#so this is def rated 18+

[skepsiss]

Heart Beat City -- Steddie

The tang of alcohol on his tongue drenched the room Eddie was in with a blurred glow. The pull of music, dark corners, and vivid exchanges made his drug-riddled brain feel heavy and light all at once. Like a buoy on a bumpy sea, he watched as flutters of people migrated across the dance floor and into private booths. The music was nothing to him: a loud backdrop to shake his chest as he sat in one of those dark corners of the bar. Live music had melted into crackly recorded classics. 

Heart Beat City, Building the Perfect Beast, Reckoning–he could name every one of the songs that bled into one another but didn't care about a single one of them. Summer of love. Boys of the summer. Solo debuts... it was all noise to him at this point. 

He was operating like a machine, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking, watching men and women alike fade into the dark interior of the bar like so much else. He wasn't here alone and even though he had to put effort into remembering who he walked in here with he was aware that he wasn't alone. Gareth, Benson–some of the guys. This wasn't the first time they had crashed a bar outside of Hawkins, piling into a van on a Friday night for a spot of fun. But Eddie wasn't having fun, he was just watching everyone else have fun. Men, women, bodies pressed against one another in a too-crowded bar and he was acting like a moody 85-year-old drinking his sorrows away.

Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the poor choice of mixing drugs and alcohol but after he had turned out his pockets and sold the last of the LSD he had come here with he had felt his mood drop. One of the reasons they had chosen this bar was because it was a hookup spot–a friendly hookup spot. It had its back allies and locked doors, one-stall bathrooms, and it was an easy place to hit up to sell. Drug money to buy beer, beer to waste the night away. They were probably going to sleep in the van tonight anyways. 

But Eddie was just watching as his friends filtered out of view, crashing into women like an all-powerful tide, both of their bodies moving together... he wished he could talk to girls like that. He wished that despite his patches, leather, and spikes that it was easier to approach women, but none of them ever picked him. It wasn't the worst, he liked men more anyways. That was why this bar was friendly. 

He put no effort into being approachable, his mood soured by jealousy as people paired off and a new quartet entered the dance floor. Greenhorns and experts alike doing this same dance every Friday night. He was tired of it. He was tired, but despite himself when his beer was finished he walked back up to the bar and ordered another, lingering. He wore bandanas in his pockets and leaned on bar counters, signalled to any wayward man who passed by. In these kinds of bars, it didn't take very long for someone to notice. Light blue for oral, black for rough sex, orange for casual–it all meant something, and people noticed when you hung out at bars like this.

So when men approached Eddie, when people leaned on the bars beside him before his beer made it back to him and asked to buy him a drink he wouldn't even need to smile. He wouldn't need to talk to them like he had to talk to girls to get them interested in him, these men knew right away what to say. They'd test and Eddie would put the neck of the bottle in his mouth, he'd tip it up, and try not to lose focus with his brain half mashed. They'd touch his hand and he'd touch back, pretending that this was some sort of romance, that they had talked for hours and he was charmed by them. These guys, they were all good-looking. It was easy to spot a hookup spot. 

He'd follow them to back allies, locked rooms, and one-stall bathrooms, places where the music was still loud enough that his mind wouldn't wander. Where he could hold his beer by the neck and have someone kissing him as soon as they were in their own dark corner. People, maybe he sold drugs to earlier that night, people who thought he was older than sixteen, seventeen... eighteen. On nights like this, he couldn't even remember if this was perverted or not, he didn't even know how old he was anymore. His brain ground every night since he was fifteen together. Back when he thought allies and private rooms meant romance and that these guys would talk to him again afterward. 

Give up the ghost, turn around, get on your hands and knees–they never talked to him again after that. 

He let the background music that he hated so much fold into his brain–stop his thoughts. His half-finished beer sitting on the dirty floor as some guy indulged in his flesh. Lifting up shirts and pulling down collars, but never fully undressing. 

They all just wanted the same thing anyways, but Eddie always indulged longer than he needed. Kissing them and biting lips until they turned him around or pressed him to his knees. And then his face would be cold against tiles and his body would be all fire, getting sweaty in his too-large jacket and flannel. Choking out sounds and half words, hoping his mind would stay clear enough that he wouldn't pass out from his high. Sometimes he even got to do the choking, and that was rare. Sometimes he'd get to do this more than once in a night. He always felt sloppy the second time around. 

Men would press up against him, wash him away, sail him to somewhere farther than this bar an hour outside Hawkins, somewhere that he knew even his band wouldn't give him a concerned eyebrow raise when he disappeared into the dark shadows. Men would fall over him, hold him tight around his chest, and breathe life into his neck like he mattered to them. Sometimes they'd call him beautiful, or hot and he'd swallow that too. They always complimented him when he swallowed. 

They'd rock the bar from their private room that reeked of beer that stained his knees. And sometimes it would hurt, but he always left feeling grateful and like a part of him was taken away with the man who walked out the door when they were done. Warm and sweaty and full of more than just beer. He loved it and hated it, and tonight he hated it. The way men squealed and the smell of the bathrooms, how he'd read the graffiti on this wall a million times to no satisfaction. It was good, don't doubt that it was good, but the bitter taste of his mouth made him wish that he'd at least be kissed afterward.

Hold me, enfold me, talk to me like I'm someone. 

Then he'd slouch and the music would take him away, his body punched from the gut downwards, indecent as he stood pressed against the wall. Hard breathing, no longer hard cock. Breathe and breathe and listen to the thanks, shake his head no if they asked if he needed something. He'd adjust and pick his beer back up, wash the taste away with more bitterness. They'd break even and he'd stand the rest of the night because it hurt too much to sit. 

He wouldn't check if whoever he came here with came back, he'd just crawl into the van when he'd had enough. They'd knock if they needed to come in and sleep, and only once had he accidentally interrupted something. And then he'd sleep and the next morning they'd all be smiles and groans from being hungover; ask without asking how each of their nights went. No one partied as hard as Eddie Munson, and sometimes Eddie wouldn't even be able to drive them home, someone else at the wheel. Papers with numbers scrawled on them. Arms with new ink, lovely girls who twisted their hair and who got on their knees. 

Eddie's souvenirs were the ones of purple and red marks. Scars on his brain that left him wondering if he'd make it home next time at all. 

Smile and crack and let everyone think he always loved these outings, always loved the way his friends disappeared into dark corners for their own ends and leave him watching the dance floor like a statue of sin. Watch but don't touch. Want but don't love. Sing but unsung.

So when Steve Harrington came around and looked at Eddie with big brown eyes he hated it. He hated that he looked like every guy he had ever seen in every bar he had ever been in. How he was so goddamn handsome. Even when his upper lip wasn't perfectly shaved and you could see the speckled brown of hair on his cheek–what 'disheveled' looked like to Steve Harrington–king of Hawkins High, 6 feet deep in babes, money, and perfect hair. He hated guys like Steve who seemed to effortlessly move through life, who smiled and didn't start a fight when he threatened them. 

He hated guys like Steve Harrington and he didn't know if he wanted to be him and be with him. 

The effect a man like Steve Harrington had on people was toxic at best, and a high at worst. Because Eddie had never found a better drug than getting a crush. It drove him insane, it made him want more, and the comedown was the worst he ever felt, and yet... he'd always go back for more. The floundering, the trying to talk to a guy for real. It was everything he avoided when he went to bars and these stupid goddamn crushes made him want to try. He sounded like an idiot when he tried to talk to people… when he was genuine. And here was Steve Harrington, genuine to a fault who just spoke his mind, crossed his arms, and loved the people around him so hard that he'd sacrifice everything for them. Every ounce of popularity, every single dime, every last hair on his pretty head.

Eddie just wanted to be good enough to be one of those people he'd sacrifice for. 

No, that wasn't true, he didn't want to be any way. He didn't want to be different or to feel like 'he could change for the better, be a better person' for Steve Harrington. He wasn't that far gone, he was still Eddie Munson. But he wanted Steve to be worse. He wanted him to lower his standards and wallow in the mud with The Freak. He was already good enough... he wanted Steve to compromise. 

He had everything Eddie wanted and hated all at once and he wanted Steve to want to give it up. Was that too much to ask? It was too much to ask. And that was why crushes killed Eddie Munson. He knew, deep down, he was unpolished and undesirable and really the only reason the guys at the bars picked him up was because he was easy. Hard to love, easy to fuck. 

Kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss. All he wanted was for one of those to be with Steve. To taste what perfection looked like, to understand how someone who had everything gave it up for the outcasts and the freaks. 

Me too. Eddie yelled into the wind. Me too. He screamed at the void. 

But something amazing happened, something that no drug had ever given to him. It answered him. He heard. Somehow, somewhere, someway... Steve Harrington heard him and answered. 

And he wallowed. 

Eddie tasted perfection. The acidity of sunshine and the spice of daddy's money. How making out in cars and the squeak of leather seats had never felt so good. How Steve, somehow, wanted to know what mud and regret tasted like. That Steve chose him. 

Every pretty girl in Hawkins, and he chose Eddie. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. I need you, I need you, I need you. 

Addicted. 

The worst drug of your life. 

Eddie didn't even have to turn around to get it. He could look right at Steve the whole time, count the moles on his shoulders, and relish in how soft his skin was. He could enjoy the sensation of being on his back instead of his knees and if he wanted to know what Steve's sweat tasted like he could find out. He could see what a guy, fully naked, really looked like. No t-shirts, socks, or pants just unzipped enough to get it up. He could look, and man did he look. Even if this was a fling, even if this lasted until Steve found someone better, he could live with that. He could live with having him for just a few months just so he could experience this. 

Who was he kidding? He was addicted. 

Eddie Munson, island, wanted to strand Steve Harrington. He wanted to be the only thing and everything Steve could ever want or need. He needed to be everything because Steve had already taken every hard edge Eddie had stuffed into the box and pulled it loose. Rounded everything out. Soft. He was already going to fall apart if Steve walked away. He was already 80 percent less. 

But every morning he got to taste sunshine, and every afternoon he got to touch the sky. Steve was elevating him, and he didn't want to come down. It was devastating, and it was everything he had ever wanted. He was going to die to this. Steve owned him.

[taegularities]

entertainer | jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut!! ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, a shit ton of sexual tension, sexual fantasies, some jealousy from his side, he is very VERY attracted to her, mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, difficult past(s), (mention of) sexual harassment, mentioned past death of a side character, crying, fear, manipulation, confrontation and fighting, aggression, cursing, cocky and selfish kook, overthinking, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content: kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, dom jk, oc is odd, oral (f. receiving), spit stuff, handjob, manhandling, orgasm delay, lip ring…, light choking, bit of hair pulling, a spank or two, coming on oc, some cum tasting mmmh, ass stuff, protected sex, rough sex, various positions, masturbation; as always THE ENDING!! lmk if i forgot something!! ➳ wc: 32.4k ➳ a/n: MHMMM, it's finally time!! i experimented with the trope a little; def not a professional when it comes to this genre, but i tried my best. both oc and jk are odd in this one, and you might be on either's side and hate either of them, i can't say :'D very curious tho, so come and drop a message to lmk what you think. let it aaaall out :P <3

➳ listen to the Entertainer playlist! 🖤   

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs 

Jungkook has always wanted an audience to perceive him.

Not just to perceive him, in fact. To worship him.

Jungkook doesn’t consider himself a bad person. Spoiled, a little selfish, but not necessarily bad. He enjoys attention, no matter how temporary or who the giver of it. Feasts on it like an incubus.

What’s wrong with that? Nothing.

Or. 

Maybe there is. Maybe he’s coming on too strong.

Because you’re not part of his audience, sitting over there, middle row, middle spot, with your eyes lowered to the notebook. And when you do look up, there’s nothing but indifference in your eyes.

It irks him. Maybe he is a little narcissistic, and maybe he can’t quite deny it after all — but as part of his future team, you should at least fake a smile, right? Display a certain amount of enthusiasm, the joy of working with aspiring artists.

But no.

You’re occupied, scribbling into your notebook. Jungkook, cognisant of the fact that he hasn’t issued much of significance today, understands that you cannot be taking notes of his words. And he also understands that… if that is true…

You’re not granting him as much fascination as he’s used to.

General admiration thrown into the same bucket as his unwavering talent — that he’s well aware of — might just be the reason he climbed up so high in no time. Sometimes, gentle livestreams and vlogs do the trick — locals have found reasons to adore him already.

At times, a good song and strong vocals aren’t necessary to woo people.

Jungkook, however, is insatiable — that’s what keeps him pondering at times. That it’s just the locals, and on an international scale, there’s still much to achieve.

But he’s not a quitter, he’s a conqueror.

And he’ll reach that mind-boggling status of a well-known, global icon, name flowing as naturally through the seam of people’s lips as a still-lying, tranquil lake.

Jungkook knows it’s cocky of him to praise himself to the skies and to rely on his resolute hopes so much. He knows life backfires sometimes, and that endeavours don’t always pay off. He only started as an insignificant city boy, too.

Survived the cruelty of elementary and middle school; shared a room with his brother, relying on him until he grew and learned to finally rule over high school; every single soul at his beck and call. Then, trudged through college before any of where he’s standing even existed.

But he’s here now. And people acknowledge it.

Except you.

And it throws him off his balance. Which is probably why he shortens the end of his speech, close to slurring distracted syllables before he realises he’s forgotten a prepared sentence or two.

No matter; the relevant and main message should have been delivered by now.

So he leans back in a chair in the back, flashing a captivating smile and waits for the applause. Somewhat proud when the praise needs a moment to cease for his manager to reclaim the mic, freeing the metaphorical stage, much in the form of a simple pult, for the CEO of the company.

Taehyung is savvy of how to regain control over a stage; Jungkook doesn’t know whether he fucked up his final remarks, but Taehyung summarises his ideas well. But the clapping does say a lot.

And between those raising their hands to appreciate Jungkook’s speech, you were, too. He knows because he looked directly at you; still is. And when your eyes drift to his, the two of you hold each other’s gazes for at least a couple seconds longer than the others.

And your smile, while present, is somewhat tight-lipped, a bit awkward but confident, too. Odd, as well; hard to explain, but as though you know what you want. As though you have your priorities set straight and cannot be swayed by anything the world might throw at you.

He doesn’t have a word for it. Poised? Self-reliant? Fearless? Can a single look even say this much or is he being delusional?

But this can’t be true, honestly. Nobody is this unperturbed or passive. He’ll find out.

Your stare aligns with his a couple more times over the next minutes, staying there before continuing the journey over the crowd. Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch just a little whenever your eyes pierce into his, so tantalising and deep, big sweet ires, but so conniving at the same time.

He doesn’t know your name, but he’s sure that it defines intrigue. And maybe, just perhaps, it might serve as the synonym for drop fucking dead gorgeous, too.

When Taehyung leads you to Jungkook’s stuffy studio, the latter hears your voice through the open door several seconds before you come in. Or actually, it’s not quite his studio.

More like a collective office that a couple of the newcomers use. Jungkook has been part of this crew a little longer, but he needs the additional success, more prosperity; he’s been told to yield more results to earn his very own four walls. Carrying his signature flavour.

But it’s okay. For now, this suffices…

The stench of coffee and the sound of the AC. The pot and plants that always rest in some corner of the room, courtesy of Taehyung who insists on some colour in the grey-white, small room. Jungkook has gotten used to it all.

Which is why it’s strange, seeing your splendour enter the small space, delighted by whatever Taehyung might be explaining. Your grin is the widest Jungkook has seen since yesterday.

He didn’t get to meet you properly yet, so he can’t say where your humour lies. Nobody introduced you, despite your new position as his very own, personal work partner. A second manager, here to guide and aid him when Taehyung can’t; and apparently, you’ve found some charm in Taehyung that you didn’t see in Jungkook during the stupid meeting.

Not that Jungkook would ever dare to doubt his friend’s appeal, but you’ve stormed into his life like a present, and so silently, too; and he wanted to be the one to open it. To reveal it.

Not Taehyung. Even if it’s his job.

Okay. Calm down. Jungkook sighs. That again.

A motherly blanket of praises and fatherly pats of pride. That’s what’s gotten his head so riled up. He was coddled too much as a child. Made felt special. That’s over now, Jeon, you’re in an industry filled to the brim with competition.

Chill chill chill.

But now?

With that alluring smile staring up at Taehyung, only hints of it left when your eyes move to Jungkook. Fuck.

But Jungkook’s stance remains steadfast and self-assured when he greets, “Hi there. Welcome at last, huh?”

Jungkook notices when your mind snaps out of the conversation with Taehyung and into the one he started; a gentle hand frees your face off your hair to enable a proper view to it. The other is still dug deep in the pocket of your leather jacket, covering parts of the white top underneath.

Semi-long, silver earrings rest right below your ear, against your neck when you tilt your head a little; your expression so respectful and inviting when you smile. Jungkook inhales you in that one split moment, details stinging into the eye without much effort.

And perhaps he’d observe more, appreciate your stunning, obvious beauty and elegance further; but time passes as it does before you finally utter your very first sentence to him, “Hi. Didn’t think I’d ever be saying this, but… thank you for having me.”

That’s sweet.

Your words are reminiscent of the adoration his fans grant him, but your expression is as cool as a refreshing autumn wind. The perfect balance, possibly.

Jungkook gestures to a small couch in the back, right next to the door, but you raise a rejecting hand, claiming, “Been sitting all day observing Taehyung. Need to walk a bit.”

And you do. Deliver a last farewell nod to Taehyung who waves a little, gripping the handle and locking you in the room with the younger man nearly drooling over you.

The hand hidden in the jacket before has emerged, arms loosely folded as you take in the interior of the studio, allowing no more insight into your thoughts than, “Nice.”

Jungkook hums in distracted agreement, standing at the wall, watching you roam around the humble space in small steps. It’s odd, being in here with you; the atmosphere fizzles, a little less like electricity, just a bit more than carbonic acid.

But the moment was to arrive anyway; you’ll be a close link to Jungkook from now on. Of course you need to familiarise yourself with his space, too. So far, you seem to have an opinion on it already.

“Easy to trigger claustrophobia, but,” you walk through the open door to the darker recording room, tapping the mic for a moment, “cosy, too. Very cool equipment.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Pause, eyes dropping to your fingers grazing the stand of the mic. Then, “I would’ve come to you today… or yesterday for that matter, but things were so chaotic and—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure, waving his concerns off, “I could see people rushing around and preparing the moment I got here. I’m probably not the main concern right now among everybody.”

“Nah, that’s not it. We have a great team here.” You step out again, hands folding behind your back until you’re leaning against the wall opposite of him, mirroring his stance. “I’m sorry you arrived at such a stressful time, though.”

“Not your fault. I decided so myself fully knowing you were in the middle of something.”

Ah. So you’ve seen his interviews, read the news. You came here with sufficient knowledge about him, alright.

“Really though,” you continue, blinking slowly, “I’m just glad to be here at all.”

