going on was a choice.

  So, when you had the conversation about what would happen if people found out, Haechan again, found it easy to believe in the best outcome. In the beginning, you found his optimism endearing. As you had gotten to know him, the way he took nothing seriously infuriated you. 

“No one will ever find out,” he had said. “I’m invincible. “

 Getting to know him even better meant knowing Haechan’s cockiness about the possibility of being caught was fake. Deep down, Haechan was nervous about his members, his friends and fans finding out. He disappeared for too long at times, he always smelled like your perfume when he came home, and he was beginning to divert every strain of his attention in your direction. It was amazing that no one called him out for months, and that it took a team of strangers to do it first. 

  There was never any plan in place because you thought you never needed one. Haechan had convinced you of that over time, or maybe you were just blinded by love so deeply that you forgot about the repercussions. Or, like Renjun, maybe it was your choice. You liked him so much that you didn’t care if someone caught you or not. 

  If it were up to you and only you, you would give the world the truth. You would publish the pictures yourself, complete with a statement about how things were going to progress. You would not be afraid to live your life. Haechan would not be bullied into leaving the group, and he would not cower under pressure from the public, or the media. Although it was easy for you to come to this awareness, it was much harder when you weren’t the public figure in question. You could easily scrape by, maybe deal with a little bullying about your past pictures on social media, your weight, and strangers questioning your intentions towards their idol boyfriend. You could tune it all out and live in bliss. It was Haechan who would feel most of the blow back, and when you thought about how much you truly did care for him, you didn’t want him to go through all that.

   After Johnny and Haechan left, you laid on your bed and thought about the smartest decision. You considered calling Renjun and asking his advice, but you weren’t comfortable with dragging more people into the mix. Instead, your anxiety was making up story lines that didn’t exist in your timeline. You felt guilty for bringing him into your life, for wanting him so badly that you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. You even entertained the idea of breaking up with him for his benefit. You didn’t mean it, and it wouldn’t be easy to hurt yourself again, but you could save Haechan and the twenty other men standing behind him.

  You pulled out your phone and tried texting Haechan, but he didn’t answer. You didn’t like not knowing what was going on. After he got his hand checked out, he sent you a picture of his bandaged fingers followed by a quick ‘I love you’. That was the last thing you heard from him. During schedules, you expected him to be busy, but time seemed so precious when an answer was needed before sundown. 

  You looked at your phone and counted down the hours until it was time to give an answer. You opened up your messages again and willed him to text you, to tell you which path he was going to choose. Around 4 p.m., Haechan finally texted:

Haechan: My hand really hurts.

You: Where have you been? I’ve been worried. Please talk to me.

Haechan: I’ll talk to you soon. I have to take care of some things first. I love you. 

  Haechan avoiding your pleas made you feel worse inside. You dropped your phone down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. You thought about if you were worth it or not. Maybe Haechan was deciding that you weren’t, and that’s why he couldn’t get back to you with an answer. If ghosting you was kinder, you couldn't blame him for it. The self-pity was pulling you to sleep, its sweltering hot arms crushing your ribs. You had nightmares about wandering the streets of the city, camera flashes blinding you, and hands pulling at your clothes. You called out Haechan’s name, but you couldn’t find him. You kept running and running through the throng of people, your hair flying in all directions, your body feeling like it was being torn apart. You woke up in a pool of your own sweat, your bedroom dark, and the only source of light coming from the street lamp outside. You checked your phone to see one new message.

Haechan: It’s over.

  You stared at the message so long that the screen went black. You felt like you were going to be sick, felt like his words were a fist being shoved down your throat, ready to rip out your insides through your mouth. It’s over. You expected the break-up message, expected him to make the best choice for himself. You did not expect that you would feel completely broken inside by it. Before you could message him back, another message came through:

Haechan: I’ve never been more scared in my life.

  You were getting ready to reply to his message, with all of your heart and tears, when you heard your front door open and the sound of the city curling itself up on your doormat. You sat up in bed and felt the hammering in your chest quicken, felt your mouth go dry. You heard his voice first, its high lilt drawing you in. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he called out. “I’m not sure my hand can take another beating. I’m not sure my heart can either.”

  You got out of bed and ran out into your living room. Haechan had finally reached the top of your stairs. He was wearing one of his stage outfits underneath his jacket, having come right over after a performance. With a wave of his bandaged hand, he let out a little chuckle. You were confused, lost, and ready to cry.

“I think a part of me will always be so scared,” he said. “But I know you’re here with me. ”

  Haechan touched his hand to his chest. The way he moved his hand made him wince in pain. You watched him look down at his feet and shake his head slowly. You knew he was having a moment to himself, a little sliver of time where he was willing the world to stop so that he could figure out which words to use.

“I know that everything is going to be okay.” he whispered.

 Without meaning to ruin the moment, you looked at the clock. The deadline had come and gone, time having slipped away from you once more. Which decision did you make? Haechan followed your eyes and sighed. Looking back at him, you were surprised to see him smiling genuinely. Your eyes traced his teeth, the fullness of his lips. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asked.  “Every time I try to think of a different outcome, of things I would differently, I realize I don’t care. It’s always just been me and you, and I think it will be me and you for a long time.”

  You walked into his arms, your body sinking into his like quicksand. Haechan kept his arms by his side and let you hold him, his nose breathing in your scent as if he were afraid he’d forget your smell. In the darkness of the apartment, it felt like the outside world did not exist. You pushed it away, pushed it back so far that its eyes couldn’t see either of you. There was no one waiting for you to respond, no hurt feelings, and no secrets. For the night, you were free. You held Haechan for awhile, basking in the quiet, your fingers moving up and down his spine.

“Tomorrow,” Haechan whispered, his lips by your ear. “The whole world will know about us.”

 You pulled away and looked into his eyes. You needed to know if the decision he made was solely his. Haechan’s face gave away nothing, but the way his body was closed up with fear told you what you needed to know. You took his arms and wrapped them around your waist. You kissed his lips, pushing past them until you were inside of his mouth.

“Ahh,” Haechan said, his familiar cockiness briefly returning. “You can’t resist me.”

You laughed lightly. “ Can anyone? ”

“No,” he said, pleased with himself. “I don’t think they can.”

  As if he were exhausted of holding it together all of the time, in the privacy of your space, Haechan let his shoulders roll back. The muscles in his face relaxed to reveal his boyish looks, and he allowed his hands to shake with fear, if that’s what they needed to do. He hung his head, let any tears race down his cheeks. You wanted to wipe them away and hear him talk about what happened, but he deserved to go through the motions. You would be there for him every step of the way. 

“Do you want to know everything that happened? Haechan asked. He wiped his nose and sniffled. 

“That conversation is for tomorrow,” you said. “All I need to know is that you’re happy.”

“I am,” he said,” I am happy now.”

 Haechan took your hand and pulled you in the direction of your bedroom. Not for sex and not for talking. You laid down with him in the dark, your bodies next to each other, and your hearts beating in succession. As the clock ticked past midnight, Haechan reached for your arm to drape over his body. You held him more tightly than you had ever held him before. You kissed the back of his neck and smiled when he pulled away because it tickled. Listening to the sounds of him eventually falling asleep made you feel at peace. You only hoped his dreams were kind to him.

   You woke up the next morning to Haechan snoring lightly beside you. You covered him with a blanket and kissed his cheek. Sleepily, you pulled yourself out of bed to look out of the window. The world outside was still and unassuming. You gave one last look at the life that granted you anonymity before turning back to the man you had fallen in love with.

  You found out later that Taeyong made a deal with the people leaking the photos. As long as Taeyong showed up when they wanted him, the photos of you and Haechan would never be leaked. Haechan talked it over with his members, each one making it clear that, ultimately, they would support whatever decision he made regarding his personal life. On his own terms, Haechan decided to tell the world about your relationship. Though it scared you both, you knew you always had each other.

[lokispettigerr]

Broken Boundaries: Jotun!Loki x Female Reader SMUT (NSFW)

Fic Summary: Female Reader just got back from traveling on a business trip, and hasn’t been able to see Loki in three weeks. He sets boundaries upon seeing her because he doesn’t think he will be able to control himself if he doesn’t. Unfortunately for him, his attempts at creating boundaries are futile, and he quickly is unable to control himself with Reader. His inability to control his appetites awakens his Jotun form. Super, glorious, Jotun!Loki smut.

Word Count: 3,359

General Taglist: @njavezan @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @avenging-blackwidow @lovelyxserpent-br @kamaroon @britkane-shsl-librarian

Taglist: @someonewithadirtymindsstuff @livicat1 @fan-girlygirl @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel @shockwavee @bluestaratsunrise @marikochi @alexcornerblog @inumorph

A/N: I have only been in an airport twice, so actually don’t know how to correctly describe it as I can’t remember the two times I went. Hope what I have works. 

Oh, how I missed Loki. I had been away on business in Detroit for three weeks, and being away from him for this long-- for any amount of time really, was hard for the both of us.

I walked off of the plane, following the winding, windowless hallway to the seated waiting area, where I knew Loki sat. I exited the hallway and saw him. Loki was sitting with his back facing me and his head down, his soft black curls falling around his face. He loved to read and made a point to do so any chance he got. Last night we spoke on the phone, (something he absolutely loathed but did it anyway because he loved talking to me), and he told me he had been close to finishing “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde-- a book I had recommended.

I quietly approached him from behind, my hands coming out to cradle each side of his head, and I slid them around and over his eyes. I bent down My hair falling and mingling with his own. “Guess who...” I said in a whisper, my lips caressing his ear.

I could feel his cheeks come up in my hands as he smiled. Loki lifted his chin so his head could fall back, and looked at me through his bright green eyes. I was wearing a low-cut shirt and the top of my prince’s head tickled the sensitive skin above my breasts.

“Y/N, my pet, I missed you” Loki crooned, his voice sounding like music to my ears.

I looked at him, wondering why he remained sitting. “Don’t I get a hug from my favorite person?”

“Your favorite God.” He corrected me, chuckling, “But for you, anything”…. He paused, looking down, his brows knitting together in a worried look.

“What is it, my love?” I asked concerned. “An old wound paining you?”

“Something pains me, but not a wound”, he mumbled, as if he was speaking more to himself than to me. Louder now, “In a minute—I just need a minute”.

“Sure baby, whatever you want.” I said in a sultry tone. My arms were still hanging around his neck and I rubbed my hands on his chest. He wore a black button up shirt, and I stuck the tips of my fingers in the gaps between the buttons, tickling his skin.

As soon as my hands began rubbing his chest, he cleared his throat. “Ah, Y/N, please can I—just a moment”.