Ah. Yes — about that.

“What brought you to our company anyway?” Jungkook asks, coating his voice in sugar to decrease the risk of unintentional and prying rudeness. “I mean — it’s been a while since somebody joined the main team, is all.”

“Oh. What brought me here…” You slide down the wall just a few inches, staring at your feet before you meet his eyes again. Something flashes in them for a miniscule second, albeit too brief to be caught and analysed. Then, you say, “Sentiments?”

Jungkook gathers words of confusion the moment you utter yours, a question already on his tongue. Has he been here long enough to evoke sentiments in his followers? Or do you veil a whole different connection to this company than he might understand?

Who knows. It doesn’t feel too deep, at least, when you speak again, elaborating when his eyes reveal his bedazzlement before he can, “I mean, I like your work.”

Okay. So much he interpreted; and he must admit — the feeling of pride is a thoroughly unique one.

“I think you’ve been deserving of your growth, and I just,” you speak, shrugging your shoulders, digging one heel into the solid ground, “I could never stop thinking of what I’d say or do if I was here or how I’d try to help, even though I’m not a true musical genius like you.”

This is so excitingly new.

How poised you remain as you talk about your fascination for him; how carefully you choose your words. He’s met fans before, but he doesn’t think any of them has ever practised such control over themselves.

And harbouring such emotions for a tiny little celebrity like him while simultaneously treating him like a human being is an art you’ve well mastered. Despite Jungkook’s urge to feel loved and worshipped to a dependent degree, you’re an incredibly attractive change in pace.

Ugh.

Dependent degree.

Although, he does wonder what you’d be like if you fawned over him.

Jungkook contains the fantasy; suppresses his sigh.

“So,” he starts, “you’re here because you’re a fan.”

“Mmmh. Kind of. My friends started it and then pulled me into this. Honestly, at first I couldn’t imagine ever getting into your stuff.”

Your gaze moved down to your trainers a mere moment ago; whether to hide your expression or give into a habit, Jungkook can’t say. But the honesty surprises him; even stings a little as he voices, “Oh?”

Your head shoots up, lips forming a circle before you imitate, “Oh. Wait. That was… pretty rude.” You seek confirmation or denial in Jungkook’s eyes, and when his slightly wrinkled forehead, tight-lipped smile reveals the answer, you immediately opt for an apology, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?”

“Just that.” You fiddle in your position, bringing your digits to waist level. Then, you laugh; a rhythmic sound. “Okay, don’t hate me, but. I was one to judge a book by its cover, and you had this young adult too-confident-too-sly something about you. But your music’s surprisingly sentimental.”

Jungkook halts for a moment, moving his head to side-eye you; producing a hoarse Uhhh before he admits, “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting me or fully destroying me.”

Another lovely laugh. “I am complimenting you. To be fully transparent, I was probably, uh, biased? Because my friend. They have a knack for usually pulling very questionable men, so I probably just didn’t entirely trust their intuition.”

“Fair enough. I guess?” Jungkook matches the softness of your giggle, nodding towards you, “And now you do?”

“Mmmh, well, we’ll see.”

Jungkook must be stupid. Of course you won’t be able to deduce much from the first meeting yet; perhaps the flirting needs to slow down for just now. You seem the patient kind; much like now, letting the quick silence prevail without much struggle.

No sign of awkwardness surrounds your aura; only a hint of… suspicion? Flashing into your eyes when you let them move through the room again, freezing right next to Jungkook’s head. You’re not looking at him, but at something past him; but you don’t question nor voice anything.

Merely return to his stare with a smile, and he uses the moment to pour some courteous manners into the mix, asking, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee, water? A Red Bull?”

But you immediately raise a hand, shaking your head, “Oh, it’s okay. I’ve already got caffeine flowing there instead of blood,” you slide a finger along your arm, indicating a vein under your layers, “I just mainly came to say hi and to introduce myself. And to ask if I can help anyhow.”

“Ah… well, uh,” Jungkook halts mid-sentence, throwing a look around as though he’s searching for something to appear before he concludes, “don’t think so. I was in the middle of some production work, but don’t think I need much.”

“I see. Okay! Then I’ll leave yo—”

“But,” Jungkook intervenes immediately, adamant on keeping you around. Maybe he can wrap up work earlier today? Bring you home? Probably not — not on Taehyung’s watch. “Maybe you can tell me what you think once I’m done?

“Of course. It’d be my pleasure.”

“Would have an excuse for your company, too, then.”

The laugh that follows is so subtle that Jungkook barely hears it. It doesn’t leave your throat, stuck in there, just a tiny sound reminiscent of amused bafflement. 

Jungkook knows his way around words — understands what his utterances and implications usually apply. But somehow, not too many people have been the calmer ones in the room; aside from his superiors at work, not having the upper hand is new to him. 

So you set a fuse loose in him; destroy a nerve in his brain, changing up his communication habits. Because he certainly did not mean to say this out loud. And not in such a sense either.

He adds quickly, “I mean, it gets lonely here.”

“Right…” you concur, albeit weakly and with somewhat… entertained mystery in your eyes? He can’t say. It’s as though you’re wearing your face as a mask, undecipherable. “I get it. Even though your studio is cosy enough to enjoy your own company at times, right?”

“Not mine. But we’ll work on that.”

He cards his fingers through his hair, aware that he is probably more than an open book right now; his usual perfect poker face does not work with you.

Why? 

Weird.

“Got a couple things here that are mine, though. Yoongi and the others allowed me,” he adds.

“Ah… Like…”

Surprisingly enough, you take another look through the tiny room, possibly trying to detect something you didn’t see before. Regarding details. Then, you settle next to his head once again… and once Jungkook moves his eyes off you for the first time since you came in, he sees what you see.

Which is to say, nothing much out of the ordinary. In fact, the most trivial thing in the room.

“Like that?” you voice, pushing yourself off the wall to near his relaxed body. The scent of your perfume wafts through the room before you’re close enough; tenderly grazing his senses. “What’s that?”

Focus.

Your finger points to the object next to him, hanging at a nail at the wall; dark blue with white letters on it. Pretty mundane, pretty basic design.

“Just… a cap I bought back in college.”

You read out the name, pronouncing it perfectly, yet slowing down as if you’re learning a new foreign term. The sudden inquiry is strange, too: you don’t seem as truly curious about it as your question did; perhaps you’re playing for some time with him, too?

He wouldn’t hate it if you did.

“Do you know that one?” he questions.

You nod; a main hint as to why you wanted to know, yet indicating that the knowledge wasn’t of much significance. You say, “Isn’t it a popular one? I had a few friends who went there.”

“Hm… yeah, I mean. I guess it’s a known one. I got a degree there in broadcasting and entertainment like… four years ago.”

You exhale a barely audible puff of air before you whisper-murmur the most infinitesimal, petite, “Damn,” underscored with one indecipherable tilt of your head. He can’t see your eyes too well, so the reaction remains as transparent as you have been thus far.

Until he raises a thick eyebrow, confusion hidden in a somewhat relaxed yet awkward smile as he wonders, “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, just. It’s impressive how much you’ve achieved in just four years, right?”

“…Well. If you say it like that, it does sound pretty neat.”

The bubble of pride expands alongside his ego; right beneath his chest. Somehow, the feeling changes his posture, makes him feel bigger. 

Perhaps you notice what your praise elicits; perhaps you’ve already fathomed his persona that he usually doesn’t dare to reveal this fast. But whatever he conceals with his fans, lies in front of you with an open access.

You make it easy to feel comfortable; he doesn’t need to know you too long to acknowledge this much.

“I graduated not too long ago, too. Three years?”

“Oh… then look at you,” Jungkook compliments, using the moment as an excuse to examine you further; head to toe and back. Your legs are crossed, upper body and face confident, but the position somehow delicate. Hm. “You’re quite awesome, too, don’t you think?”

“I mean— took a while to get here.”

“Right. So what have you been doing during this time since graduation?”

Whatever distraction you have found in the cap seems to break as you silently forage your brain for a response; possibly attempting not to divulge too much. And your answer is accordingly hesitant, though never dubious.

“Saving up? Preparing for life, I guess. And waiting for a good opportunity.”

For what? Do you usually keep your statements in fragments?

He prods, “To do what?”

“Well, to do,” you gesture to the wall in front of you, albeit clearly hinting to the situation, “this. Hoping to change everyone’s lives around here.”

You smile wide, the joke obvious as can be, but Jungkook can’t help but think that you might not be too far off. Unique minds alter brain chemistries; there’s something unforgettable and magnetising about them, and Jungkook steadfastly believes his intuition that you might just be one of them.

For the first time ever, he murmurs your name, delighted by how easily it melts on his tongue. It falls out breathier than he intended to, but when you tilt your head, the intrigue in your pupils inexplicably matches his tone.

He adds to your name, eyelids drooping just a bit, “So… you’ll turn out a long awaited surprise, huh?”

And you, against all expectations, lean in for just a minimal, not too inconsequential moment, hands back in your jacket. It’s a playful, harmless motion as you move back on your heels, then steady yourself again, bodies and faces still far away. You could’ve just as well given him a pat on his shoulder.

But there’s something in the way you look at him, tempted and ominous at the same time. He can’t say what you’re thinking because every feature in your face implies something different.

Even more so confusing what methods for success you came into this company with when you finally say, no pretext or further clarifications, “I really do hope so.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Everywhere he goes, the lights are bright.

The white walls in the rooms of the company building reflect the sun in the summer and maintain a sense of optimism in the winter. They’re what Jungkook imagines waiting halls before Heaven to look like.

Then the fluorescent vibrancy in his apartment. And the sunlit sky, albeit cold in this winter, giving way to the planetary system’s star through the floating, parting clouds.

Even this modern art museum with its complex design, winding staircases, glass walls and high ceiling. It lets through an abundance of light, unaware of the balance Jungkook usually craves.

Dark and light — a healthy mix.

It’s why he cherishes the comfort of the recording studio so much. Its dim walls and the silence, so unlike the hallways outside of it. Or why he prefers his apartment unlit, often merely allowing the few lava lamps to illuminate his rooms.

But again… it’s only a balance he usually craves.

Today, he doesn’t mind the brilliance.

Because you’re part of it.

Clad in a beige long-sleeved cotton top, slight turtleneck included. It doesn’t fully cover your neck, still revealing a mole similar to his. It’s tucked into your light brown skirt; your legs are covered in sheer tights, crossed. A gentle hand holds the strap of your bag. Light academia at its finest; somewhat soothing, and somewhat radiant.

You look at him with an initially neutral expression, surprised that someone spoke to you, but more relaxed when you realise it’s him.

“Oh,” you voice; the faintest autumn-tinted smile tugs at your lips. “Hey! I, uh…” Your gaze flits to the painting in front of you, then back to him. “Not at all actually. Which… surprising.”

You gesture towards him before you grant him more of your silky voice, asking, “Do you? Come here much?”

Your eyes are indecipherable to him, cheeks dusted in natural make up. All the damn time, you sport this relaxed, unbreakable mask, and he can’t quite guess what you might be thinking about.

It’s so easy with anyone else. You’re like a scene from BBC’s Sherlock, embodying Irene Adler’s mystery.

But maybe your guard can be broken, too.

“Not really,” he admits, “only when pretty people are around.”

A weak attempt, but it makes your eyebrow cock in amusement. He knows you are, because the hint of mischief that scurries over your face resembles his own.

“Ah, and you happen to know when pretty people are around. Or did you follow me here?” you, however, ask.

It’s an obvious inquiry, but weirdly enough, he didn’t expect it. You exhibit the first sign of a proper, humane emotion. Delivering three quick blinks, voice quiet, suspicion swims in your eyes, slightly irritated.

Or even… scared?

You can’t truly be.

So he backtracks, slightly angling his head. He sighs — hiding how much his lungs crave a breath of air. He doesn’t want to scare you off just yet.

“No,” he defends, “of course not. I was just joking.”

“So… I’m not pretty?”

Oh. Oh?

Perhaps he misinterpreted your expression. Perhaps you’re merely a good actress; messing with him as he is with you. The smirk suggests this much, at least.

Perplexed, he holds his breath before letting out a choked laugh; the head tilt and click of his tongue carry a sliver of scolding before he admits, “That’s pretty frustrating, I won’t lie.”

“I’m just kidding, too. It’s a big exhibition. I expected a familiar face here.”

Why is there something so devilish about you?

He can’t say; maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s enough to join the game, to be just as cocky and see how you react. 

Perhaps he’s being selfish and too certain of himself, and in the worst case, he might just be imagining the tension buzzing between you like sparks off an electric fence. But does he have anything to lose, really?

Barely ever.

“Then,” he begins, “is it a good face?”

“All the art around us and you want me to admire you, huh?”

“…The art won’t be mad if you do.”

Jungkook is bold, he’ll admit. He hasn’t always been — he remembers a time spent in the back of classes, preferring to eat lunch alone. Did college tug him out of his shell? Was it senior year?

Then again — did that one kill the timidness in his heart or rather the last shred of humanity?

Maybe his cold matches yours, too. Is that why he feels so drawn to you?

Because you’re as bold as him; you don’t sugarcoat words and thoughts. And Jungkook appreciates the honesty, the ingredient to actual success — even if it’s achingly direct.

Like now.

You uncross your legs; your hips move in an elegant curve, and Jungkook attempts his best to keep his eyes off the arcs of your body. Focuses as you say, “You shouldn’t be flirting with a coworker, Mister Jeon.”

“Wait. I thought we were warming up to each other. Don’t demote me from Jungkook to Mister Jeon now.” You chuckle; that’s something, right? “Besides, I was just conversing. We need to spend all our time together now, so better get along, right?”

Right. Right; of course he’s right.

But… what is that?

It lingers for the faintest of moments, just a glimpse of an unspoken feeling, gone with the next blink. In this crowd of unsuspecting visitors you’re the closest to him physically, but your thoughts are miles and centuries away.

“Maybe you’re right,” you still say, as if whooshing away all unwelcome sentiments, “then I should not… dodge your conversation, right?”

“Sure.”

“Behave, though.”

He’s so confused — but not deep in this enough to question it. So he merely shrugs his shoulder before he responds, “I have been. I can converse, alright.”

“Right.”

“Like… first of all,” he steps closer, raising a hand, gesturing for you to walk on as new admirers of the modern piece approach, “tell me, have we met before? Feels like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

You halt in your steps, but immediately resume to the stroll when a stranger nearly bumps into you. “You’re doing it again.”

He’s honestly not. The aura surrounding you like an ominous fog is omnipresent and eerie, yet… you carry a sense of familiarity. But you’re a presence too distinct to ever forget.

Which doesn’t help his case.

“Yeah,” he still agrees before potentially embarrassing himself, kissing his teeth, “sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done this a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices when the two of you halt in front of another piece. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me that way?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“Then,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only sees a calm ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is gentle, but wrapped in dark mystery. How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly strange things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“And it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must have been a trigger, or a thought about something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A soft hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ohhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibit made me realise how this colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking now. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who earn it.”

Earn it? How? 

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack. 

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your stare. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like that when you were in his office, or at the meeting. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the mystery away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this open?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Yeah. I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Out of the blue, too. Strokes his ego, though. And then, unexpectedly again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely seen half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps it’s enough for now, sitting in this overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh,” you make, “don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as heck. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for the two of us.”

You laugh — a sweet, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip in his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. It’s always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, two perfectly prepared lattes and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge slice. You thank her with a gentle smile, tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing the dangling earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head, through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance at snail's pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sounds around him come alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You see him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try it.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — then again, maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

But making you smile must be an achievement. If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him relax, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… it’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you lovely. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t quite budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest in peace. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel. Makes him want you more.

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before. No matter what it is; Jungkook merely understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants to be the colour green for you. 

“Ah—” you voice.

“In fact, I’m not supposed to hang out here with you.”

“…How come?”

“I should be with Tae,” he admits. Maybe he’s revealing more to you than he should — maybe he should adjust to your level of secrecy and wait. But this is frustrating him. “He dragged me here, so I could get inspiration from all sides.”

You listen; perhaps not quite loving the idea of seeing him in such a way?

Fuck. Maybe it really was a mistake. No turning back now, though.

“He said artists find motivation in art, too, and I do like to paint, so…” He looks at his cup, still left to be tried from, and then stares up from the cream leaf that the barista formed in his coffee. “I didn’t wanna come here, though. I already have an idea of what I want to do.”

“And…” you start, still not addressing the issue on hand; choosing to talk about something else for now, “he doesn’t like what you’ve come up with?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t know about it yet.”

You take a sip of your coffee, softly smacking your lips once to relish the taste. You’re living proof that subtle gestures can make a mind race. Then you say, “Maybe you should introduce it to him then.”

“I will. Just… mmh, need a better grasp on it.” He throws a nod towards you. “I can’t wait to show you either.”

Another sip of the seething liquid.

If the gentle hint of him being bent on your presence flatters you anyhow — stirs anything in you at all — you don’t let it show. Are you, by chance, used to being swarmed from all sides?

Are his advances kindergarten to you?

You don’t budge as he waits for you to respond, setting the cup back on your saucer before you inquire, “Where is Taehyung, anyway then?”

“Uh, I’m sure he’s going around admiring the art?” Jungkook guesses, head reflexively moving to the side, as if his friend and co-worker could materialise out of thin air. “He enjoys it even more than I do.”

“And you separated from him because…”

Because Jungkook ascended a spiral staircase. Because he turned right and halted in front of the second instead of the first room. Because he recognised the familiar curves and edges, as intriguing as ever, from this far distance.

And told Taehyung to continue without him; that Jungkook was going to explore a different corner of the museum.

He tilts his head; his left eyebrow raises just a twitch, fingertips tapping the hot surface of the coffee cup. And then, charisma gathered in the middle of his pupils, he tells you—

“Because I found you.”

There it is.

The slightest of reactions.

Your eyes widen barely an inch, but he sees it. How your lips part a bit, even though you should’ve expected his answer after the conversations hitherto shared. Hm…

“So you did follow me,” you say.

He can’t say if you’re joking or not. But all of a sudden, he wonders if he’s creeped you out. He opted for flirting so clearly, but… maybe you interpreted it vastly differently.

But he keeps himself relaxed; not faltering now when you aren’t either. Answers, “If you want to call it that. I call it finding you and then sticking with you. You’re interesting, Miss Manager.”

You smile.

Genuinely, thoroughly, wholeheartedly.

The beam reveals more than any word could’ve today — that humanity slumbers somewhere in the crevices of your heart. Your eyes suggest it as much as your stance on art did.

Whatever might have scarred you in life, behind all that ache, you hide a delicate soul.

Green, green, green.

And your cryptic worry, uttered a moment later, doesn’t bring him down from his sense of victory. No. Not now.