It was unusual for Loki to not form complete sentences. His silver tongue always worked in his favor, but now it seemed it was failing him.

My lips parted, my pride wounded and I huffed removing my fingers from within his shirt and my hands from around his neck. Why didn’t he want me to touch him? While PDA was not something he was entirely comfortable with we had been working on it. He had quickly discovered that he enjoyed having me publicly touch and cuddle him, and him be able to do the same to me. He loved seeing other men envious over him touching me, and it made for some fun for the both of us later on.

Loki cleared his throat again, his fist coming up to cover his lips. He took a deep breath and stood, his hands resting in front of his belt buckle.

My face lit up, “hug now?”.

“Well how could I ever turn you down like that?” he smiled, throwing his arms open wide.

I threw myself into his arms squeezing him, and he held me, like divine vice of steel. I felt his head tilt down and he buried it in my hair, his chest moving as he took deep breaths-- breathing me in.

I felt something then, hard and long, pressing against my lower abdomen, and my eyes grew wide with recognition. Loki’s arousal explained why he was unable to stand up sooner.

I pulled back to look up at him, a smile playing on my lips, “Happy to see me are you?” I asked.

“Oh you noticed that did you, Y/N?” Loki grinned, his arms still around me.

I rolled my eyes, “Loki, how could I not notice that?”. I continued, “As much as I am enjoying this, are you ready to go? I want to go home to see our babies”. He knew I was referring to the cats we had together. “Oh, and I need to get my luggage!” I said quickly, releasing him.

He grabbed my hand before I could walk away,  and turned his body to the side trying to obscure his sexual excitement for me that was restrained within his pants. He looked down again. “I need, another minute.” he said through clenched teeth. His face seemed to be turning red.

“Okay my love, take your time. Want me to grab my luggage?” I asked.

“No, no” he clipped. “No need, it has been taken care of…” he took a deep breath, his chest stretching out, “Ready now” he said, accentuating his “n” like he did.

I grabbed his hand, dragging him down the hallway of the airport.

“Whoa, Y/N, what is the rush?” he asked, startled, his long legs putting up some resistance.

“Cats” I said, “Now”. I was practically bouncing with excitement, eager to see our fur babies.

He nodded, not saying a word, and we continued out of the airport towards our car.

Loki drove with one hand on the wheel and one hand in my lap, while I traced the lines on the palm of his hand. We were only a couple of minutes from home when he glanced at me momentarily before returning his eyes to the road. “You’re sure you want to go straight home, Y/N?” He asked, his eyes meeting mine again before returning to the road.  

“Yes Loki, why wouldn’t I?” I asked him, suspiciously, he seemed to be going through a lot of effort to keep me from going directly home. “I haven’t been home for three weeks, ya know?” I asked hoping he would justify my desire to go home.

“Of course, my love.” He replied, looking straight ahead, his mouth in a tight line.

I studied his face, trying to read what I could in the set of his mouth, his jaw, and his eyes. He looked worried…

Loki pulled into our driveway, his hand quickly and smoothly maneuvering the car into a parked position.

“Wait here.” he said as he got out.

He walked to the passenger side and opened the door for me, “My lady?”, He said, extending his hand for me to take.

I smiled, “Thank you, my Prince”.

We walked up the steps to the door, holding hands. We had not been able to stop physical contact since our meeting in the airport.

He had the keys, holding them up to his eye level with his free hand, and they jingled as he searched for the house key.

He unlocked the door, gently kicking it open as he swooped into the threshold, leading me in as he held the door.

I entered, squealing, and immediately fell to my knees as our three cats bounded up to me, purring.

Loki shut the door quietly, leaning against it, his hands behind his back. He looked down at me and smiled. “They missed you tremendously”, he said as I sat in the floor petting them. “None of them wanted to eat-- spoiled, over-sized rodents”. He continued, laughing, “I had to sit in the floor with them to get them to eat”.

Picturing Loki, The God of Mischief sitting on the kitchen floor coaxing the cats to eat was such a funny mental image. Often times, he pretended he didn’t like them just to annoy me, but they knew, and I knew, that he loved them deeply.

Loki pushed off of the door, bent down and scooped our cat Jessica up. “This one cried for you each night.” he said, holding her close to his chest with one arm. He looked at her smiling, scratching her behind the ear as she leaned into it, “She couldn’t bear being without you...neither could I”. He said, looking at me, his eyes smoldering.

“Loki, you know you can always call me…”I said, my voice trailing.

“Never.” He said, smiling with his eyes, “I care more about you getting sleep than me, Y/N.”

I got to my feet then, standing on my tiptoes to give him a kiss. He deepened it, parting my lips with his tongue to swirl around my own. He pulled me back. “Let’s-- sit...Shall we?” He extended his arm, gesturing towards the chairs in the living room.

Before I could sit, he grabbed my hand and steered me to a chair opposite him.

“Er, you sit here, and I will” he looked around, uncertain about something, “uhhh,-- sit here.” He backed awkwardly to the chair and sat down.

Loki licked his lips, nervously, his eyes scanning the other pieces of furniture in the room. He grabbed at the coffee table, his body stretching out, and slid the table across the floor to sit like a barrier between us.

“Lovely” he said, smacking his hand lightly on the table. “This’ll do”.

I watched him, my eyes following his every movement, entertained as he tried desperately to set boundaries-- not something a God known for breaking boundaries is good at.

“Loki,” I called out to him, “why are you doing all of this?” I swept my hand out, gesturing to the table and our awkward, distant positions in the room.

He chuckled and smiled at me darkly sending chills up my spine. “I want to just talk with you for a bit, and give myself some time to acclimate to being in your presence again, Y/N.”

I laughed in response, shaking my head.

“What?” He asked, my laughter triggering a confused smile on his face. “I can be a gentleman.”

“Oh, can you now?” I asked, my eyebrows shooting up in question.

“Of course I can!” he opened his mouth, pretending to be shocked. “So,” he drew it out, “how was your flight? Tell me about your trip, the climate, the people...anything.” Loki prompted.

“You mean anything other than what I have already told you each night I was away, or weren’t you listening?” I asked, mocking him now. “Okay,” I paused, thinking on what I hadn’t had a chance to share with him yet, “Marcus, you know Marcus?” I said, waiting for his response, he nodded. “Well, yesterday was our day to just have a bit of a break, and all of us went down to the pool…” I started laughing, unable to finish momentarily, “he coaxed me into going, and when we got down there he picked me up and threw me in the pool.” I paused momentarily to lift my pants leg to show a bright red cut, “Unfortunately, I got a little scraped up in the process”.

Loki’s eyes darkened, and the smile faded from his lips. “He did what?!” I could see anger brewing in his green eyes.

I put my hands up in defense, “No, no Loki, it was fine, all fun and games. Everyone thought it was funny.”

Loki stood, towering over me from across the table. “How dare he lay his filthy hands on you!” he spat, venomously.

“It’s fine, really Loki, I--”.

Loki growled, and threw the table to the side. He took one step, reached down and brought me to my feet. His hands gripped me around my hips tightly. I could see anger and hunger in his eyes.

He looked me up and down, “And, how brazen and careless of you to mention another man, when I am this…” He paused, licking his lips, and I felt a shudder go through his body, “lascivious towards you”. His greens eyes glimmered with his lust, and he bent down to whisper in my ear, “I need to be inside you, Now” he crooned. “The things I could do to you, Y/N”.

I melted, closing my eyes, tilting my chin up to give into him.

He knelt down and began to kiss me, passionately, his body rocking against me, moving us back and forth.

I could feel him pressing into my lower abdomen, the heat from his length igniting a fire of desire within me.

He pushed his tongue between my lips, and I swirled my own around his, before gently sucking on his tongue. This sent him over the edge, and he moaned into my lips.

He backed me down the hallway, removing my clothes as he did.

At last, the back of my legs touched the bed, and he pulled away from me, grasping my arms. He tilted his head down and gazed determinedly into my eyes, looking through his dark lashes. “Are you sure?” he asked in a dark whisper.

I nodded my head vigorously, “I want to feel you Loki, inside me”, I replied as I began to undo the buttons on his shirt.

He flashed his teeth at me in response, lifting his hands from my arms to help me finish unclothing him.

“At last” he sighed, relieved, “I can see you, Y/N, all of you”.

He picked me up, throwing me on the bed, “only I can do this to you”, he said more to reassure himself.

I laid there, sliding my hand across the mattress, reaching for his own, beckoning for him to join me.

“Wait, my pet,” he said with a pleased smile on his lips, “I want to take all of you in for a moment”. He stood there, and placed his hand on my thighs, tracing his fingers back and forth. A quiet moan escaped my lips.

His eyes moved from where his hands were to my face, “Oh now, you shouldn’t have done that.” he said menacingly, “Now I must take you”. He slowly bent down, pushing the back of my thighs as I slid higher up the mattress.

His face rested between my thighs, and he smelled me, his eyes closing, lids fluttering. My scent drove him wild, and he looked at me his eyes glowing with excitement and arousal.

The God bent his head down and let his tongue taste me, moving back in forth in gentle, light circles around my clit.

I sang out, ecstasy falling from my lips. Every now and again, he would pause to look at me, watching me in awe as my legs shook and my back arched, then he would continue, his hot tongue causing my clit to swell. With one hand he would reach up to grab at my breast, and with his other, he took two fingers to rhythmically pluck at my g-spot.

I was begging for him to be inside me, “Ooo, Loki pp-please.”

He played the fool, “Please what, my pet?” he asked, crooning.

“Please, I need--” I stopped unable to finish, as he surprised me by pushing himself inside me. A loud moan pushed out from the back of my throat in response, intense pleasure washing over me.

“Is this what you wanted my pet?” He asked, as he took a deep breath. “Ahhh” he let it back out, his mouth opening and his eyes shutting momentarily.

I couldn’t speak, instead I nodded.

He slowly pulled his hips back, removing most of his shaft, only his tip remaining. “I didn’t hear you my pet, was this what you wanted?” He asked, “should I stop?” He said, smirking.

I opened my eyes wide and found my voice, “No!” I said, loudly, “Don't stop, please.” I begged.

He chuckled, slamming back into me, and I let out a gasp.

His lips touched my ear, “I have been waiting for this--” he paused as he thrust deeper into me, moving his hips back and forth, “ungh, for so long.” he finished.

He drew his head back to look into my eyes, then glanced down, gazing hungrily at my body.

I began to move my hips off the mattress, swirling myself around him, bringing him in and around me. His eyes closed shut tightly, “So hot.” he breathed out, followed by a deep moan, and I chuckled. His eyes opened again, and he continued to drink me in, watching my hips thrusting and turning-- watching me take his length into me. He vehemently watched where we were connected.