“Yeah?” You cross your legs, letting out a breathy sigh. “Then I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”

[6:43PM] Jeon Jungkook: i’ve been thinking about something. and of you

For a bedroom as sparsely decorated and light-coloured as Jungkook’s, he should be surrounded by a brilliant glow. And usually, he is.

The windows occupy half of the wall, the bedsheets a perfect white; had he texted you a couple hours prior, he would’ve found himself in the gleam of a pale blue late winter sky. But if he’d tapped your name on his device earlier, he would’ve indulged in a whole different mood, too.

Wouldn’t have given into fatigued, delirious fantasies. Daydreaming about the curves of your lips and about the single strands of hair kissing your cheeks. Or the way you love exposing your neck, as if to taunt him.

It’s right there, but you can’t touch it, Jeon.

And…

And the mounds of your chest, slivers of it visible whenever you put on those heaven sent dresses. Their cuts are almost as deep as the ones damaging Jungkook’s brain. And not much for the sake of his sanity, the thirst isn’t quenched just yet.

Crossed legs badly hidden under your see-through tights. The movement of your hips when you walk into his studio, placing yet another gruesome schedule onto his desk. Your scent when you lean into him, pointing to another meeting he barely recalls.

You… you…

If Jungkook hadn’t already cleaned up the sloppy mess previously covering his knuckles, trickling down his thighs, he’d possibly give into the urge to sneak his fingers back to where he craves them to linger.

No, you made that mess.

Of his sheets, of him. And you never needed to be here in the first place.

Jungkook is no fool — unlike many of his friends, he doesn’t deny the way his body winds. He knows what he wants; and right now, he hungers for you. Wants you to eliminate the drought on his tongue; wants you to replace it with some taste instead.

“Fuuuuck.”

The word drags into the emptiness of the room, filling the silence that someone else should be lifting. But you’re not here, and you’re not answering. Not yet, at least. Has it been seconds or minutes?

Too long, is all he knows.

His digits are cleaned thoroughly, but he can’t shake the persisting feeling of sheer, dirty lust as they reach his phone again. Lighting up the screen, then curling inwards in frustration.

He repeats the desperate attempt of manifestation a couple times until he throws the device aside, nearly missing the mid-air vibrations, indicating the long-awaited message. Jungkook’s heart falls out of his ribcage and squeezes his guts; your name elicits far more than it should.

And he feels just a little guilty.

Because he doesn’t deny himself any pleasure — so he knows this isn’t love. This isn’t starving for emotionality. Not for sentiments. What you pull out might be his ugliest, beastliest side; his mind is filled with images of you that he shouldn’t be having.

You’re so respected. So tender and kind. Intriguing, a riddle, but inhabiting secrets probably far darker than his thoughts. So he feels odd about the wanton desire; feels guilty.

But just for a bit. Just a little.

The message you sent back is too humble, too innocent. Sometimes he reckons you’re aware of your power, and sometimes he assumes you think of yourself as… ordinary.

But you’re not. And he wants to show you.

Just one touch, please.

“Fuck, shut up, you creep,” Jungkook whispers to himself, scolding his treacherous mind before he reads again.

[6:52PM] You: Oh? Why would you be thinking about me? Of all people?

Should he wait? You did, too.

Or should he make as crystal clear as he can muster that he’s been waiting for you?

Screw it.

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: what else should I be thinking of?

Your next response is immediate — you’re online. Waiting for him to answer.

Good.

[6:53PM] You: Your music?

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: my music doesn’t talk to me as much as you do these days

He smirks. Keeps the beam plastered to his face until the waiting becomes a little too long. Message on read, you leave the chat room empty of you and full of a nervy Jungkook. He opts out of it the same second, keen on patience before it fades again, bit by bit.

Because then, the thoughts flood in.

Are you rolling your eyes? Throwing the phone into a corner of your couch? Has he fucked up before anything could start?

But it’s been going so well. You talk to him every single day. Ever since the museum, the two of you have been orbiting each other; partly due to work, partly because he’s caught you smiling, too.

Your words are too sickeningly often accompanied by a soft touch of yours against his shoulders; against his arms. Sometimes, you brush his back, his eyes wide awake, the smile timid yet crushingly losing against your confident gaze.

All this must mean something.

“Nah. Fuck it,” he mutters again, sighing over his own constant use of curses. “Come back.”

[6:55PM] Jeon Jungkook: actually… I did come up with one tune. It’s just a skeleton of a song tbh, but I need a sounding board.

It takes another one minute for you to come back, and Jungkook angles his legs, relying on the movements of his body to ease the impatience. But then—

[6:56PM] You: Oh, and? [6:56PM] You: Sorry, I had to step away for a sec

Sigh of relief. Even though embarrassment annoyingly adds itself to the mix, an uninvited guest.

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: …do you wanna come to the studio?

[6:57PM] You: Right now? It’s like… [6:57PM] You: 7pm

Unconsciously, Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, unbothered to the bone, just craving, craving, craving…

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: a true artist never rests. [6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: and I’d rather die than stop hustling for my passion

As the next message appears at the bottom of the screen, Jungkook can’t help but bite into his lower lip with a certain pride. He nods as if he caught his prey, trapping it between his fangs.

[6:58PM] You: 😂LOL. now that, I admire, mister Jeon :) [6:58PM] You: I’ll finish my wine and be on my way

Oh.

Are you tipsy? Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but the emoji seems so unlike you; yet, you somehow manage to capture the core of what and who you are in the rest of the message. Six coherent words. That’s all it takes.

Goddamn.

You’re so thoroughly you.

[6:59PM] Jeon Jungkook: wait. really?

And that’s it. You disappear.

Perhaps you’re joking; perhaps you’re messing with him. The sun has already set; and he doesn’t think he’s ever stayed with you much longer than dusk before.

If he met you in the evening, or on other nights, would you make more sense than you usually do? Are you the type to unravel when the world quiets down? Or the one to blend with the darkness more, drawing back further?

If there’s pure truth in what you just said, devoid of all mockery you could revert to… he might find out. And it seems you’re in the right mood today, earnest with your intentions when he feels his phone vibrate against his thick thigh again, making him flinch.

[7:11PM] You: Yes? I’m already dressed. Get your ass up

Oh shit.

Despite your order, his limbs still shut down. His muscles and bones melt into the bed, a fleeting image of your sly smirk crossing his mind and an assured voice surrounding his eardrums.

And if he didn’t overthink each of your movements; didn’t fantasise about the possible rise and fall of your voice, he would’ve discarded his phone and gotten dressed a lot earlier.

How embarrassing.

The fact that his mind doesn’t want to categorise this as a crush, no matter how much he asks. That his body responds to you like that, superficial and intrigued.

Embarrassing. He should focus on more important things.

Yet, he can’t be bothered with the intruding sentiment, shame shoved aside and trampled under his feet as his car turns into a parking lot, perfectly in front of the building’s entrance. Your form is crystal clear in the dark; not even the shadows and lack of light can hide your silhouette.

The radar sensor beeps when he creeps too close to the hood of the car behind him, and he mumbles a curse, averting his eyes from your unmoving self to focus on proper parking. Letting the roaring engine die.

Your shoulders are slightly raised when he approaches you at the door. One hand is stuffed in the pocket of your thin, baby pink coat, the other curled into a fist, possibly resisting the urge to enter the building and combat the cold.

You could’ve waited inside, too. Unless…

Maybe you’re excited to see him, too.

You smile, lips reaching far up; he tries his hardest to believe he’s right. Takes the gesture as a good omen, and the hair pulled up in a loose bun as a sign of hurry. You look domestic, comfortable in your skin, no matter who’s around.

But somewhere between the comfort and the softness, there’s that everlingering intrigue, too. And… some timidness. Showing in the crossed legs his eyes drift over, up to the short skirt barely visible underneath the coat.

And your face… so natural. More than usual. Mascara only? He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he needs to say something.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you throw back, tilting your head in tease, “where were you? Took you long enough to get here.”

He steps closer; fiddling with his jacket’s pocket, fishing for the keys. And his proximity changes something about you so subtly, a miniscule movement. Hand digging deeper into your coat.

You’re on guard for some reason. And he can’t help but admit he’s on guard with you, too, albeit in a less physical and more mental way. The unfathomable, dichotomous sensation of wanting you near, wanting you far is killing him.

What are you hiding?

If he could, he’d speak it out loud.

“I had to freshen up,” he finally responds, “I honestly didn’t expect you to say yes.”

Your body might be in protection mode, but your voice is as composed, even somewhat amused, as always, “Well.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why. But I’m here now, and honestly… a little cold?” Nodding towards the door, “Should we go inside?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He sniffles, fishing for the chip to unlock the door. For an ephemeral second right before walking inside, your breath lingers incredibly close to his own, grazing his lip ring. “Don’t forget to dress warm this season.”

Near enough for his fingers to succumb to the impulse and sidle to you, skimming your thigh so featherlightly. He thinks he hears the sharp inhale you suck in. His skin tickles, the shiver icy on his body. He watches you smirk, lowering your head; his fingertips insist on the vicinity just for the tiniest seconds before he says,

“Okay. Let's go inside before you catch a cold, silly.”

But the bitter frost permeates the hallways of the company in the same ruthless manner. Perhaps somebody’s still lingering around in the daunting dark. Revising steps in the mirrored practice rooms or hovering above lyrics and tunes, neck bent and back tired.

But the building isn’t heated; and it shows in your rather quick steps, an arm wrapped around your chest to rub the layers above your arm. The guarded demeanour doesn’t match your usual confidence; aside from the hollow hallways, it seems that you’re scared of more than just the cold.

He doesn’t point it out. And he doesn’t stare for too long.

If he did, you might realise.

Instead, he saunters to the elevator with you in tow, delighted about the light that never changes in the small rectangular space. You let your hand drop to your purse, lazily toying with its zip, and turn your head to observe the closing doors.

And Jungkook observes you. 

The glow of your cheeks in the bright beam, half of your face devoid of the hair tucked behind your ear. As you breathe in, your lips split a fraction, and their gentle, soft curves mesmerise him for a moment too long.

It’s difficult and cruel, being around you. Haunting, agonising, aggravating.

And when your eyes align with his again, sparkling a little in line with your tender smile, Jungkook realises that he’s been holding his breath. Because it escapes between the seam of his mouth in a sudden push, his knees nearly buckling.

He resists the urge to bite into his fist, instead disguising his thoughts when he covers his mouth, teeth digging into his plump, lower lips.

“So,” he quickly adds, leaving no space for you to question his eccentricity, but you initiate another convo in the same tiny second, “It’s…”

You pause, withholding your statement in order to listen to his. But he shakes his head, lifting a hand to sign for you to continue. So you say, “It’s a little scary here at night.”

Okay. Not that tough of a topic.

“Right?” he confirms. “I always imagine getting here and hearing a hum that’s not really there.”

“Uh…” You blink in disbelief, lifting your eyebrows, but when he shrugs your confusion away, your hesitation marker turns into a chuckle. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“It’s just something I imagine. It’s terrifying, but my mind goes places, and I never ask it to.”

“Well, it’s a mean thing of your mind to do.” The ding of the elevator distracts you, and when you step out, your thoughts remain at an afar spot. Kept inside your pretty little head until you whisper, “And? Have you ever heard it, then?”

“Hm? The hum?” You nod, and he suppresses the snicker your curious, cocked eyebrow nearly elicits. “No. Only myself. Humming helps me control my breathing, so I do it to practise.”

“Weird. It’s so different from how I’d imagine you.”

Huh. Seems he’s not the only one sketching your entire being to keep himself awake at night.

“How would you?” he asks.

“As a rockstar?”

“Oh?” That’s new. “As a future RnB slash pop sensation I find this officially peculiar. Why a rockstar?”

You cock an eyebrow; either digesting the confident prophecy or pondering his question. The crooked smile matches his own signature smirk a little, and you puff out a breath before your sombre yet sparkling eyes wander an inch further down, right to his mouth.

Your eyelashes are endless, on their way to brush those delicate apples of your cheeks — in reality, it’s an impossible fantasy written in novels and poems, but it’s exactly how it looks. Exactly how much your curious gaze drops.

Only, the tingling sensation in his chest soon subsides, freeing a path to the realisation that he’s yet again misunderstanding. Because you’re not drawn by his lips, but rather considering a response.

He sighs in subtle disappointment when you point to the shiny metal encircling his lower lip, telling him, “Gotta be the piercing.”

“Ah. Ahhh. Well. First off, this is a very stereotypical assumption.” You shrug your shoulders in amusement, watching him cram for his chip until he halts in front of his studio, keeping you in his vision. “And secondly.”

The lock of the door clicks as he swipes the chip across the reader, defined knuckles paling a bit when he pushes the handle down. He raises his chin by a fraction, pulling out the most-assured smile, and asks, “Do you like it?”

And you, composed as ever, respond, “It suits you. I always wonder how comfortable these are, though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, like. Do they have a metal taste? Do you ever get hyper aware of them and then get annoyed and want them off? Are they… cold?”

He laughs. There’s something endearing about how your voice quietens further the more your curiosity grows. You’re not quite looking at him, pupils focused on a random spot, hands expressive as you vocalise your thoughts.

“Let’s see,” he mutters, jacket thrown over a chair, “sometimes and, again, sometimes. It feels a bit cold right now because it’s cold outside. I mean…”

He rubs the chill off his tattooed arm, fingers diving under the short sleeves of his white, oversized t-shirt. Attempts never faltering, he leans into you in intrigue, parting his lips before running his tongue over the jewellery.

“Do you just. Wanna touch it and find out for yourself?”

You blink, frozen in place.

The room isn’t too spacious; Jungkook will get his very own studio, name tag and all once he reaches a clear peak. For once, he’s glad about the crowded room, girded by a guitar on the wall, chairs standing side by side, a little couch leaning against the back of the wall.

As ever, he can’t decipher your mood; as ever, you’re still quick to answer, “I… no. It’s okay.”

Why don’t you want him?

Goddamn it.

“Okay,” he simply utters, shrugging his vexation away. “Let’s get started then.”

The excitement in his tone dips, seemingly aloof, but as he walks into the dark square of silence, reaching for the headphones he placed right here mere hours ago, wordless curses dangle off the tip of his tongue.

He makes sure you don’t see the clench of his jaw or the fast and steady fall of his ego, but you’re shoving back the chair and adjusting anyway. Crossing tight-clad legs as you place your coat on your lap, throwing your mane to one side to free that damned neck.

It must be on purpose.

He waits for you to settle, the headphones on the table in front of you enveloping your head. They look way too big on you, and Jungkook can’t decide whether to tut at his anguish or swoon at your stellar being.

Jungkook uses his headphones to communicate through the glass, raising a thumb to ask, “Ready?” You nod, matching his gestures with your own. “Be honest, how professional do I look?”

Carding the fine hair back, he pushes a hand into the pocket of his pants, taking a stand in front of the boom microphone. He mimes a typical grimace of an immersed artist, letting out an immediate, sweet chuckle that you chime in joyfully.

You lean in, long earrings brushing your jaw, pressing down the button for the talkback mic to assure through the intercom, “You look like a born star.”

He rolls his eyes, playfully clicking his tongue, “Ahhh, that’s a nice yet basic thing to say, but. I’ll take it.”

“Why did you go in there anyway? Weren’t you just going to show me a song?”

“Adlibs, baby. I’m still missing those.” He adjusts the headphones again, clearing his throat, almost in position. “But I didn’t warm up my voice, so I’ll need to re-record them anyway.”

“And still you’re straining your voice because…?”

“We’re here to impress you, so let me.”

Your finger lifts off the button, but the movement of your lips suggests to him undoubtedly what your teasing self might be mumbling.

Oh damn. Sorry then, boss.

You raise your hands in defeat until you detect his beguiled smile, raising your eyebrows in a clear question that he answers with two words; a simple title of a song, not as glorious as the tune itself but hopefully as memorable.

Eyes scurrying across the now opened laptop screen, you search for the instrumental until you stumble upon it. 3:54 minutes of what Jungkook prays to be blasted everywhere in a couple week’s time before the big concert, chiming in his ears.

The initial guitar riff drowns the room in a mixture of intriguing anticipation and uncurbed sentiments immediately. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your face, attempting to decode a reaction. And when you notice, hands on the headphones, you nod approvingly.

Most of his vocals are already recorded to perfection; a silky voice laments about a lost time with purity. Jungkook largely listens in, searching for wonky bits or moments to be re-tackled. Of course, he will need to discuss the details with Taehyung tomorrow, but whenever the passion burns the hottest, he can’t help but add an adlib here and there.

As he sings, his eyes reflexively close, and for a couple dozen seconds, the melodic current pulls him towards a bigger ocean; the sense of freedom and possibility is astonishing. There’s a certain ardour he feels towards music that nothing will ever be able to elicit.

Do you feel the same?

As somebody spending day in, day out surrounded by musicians, does that phenomenon make your heart surge, too?

Maybe.

When he looks at you again, it’s at least something fervent he detects in your gaze. A bit like the longing he feels. Intense fondness, or perhaps, even zoning out — until you’re barely blinking anymore.

Your features relax a little more as the song proceeds, bit by bit, the calmest when the ending notes arrive. Jungkook observes you; freezes at his spot. The change from the built-up chorus to the suddenly calm ending, instruments dying, are as forgotten as the last touches… because you, behind the glass, are much more interesting.

Just staring. Looking at the screen, its brightness reflecting in your pupils. When you blink again, most of the preceding smile is gone, something indecipherable in your eyes.

He doesn’t know whether you actually enjoyed the entire thing or became consumed by memories he doesn’t know of. Some the song might have drawn out but shouldn’t have. There’s… a past in your stare.

He knows because much like the vast existing humanity, he’s been tending to faraway memories for years, too.

And he wants to know about yours.

Gently, Jungkook grasps the headphones covering his ears, the mane victim to the impact before his fingers fix it again. He frees his eyes off his strands, never directing them away from you, and when he opens the door to the small room you drifted off in, you look up.

Your emerging smile is unsuspecting and polite as always, and you deliver a tilt of your head. Jungkook could sign the previous oddness off as just this, or a sinking into arts just as he does sometimes.

But what’s enough is enough; brushing questions off his mind has become tedious.

So he rolls back the second chair next to you to take a seat, placing his arm on the one of the furniture before folding his fingers; leaning in, asking, “You okay?”

You react with a soft nod, a tender hum, “Yeah! I was listening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“You zoned out.”

“Which is a good thing, I promise.”

Jungkook looks for a moment. Waits for you to break or admit that the truth you display might not be as pure as you think; waits for his instinct to wind up correct.

But when you do nothing of that sort, eyes a resolute and solid statement, he sighs. Tongues at the lip ring for a moment before he clears his throat and questions, “Good thing, yeah? What else do you think?”

“It… goes deep,” you confess, an impressed declaration in your expressions, “what are you talking about in that one? I mean, I know, but… it sounds so personal.”