His arousal became to much for him then, and his hand shot down to my hips, pushing them into the mattress. “My love,” the words left his lips quickly, in a rush, “stop, stop!” he pleaded. “Stop!” He said louder, his eyes shutting tightly again, his body ceasing to move with my own. “I’m close,” he said, grunting after, trying to stop his orgasm from erupting.

I stopped momentarily, and groaned, frustrated.

His eyes shot to my face, “Don’t” he breathed, shaking his head slightly.

He was still looking into my eyes, trying desperately to communicate to me to stop moving. Then suddenly, beyond his control his skin began to turn. He had mentioned his Jotun form to me before, but I had yet to see it. Intricate ridges arose on his skin, everywhere. His eyes snapped shut momentarily, and when they opened again they were deep, maddened red. He was losing control, and knowing this sent my body reeling. My body rolled in response to his changing, my chest bucking up and my back arching.

“Ohhhh” his mouth fell open, his red eyes closing, and suddenly he removed himself from inside me quickly. I looked at him, able to see him fully now, his pale blue skin with its intricate ridges fascinating me.

“Don’t look at me--” he paused searching for words, “I am a monster”.

He could never be a monster, I shook my head weakly. “You are a god, my prince, and I worship you” I said quietly.

I edged towards him, still on my back, moving my hips to take him in.

We sighed together as I took him in, feeling each other, seeing each other entirely.

I began rolling my hips again, keeping my eyes on him, captivated by his alluring beauty, as he went from glancing down to drink in my body to closing his burning red eyes tightly.

Again, he grabbed my hips, and ordered me to stop, but I was past the point of being able to. I tried momentarily, but I couldn’t control my body, my hips began bucking. He took one  arm pinning my hips down again, “Don’t move!” he whispered, coercing me with his glowing red eyes. I couldn’t stop, I looked into his eyes. I was enthralled by him, and he was bewitched by me.I began moving, “No!” he shouted, “Please, a moment.” he pleaded. I knew he was trying desperately to last longer for me.

I stopped moving as commanded, but my breath was still coming in quickly, my breasts rising and falling, my nipples grazing his flesh. I could feel a feverish swell burning inside me, “Loki I-- I’m cuming”. The combination of my words, my eyes on his own, and my panting breath was enough to finish him.

He thrust into me, moaning loudly, calling out my name, and we came together, while he pounded his cum deep inside my belly.

We laid there, embracing each other, silent for several moments. I cuddled up next to him, resting my head on his chest, and began to trace and study every line on his pale blue skin, until they faded away from view.

BONUS because I love y’all: 

I really hope you all enjoyed your time with Loki here in this fic, and your glimpse of him in Jotun form-- more where that came from! If you like the fic please please leave me some feedback and/or reblog. Reblogging really helps get my art out there and encourages me to write more lascivious, lovely Loki fics! 

****If you would like to be on the general Loki taglist or taglist for any particular future fic please drop an ask in my ask box. 

I have Ko-fi and venmo

Thank you for reading! 

Peace friends,  Loki’s Pet Tiger

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 11

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,995 for this chapter (49,787 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The flat is dark but for the string lights over Phil's headboard and the candles on his nightstand. Phil's fingers are tracing patterns on Dan's chest, loopy circles and spirals that leave goosebumps in their wake. He's humming something familiar under his breath that Dan can't place and his eyes are half-lidded behind his glasses.

They're tangled up on Phil's bed, ostensibly getting ready to sleep, but Dan is struggling. He doesn't want to miss a single moment he's got left with Phil. He'd thrown on some boxers in concession of sharing space with a dog, and Phil has gotten completely dressed in Dan's pyjamas with muttered complaints about the cold. Dan already misses looking at his body, but he has to admit that he likes looking at this, too.

"Remind me again when you're leaving?"

Dan sighs, lightly tapping a line of freckles down Phil's arm and tangling their fingers together when he reaches them. "Sunday afternoon."

"Too soon," Phil says, quiet and light like he's trying to play off how much it sucks.

"Too soon," Dan agrees. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. And we can - I mean, I want to still, like. Date you. Even when I'm not here."

With a little hum of a noise, Phil blinks up at Dan. He looks a little perplexed. "Well, yeah," he says. "I'm just gonna remind you again that I introduced you to my parents. I wasn't planning on running off with the next local idiot who fawns all over me."

"I did not fawn," Dan protests, but his lips are twitching. He presses them to Phil's forehead to hide the movement. He didn't actually believe that Phil was thinking of this as something with a time limit, but it's nice to be reassured. They're quiet for a long moment, and then Dan has to ask the embarrassing question that's been plaguing him. "Are you, like. Are you my boyfriend?"

Phil laughs, not unkindly, and nuzzles into Dan's neck to press a kiss there. Dan can feel the curve of his smirk when the sensation makes Dan shiver.

"Yeah, Dan," says Phil, low and fond. "I'm your boyfriend."

"I'm just making sure," says Dan.

"You're so stupid," Phil says, pulling back from Dan's neck to grin up at him. His eyes are so bright that it almost aches to look at.

There really isn't a good argument for that. Dan shrugs, pulls Phil close enough that he can feel Phil's heartbeat. He buries his face in Phil's hair so that he doesn't have to watch Phil's expression change when he says, "Yeah. I told my brother about you, actually. Told him you were my boyfriend."

Phil chuckles. "I told my brother about you, too. Dunno why you're embarrassed about it."

"Yeah, but that's different," Dan mutters. "You talk to Martyn."

"I get that your family is," Phil says, pauses for a brief moment, "complicated, but I'm not bothered by them knowing about me."

"That's good," says Dan. "Because, er, I'm having lunch with my mum after the morning interviews tomorrow, and I thought - well, y'know."

A gentle hand in Dan's hair pulls him back from the cuddle so that Phil can look at him. His eyes flicker over Dan's face like they're looking for something. Whatever it is, he doesn't seem to find it.

Phil smiles indulgently, shaking his head a bit. "I actually don't know, Dan. I'm gonna need you to use your words. Because right now it sounds like you're inviting me to lunch with your mum. Which, to be clear, wouldn't be weird for me, since you've met mine, but I get the feeling it might be weird for you."

That hadn't been at all what Dan was asking. He thinks about it, though, wonders if if would be better or worse to have backup for this lunch.

Dan loves his mum. Their relationship is strained, distant, has got a heavy buildup of guilt and mistrust on both sides, but he loves her. He isn't sure he can bring Phil into that and explain it, not when he's met the wonderfully warm people who raised Phil.

"I was actually just asking if you'd be okay with me mentioning you, but how about," Dan says slowly, turning the idea over in his head. "We meet you at the park after lunch? I wanted to whine until she brought Colin, anyway, this gives me a good excuse."

"Colin?"

"My family dog," says Dan. "Don't make fun of his name, your dog's name is nerdy and a pun."

Phil laughs and kisses the tip of Dan's nose. "I wouldn't dream of it. I like animals with hilariously normal names."

"So, you'll come? You really don't have to."

"Sure, I just," Phil says and pulls a little face, like he doesn't want to voice whatever he's thinking. "Is she... one of the people reacting badly? Wanna know what I'm getting into, here."

"No, she's been great," Dan says quietly. "She might be weird, but she won't be... y'know."

"I do know."

The smile playing around Phil's lips makes Dan want to kiss him, so he does. He can't believe that he's just allowed to do that, can't believe he somehow stumbled into being the luckiest person alive.

Dan's done a lot of things over the past decade that he thinks would shock and awe his teenage self. He's met and worked with some pretty big names, gotten drunk with his costars at some pretty big events, and publicly made a fool of himself in some pretty big ways.

He thinks this would take the cake, though. Just the simple act of kissing his boyfriend in bed would have been more than teen Dan could have dreamed of. He'd wanted that, of course, in a pipe dream sort of way, like how he'd wanted to stop hurting his girlfriend, wanted to feel some kind of acceptance for who he was so terrified to be. But the world had been way too fucking scary for him to consider it outside of daydreams.

Not to mention the fact that the man he's kissing is AmazingPhil. Dan laughs, pulls back from Phil to grin at him.

"You know," he says, "I used to have the biggest fucking crush on you."

"Used to?" Phil teases, brushing his fingers over Dan's ribs to make him squirm and laugh harder.

"Shut the fuck up," Dan says fondly. "I mean, like, in 2007."

Phil blinks. He's a lot sleepier than Dan is, which Dan very generously attributes to how long it takes Phil to do simple math in his head. "Wait, you seriously had a crush on me when you were sixteen?"

"Maybe," says Dan.

"Oh, that's so cute," Phil coos. He gives Dan a smug little grin and rolls on top of him. Their limbs are so long and they're both so clumsy that Dan isn't surprised by Phil almost kneeing him in the balls in the process, but he's also so far gone that he barely cares. "And what would sixteen-year-old Dan think of all this?"

"He wouldn't believe it," Dan laughs, settling his hands on Phil's hips. "Like, literally, this would have never occurred to him as a possibility."

"Why not?" Phil teases, knocking their noses together gently. Dan gets the impression that he's more charmed than he's letting on with his dry voice. "You didn't wanna come to Summer in the City? Make an impression?"

That makes Dan honk a laugh right in Phil's face. Objectively, that's mortifying. Phil just snorts, though, so Dan decides not to worry about it on top of everything else he's constantly anxious about in Phil's presence. "The impression I would have made on you in 2007 or even, like, ten years ago, wouldn't have been anything good. You think I'm awkward now? You can only imagine what I was like before I had any kind of confidence."

"I'm sure it was very cute," says Phil. "I'd have added you on MySpace."

"I hate you," says Dan, not least because he'd sent Phil a friend request on MySpace. He is absolutely not going to bring that up, though.

"Yeah, sure seems like you do," says Phil, grinning.

Dan doesn't like the smug look on his face, so he takes Phil's glasses off and sets them aside, chuckling when he immediately starts to squint. "It's bedtime," he reminds Phil.

"Bedtime," Phil agrees, and he blinks a bunch before he laughs. "I can't see you. You gotta kiss me goodnight."

Definitely a request Dan can handle.

--

Once again, Dan finds himself staring at the ceiling of Phil's flat. He's got a snoring dog at his feet and a snoring man draped over him, and he should really be relaxed enough to drift off by now. He's comforted by the smell of Phil's sheets and the soft pattering of rain against the small windows, but it doesn't help get him any sleepier. It's frustrating. He's got interviews all morning - the last of the Isles leg before they get shipped off to the continent for another two weeks of the same circus - and he doesn't want to be cranky for them or have to apologise to another makeup artist for the dark circles under his eyes. He tries for a really long time to fall asleep before he gives up on it for the moment and reaches for his phone.