“More or less? I’ve spent most of the last few years dedicating myself to this job. The training, the late night sessions, the failure and lost time. I wanted to depict those hardships.” He nods, emphasising his points. “I want this song to help me look back one day…”

He shrugs his shoulders, thumbs slowly circling around each other, “And comfort my older self that despite the hectic life, things are okay.”

“I see.”

Your tone is neutral, but your chest rises and falls a little too slowly. Your sorrow is quiet. He closes the distance further, nudging your arm, “Hey. Did you not like it?”

“I did,” you defend, honesty and reassurance in your voice, “I do. You have an amazing voice, come on, what’s not to like. And the sound is incredible. Should you manage to release it, it will be celebrated a lot.”

“I will manage to release it,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, resisting the urge to touch your elbow again, but settling on simply calling your name instead, “you’re part of my team. Let’s be optimistic.”

“I am. Teamwork makes the dream work. Etcetera.”

“Right,” Jungkook breathes, word close to a yawn. He throws his body back in the cushioned chair, manspreading as much as the space allows; stretches his arms until his muscles crack. “Ahhh… I really want this to be good.”

His gaze falls to the darkening laptop, soon giving way to pitch darkness, potentially to some screensaver. The title of the song remains still in the opened audio file, and he smacks his lips, blinking only when you voice an approving, “Mhmmm.”

His head darts to you the moment you deliver a subtle nod towards the computer, deducting, “You really strive to be big.”

Well, yeah. That’s been the plan. Always, always.

“Shouldn’t I?” he argues. “It’s a dream.”

“It’s good to have dreams.”

“That’s right. Mine is to… Stand on a bigger stage. I think I’ve reached a solid group, but I think if I keep working hard and with the right team, I can make it?”

“This determined, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he responds with a hint of obvious self-evidence, slight confusion shadowing his mind — have you never wanted something so badly? “The audience’s eyes glued to me. Don’t you have a dream?”

Another deep inhale of air, chest working hard, as if you’re breathing out fatigue. He prepares for another vague answer that might leave him guessing; and albeit clearly seeing the usual curtain veiling your true thoughts, what you say next makes his ears perk up.

“Honestly. I’ll allow dreams again once I’ve moved on. That’s all I want.”

What?

Did you actually want to say that? Was it on purpose? A slip of the tongue?

Because it seems so unlike you. Reveals too much. He doesn’t think you’ve exposed your innermost thoughts like this before, even if still not quite transparent.

“…From what?” The previously relinquished distance dies when he inches closer again, digits sneaking close to your knee. A fingertip floats over your tights. “Hey. Is something bothering you?”

“Ugh,” you say; the sliver of sadness seamlessly transitions into an expression of nonchalance when you wave your concerns off so quickly. “Young adult stuff.”

Nevertheless, you speak on. The biggest development in this friendship between the two of you yet. “I once had a friend that moved away. We were pretty close, and now she’s far away. Which sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

Jungkook offers to listen, but he doesn’t necessarily deem himself the most expressive guy when it comes to emotions like these; even if he so deeply wishes to read your thoughts. Music is different; speaking to an audience is, too. Articulating gratitude isn’t as difficult as extinguishing someone else’s grief.

And while not quite confronted with anguish, he houses demons that still haunt his nights; he can barely obliterate them.

Maybe he doesn’t need to.

Maybe he can comfort you in the only way he’s ever known. The stupid, selfish way; offering relief and distraction in the most sinful manner.

“Listen…” Jungkook starts, but in all honesty — there isn’t much to say.

Only to crave. To look.

At the curve of your lips. The distance between them. The bare wrist needing to be held, tired eyes wanting to replace the sorrow with something else.

Is he an asshole for wanting to annihilate your heavy breaths of dejection and replace them with sighs of his name instead?

He doesn’t know. He barely hears his thoughts. Only the blood rushing to his ears, and then away from his head, down his body.

Fuck.

The levitating finger drops an inch; you gasp almost inaudibly when the tip touches your knee, skin separated by the tights only. Jungkook loves fashion choices like these, but hates the hurdle right now.

His warm palm opens, placing right above your knee, approaching the meat of your thigh. He knows you’re not breathing because he can’t hear the exhales; and when his eyes, hooded and possibly insane, flit up to you, he recognises the change in your pupils.

You gulp; and then finally push out some air again. Your hand moves to his inked wrist, touching lightly, unsure what to do. But when you don’t resist, his other arm lifts, touch moving to your face, holding it.

The world spins, moving like an earthquake as his mouth draws nearer. You let out a miniscule sound that punches him in the guts; sweet and pure.

He wants to shatter and wreck you so bad; wants you to feel the same poison you’ve fed him. Irresistible, deadly.

But just as the metal of his jewellery grazes your lips, the softness and warmth radiating towards him, your breath shakes. Your face budges enough for his upper lip to feel a brush against yours, but that’s all he gets.

Because you retreat without giving in. And he doesn’t know why.

He clenches his jaw. God fucking hell. What’s your problem?

The sense of failure overwhelms him. Failure. Failure.

That’s not the term his mind should conjure. He knows the moral compass hides somewhere in his dark heart; he knows. Yet, he can never give into it. Is he a bad person? He doesn’t know.

Control was never his domain, after all.

But he keeps those intrusive thoughts inside, intending to not scare you off more than he already might have. So he accepts the dodging of the kiss, moving back, immediately leaving you safe from his touch.

And then, he says, “Uhm— I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer, still catching your breath, back to the heavy sighs that he was going to help shove back. Once again, he tries, “Honestly, I apologise, I just…”

“No, no. Please, don’t be sorry,” you reassure, slightly touching his shoulder. A wave of relief washes over him. “I’m just. Not in the right mindset for it yet. But I’m flattered, really.”

“Okay.” He nods. His eyes drop to his fingers; he still feels your heat on his skin, basks in it for a moment. But when the awkward silence lingers, he suggests, “Then. Let’s call it a night and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. I’m definitely getting tired.”

“Me too.”

Jungkook rises from his seat, still unable to wrap his head around what happens — or almost happened. Maybe another time. Grabbing your coat from behind you, he helps you into it, avoiding your eyes, trying not to showcase his frustration.

Uncertain what to say, he reverts back to small talk, stating, “Thanks for still coming so late. You really do like the song, yeah?”

“Jungkook… it’s honestly very good.”

You smile; there’s something about your honesty. About the way you say his name. And how hopeful you truly seem for him. How much you seem to mean it when you say—

“If there’s anyone who can manage to wrap the world around their finger, it’ll be you, Jungkook.”

“Alright. I think I have an answer to your question now.”

You down the sip of red wine with a delicate smack of your lips, blinking at the change in topic. The evening has followed a pleasant pace so far, conversations well balanced; even though you still carry a sense of caution that Jungkook sees no reason behind.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after weeks of subtle, flirty undertones and advancing attempts you’ve taken the seat on his couch as he’s imagined for so long now. Maybe he still exudes something that screams for caution; maybe that’s just who you are.

Jungkook, for one, is just glad to receive any kind of recognition from you. But he’d be a fool to not insert all his effort into tonight, from the food to the type of drinks and conversations. He knows where he needs to be and he wants you to want it, too.

“What question?” you ask.

It’s just.

Despite the lightness with which you carry your talks, some of your movements feel off, detached from your body. Not quite matching the grace your face portrays; just that one hint. The one hiding in your fingers, tapping the dark screen of the phone resting on your thigh.

As if you’re waiting for a call or something to happen that Jungkook isn’t aware of. Who knows. Nothing has happened in the last hour, so this might be an unconscious gesture reasoned in nothing but an absent or distracted mind.

Yeah.

You’re probably not even aware of it and he’s just overthinking it.

He takes a breath, inhaling the aroma of the almost finished wine, “What I’d do if I could spend a day in a virtual reality.”

“Wait, does the Wembley Stadium doesn’t count anymore?”

Jungkook smirks, dismissing his own prior answer with a click of his tongue. “C’mon. Does it really? You can ask literally any artist ever and that’s what they’ll say.”

You ponder his response, pursing your lips in thought, and then shrug one shoulder. Nodding along, you acknowledge, “Right. So what is it then?”

“I’d just.” He sucks air through his teeth sharply, leaning back with a signature smack of his lips. “Get into a reality in which this damn song is already finished and mixed and ready to be released.”

This song referring to the concoction of sounds he showed you earlier, yet to be concretised and burnished to what he truly envisions. It’s the only song left that shackles him to the studio; at the upcoming concert, he’ll just sing the demo version as a sneak peak if needed. What a source of stress.

But you don’t see it as much of a struggle; you’ve told him a dozen times that hard work justifies a slip-up. That the progress on his album balances out the artist’s block.

Possibly why you laugh his worry off without mocking it, merely throwing back, “I’m disappointed.”

Oh?

“Why?”

“Just because — the Wembley answer was better.”

Unexpected and sudden — much like the snicker you elicit, throwing his head back just a little. Concurring, he sighs, “Okay, okay. What about you then?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me what you’d do.”

“You didn’t ask,” you remind him, already slurring your speech a bit, though still remaining a stable and solid stance, “dunno. You want the sappy or the basic answer?”

“Is the sappy one a tear-jerker? Sounds like it.”

“For sure.”

“Then the basic one. Don’t dig being sad.”

“Thought so,” you answer, and Jungkook holds back from prodding again this time, despite wondering what image he gets across, “alright. I’d do things I’m unsure of in real life. Like bungee jumping.”

“Oh? Kinda did not expect this.”

“No?”

“Just having a hard time imagining somebody as calm as you jumping off a building. Or yelling.”

You roll your eyes. “Anyway. I’d love to go, but I’m too scared of the risks. Like, rope stuff. Don’t want to be jumping for the last time.”

“Okay, yeah, but,” Jungkook starts, hesitating, “I mean, you could say that about anything. You leave your apartment and get hit by a car and then you’d be going out for the last time.”

You begin shaking your head mid-sentence, already drawing a breath, ready to disagree. Then, “That’s a bad comparison. These things are a once in a lifetime experience.”

“I’m just saying! Why hold back from things that excite you.”

“…Maybe you’re right.”

Jungkook’s proud nod and hum are reciprocated with a soft smile, fleeting when you roll your eyes back to your phone briefly. Absent-mindedly, you drag a fingertip across the device’s side as Jungkook follows your movements.

Yet, unsure what you might be harbouring in this pretty head of yours, he doesn’t ponder but asks, “What was the sappy thing?”

It’s as if you live multiple lives, hiding them in your innermost parts; because once he finishes his question, your sparkle returns, and you smirk a little, suddenly leaning forward.

Wordlessly, you fish a tissue out of the square, wooden box, puzzling him for a second until he understands right before you clarify, “For the upcoming tears.”

His titter is immediate, a reflex. You might be relaxed as a calm river, but your humour does shine through among your other million traits. He shakes his head in rejection, smile still plastered to his lips, and watches you lean back again, clearing your throat.

“Mhh, I’d say,” you muse, “I’d try to get into a simulation of Heaven. Try to meet those I miss.”

“Oh… damn.”

“Yeah.”

“…I don’t know what to say.”

But despite the dumbstruck silence, his mind does conjure prompt associations. Like when the two of you sat in his studio just two weeks ago, you engrossed in his music yet somehow dissociated from reality.

You spoke about lost and faraway people back then, too. And he didn’t ask then, either.

In the depths of his mind, he wants to believe that you’re trying to lead him somewhere, fishing for his hand but never quite reaching it. Drawing back right before pleading for help; or perhaps wanting to make him understand a thought he can’t fathom in the way you form it.

The pattern is repetitive, loud — but he knows you’ll retract the moment he does lean into you, offering his ear to your worries and thoughts.

He can’t win.

“That’s okay,” you say, making up for his lack of proper empathy, and that’s where you leave it. Not hesitating, not indicating another hint to lead to your mind.

Yet, he clears his throat quietly, licking drying lips, and asks in attempt to grip the truth, your whatever-truth, “And, who’d be there? Do you want to talk about that?”

“Mmmmh,” you hum, pondering, before you treat him with the same disappointment he’s suffered throughout the last weeks, “no. I think I’m good.”

Unbelievable, and truthfully, frustrating.

Are you playing this side of yours? Is it an act? Are two sides of you fighting within you?

“Okay,” he simply responds, clearly agitated but unsure whether you notice. You’re looking at your phone again. He sighs. “And… Do you believe in that stuff? Heaven, Hell, stuff like that.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. “Dunno. I like to think there’s something, but then again I don’t.”

“How so?”

“The way I see it, it’s kinda simple,” you explain matter-of-factly, “some people are good enough to deserve a place in Heaven once they’re gone. And some people are terrible enough to burn for eternity.”

Coming from your sweet mouth, uttered in an equally soft tone, the sentence feels jarring. Jungkook has had these thoughts before; he’d be a hypocrite to judge you for yours, recalling moments when he wondered where he’s destined to land once he’s left this realm.

And somehow, it was never the prettier option.

Still, he utters, disguising his own past pondering, “Wow. That’s dark.”

“It’s true. There’s some serious crime in the world.”

Agreed. Perhaps, compared to the extreme sins, he can be forgiven. Right? Maybe…

“Yeah,” Jungkook accords, “then, why did you say that sometimes you don’t like believing in it?”

“I mean, if there’s actually something like Hell, and I happen to fuck up throughout life… I don’t wanna end up there.”

It’s like you’re mirroring his thoughts.

Even if he never quite thought about it to such an extent. Even though his idea of the afterlife built on what he’s already done, and not what he’s still going to do.

But your words give a subtle hope that redemption is possible. Who knows. Who really knows.

Perhaps it’s easiest to stray away from these thoughts and focus on you at this very moment. Even if it’s you triggering innermost fears; he doesn’t quite have a clue how you do it.

No matter. He’ll focus on you. Altruism might be the first step to vindication. Karma points. Karma points.

“Valid,” he says kindly, “can’t imagine you fucking up, though.”

“How would you know?”

“The company grapevine whispered a lil something about you.”

“Ahhh—”

“Good things! Other than that, I just think. Don’t know.” A small gap, well-hidden so far, grows in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the very front of his mind. Before he’s thought it through, he blurts, “I’ll be honest with you.”

Your ears perk up, eyes suddenly wide.

What was that?

Okay. Whatever. Can’t stop his speech now, “Uhm, I’ll be honest and say that I’m not the best person I know. Like, I’m aware of that. It’s why sometimes, I don’t really understand how people can be as genuine as you.”

…Has he said too much? Or not enough? Because he could swear your face deflates, expression dimming, as if you expected something else.

And all you say is, “I understand.”

A flicker of slight panic creeps into his overthinking head, not usually a trademark of his personality. But you look dispirited, even if just for a second. He tries further.

“And from what I’ve seen, you go through life gently. The way you do anything is how you do everything, right?”

“Hmmm,” you voice again, pupils hidden until you look up. And when you do, he breathes a sigh of relief; deep and obvious, and he doesn’t care if you notice. Smiling sweetly, you tell him, “You said that really well.”

The way you say it is riddled with woe, but within a second, your eyebrows relax, mouth forming an authentic grin. Displaying real emotions suits you better than the mask of the frigid ice queen you keep plastered to your face; you look different right now.

Vulnerable.

And it makes him want you more.

Does it have something to do with the warm light he chose for this room? No. It doesn’t shine brightly enough to really illuminate your face that much. With the intensity lowered beforehand, some of your features hide in the dark when you lower your head a little.

And it’s not the decent amount of alcohol the two of you slurped.

It’s the usual, mysterious shimmer in your eyes, begging to take off more of your mental layers. The fragility behind the pretence of invincible strength. No doubt, you’re still a textbook definition of a femme fatale.

Still, there’s some sweet urge to surrender, visible in your stance. A fragrance luring him in. Warm skin close to his; calling for his fingers.

And he’s at your beck and call, ready and motivated; giving into your wanting eyes — or is that his own desire he’s confusing? — and leaning in. A little more with each tiny moment, advancing until the tips of your noses meet.

Your warmth consumes him; your breathing quickens, resulting in fitful exhales that he takes in with vigour, much drowning in his own head until you gasp and he realises—

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not yet retracting. His hand touches your knee, carefully but with intention. Waiting, he asks, “Is that okay for you?”

“…I’m not sure.”

Your answer takes a seat on his ego and weighs it down. Harsh, sudden, perhaps not unexpected but definitely breaking a string of patience within him. But consent is consent; he understands. He’s grown now.

Yet…

“Fuck,” he whispers under a faint sigh, dejected and confused.

And you hear it. Bambi-eyed, you ask, “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He’d lie if he suppressed the disappointment. Working towards you for weeks was supposed to end in realising his fantasies into a palpable, actual feeling, with a side achievement of a deeper connection.

You don’t seem to want to provide it; he understands, but the agitation courses through him like a fire burning up a forest. The trees are his nerves; alight with different emotions. You’re fumbling with the soft cotton of your winter dress, and he averts his eyes.

Shutting them for a moment, he ponders his options; does he continue the awkward conversation? Or perhaps, ask you for your opinion straightforwardly? Maybe, after all this while, it wouldn’t be so stupid to swap a penny for your thoughts.

And his mouth opens, but it seems you’re faster. Crushing his questions and uncertainties when he hears you gulp, witness to another change of mind as your knee shifts forward. His eyes open rapidly, and when he looks at you again, you’ve moved closer.

Your leg touches his thigh; your eyelids half fallen, lips an inch apart and fingers hesitating, yet advancing towards him. Hope sparks and sparkles in him anew, and he suppresses the cheeky, triumphant smile.

He feels like an asshole. Oh, he feels so selfish — but he can’t be the only one. He cannot possibly be the first or last to give into deepest desires out of self-interest.

Carefully, he matches your pace, moving into your direction much like you are drawing into his. His hand lifts to your arm, and you suck in a breath as he touches your skin, your chest rising and falling deeply.

And his eyes observe. The motion drives him crazy. He wants to pilot his touch to this spot, wrap his palm around your mounds, desperate to feel your nipples perk up under his skin, your mouth fall wider.

Should he? Maybe, maybe—

Not yet.

Instead, he draws an invisible line with his fingertips, up your arm and to your shoulders until he reaches your neck. The sound you let out is so tiny he barely hears it, and you tilt your head to the other side, giving him free reign over your skin.

A spark lights up under his finger, as if he’s touched a defective bulb. He wonders if you feel the same flame when he charges for your jawline, tracing it for a moment before he moves to your seething hot cheek.

You’re burning up.

So he asks in a quiet, gravelly voice, somehow much lower than usual, “Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows are furrowed, and he starts to worry again; but maybe that’s just the same tension unleashing that he’s felt, too. The temptation runs deep; he could scream it out of his lungs and it wouldn’t be enough.

Relieved as you nod, he mimics the movement, whispering an, “Okay,” before he then dips forward, exhaling close to your neck hotly and… leaves a small kiss right there. He doesn’t know about you, but if you did that to him, he’d possibly faint.