The familiar cycle of applications helps settle some of the restless energy that's thrumming under Dan's skin. The fingers of his right hand run over Phil's shoulders and through his hair, gentle and idle enough to avoid waking him, as he scrolls through different social media sites with his left thumb.

His feeds are busy enough, since it's not quite late enough to be considered unreasonable in Atlanta or Chicago and Los Angeles is fully awake, but none of it is really catching his attention. He likes a bunch of dog photos and gets lost in a Twitter moment on a topic he's never heard about before. Three different times, he almost buys something that's being advertised to him before he remembers that he already owns something similar to it.

Normally he'd put on some AmazingPhil videos to help him fall asleep, but that feels pretty weird to do when the man himself is literally drooling on his chest right now. Not to mention, he'd have to get up to find some headphones, and that would just defeat the purpose of staying in bed.

Dan spends twenty minutes drafting an email to his grandma, hindered by only using one thumb and his brain not being at full firing power as it is. It ends up saying more or less what he'd texted to his mum, only with an apology at the end. He doesn't know why he does that. He isn't sorry for who he is, or for not telling her, or for not believing in the god that might inform her reaction. He almost deletes the apology, actually, but the fact is that he is. He is sorry for all of those things.

He doesn't want to be. He wants to be unapologetic. But this is a woman who he's always respected and who is so vocal about supporting his career that he sometimes gets embarrassed by the statuses she posts about him on Facebook. This is also a woman who brought him to church for a good chunk of his life.

It's so vivid, even now. Getting his collar smoothed down by her dainty hands, his cheeks pinched by all her friends. The stifling, muggy air and hard pew under him in the summer.

Discomfort. Physical discomfort, as a child, and a deeper sort once he realised he didn't belong there. If he has to narrow it down, he's sorry that he might be giving her a different sort of discomfort in return.

He emails so that he can check for her response on his own time instead of panicking and shutting his phone off like he did with his mum, and then he goes into the app store to download some new, mindless games. Those entertain him for a while, the easy taps of his thumb giving him something to focus on that is not all the ways he's failed his family or the terrifying reality of what he might see in his mother's eyes tomorrow.

Today, he supposes. He'll be lucky to get a couple of hours at all.

In the end, he doesn't get any sleep. He wants to, because he knows he's going to be a zombie at work and at lunch, but maybe that's a good thing. He doesn't know what his mum is going to say, after all, doesn't know if she's going to try and defend his dad or talk about his reaction at all, so perhaps it's for the best that Dan feels everything a little more numbly than usual.

Dan turns off his alarm a split second after it rings, which is never a great feeling after a hard hit of insomnia. It's the final acknowledgement that sleep is not coming, no matter how much he tries to will it. He sighs and gently rolls Phil off of him. The way Phil grumbles and curls into his pillow, cuddling it to his chest, manages to get a weak smile out of Dan. He's just... cute. That's all there really is to it. Thor perks up when Dan gets out of bed, his ears all the way up, and Dan figures that it isn't the worst idea in the world to get some fresh air.

"You wanna go for a walk?" Dan whispers. He has to bite back a laugh at the way Thor reacts - spinning excitedly in a circle on the bed before hopping down and running to the door.

The sun is just starting to rise, giving Dan enough light to avoid injuring himself as he finds something to throw on for the walk. He ends up with his own pyjama pants and some graphic tee or other of Phil's because he can't be bothered to look for something else. He figures that anyone else awake right now won't judge him for it.

He remembers to grab keys and doggy bags before he tries to get Thor out of the door without his excitement turning into barking. He hasn't really barked much in Dan's presence, but he doesn't want to take any chances. It would be just his luck to wake everyone in the building up because he has no idea what he's doing when it comes to training a dog. The dog his family had when he was growing up was cute, but he was real bad at being a dog. Dan's got absolutely no practice with making dogs listen to him, and he's not exactly assertive. He's been chased by chickens more than once.

The chill of the dawn air makes Dan glad he grabbed one of Phil's countless denim jackets, and he pauses on the pavement outside for only a brief moment before Thor starts tugging him down the road. Thor knows the area, even if Dan doesn't, so he's happy to let the dog guide them with his nose and stubby little legs.

It's too early to talk to anyone, for sure, but Dan wants to rip the band-aid off before he has to shift into his public persona. He texts his mum with one hand, can u bring colin please i miss him so much and ive got a friend for him, attaches a cute photo of Thor sniffing at a neighbour's flower box. After a moment's thought, he sends the photo to Phil as well. He'd watched Phil put his phone on silent before they got into bed, so he isn't worried about waking him up. Dan has to slip his phone back into his pocket to quietly scold Thor for eating someone else's petunias and scurry away from the scene of the crime.

Everything feels just a little hazy with the rising sun, the mist of barely-there rain, and Dan's own lack of sleep. He lets Thor guide him into a lazy walk around the block and breathes in the polluted air like it's going to make everything better.

Maybe it should be scary how right this feels. In fact, it is scary, and Dan would like to blame it entirely on his insomnia and idiocy, but he knows it's more than that. He wants this to be his routine, as stupid as that is. He doesn't want that right away, doesn't want to leave Atlanta and come right to Phil's flat, but he wants... that. Eventually. First, he wants a drawer in one of Phil's dressers, wants to text whenever he's outside, wants to meet Phil at the dog park with two coffees and a grin on his face.