One more kiss, and suddenly, your hand is on his knee. His head spins. Must be the alcohol. Must be you.

And you’re probably in no better state, judging the hot cheeks and the slight sway of your body. Must be the wine. Must be him.

And when his lips graze your jaw, your fingers curl in, clawing onto his knee, and his inner voice celebrates, “Jackpot.”

But not really. He’s going with the flow, exploring your preferences, but this needs to be the night of your life. His mind and ego want you to perceive it that way. So what should he do? What do you like?

Are you one to push him into the bed, holding his shoulders down? Straddling him keenly, pouncing on him, eyes rolled back?

Or do you give away all the power you usually emanate; hands bound with a tie, legs struggling between a rope, screams muffled under a gag? Do you wind and go crazy when somebody has their way with you, edging and then overstimulating, refusing a touch and then slapping your ass wound…

Should he let your siren eyes tempt him into submission or will you be the one drilled into his mattress with a hand around your neck and a trail of black mixed with tears under your eyes?

He doesn’t know. Because you’ve disguised all of you; hidden your mind behind a mask of absolute neutrality, hard to decipher. He can usually read women so easily. They lick their lower lips when they want him under them, and quiver when vice versa.

He’d oblige to either for you. So what does it matter in the end, anyway?

No, it doesn’t.

His tongue that lashes out, however, does matter. Tasting your skin as it drags over your chin and then to your mouth. Insane when he reaches your lower lip and you sigh, then back to your neck, blowing, teasing, still not kissing you… touching your thigh, moving inwards…

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

And this time, while still a little quiet, you finally say, “More. You can do more.”

“Yeah?”

You nod as if starved, relieved when his hands leave your leg and venture further in. It’s hidden under your dress, but somehow, not seeing your full glory just yet, but observing your reactions to his movements, stirs his thoughts. If any were left, that is.

The touch to your panties is light, tender as he reaches the hem, driving a finger underneath it in exploration. You don’t say much, but he sees the zeal in your eyes, murmuring a little, “Mhm…”

And when he finally presses against the fabric slowly dampening, lightly as he rolls his digits right where your skin so incredibly softens… you moan. You moan.

It doesn’t sound the way he imagined. But it kind of does. He doesn’t remember what he imagined — doesn’t know much at all. Just that he wanted this sound to echo within his walls. For him to be the one to drag it out. Not for anybody else, but him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Okay. What if he does… this…

Thought so.

Sometimes, human beings have a fantasy unmatched, don’t they? Able to form and reform expressions on people they know that they have never seen. For example, he can imagine what you look like when you cry. Or when you’re mad. Or…

He knew you’d press your lips together, along with your eyebrows, muffling your sound once he sought out your clit and pressed against it. And not because he’s seen other women contort their faces like this; no… it’s an entirely new sensation with you.

You don’t compare to anyone. Nobody compares to you. Nobody, ever.

Sick of watching the invisible movement under your dress, he lets his eyes wander to yours, and you notice, do as he does. Eyes hooded, staring at him as if drunk — possibly, probably drunk.

Just once, he gapes down again, trying to adjust without crushing your knees with his. Comes closer. Then looks back at you. Absolutely astonished by the coloured lips drying up. Seeing your tongue peak behind your upper teeth, pushing against them.

Then you’re blinking, several times, not rapidly, but enough to indicate that you’re losing yourself, too. And then there’s some melancholy behind your gaze; he can’t say where it derives from… you seem to be coming out of a room that you kept dark for long enough.

He can’t say whether he’s further dimming the light in that room or lightening it up — and as he advances, gauging your reactions, he inwardly hopes it’s the latter.

So inwardly. So desperately.

Patience only persists for a moment; Jungkook barely believes in it. People always break. And he does when you lean forward as he drags his finger between your pussy lips, still over the clothing. You balance your weight with your arms, holding yourself up.

And then…

You so tantalisingly, softly, quietly, whisper his name.

Okay.

The snap was expected. The sigh he lets out was expected. And the way his lips finally crash against yours, making you almost fall back onto the sofa was expected, too.

But your taste… Why did he know you’d be as sweet as a cliché, like a perfume made edible? Matches your mystery and your elegance.

And the mellow, yet wanting sounds fit every move he makes. Like the moan-sigh combination when his bold hand wraps around the bun you’ve arranged your hair into. How you breathe into the kiss when he tilts your head a little, and then proceeds to loosen up said bun.

Releases it. Lets your hair fall. Pulls you in, pausing the make-out in the process, and then diving back in with a greed he’s never been met with before.

And as he kisses you, his index finger still dips into the uncharted territory below, ruining your panties some more as he soaks them; fucking loving how you whimper as a result.

No… this is ruining him just as much.

So he draws back from your body, attempting and probably failing not to look at you like an animal glaring down at his prey, ready to devour. He’s never seen this expression himself, but one or two girls have uttered quiet, “Oh-oh,” in such moments before — do you see the danger, too?

Or is he being cocky? But it’s not his fault. You make him cocky because he can never fucking say what you think! Of course he’d need the mental praise to himself — your opinion on him is too difficult to decipher.

He’ll keep the energy up. Make you shrink in his hold.

Hands under your ass, he lifts your lower body a little, amused by your wide eyes and how you wonder, “What are you d—”

Silencing the moment he uses his palms’ position to grab the hem of your panties and pull them down your legs. Over them and then on the other side of the table. The two of you won’t need those tonight.

“What does it look like that I’m doing?” he teases, smirk effective and permanent.

He likes that about himself. Maybe you’ll do, too. If not, then you at least do like how his fingers, impatient, find their way back home again, not before lifting your dress to your hips until you’re bared to him the way he’s craved.

And he pauses.

Oh, this treasure…

“You…” he starts, moving two ring-clad fingers between your folds. Testing the waters. “I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight. You’re staying right here…” He leans forwards, body on body, whispering against your lips. “Trapped under me.”

You want to answer, he thinks. Your eyebrows relax for a second, an inebriated smile playing around your mouth. If he knows you well enough, he’d guess you’re urging to dive back into your witty remarks.

But none of it is possible just yet. Because when he caresses your pussy again, increasing the pace without being too unreasonably fast, you bite your lip. He urges you to release it with his tongue. And when you do, his finger plunges in; as deeply as it can. So easily, too.

He kisses your clavicles the moment your nails get ahold of his arms, wiggling underneath him, but still caged in. And he sees the built-up frustration; how you kept yourself at bay, but can barely do it now. How you yearn for just one or two more right touches here and there before…

But before he can, he stops. Immediately, unexpectedly for you. Once again, mean, but…

“You’ll thank me later,” he utters — and with those four measly words, something awakens in you that was hidden for just the last ten minutes.

“Oh? You… you’re confident like this.”

“Of course I am.”

“Jungkook…” you say in such frustration that he thinks you’ll beg some more. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head and say. “Men rarely manage to…”

“This isn’t rare. I’m not giving you rare, ‘kay?”

“I…”

“How…” he readjusts your body, pulling you down the couch, shifting until his knee keeps your legs apart. “How fucking insulting.”

Do you hear any of this anymore? Because your eyes are closed again. Hands still holding on; and… and body winding in order for your cunt to shift closer to him, suddenly rubbing against his knee.

It’s all you can get at the moment since his hands are so far out of reach. And the satisfaction of knowing that you’ll strive for anything at all is cosmic.

“You’re ruining my jeans,” he mocks, clicking his tongue as if to reprimand.

“Then…” You hook a finger into one of his jeans’ loops, pulling and then releasing again. “Take them off, coward.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. They say that if you have waited for so long, what’s ten more minutes? But no more. Not another second.

So he obliges immediately as he mutters, “‘Kay,” offering a helping hand when you work on his shirt. Off and to the ground. Pants off and to the back of the couch. He already knows he’ll be finding them all scattered the next morning.

But that’s the problem of just that next-morning-self.

Boxers still on, he returns to give you another initial taste of what’s to explode. The dress moves up from your hip as he slides it over your skin, stopping right under the mounds he’s still so curious about.

He needs to keep this balanced. Rush as much as might be appropriate, but not too much to make things embarrassing. This… the way he leans down again, opening your legs, erection grinding against your pussy and offering the bare minimum… this is good enough for now…

Or maybe not. Because merely a couple seconds later, you halt mid-moan, letting out breathy words that he struggles to understand until you repeat, “Is that… all you’ll be doing tonight?”

“Hmmm, you want more?”

“I— I don’t know.” Pause, a gulp when he presses his clothed length between your cunt. “Are you going to tell me your secrets if I say yes?”

His secrets?

You must be kidding. He has been an open book to you, chasing you around; if anything, he needs to unravel your mind.

But for that, he needs to play along. So he feigns the same mystery you emanate, teasing, “What do you wanna know?”

And you don’t hesitate. “Everything.”

…Hmm…

You’ve never seemed as interested as you are now. Never dove into his thoughts and the dim heart like now. If he agreed now, would you blurt out something specific? Questions that you formed when he wasn’t paying attention?

No idea. Maybe that’s something to worry about later. Pillowtalk. The morning after talk. Just anything… just not now.

He removes the obstacles currently standing between the two of you. The cushion standing against the back of the couch, constantly falling into your face. He throws it on the ground, so you don’t have to keep swatting it away.

Then, the dress covering your body. He gives a sign of wanting to proceed, and you play along, lifting yourself, chasing his lips as your outfit follows the cushion. And then, the phone right underneath the small of your back, having snuck there, undetected until you yelp, “Oh!”

“What?”

“Cold. Don’t know how it got there.”

He fishes out the device, watching it light up, a notification at the top that he can’t decode and that he doesn’t pay any mind to. Puts it on the coffee table. Then… last but not least… the uncertain atmosphere.

He says, “You want to know everything? Then make a list. I’ll tell you if I feel like it… deal?”

“You’re so…”

“You gotta make me. No other way out, baby.”

An answer lies on your tongue, ready to disrupt the moment. He knows because you look distracted all of a sudden, possibly still thinking about the same thing you did before, dissociating as he sat next to you, wine in hand.

It’s probably about work. Or about Taehyung — God, nobody at work but Jungkook would know, but you mention that guy all the time.

But tonight is not the night to think of others. So he shakes your upcoming inquiries away, giving you no time to think about it further as he, thirsty and impatient, picks you up and off the couch.

Right into his lap. Right onto his cock.

Still a layer between the two of you, watching you grind immediately. For a moment, you put him under your spell, urging him to stay right there and not move away until he’s shot buckets of cum into his boxers.

But…

But he’d rather do it in you, with you, because of truly you.

So he wastes no second as he executes his former plan, large hands sprawling over your ass before he stands with willpower and strength. He throws you a couple inches into the air, making you adjust, and then moves.

Away from the couch, stepping onto the clothes on the floor, careful not to stumble and hurt the two of you. The way to the bedroom seems endless, and you so naked… so… so his for the night. Like what, he still needs to wait those couple square metres?

Fuck, how…

No. It must be a primal instinct that hankers him to give up already, having made it halfway through the room and almost to his bedroom when he suddenly stops. Pinning you against a random free spot at the wall, right under a silent clock.

“What are you…?”

Your voice is trembling, for some reason so incredibly small. For the first time since you lay beneath him on the couch, he sees your eyes properly, and they flit back to the couch as if you’re looking where you just departed from — and then back to him.

“What are you looking for?” he whispers. Tantalisingly, he brings his fingers to your chin, pinching it lightly as he raises your head. “Hm? I’m here. Do you want to go back? Missing the couch? Wall might not be as comfortable, huh…”

“No… that’s not a problem. I’m just… surprised by the change.”

You do look surprised. A little cheekier again as your tone rises, your head falling to the side, lips smiling as if to distract him from something bigger. As if there’s anything bigger in existence right now than you.

“It was just sudden,” you conclude.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all. I’m just curious.”

He doesn’t need to ask what about. He sees it in this expecting gaze of yours that you want to read and decrypt his next steps. And you can have them.

Because he lets you go, making you fall silently on your feet, kissing you once before he falls to his knees. You groan when he grabs your leg, placing it on his shoulder, restless when his lips charge for your open folds.

He offers you, “Curious, huh? No need,” before kissing your clit, adding another, “Just indulge in it… no need to use your pretty brain today,” and then attaching his mouth and tongue to your dripping pussy.

Digging his large nose into you, tickling your nub, he swirls his tongue around, slurping you up like his favourite drink. Holy fuck, you taste good. He could eat you up, down you in one like a shot. Stay right here all night.

You get ahold of a patch of his hair, but don’t pull — somehow, he wishes you would. Instead, you seem to focus on your body, trying not to fall, keeping it upright. You’re winding, your leg moving, and he soon wraps an arm around your thigh to keep you from stirring too much.

And with the other, he targets your cunt, mouth moving up to make space for the digits to easily, effortlessly slide into you. You gasp, just a bit louder when the metal touches your hot sex, calling his name — and for possibly the first time, he hears you curse, “Fuck. Fuck, I’m— I’m going to pass out.”

Oh my God.

If he could lick you to unconsciousness, he’d feel shocked and proud at once. He wants to see you become weightless, wants to catch you in his arms, and then bring you to his bedroom, still delirious, and fuck your brain out of you.

He wants you so bad. He wants to fuck you so fucking badly. His cock aches, godfuckingdamn.

As he rolls his tongue, lips kissing yours, moving his head left and right as he makes out with your pussy, he almost pulls all the way through. Nearly gives into your body language, nose moving over your clit, fingers pumping in and out, breathing into your pussy hotly.

But he has other plans. He wants to see your damn tears; wants you to unleash all your desperation. So, just when your sounds change, less pauses between them, high-pitched, heavy breathing, he stops.

Draws back, watching you press your ass into the wall, head suddenly hanging low. You whisper, “No…” as he looks up in satisfaction, waiting for you to say more.

You’re out of breath, exhaling through half gritted teeth, a palm on his chest as he rises again. You declare, “I’m going to blueball you, too.”

But the adrenaline has poured buckets of confidence over Jungkook already, and he’s drenched in it as much as in your scent, cocking an eyebrow as he challenges, “You can try.”

“I’m gonna suck your dick so fucking slow.”

“Do it,” he keeps the mask up, wondering how much of the effect you saw upon gracing him with such a provocative image, “let’s see if you make it this far. Might just fuck you into space before that, you know?”

He lets out an unsteady breath, a strand of your hair swaying upon impact. His hand taps at your thigh, testing whether you’ve closed your legs again; and as he realises that you haven’t, much to his pleasure, he palms your pussy, heel of his hand pressing against your clit.

“You’re trying to set me off, because you know you can, right?” he questions, for a split moment distracted by the teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “Smart of you. You are truly smart, babe… but you’re also mine tonight. So don’t play games.”

A slap lands on your vulnerable pussy, and he understands your frustration as you open your mouth, the lower lip previously captive rolling back into place. Soft and gorgeous.

No matter the fading distance, there’s still something inexplicable in the air, as if he can’t really separate a dream from reality. As if he needs evidence that this isn’t yet another figment of his imagination; the ones he’s awoken from several times, underwear threatening to burst.

The hand just torturing your cunt wanders up your body and settles around your neck, like a chain or a necklace or a motherfucking leash. He feels home here, just like this. With your fingers on his wrist, gulping under his touch.

Pinned firmly against the wall, he looks down to where you’re dripping and he’s standing tall, gripping the ever-twitching length that is begging for more. Begging for relief. He’s doing this to himself — because his body is burning up, as if scorched by sun flares.

He’s doing this to the both of you.

The kiss underneath your ear as he leans in. And the still harmless yet sinful touch between his tip and your folds. How he holds the shaft firmly, leading the head between your pussy lips, teasing until just an inch intrudes your awaiting hole.

He moans the moment you do, moving, fucking just the first of the tip into you; scrambling his own thoughts as he says, “God, I could just slide in… you’re so, so wet.”

“What… why say this if you won’t do it?”

Guess you’ve figured him out well enough. Guess that’s the cockiness you implied when you called him a fuckboy in that stupid museum. Or how you kept a safe distance — because thinking about it, maybe Jungkook could be someone to break somebody’s heart.

No. He knows he is. But…

He shakes the thought off his brain, returning to this very moment where you’re waiting for his answer, a heart made of steel. You won’t let him hurt you; you know better than that. You could dodge him easily.

Mentally, at least. Physically, you’re under his mercy.

So he uses this weakness, muttering under his breath, “I will, I will… but not here. We can do better than here.”

Wasn’t this just a pit stop after all? What he’s seeking is still waiting in his bedroom, soft sheets spread over the cold mattress, waiting for a body to warm it up. Or two.

Already hot and bothered, Jungkook lets you go entirely; and the next minute happens in a blur, as though he’s struggling with recognising his own apartment. Suddenly self-conscious about everything and nothing at once.

With you in his grip, he walks along the dark, small corridor; then past the paintings, through the door, into a well-managed, tidy bedroom until he’s sat your ass down. It happens within the tiniest moment — he could narrate how you got here but he can barely recall it.

Dick at the same height as your mouth, he wraps his hand around it. You don’t initiate anything of what you promised, looking into his eyes with a question; he knows you want to avenge yourself and provide the same vanity, but you’d rather skip to the best part.

He wants to, too.

So he doesn’t ram his cock into your mouth, hitting the farthest spot until you gag. Instead, he relishes the image mentally and quietly, fantasising about the warmth of your spit, about the tongue swirling around.

And then… then he goes a step further and imagines the even extended pleasure if he dug into your pussy now, maximising whatever your mouth could make him feel.

Are his thoughts too straight-forward? If he spelled them out like this, one by one, would you find him weird? Too eager? Obsessed?

Maybe he should slow down. Just a bit.

Which is why he holds his shaft closer to you, still surprised when you don’t open up, hints of the past confusion alternating with your confident, mysterious, teasing self. It’s weird to witness. But your eyes are still hazy at least. You don’t seem to want to stop.

God. He can’t figure it out. Not figuring out is agitating even in this moment.

But… good energies. Good energies. All the pent-up frustration needs to be morphed into sheer craze. He can do that.

“Spit on it,” he orders.

You only hum. Something in your gaze changes again, eyelids fluttering, as if awoken from trance. But you’re willing. Immediately mimicking him as you bring a thumb to a mole on the protruding veins. Tracing them, all the way back to his balls until you touch them just lightly, but enough for him to nearly lose his shit.

“Fuck, I said,” he reprimands, though delighted by the sudden rapture, “spit on it.”

You nod as if carrying out a task given by your manager; perhaps used to the last days and weeks when he’d command you around. Ask for another meeting, or for your opinion on a song, or just to keep him company to keep him productive.

Or, to keep you close to him. Lost in thoughts. Many thoughts. And even though none of them became a reality in that room, none of the equipment shoved aside to sit you on the desk, this… this right here is more than enough.