Dan never really took himself for a hopeless romantic, but then again, he also never thought that he'd be able to date someone he wanted to be with for the long haul. Even a medium haul had been off the table with the girls he's dated since his last actual relationship. It was always going to be missing something.

When Thor starts whining and tugging at the lead a bit harder, Dan smiles. "You wanna go home, cutie?" he murmurs, spotting the distinctive blue of Phil's front door. "Let's take you home."

--

The questions are the same every time. Not the exact same, no, but still the same. Every publication and media site wants to know the same shit about the show, and they don't even have all the answers.

"No, we haven't heard about a new season yet," Jaime is saying for the third time in one morning, with some kind of unending patience that Dan will never understand. "Trust me, the internet will know as soon as we know. Of course it would be nice to keep working - I don't think my character's storyline is anywhere near done!"

She laughs, but Dan can tell that it's forced. It's starting to take a strain on her, too, and he knows that they're all just waiting for something original to come up. Patrick has zoned out, pulling a Full Dan and staring off into space.

There aren't any pins for Dan to comment on this time, even if he'd wanted to. The morning has been slogging, not least since he'd left Phil still asleep in bed with a kiss to his sweet-smelling hair. Dan is so tired, but he knows they're all so tired. There's nothing for them to do but paste smiles on their faces and deflect spoilery questions while they count down the minutes to their free afternoon. Well, Jaime and Patrick have a free afternoon. Dan is going to have his hands full.

His mum had agreed to bring Colin happily and mooned over Thor's photo, but Dan has been perplexed by the fact that she didn't even ask whose dog it was. He wants to tell her, wants to be clear that he hasn't gone and got himself a big responsibility just yet, but there's a larger, pettier part of Dan that wants to keep Phil to himself until his mum is face to face with him. Dan wants to see if she has to school her expression, wants to know if this is an arms-length continuation of their relationship or the start of something rocky and healing.

Since Patrick is off in his own world, Dan tries his best to be present for this interview. He makes the interviewer laugh and tells stupid anecdotes to keep the attention off of everything Jaime won't say about her character arc.

It's a good thing he is paying attention, because Dan isn't sure how he'd have reacted if he'd been caught off guard by, "And as I'm sure you're aware, a lot of fans have been speculating about on-set romances. Is there any truth to those rumours or is that just some fun for the fans?"

Jaime snorts loudly. It's very unladylike. Dan is so, so fond of her.

"Uh, no," says Jaime. "I mean, if you're talking about between the three of us - which I have seen, the shipping isn't as quiet as y'all think it is - then, I'm sorry, but there's no way. I won't even act like there is to keep people guessing. I'm not going to date Daniel or Patrick for, like, twenty thousand reasons. If you want to talk about Tanner, though..."

She winks and trills her real laugh, which makes Dan laugh in turn. Jaime's crush on the man who plays Patrick's father is such an open secret that he's surprised more people don't ask her about it. Maybe they think it's a sensitive or uncomfortable subject, but Jaime's got no compunctions about loudly fancying someone who is both a decade older than her and married. The interviewer's laugh is a bit less genuine.

"Really?" he asks, sounding skeptical enough that Dan wonders if he ought to be offended. "And the two of you think the same? No chance?"

What? If they did want to be with Jaime, why the fuck would they say that in an interview right after she'd denounced them as romantic interests? Dan wonders if this guy understands that's an insane thing to expect, or if he's just trying to get a reaction out of them.

"Er, yeah," Dan says. He looks at his costars for backup. Jaime shrugs, and Patrick seems to have only just realised he's being spoken to and has the panic of 'what was just asked of me?' in his eyes that Dan is all too familiar with. He decides to word his answer clearly enough that he can help get Patrick up to speed as well. "I mean, like, we're all just good friends. I don't think any of us have any interest in more than that. And honestly, if we did disagree with Jaime, we wouldn't force our feelings on her anyway. That'd be fuc- I mean, that would be messed up."

He sees the glint of triumph in the interviewer's face and groans internally. Fuck, he should have stayed in bed.

"Interesting," he says, "that you've already thought about a situation where you have unrequited feelings for your on-screen girlfriend?"

Yeah, Dan thinks. Super interesting. He's kissed Jaime a thousand fucking times for the camera and it doesn't do anything for him, thanks ever so. He sighs and runs a hand through his straightened fringe so he doesn't slap himself in the face for opening this can of worms.

"Look, I get that a lot of fans want to know," Dan says, keeping his tone as light as possible. "The thing is that I'd like to keep my personal life private. I'm happy to tell you that it doesn't involve Jaime in any way, though."

"I'm fine with my personal life being public," Patrick deadpans. "There's nothing going on in it and that's how I like it. We're all equally pathetic that way, right?"

"Oi," Dan says, unable to hide his offense. The lack of sleep is really making his filter drop, and that's dangerous.

Jaime throws him a life vest before the interviewer can jump on his reaction, patting Dan's knee and saying, "You know, Patrick, some of us are pathetic in many more ways. Like, do you remember the time..."

And off she goes, weaving a story about Dan making an ass of himself. He interjects at all the right moments, laughs and groans in equal measure, covers his face when he starts to legitimately blush at the memory of an entire Starbucks thinking he'd gone insane.

He's comfortable with sharing that amount with his fans, he thinks. He's not dating Jaime, he never will be dating Jaime, and he's a private person. That's really all they need to know for now.