You suck in your cheeks, collecting spit, and when you lean forward… you make such a mess. Spitting onto the tip, a string still connecting your lips and his dick, leftover saliva dripping down your chin and then on your tits.

The view is… worth diamonds.

Do you even know?

“Okay,” he utters, no real direction in his mind, no real sentence to utter. “Okay.”

But you’re equipped with ideas, immediately getting onto the trail you left, spreading the spit over his cock, down to the base. The tip and the slit glisten, traces of precum mixing with your drool, but it’s not enough to cover his length all over.

So he mutters a mental, “More,” to himself, tapping your lips until you open, sticking two of his fingers in and pressing against your tongue. Lubricating his digits, he rolls them over your tongue, far enough to nearly make you gag until he draws back.

Watching you work on him rolls a wave of satisfaction over him. He’s proud, enduring like this. Because judging from the creature you are, as if jumped out of dark mythology, he truly expected to give up way earlier.

But he remains steadfast; eager to not explode until he’s filled you up first. Drawn out your own highs.

“Sweetheart, aren’t you a good one?” Jungkook praises, helping you out with whatever his fingers gathered in your mouth. Then, grabs your wrist, pushing you away, hovering above you with a, “Turn around.”

You gulp again. Then shift back on his bed, sighing as you feel the soft silk underneath your skin, kissing and hugging your body. The sight is gorgeous, with you fleeing to the back of the mattress, obliging so easily. Prey.

And…

“Holy fuck.”

Holy fuck, how you look when you finally get into position. Ass up, upper body down. And the arms over your head? What in the world.

Okay… okay…

Wait. You’re saying something.

His knees dig into the mattress, hand unconsciously pumping his cock — he doesn’t even know when he started — as he moves closer, over your body. Kisses your shoulder, bringing his ear close to hear before, “Huh? What’d you say?”

“I’m already so spent.”

“Ah… do you want to stop?”

“No… you made me feel spent. But you’re not done, are you?”

Pause. Bright smirk. Then, “Of course not. Does it feel like it?” Another kiss to your shoulder, wet this time. “Condom or not?”

“Oh.” Seems you hadn’t even thought about this yet. Kind of nice. “I’m… I use an IUD. Have you… slept with many people lately?”

No answer yet. He thinks. Thinks back to the several weeks since he met you. Should he say it? Would you back away if he did? Years ago, there’d be no debate about it — he wouldn’t have told you. Kept it to himself.

Perhaps there’s still a part of him that’d dodge your question, but he somehow feels like you’d see through him. Hear the insincerity. 

Fuck, is that selfish? Maybe. Doesn’t he already know that he is? But he’s not bad; and people are selfish.

So a second later, he truthfully admits, “Once. Two or so weeks ago. Nothing special though, just dumb, drunk shit. Some girl from a club. And I tested after.”

As soon as the sentence finishes, he wonders if you deem yourself just another one of those. But… in all honesty. She was a one night stand whose sounds, name, dirty talk did nothing to him.

All he could imagine was you. Perhaps not out of loyalty, but surely out of curiosity.

He can’t fathom his thoughts into feelings yet; he still wouldn’t describe his attitude towards you as falling in love or anything. That’d be too far stretched. But he thought about it — that maybe he liked you too much.

Yet, his heart remained empty; but his body never did. He feels bad; and still, he won’t deny whatever his skin and mind whisper to him.

Other than that, he could probably declare with quite a firm certainty that you don’t feel any different about him. You can’t be.

So maybe this is good enough for now.

“But know what?” he says, voice lower, repeating his thoughts. “Could only imagine what it’d be like if it was you. This pussy,” strokes his cock along your cunt, “and this body,” touches the small of your back, “these thoughts got me going. And you’re so much better in reality.”

“Mmmh,” is all you utter, nearly hiding your face in the pillow before you say, “maybe… maybe we can still use a condom then.”

Shit. Expected it.

But okay. Okay.

Where are the condoms again… bedside table? No. He used the last one ages ago, before he knew you. He gets up; walks to the closet; somewhere near his socks, there must be a new pack. A moment to think.

For a second, he looks back at you. You’re still the same, only with the ass having dropped again, losing balance and energy. And maybe, you’re still drunk, too — probably, because even he still feels the world spin, careful not to close his eyes for too long.

Okay. One… no, two foils out. As he turns back to you, nearing you, his head is just a little calmer than a minute again, and he wonders… were all the thoughts his own? The past half an hour or however much passed, didn’t he spiral more and more?

Did you notice? He shakes his head. Who cares?

Not him, not right now. He keeps telling himself that with a goddess waiting in front of him on all fours, he probably doesn’t need to worry about anything unless there’s a reason to. You’ve been cooperative and the night has been successful, minus the strange gazes you keep throwing at him periodically.

“Alright, baby. Up you come,” he mumbles, bringing your ass back to his crotch. His hands are already trained and incredibly skilled; doing work on the condom doesn’t take him more than a couple seconds. “I should tell you now.”

You pause. Suck in some breath, as if expecting something in particular. You agree with an unmatched thirst for knowledge, “…Tell me.”

“I don’t tend to go easy. If you need me to be, you’ll have to tell me. ‘Kay?”

“I… I can take a lot more than you think.”

Fuck. He’ll wreck your shit. “Perfect. You’re honestly a good one, huh? Such a good girl for real, no— no, you’re the best.”

Is he just saying whatever now? Perhaps he should stop boring you and get to it. Right? Please, the goddamn, blood-filled tower down there is desperately imploring him to.

He collects spit like you did before, targeting your glinting pussy, one blob right onto it. Then, he brings his fingers back to where they love to be, distributing the filth between your folds. And then, two fingers into the tightening hole.

Right before moving north, between your ass cheeks, thumb rolling over your other clenching hole. 

And you tense immediately, without saying a word, taking it quietly. Then… then he finally starts.

Brings the annoying rubber to your soaked pussy, poking for a second before he gets serious and eventually dips in. The free hand raises your ass some more, and he shifts forwards, your butt backwards, helping him get in further.

He hears the reaction. Hears the almost-screech in a second, nails biting into the pillow over your head. You hold onto it for dear life as he slowly bottoms out, your sporadic breathing and high-pitched moans mingling with his own bursts of lust.

Deep creases appear between his eyebrows, lips bitten sore, and once his waist has finally connected with your ass, he takes a deep, long inhale. Watches your face disappear deeper into the pillow, sounds muffled.

Enjoys it for a moment before he starts moving slowly. Out, in. Concentrating before he might spill too early. Beads of sweat shimmer on his forehead, dampening the hanging strands of hair. You feel good. Too fucking good—

He wants to go off right away. But… focus.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Stop… stop talking.”

Oh. Bold. But a good sign, isn’t it? If you wanted him to stop, you’d say it. So he keeps going… dares just a little more, courageous, encouraged by your cooperation. Explores your ass and what lies between the cheeks more, groaning before he says, “You stop that.”

His hand reaches for your wrists, keeping you from tearing his pillow and leading your fingers to where his touched your ass before. You keep your touch there, unmoving until he says, “Keep them apart.”

And you seem to understand. His thumb returns to your unoccupied hole as his cock impales your pussy whole, still going at a tormenting pace. Thick and soaked, he’s splitting you in two; maybe that’s why the slow plunges are such a plague. Because both of you know there could be more.

Pulling your ass cheeks apart, you remain with your face in the sheets, arms trembling as he circles your hole again. He doesn’t know if you’re into this; doesn’t know if you’ll protest. So far, he’s been pretty obvious with his intentions, and he’s sure you must understand this one, too.

And you’re not fearful; if something bothered you, you wouldn’t hesitate to voice your displeasure. So he spits one more time, right onto his thumb, using the lubrication to carefully, curiously dip the tip of his thumb into your ass.

You yelp immediately; as your hole tightens around the little bit of his thumb, your pussy narrows around his cock, too, and he nearly loses it. Nearly drools onto your back as his mouth drops open, blinking rapidly for a second.

God, your body reacts with such intensity. Still, he makes sure, “Too much?”

And you, candidly, reply, “I don’t know. I… think so.”

“Okay. Then I’ll sto—”

“No. No, wait… I want to— I want to know what it’s like.”

Thought so. He knew that underneath all the chic charade, you crave just as much as he does. And if it’s him that you long for, then what even stands between him and the rocket shooting his ego to the sky?

This feels good. Really good… not just physically. You lift his spirits.

Ready with an exhale, he dares his thumb deeper, letting more of it disappear in you. Out of all the women he’s ever been with, not more than a handful has been willing to venture into this part of sexual desire. Most of them can’t stand the discomfort, and some of them don’t feel any particular way about it.

But you lay open to him in every way possible. An open book for once; easy to read, as if calculating how you wind, planning how to sound, guiding him fearlessly.

Soon, he’s adjusting his thrusts to your moans, and you’re adjusting your moans to his thrusts. Synchronised, the two of you groan and cry out together, and he makes sure to keep you filled to the brim, reducing the pauses between the shoves bit by bit.

Until…

“Hey,” he whispers, waiting for you to react, but as he pumps into you, slowly yet balls-deep, you don’t do anything much but scream into the pillow. So he just continues, “How much do you think you can take, baby?”

“I… I’m—”

You’re attempting your best, but you’re tongue-tied. With each push, he catapults your body forwards, but your mind is long lost in the stratosphere. With gritted teeth and a rising, heavily breathing, golden chest, he leans in close to you, hand snaking under you and around your neck as he retries, “So?”

“I don’t know,” you blurt, and as you raise your head and look back at him, he sees a sight to behold — mascara underneath your eyes, lipstick smeared, a quivering chin. He’s fucking you so good; he must be, because you soon add, “Just do an—and I’ll let you know.”

“Good idea. Very good idea.”

He’s fucking you good. But it’s not all he’s got; not all he’s wanted for days and weeks.

No. If he unleashed all he’s been fabricating in his mind, he’d drench your cheeks in tears. And now that you permitted him to, he might just go ahead, right?

Right.

Which is why the next steps come easy to him, naturally, as if you pressed a button he’s been waiting to smash. A big, red one, like the ones in games urging you to not touch or you’d lose. But by God, right now, he’s not losing.

If he looked into his reflection in the dark window, he’d see a winner through and through.

A fiery rage courses through his burning veins. A face contorting when he lets you go, only to move his fingers back, wrapping them around the back of your neck. Shoving you into the mattress, ramming his cock into you, once more keeping the familiar pace and then—

And then he closes his eyes. Matches an expression to your yelps. Drives into your deepest core and picks up speed until, all of a sudden, it turns jarring.

Jungkook doesn’t get enough. He doesn’t know if he ever will; damn the approaching end of this. There shouldn’t be one; he should be capable of ruining you forever. Maybe he will be.

For now, he directs his thoughts fully on how you feel and how you sound, uncaring about the jagged breathing that burns up his chest. Leaning forward, he attempts twice until he catches your ears, nibbling at your earlobe.

At first, he doesn’t know if you register the touch, given that he’s occupying you with far crazier sensations. But then you reach out a hand, panting into the pillow, grabbing a patch of his hair. 

And he, fired up and insane, leans back, gripping your wrist, removing it from his mane and pinning it to your back instead. Your face moves to the side, not muffled by the pillow anymore, and you gasp for air before you beg, “Please, I’m about to—”

That’s all you get, because he soon interrupts with a cheeky, “You can hold on for a bit longer,” pausing on purpose. He wants to see you when you come. Wants to wipe more of your make up across your face. Wants to kiss the colour of your lipstick onto his own lips.

Letting your orgasm fade, he waits, just a couple seconds, allowing you to catch your breath until your eyebrows furrow. You blink repeatedly, then looking up into his eyes, and it’s all he needs to feel his patience dissipate again.

Jungkook gets into a new position, leaving one knee deep in the mattress while angling the other leg, planting its foot on the sheets. He keeps his cock from falling out, leading the tip and the shaft back in before he resumes to fuck you wound.

Your arm is still hostage to his grip, the nails of your other hand gripping the sheet for dear life. It’s gorgeous, the view from where Jungkook looks down at his meal. Crazy how you purr and whine when he leans in, touching your swollen clit, electrifying you. And he keeps looking at you.

At the upper body waving a white flag, too weak to keep yourself upright anymore. And then, the ass in the air staying firmly at its place, his dick aiding you, the flesh of your cheeks wobbling with each thrust, like an ocean wave. Whenever it collides with his hips, the slaps resound temptingly, and Jungkook soon mimics it by letting his hand fall hard on your ass.

You mewl, calling out his name twice, the second cry half uttered, half of the Jungkook omitted. And when you catch the tiniest of your breaths, still working with drying lungs, you say, “L-let me come, please—”

“Wait,” he says again, still sadistic, still masochistic, absolutely out of his mind before an idea lights up his mind. “This isn’t it yet.”

The finger working on your nub was an evil tactic, he’s got to admit. Perhaps he led you to believe something he’s not ready to give you yet, and once you seem to realise, you let out a sob.

And he’s positively delighted once he stops. Lowers his head to look at you. Sees the dark, smeared mascara on his pillow when he digs his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back as he says, “I know. You thought we were done, right? We’re not done, though.”

“Wha—”

He lets his body fall onto the mattress, right next to you, and pulls you in, back against his chest. Hand under your tits, pressing against them, moving them up and down before pinching your nipple once.

“I said,” he repeats, probably unnecessarily, because he doesn’t think you actually demand an answer, “I’m not done. Understand?”

And as expected, you don’t nod or answer. You only push your body further into his, and he reckons that’s a mighty sufficient implication already.

As you lay sideways with a breath as heavy as his, his exhales hot against your ear, you let out sounds reminiscent of marathon runners. You’re exhausted, sweaty, and so is he — but neither of you are finished, and he’d be damned if he permitted the night to end like this.

Diligently, he throws your quivering leg over his; your impish remarks have lessened since he took over, and in turn, his own insolent emotions are reigning supremely. He leads his submerged, rock-hard, twitching cock to your battered cunt, pushing in so easily he thinks he’s dreaming.

It’s like putting a key into its lock.

“Ahh, fuck.” It’s hard to fully bottom out in this position, but he can touch you so much better now. He lets his hands explore your bare body, fondling with your tits, kissing your ear and jaw. “Hold tight. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

It’s cruel, he knows; the gentle praises as he wreaks havoc down there. He crosses your wrists against your tummy, holding them tight, and you close to him. Fucks you dumb and stupid as you wail in his arms. Moves to your clit and gives it pleasant, gentle rubs, so opposite from the rest of his ministrations.

And the pressure builds. His balls, hard as steel, prepare to shoot their load into you, his cock impossibly stiff, but… but…

You haven’t come yet. And this position won’t do. Can’t do, won’t do, he needs to see you.

So he echoes, “Won’t do,” as he gets up again, keeping the previous position short lived. Doesn’t stay away for too long before he’s on his knees, pulling your legs apart, after the briefest interruptions deep inside again before he leans into you.

And then, everything happens crazy fast.

How he keeps you from wrapping your arms around him; instead, capturing your wrists once again, raising them next to your head. How he moves to kiss you for the first time after quite a while, intertwining your tongues, moaning hard as he feels his high approach.

The fast pace changes a little as he loses his mind and focus, one of the strokes stopping as he almost pulls out, and then plunges in again. Your fingers curl in, nails sharp enough to dig into the digits that hold you, and he cries out in delight, letting a breathy chuckle fall.

He says, “Alright, yeah. Next time… we’re tying you up. Love how you whine.” He lets one hand go, gripping your face again and you move your touch to his shoulder immediately, gasping. “You always p-play the mysterious girl, huh? But you’re so pathetic right now.”

The inhibitions are out the window. The overthinking, too. Whatever he thought might make you run away from him has long exited his mind, because he’s got you right here, under his control, nearing the end.

There’s no going back. No return to his yearning, because you’ve satisfied it so thoroughly.

Time to give it all back to you. One last time before he submerges himself in all his glorious egotism.

“There we go,” he says as he watches your expressions change. You open your mouth but don’t say anything. He doesn’t know what your orgasm feels like, but he knows you’re going through it. “Let it all out. Cream my cock, I fucking dare you.”

He’s saying whatever now, he knows. But he doesn’t have the capacity to think much as creases appear on your forehead and between your eyebrows, tongue mingling with his for a short moment when he goes in for another kiss, barely succeeding.

You’re trembling, lifting your hips as much as the weight above you allows, wanting more friction, more of a touch inside your pussy, on your clit, everywhere. And then, when you do come… when he brings the stars from the sky into your eyes…

Yours roll back into your head. Throwing it back, giving him access to your neck. Lips still apart, and he uses it to push a finger into your mouth, on top of your tongue. And fuck… how your pussy constricts. How it tightens so fucking much.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him.

So much so that his head spins; and as he feels himself getting dizzy, he buries his face in the pillow next to your head before moving it to kiss your shoulder. Barely looks at you anymore; doesn’t care, it’s his high now, he wants to fucking come, and that’s it.

Finally, finally he’s gotten to this point.

Will he hate himself for these thoughts later? Is this too over the top? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care.

His thoughts are occupied, alright, don’t need another string of questions to intervene. His attention remains resolutely on his movements, vigorous, rhythmic, your sounds perfectly matching each of his strokes.

And your hands, the poor little palms, unsure where to settle. This isn’t new; across this broad back of his, every girl’s touch wanders like this. Your nails scratch the small of his back, then up his spine, across the muscles of his shoulder blades.

The fact that you’re a goner as much as him, giving yourself to him is probably the last of reassurances he needs — as if any more were required. Because still panting into your skin, eyes shut tight, he works towards the peak of his sanity, exhausted but eager as he relishes the wet tightness of your pussy; surrounding him just right, still clenching, unclenching from your orgasm.

And then—

“Ohhh, fuck,” he whispers.

His voice is shaking uncontrollably; he barely recognises it. Which… must mean this is new, right? Experience be damned, apparently you spark off phenomena nobody has ever acquainted him with before.

And oh, how you make it worse once he finally emerges again, as if catching his breath after holding it underwater for too long. Your eyes are hooded as he gets on his knees over your body, caging your hips in between his legs. Gripping one of your tits, you nibble your lower lip for a second before letting out laboured breathing, nose flaring.

It’s all he needs. All that’s left when he rips off the condom and envelops his filthy cock with his veiny hand, stroking immediately and hard. Close to the end as he rushes to ask, “Where do you want it?”

You understand what he’s asking, and nod, back to yourself when you utter mysteriously, “Anywhere but inside…” Okay. No time to ask why not — but he wouldn’t have anyway. He obliges, giving his all, one more second left before you tell him just in time, “Here.”

Your palm rubs across your skin, moving over your tits and your stomach. So he’s quick to opt away from your face and redirect his aim to where you pointed, moaning out a couple last, broken vocals before he finally spills.

Milky white, multiple blotches scattered over your skin, like a modern art painting. He’d rather draw these all day than be stuck with you in a museum restaurant, staring from afar, wishing he could reach out under the goddamn public table.

Going until he’s empty, he senses a relief unknown to him thus far, mind suddenly vacant. Once again, the ocean; he feels like the ocean. Like the water as it stills and calms after a thunderous storm. You lifted the waves of his sea high above and have now turned him into a lazy, peaceful lake.

God, he should fuck you more often; you make him a poet.

Okay. Okay, where was he?

When did he unfocus? Dizzy all of a sudden. He puffs out a breath. Then takes another look at you. Watches as you spread the sticky substance over your mounds, touching your nipple, so indecently messy.

The smirk is unintentional but inevitable, reaching far as he shakes his head at you. You smile back wordlessly, and he lets his fingertip run over his cum, too, bringing it to your lips as he asks, “Taste?”

You don’t answer. Thinking for the barest second before you scoff, stretching out your tongue before he puts the finger on it; closing your eyes, sucking it clean. He groans at the feeling; luckily, he’ll be immobile for the foreseeable future, or he’d bend you over again.

“Okay. That should be enough for now,” he breathes, letting himself fall next to you. “I promise I’m a lot more energised on other days. But…” He turns towards you, pinching your chin, bringing your face close. “God, did you take me out there. I’m beat.”

He doesn’t kiss you; only drops back, still filling his lungs with new oxygen. Pity — he still wants you, but his muscles are aching. Eyes shutting.

Then opening again when he hears you laugh, right before you say, “You don’t need to prove your endurance to me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of it now. Besides— let’s be honest. I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, you did more than enough, sweetheart,” Jungkook retorts with a snicker, giving his eyes some relief. He sighs, and then adds, “Your existence did it for me already. Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

He shoves his arm under his head, the other untidily covering the two of you with the blanket; whatever. He’ll wash it tomorrow. For now, the two of you should probably get some rest. Although—

Did you say you wanted to stay? He didn’t catch it if you did. Perhaps he’s also just inattentive; suddenly remembers that he still has a long way to go socially, remembering that permission is courtesy. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Uhm,” he starts; this is awkward. He doesn’t do this often — not many stay overnight anyway. Strangely, he didn’t question it with you; maybe because he wants you to. “Do you want me to bring you home?”

“In all honesty, I… I don’t think you can drive tonight. We’re both not sober yet, so I’ll just leave in the morning. Need to be in the office by noon.”

“Ah? Why?”

“Meeting with Tae. I forgot that he wanted to go through a few organisational things for the upcoming concert.”

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company.

Jungkook forgot about it all. Responsibilities still exist. Of course, he needs to be in the office tomorrow afternoon, too. This is his dream, his goal, everybody’s eyes on him, the biggest source of entertainment in the country.

Feels so stupid, forgetting you’ll leave at some point. That he can’t flip you over again all day tomorrow, that you’ll be occupied somewhere else, with someone else. Jungkook grits his teeth.

“You wanna come over again tomorrow night?” he asks.

And all of a sudden, despite the last hour, you seem lost in thoughts again. Probably tired, but he can’t help but overthink. You don’t answer immediately, keeping him on the edge, and as he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, he looks over, seeing your eyes open when you say, “Don’t know. Might have a couple things to tend to.”

Ah… okay. Sure.

Where’s your mind right now, he wonders?

Maybe circling around work. Maybe your urge to go is as little as his? All these things, they don’t sound too delightful right now, do they?

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company. Tae.

When did you start using his nickname like this? Weird. Didn’t know the two of you were so close. Then again, does it matter? No. He shakes his head.

Shakes it slowly, making sure you don’t notice, sighing again before he breaks into a smile. It’s okay. You’re next to him. Not next to Taehyung. His friend. You’re covered in him. So he doesn’t let another’s name fog his brain, instead seeking peace and succeeding until—

“Don’t worry, another time,” you say, following up with a goosebump-inducing, “I’ll stick around until my feet tingle.”

Somewhere… at some point in his life… under probably not the best circumstances— 

Wait.

THE FIC ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

as always, tumblr hates content creators and has a 1k block limit. which is why you can read the rest of the story in this reblog hehe we're almost at the end <3

[whatsnewalycat]

RUTHLESS

Stepdad Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 5.1k+

Warnings: DDDNE, literally just a fucked up stepdad/mom's bf fantasy, could read "mom" as tess but I don't name her or assign physical features to her or reader, post-outbreak, reader is def over 18 but not by much so yeah age gap, NON-CONSENSUAL, power imbalance, unethical d/s dynamic, slapping, spanking, punishment, orgasm delay/denial, humiliation, degradation, face fucking, anal sex, little to no aftercare

A/N: Category is "That old man would fucking never... but if he did..." Please be mindful of the warnings and don't read if it might trigger you. Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

------

Within the secluded world of your big noise-canceling headphones, you scan through silence on the CB radio, pausing for a few seconds on each channel before moving on to the next. 

Channel 11: Nothing. 

Channel 12: Zilch. 

Channel 13: Nada. 

When you turn the dial to channel 14, though, you pick up chatter and start transcribing. 

Channel 14 7/17/22 19:56

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew? Over. 

Got enough for the kids? Over. 

And leftovers. Over. 

I’ll be at Margie’s around supper time. Over and out. 

The air goes silent.

After a minute goes by with no follow up transmissions, you glance at the clock. 7:58. Almost time for check-in. 

You tune the radio to channel 32 and review your transcription. 

Many people speak in code, encrypting their messages in seemingly benign conversations. To the untrained ear, they’re normal exchanges, people making small talk about jobs and rations and kids. Goodnight calls and check-ins that use predictable inquiries to convey messages. 

—got a bundle of carrots today. Budaydas, onions, too. Want me to come by tomorrow and make some stew?

Most of it you can translate from memory. The drug traffickers that use channel 14 have frequented the same lingo for years. Likely because of the high turnover rate of personnel. There’s less confusion that way. Confusion in communication raises more alarm bells for eavesdroppers than using the same code words across the board. 

You flip through your cipher for channel 14, searching for budaydas, but find nothing. Scrunching your nose up, you say the word out loud, “Budaydas. Buh-day-das.” 

Carrots, onions, budaydas in a stew. 

“Oh,” you nod in understanding, then jot down your translation, muttering under your breath, “Fucking Boston accents.” 

(Someone) picked up tranquilizers, benzos (budaydas = potatoes), and opioids. The caller wants to meet up and trade as previously agreed. 

The rest of it is easy enough to interpret without the use of a cipher. You probably don’t need to write down the translation, but do it in case your mom or Joel need to reference the notes at a later date. 

There’s enough to distribute product across their network of dealers in Boston QZ, plus more to stockpile. They’ll meet at their hub in Area 1, Margaret St, at midnight. 

You exhale through slack lips, glancing at the clock as it ticks over to 8:00, then pick up the microphone and hold down the speak button. 

“Radio check.” 

A few seconds go by before you hear a familiar gruff voice crackle over the radio waves into your ears, “Loud and clear. Over.”

Your nostrils flare when you hear him. Joel Miller. The bane of your existence. Your de facto stepfather, only because you don’t really remember life without him by your mom’s side. 

This isn’t to say he’s a father figure to you by any means. The two of you never shared the kind of heartwarming paternal bonding moments you read about in books. That would require warmth and vulnerability, which he distinctly lacks. 

Once, when you were maybe 11 or 12, you made the mistake of calling him Dad. The way he looked at you made you feel like dirt. Fire burning behind his dark eyes, he corrected you with one stern syllable that taught you your place: “Joel.” 

You sit up straighter and take a moment to gather yourself before responding. 

“Did you get your message from Uncle Paul? Over.”

“I did. Over.” 

“How’s the weather in Kansas City? Over.” 

“Cloudy. Over.” 

Fuck. 

You swallow around nothing, then clear your throat and ask, “And Grandma, how’s she? Over.”

“Fine, just busy is all.”

You exhale a sigh of relief that melts the tension between your shoulders. Joel continues. 

“Anything new with you? Over.” 

Tapping your fingers on your notes, you answer, “Rumor has it the market is gonna be busy tomorrow. Harvesting time, I guess. Other than that, same old same old. What about you? Staying out of trouble? Over.”

It feels strange, having a casual conversation with him like this. Even if it’s just a data exchange dressed up as a casual conversation. 

There’s a long pause, then he says, “Fine, yeah. Well. See you soon. Over ‘n’ out.” 

Stiff as a board. Cold as ice. Joel Miller, everyone. Round of applause. 

You snort, rolling your eyes as you unplug the headphones and toss them on the table. It takes a moment for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings. 

The dingy two-bedroom apartment is quiet and still. Outside, the setting sun casts the world in a dark golden haze. A FEDRA patrol vehicle roars down the street, broadcasting the curfew alert from a loudspeaker. Faint shouting from a few units down momentarily piques your curiosity before you decide it’s none of your business. 

You stand from the chair and reach your hands above your head, lungs expanding in a powerful yawn, then take a lap around the apartment to stretch your legs. 

Something catches your eye when you walk by the entry. A note slipped under the doorframe. On the outer fold, your name is written in a familiar scrawl. 

Your heart skips a beat. 

You pick it up and unfold the paper, revealing an invitation. 

I miss you. Come over when you’re done surfing the airwaves. XO, Bert. 

Warmth trickles down between your thighs. A smile spreads across your face. You glance up at the door, then to the CB radio and scanner on the desk. 

Indecision churns in your belly. 

You are explicitly forbidden from leaving the apartment while your mom and Joel are out on runs. A safety precaution you’ve protested dozens of times to no avail. They expect you to stay put and warn them if you notice any signs of potential danger. In return, you receive a cut of the profit and a roof over your head. Security, in short. Which is more than most could say. 

That being said… You break this rule from time to time, when the circumstances allow. 

Like when the Fireflies and FEDRA have been quiet for weeks and there are no smoke signals in sight. Like when you’re five nights into a seven day seclusion and think you might die of boredom if you don’t get the fuck out of here. Like when your boyfriend slips a note under the door and asks you to come over. 

You look down at the paper in your hands, re-reading the words I miss you. 

Fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? 

—

Just before midnight, you wander down the hallway to your unit, jelly knees wobbling with each step. As you absentmindedly trace your tingling lips, still puffy from kissing, you unlock the door and push it open, then frown. 

The lights are on. 

They were off when you left, you’re sure of it. When you step further into the apartment, your foot catches on something. A backpack. This faint buzzing starts behind your ears as you blink at it, wishing it would go away.

Motherfu—

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

Your stomach plummets to the floor when you hear his voice. A thick knot of panic tightens around your windpipe as you look up to find Joel standing just a few paces away in the living room. 

He stares you down, dark eyes glowing with fury, and questions you again, “Where were you?” 

“N-nowhere.” 

The blatant lie sits sour on your tongue. His lips purse, so you fumble out another, “I went for a walk.” 

“A walk,” he repeats, tone disbelieving, “You went on a walk after curfew wearing that?” 

You look down at your clothing. A short skirt and tank top. Your throat bobs in a guilty gulp, then you meet his eyes again and nod. 

“And when did you leave on this ‘walk?’”

Your mind whirs as you try to come up with an answer. It feels like a trap. You try to calculate an answer that will provide minimal blowback. 

“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago?” 

“Try again.” 

The electricity humming through you takes on a red, frustrated edge, and you snip, “I don’t fucking know, dude. It was a while ago, I wasn’t paying attention. Where’s my mom?” 

“Your mom sent me here to make sure you were alive,” he says pointedly, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, “We’ve been tryin’a reach you for three hours. I got here an hour ago. That’s a helluva lot longer than twenty minutes, ain’t it?” 

Shrinking into yourself, you search his face. Jaw set, eyes boring into yours. Waves of anger roll off him as he approaches, and you remember all those rumors you heard about him on the radio. The fear you heard in grown men’s voices when they recounted run-ins with that bitch and her guard dog. 

You remember what Bert said about him: He’s fucking ruthless.

“You aren’t supposed to leave the apartment when we’re outside the QZ.” 

“I know.” 

“Then why did you?” 

Your heart thuds against your ribcage. 

Joel has never directed this kind of outright anger towards you. Sternness, sure. Contempt, maybe. But this is different. You’re in fucking trouble. 

There has to be a way out of this conversation.

You drop your gaze to the floor and ask, “Is my mom ok? Did something happen to her?”

“Don’t change the subject.” 

Righteous indignation straightens your spine and wills you to meet his eyes again, “I’m not saying shit until you tell me what happened to her.” 

“She sprained her ankle, but she’s fine. She’s safe,” he tells you, then takes another step forward, “Why did you leave?” 

You respond by rolling your eyes. 

“Answer the question.” 

With an irritated sigh, you search his face, then tell him, “You don’t know what it’s like to be here. Isolated for days or weeks at a time. I fucking hate it. It’s so lonely and boring, I feel like I’m losing my mind—”

“Oh, cry me a goddamn river.” 

You scowl at him, staring him down, “Fuck you.” 

“Watch your fucking mouth, you disrespectful little shit.” 

Red flashes through your field of vision, hot and angry and defiant. You gather the moisture in your mouth on your tongue and spit at him. It splats on his cheek. 

His face twists up with fury for one second before he charges, closing the distance between you. The impact pushes your back to the door with a thud. 

He grabs your jaw, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of your cheeks. His eyes are hot coals, burning into you. The muscles in his jaw twitch, nostrils flaring, breath shaky. 

When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what it’s like out there.” 

“No, because you won’t let me fucking leave—”

“You should be fucking grateful, you know that? Being here is a fucking cake walk. Your mom ‘n’ I have seen things, done things—horrible things you couldn’t even imagine,” he husks, searching your face, grip tightening so hard it makes you whine. “We keep you safe, and all we ask is that you stay put and keep a lookout for us when we’re gone.” 

Even if you wanted to respond, you can’t. The vice grip he has on your face renders your mouth immobile. 

All you can do is stare back at him, studying his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Full lips pinched thin as he glowers at you. 

You notice how close his broad body is to yours. The heat radiating off his tightly-wound muscles onto your skin. His ragged breath scatters across your face and wafts into your open mouth. You taste the bootleg whiskey on his breath and your pulse jumps. 

Warmth drips down your spine and pools at the center of you, a horrifying sensation that makes you squirm.

“Were you with your little boyfriend? Hmm?” he asks, eyes darting around your face, trailing down to your body for a moment before returning, “That boy downstairs? Figure you musta been, on account of how you’re dressed.” 

You don’t say anything. You can’t. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s not really a question. 

“Abandoning your post to go out and get fucked, is that it?” 

A whimper slips from your throat as heat swells beneath your skin. 

He wouldn’t be treating you like this if your mom was here. He wouldn’t say these things or be this close to you. Knowing this, you understand that whatever is happening right now is wrong. 

You also understand that you like it. 

You hate that you like it, and hate him for making you like it, but you like it all the same. 

Letting go of your face, he demands, “Answer me.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Before you even realize what’s happening, you feel a sharp, hot sting on your cheek and yelp.

He fucking slapped you. 

“Wrong answer.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you retort, bringing your hand to the welt forming on your cheek, “I’m gonna tell her.” 

“Yeah? You gonna tell her I found you sneaking in at midnight, too? That you compromised our safety to go out ‘n’ get dicked down?” 

You harden your gaze on him, lips pressing together with disdain. 

“She wouldn’t like that, would she?” he asks, the smallest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “She’d probably kick you out on your ass.” 

“She wouldn’t. You guys need me.” 

“And you need us,” he counters, searching your face, “So what do we do to make sure this doesn’t happen again? Hmm?” 

A dozen inappropriate images flash through your head, each more lurid than the last. An electric, tingling feeling shoots out from the base of your spine and works through your extremities. 

You swallow hard and shake your head, “I won’t do it again.” 

“If I don’t punish you, you will. You’re fucking disrespectful. Selfish. You need discipline.” 

Again, a flash of frustration taints the world red. Crossing your arms over your chest, you scoff, “Just because you’re fucking my mom doesn’t mean you’re my dad. I am an adult and you are not the boss of me.” 

He sighs and takes a step back, planting his hands on his hips. His gaze drifts around the empty apartment, jaw gnashing back and forth for a moment before he returns to twist the deadbolt closed and grab your arm. 

“What the f—” you swat at him and dig your heels into the floor, but it does nothing as he drags you by his steel grip, pulling you stumbling along behind him into the living room. 

He sits on the couch and forces you to lay over his bent knees, one big hand securing your wrists behind your back while the other flattens against the swell of your ass cheek. As soon his touch leaves, it returns, a sharp snap tingling across your skin. 

Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe the chaos throbbing through you. 

“You’re right, you’re an adult. And I’m not your dad,” he asserts, lifting his hand. Your whole body clenches in anticipation. “But as long as you live here, I am the fucking boss of you,” he slaps your ass again, “Do you understand me?” 

It surprises you when you hear yourself sob, “I’m sorry—”

He does it again and again, hissing, “Yeah, you’re fucking sorry now, aren’t you?” 

Each firm slap he lays down is firm, unflinching. Ruthless. 

It overwhelms your senses and becomes the only thing you feel. The universe world narrows down to just his palm on your skin. The reliable and exquisite pain ringing through you. Smack. Smack. Smack. 

Every time he draws his hand back, you don’t think you can handle it again. But you do. 

Soon, you start to crave the impact. His skin on your skin. You can’t feel the start or end of it. It’s just him and you. Pain and pleasure. Sobs and moans, all blended together. 

Far away, you hear him chide you for not wearing underwear beneath your skirt. Then he asks, “Are you fucking enjoying this?” 

Too ashamed to admit it, all you do is whimper in response.

Smack. 

He sucks in breath through his teeth, then grabs the meat of your ass and rumbles, “You do, don’t you?” 

When his grasp on your wrists releases, you pull your elbows beneath you and look over your shoulder at him, watching as he spreads your cheeks apart and stares down between your legs. You’re probably shiny and wet with the evidence of your desire. 

His lips form an ‘o’ when he kneads you back together and spreads you apart again. The motion teases all your hungry nerves and makes you moan. It feels so fucking good. 

You realize then that he’s grown stiff against your belly, hard cock leaving no mistake. 

“You fucking like it, too, don’t you?” you ask him, your voice breathy and amused, “I can feel how turned on you are.” 

Slipping a hand between your bodies, you press against his strained zipper. His cock jumps at the contact, and he groans, dragging his fingers through your slick lips. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you nod in approval. He works your clit in steady, firm circles while you smooth your hand along the big bulge in his pants, letting out a string of whines at the bubbling pleasure inside you. 

You lose yourselves here, both of you squirming and panting and petting the other. So wrapped up with how fucking good it feels that you forget to feel ashamed. 

When he smacks your ass now, you croak through clenched teeth, “Fuck yes.”

He likes that you like it. You can tell by the way he groans and throbs beneath you. This knowledge inspires your pulse to pound and your muscles to tense. 

“Joel,“ you whimper, opening your eyes to meet his heavy-lidded gaze, “I’m gonna fucking come, don’t stop—”

“Did I give you permission to do that?” he asks, slowing his touch to a torturous rhythm, “Did I say you could come?” 

You shake your head and whine, “Please, Joel, please—”

“Are you sorry for what you did?” 

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you gonna do it again?”

“No no no, I won’t, I promise, I’ll be a good girl—”

He groans, tossing his head back as you frantically rub at the bulge in his pants. Your palm chafes against the stiff denim, but you don’t stop. You would do this for eternity if it meant he’d let you find your release. 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be a good fucking girl for me?” he asks, touching you just soft and slow enough to twist your nerves ragged, but keep your orgasm out of reach. 

“I will, I promise. Please, Joel,” you whisper, holding his gaze as your face gets all hot, “Please make me come, please please—”

“Show me you mean it.” 

He doesn’t need to explain what he means. While he takes off his jeans, you scramble off his lap and kneel between his spread knees. His eyes stay glued to yours as you slide your hands up his thighs. 

Batting your lashes at him, you wrap your lips around his swollen cock. He fills your mouth. He feels smooth but hard against your tongue. He tastes salty and heady and when you inhale the musk of him, you moan around his girth. 

Nodding, he anchors his grip behind your head and bucks his hips, forcing his dick down your throat. When you gag, he doesn’t let up, but thrusts into the sensation, grunting, “Fuck. Yes,” before letting you pull off, gasping for air.

You wrap your hands around him, all shiny and slick with drool, and pump his length for a moment while you catch your breath, then take him in your mouth again. 

This time, you sit up taller. You relish the stretch of your lips as you bob up and down. Savor the tug of his fingers curled tight in your hair. Memorize the sound of his huffs and grunts as he fucks your face. The wet squelching gurgle of his cock squeezing down your windpipe. 

“Look at me,” he orders, so you do. 

He’s all blurred from your watering eyes, but you can make out the dark irises and stay locked onto them while relaxing the muscles of your throat to take him easier. When you make an enthusiastic humming noise, he groans. It’s wanton and lusty and lights a fire in your belly. 

Joel has never treated you this hard or soft. His regard for you has always been callous. Closed-off. Indifferent. With your assistance on the radio, he treated you like a tool for survival. Before that, or even in-between smuggling runs, he treated you like some kind of a household pet he had little regard for. Your mom’s responsibility, never his. 

For years and years, you ached for more. 

When you were younger, you used to sit up nights and wonder if he’d ever consider you his daughter. He wouldn’t, though. He won’t. 

But this is something. 

Distinctly, you want to please him. Be the best he ever had. You want to sink your claws into his brain and leave your mark for years to come. You want him to look at you after this and feel a flicker of desire and self-loathing. You want him to think of you when he fucks your mom. You want him to hate how you made him feel. 

When you pull off him and start to work his soaked length with your hands, you pant, “Does that feel good? Am I doing a good job sucking your cock?” 

“It’s good,” he nods, lets out a groan that pinches his eyes shut, then meets your gaze again, “So fucking good, Jesus Christ. Is this what you were out doing tonight? Sucking cock?” 

“Not tonight.” 

“But he fucked you, didn’t he? That boy?” 

You nod, stroking him slower. His eyelids flutter. 

“Did he fuck your pussy or your ass?” 

The question sends a jolt through your middle. You recall the sex you had with Bert. Barely an hour has gone by since he pulled out of your cunt to shoot his load on the mattress, but it feels like a lifetime ago. 

“My pussy,” you answer, then gather a thick, hot wad of saliva on your tongue and spit on his cock. You spread it with a slow churning motion, watching Joel’s face twist up with pleasure. 

“Were you bein’ smart about it at least?” he asks, studying you, “We don’t need you getting knocked up.” 

“He pulled out,” you shrug. 

He grunts in acknowledgment, then sits up and pulls on your arm to join him on the couch, “C’mere.” 

You follow his guidance, lying back on the cushions as he strips off his shirt. 

The only times you’ve seen him shirtless were accidental and slightly embarrassing for both of you. But now, you notice how his smooth chest glows in the dim light. Now, when you drink in the sight of his big arms and broad shoulders, heat bubbles up your spine.

While you pull your tank top off over your head, he tugs your skirt down your thighs, asking, “You ever taken it up the ass?” 

You shake your head. 

His eyebrows jump a little like he’s surprised. A sadistic kind of smirk plays across his lips as he pushes your knees up to your chest, then spreads you apart, the head of him nudging at your backdoor. 

He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t ask if you want it this way, or if you want him to be the first. He doesn’t even warn you about the initial shock and pain you experience when he rocks his hips forward and breaches the tight hole. 

You yelp and try to lurch away from the sharp pain, but he grabs you and holds you there. 

Sitting up on your elbows, you cry, “That fucking hurts, Joel.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t hurt a little, would it?” he murmurs, disinterested, watching your asshole stretch to accommodate the head of his cock. 

The sensation is overwhelming. Like being stabbed or split open. At first, you hate it. You sputter and gasp and shake your head as he pushes himself in further and further. 

Then he pauses the invasion, releasing his steel grip on you to tilt your chin up and meet his gaze, “Just relax.”

His eyes burn into yours, making your pulse jump. You bear witness to his heaving chest and parted lips and feel him twitch inside you. Sparks sizzle across your body, but you still scowl at him. 

“It hurts, I don’t like it.“ 

“It’ll get better, you just gotta relax,” he coaches.

“Why can’t we just have normal sex?”

He grunts, thinks about it for a moment, then tells you, “First off, this is not normal sex,” he points between your chest and his, “This will not be a normal thing, you understand?” 

It stings a little, if you’re being honest. But you nod, “I understand.” 

Nodding, he licks his lips. He throbs inside you, hips jerking a little in reaction. This time, the friction feels good enough to make you whimper. 

“Second, we don’t need another mouth to feed around here,” he says, searching your face, “We’re stretched thin enough as is. You know what I mean?”

“But if you—”

“Pulling out can still stick. This way’s tried and true, trust me.” 

“Trust you,” you scoff under your breath and roll your eyes. 

“What’s that?” 

You meet his hardened gaze, feeling emboldened enough to ask, “Do you fuck my mom in the ass?” 

“That’s none of your business,” he warns. 

“So, what, you can interrogate me about my sex life, but I can’t do the same?” 

“That’s right,” he barks, “Know why?” 

In response, you glare at him. 

He takes this moment of bitter silence to drag his knuckles up your slick, swollen lips. The light touch branches out beneath your skin and makes your heart pound. You gasp a little, but try to hide it. He clocks it immediately. 

“There we go,” he murmurs under his breath, almost as an aside, smoothing the pad of his thumb in soft circles on your clit. Pleasure churns beneath the touch, hot and hungry for more. When you whimper, Joel’s eyes go wild for a second, then he says, “I am the fucking boss of you, understand?” 

You swallow a moan as he arches forward and starts to roll his hips. It feels better now. Good. Fucking amazing, almost. Electric and gooey. He fills you so completely with each thrust, you wonder how you can even breathe. 

“So if I tell you to be home, that’s where you’ll be. If I ask you where you’ve been, who you were with, what you were doing—you tell me the truth. Understand?” 

Nodding, you gasp, “I understand.” 

“You don’t get to ask me about your mom. You don’t tell your mom. You don’t sneak out to go get fucked by some boy who doesn’t even know what to do with you—”

“Holy shit, Joel I’m gonna—” you gasp at the pressure building at the base of your spine, spreading thick and hot and delicious across your body. 

“And you don’t come without my fucking permission. Understand?” 

“I understand I understand,” you cry, literal tears burning behind your eyes at the ache of trying to keep the ecstasy at bay, “Please can I come, please please please—”

“Are you sorry?” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again—”

“That’s right, you’ll never fucking do it again. Why’s that?”

“You’re the boss,” you beg, your voice so raw and pleading it sounds foreign. He pounds into you now, a wet slap that echoes off the apartment walls. It takes all your concentration to keep your pleasure contained, to not spill over the edges, but you hear yourself babble somewhere far away. 

“You’re the fucking boss. I’m sorry I’m sorry I won’t disobey you again I’ll be a good girl I’ll do anything just please give me permission to come daddy please please please—”

When he moans, loud and depraved, it just about breaks you, but you manage to keep your resolve long enough for him to pant, “Go ahead, let it go.” 

With a choked sob, you untether your pleasure and allow it to expand, growing hot and wide and unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Every muscle in your body tenses up as the sensation swallows you whole, then spits you back up, sending wave after wave across your body.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he grunts, taking his hand from your clit to hold your knees down and fuck your ass hard and fast and ruthless.

It surprises you when heat starts stretching out from the middle of you again. Your heart starts to race as the feeling grows. 

“Ffffuuuuck,” you whimper, “That feels so fucking good—”

“I told you, didn’t I?” 

“You did you did holy shit,” you meet his eyes and nod frantically, “I love it I love it—please can you come in my ass?” 

“Is that what you want? Want me to come in your tight little asshole?” 

A feral noise escapes you, and you sob, “Yes—”

“Do you wanna come too?”

“Yes—oh my god, yes, please please please daddy—”

“Come with me, baby.”

You let the feeling overtake you again, gasping out, “thank you thank you thank you,” as it takes you strong and fast. Pleasure pulses through your body, causing you to convulse and strain against Joel’s grip spreading you open. He releases a moan from his belly and gives you a hard, deep thrust that he holds for a shuddering moment. After emptying himself inside you, he pulls out, falling back to his seat on the couch. 

Chest heaving, you prop yourself up on your elbows and study him. He pinches his eyes shut and catches his breath before meeting your gaze again. 

His expression goes soft long enough for something dangerous to flicker between you. 

Then he turns away and starts getting dressed. 

“Get yourself together, I’m gonna go get your mom.” 

As you sit up, you fold your legs into your body and watch him button his shirt. 

“Joel—”

He looks at you, searching your face expectantly, but your brain goes static and you’re not even sure what you were going to say. 

“This stays between us, understand?” 

His tone is firm but gentle. You swallow hard and nod, “I understand.” 

Nodding, he glances down at your lips, then back to your eyes. He rises to his feet to leave, but before he does, he leans down to press a kiss into your forehead. 

“Good girl.” 

[ NEXT PART ]

[kithtaehyung]

minted (m) (teaser) | myg

title: minted (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: okay so LISTEN!!! this is a complete surprise to everyone including me, bc this was def not on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this morally grey yoongi is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and having the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur relevant url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! note 2: this fic is not for everyone. please read the warnings! there's gonna be some darker themes than the regular kithtaehyung drop, and it's the haegeum universe so it's not a light fic. if you're down for that, lfgggg. if you're not, i will not be upset if you skip this one! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint-haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, knife held to the throat, tension, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, orange!jimin, fight scenes, morally grey yoongi smut warnings: to be smacked here on drop day! drop date: as soon as i’m done but we are ZOOMIN’ word count: 6k so far and projecting 12-15k✌️

"you know.. it's a shame you touched her. because now we have nothing to discuss."

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

(seven) days a week, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: It only takes seven days (a week) for Jeon Jungkook to get you in his bed to fuck you right. And showing up in weird places. And kissing in the rain. He's crazy. Okay, it's kinda complicated.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language (reader swears a lot); strangers-to-lovers; vague allusions to a loveless childhood and bad parenting (no specifics); JK might be insane and you do tell him that he is; slight crack; fluff; smut (fem reader, fucking with clothes on and off, m and f-receiving oral, light hair pulling, fingering, nipple play, choking, penetrative sex, handjob); non-idol!BTS – persistent!Jungkook x noona, def tsundere!reader lol ft instigator-cupid!Park Jimin setting them up

this directly follows Jung Kook's 'Seven' MV, so make sure to watch it (although I'm sure you've seen it if you wanna read this lmao)

--

monday.

“What? Something on my face?”

You stared at him and he stared back. Wide eyes, slightly parted lips, the look of caught prey and all. You had your hands in front of you, long fingers laced together, elbows on the table. You probably shouldn’t have scowled like that. That was a bit rude, especially to someone you didn’t know well, but this guy had been staring at you all night and barely speaking to you, even when prompted, so you were getting both impatient and annoyed at accepting this invitation.

“You wear… a lot of jewelry,” Jeon Jungkook said out loud, with awe.

You looked down at your hands. Well. The rings, the bracelets, even the earrings on both your ears, all sterling silver or white gold. You had even swapped out the lower lobe piercing for a pair of dangling dice earrings with grey freshwater pearls. You liked the cooler tone to bring some death to your warm-toned skin.

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” Your low voice had an edge of guarded to it.

A quick, nervous head shake. “No. No, it’s cool. I’ve never seen a girl wear so many chunky rings like that. I didn’t think I’d like it either, but then I saw you.”

You opened your mouth to snap out a comeback and then his words hit you.

There was no doubt that Jeon Jungkook was cute. Black-brown hair with a lustrous quality. Bright, expressive dark brown eyes. Slightly rounded cheeks with a distinct jawline. He said he had, and you could see, tattoos and piercings, something you quite liked but not a requirement. Built body, in the way that people where when they were committed to taking care of their physical appearance. Not so much in vanity, but in the way that matched how they felt that they should look in their head. Respect for that. But, in this chance that was what you had expected to be his, Jungkook didn’t taken it.

He looked the part.

Didn’t act it, though.

Black blazer, matching trousers. White t-shirt. Dressy but not too much. To be honest, the outer appearance didn’t matter much to you. It actually mattered the least. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Really. You were often told that you had too little patience for people, but, come on!

This conversation was awkward.

Hah.

You turned as you sensed a lively presence re-entering your icy atmosphere. Hmph. The actor playing Cupid in the instance. He looked the part too. Baby blue dress shirt with the top buttons undone. Ivory slacks, neatly pressed. Black hair perfectly curled over his forehead, framing an angelic face. Full lips forming an infectious smile that made his eyes disappear as small hands folded away the receipt and tucked his card back into his wallet.

“Ah, the waitress and I had a cute little chat,” flirty Park Jimin chuckled, giving you a little eyebrow wiggle. You rolled your eyes at him. “Did you guys have a nice talk while I was gone?”

“Um…?” Jungkook started, nearly afraid to glance at you for some support.

You gave Jimin a deadpan stare. “You trying to get her number?”

“Me? No, no!” he waved his hands, sitting back down to lean in. “She gave it to me anyway though.”

Figures Park Jimin would introduce you to a guy and also get the number of someone else in the restaurant. You deliberately hadn’t answered Jimin’s question, but he hadn’t noticed.

Jungkook, however, did.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him deflate a little and you winced in unease, not sure if you should have avoided it, but at this point the waitress had returned, lashes aflutter and gushing about how they just had to try to fried ice cream and it was on the house, as long as Jimin promised to come back, right? Right?

Jimin promised of course, of course, with a big smile.

You completely ignored him and picked up one of the pieces of fried ice cream – mango, it seemed, by the color – and placed it on one of the small plates before setting it right in front of Jungkook.

He perked up and gave you these big, hopeful eyes.

You didn’t say anything but felt your cheeks flush and your gaze shift, putting on an expression of reluctant apology. After a half second, you bowed your head just a bit, shaking off the moment and serving yourself before serving Jimin.

What?

Damn flirt didn’t even notice.

-

tuesday.

“You didn’t like him?”

“I mean, there’s nothing to like or dislike. He barely said anything. Also, Jimin, I told you, I’m not really a relationship person,” you sighed into your phone, walking quickly to the train station. “I don’t want to give this guy the wrong idea about me. He didn’t really strike me as a fuck-around-and-find-out kinda guy.”

“You said you would change your mind for the right person though.”

Sometimes you thought Jimin argued with you just to argue.

“Yeah, and I don’t even know what kind of person he is because he didn’t say shit,” you barked back to that snippy tone on the other side of the line. Some idiot honked at you and you resisted the urge to flip him the bird. Maybe he wasn’t honking at you. The hanging out the window and catcalling could be to the couple walking next to you.

You highly doubted it.

Also, maybe you just wanted to give someone the middle finger because you couldn’t show Jimin right now how much you deeply appreciated him.

“Jungkookie’s just super shy, but wait a minute and he’ll make you his.”

You rolled your eyes. Damn bad habit that you were forming ever since you became friendly with this mildly infuriating angel. “He’s not making me do anything.”

“I’m telling you; he suits you perfectly. You’re being stubborn and not giving him a chance. Anyway, I gave him your number, so don’t worry!”

“Wait, you did wha–”

The roar of the subway train below cut you off.

“Oop, you’re at the station. You’re breaking up! Can’t hear you, byeeeeeee!”

You twitched as Park Jimin hung up on you.

Asshole.

You pulled your phone away from your ear and pulled up the app to pay for your ticket. Paused for a second. New message, unknown number. Then it was your turn, so you hovered your phone screen, heard the beep, and hurried to the correct train line, finding the one to take you home. It was hectic even now, still within the dregs of rush hour, so you didn’t even think to check for the content of the text until you sat down with a big sigh, somewhat of a fwump with your distressed bomber jacket and baggy cargo pants, both made of thick black fabric. The side of your jacket slid off, exposing your bare shoulder and tight white tank top.

The guy standing about a meter away from you snuck a glance in your direction.

You tucked your tongue in your cheek and yanked your jacket back in place with the hand that was holding your phone. Noticed the screen flash, reminding you of the notification.

Fuck it.

Pressed your thumb and your phone unlocked.

Hey, it’s me. Jeon Jungkook… I wanted to say that I’m sorry about not talking that much last night. I was really nervous because you were so pretty and self-assured. I was so impressed that nothing I could think of seemed like a good thing to say, so I blanked out. I’m very sorry. I hope it is okay for me to text you like this.

An essay.

You paused for so long that you felt your cheeks heat.

The fuck?

You frowned at yourself. For some reason, even though he hadn’t talked much, you could hear the text in your head as if Jungkook was speaking to you directly. Sense the anxiousness in the typed words. See those big eyes gazing right at you with a mixture of curiosity and wonder and what-ifs. You sighed, feeling defeated. It would simply be rude to not reply.

I apologize for being too intimidating.

You sent it before thinking. Aw, shit. That was a bit short, wasn’t it? Damnnit. You saw the sending quadlet of dots spinning slowly, struggling due to you being underground. Fuck. If you sent another message now, it might be out of order and that would just get confusing. And what else could you add? Oh, geez, you didn’t even confirm it was you. The conversation with Park Jimin must have scrambled your egg brains.

The train roared out of the tunnel.

All of a sudden, the message sent and a reply instantly popped up. Actually, a serious of bubbles, rapid-fire like bullets. The confirmation must have lagged.

You’re not intimidating at all! Well… not in a bad way. In a sexy way. I mean, in a good way! In a cool way, like you’re not afraid to say what you wanna say. I really admire that in a person, so I really admire that in you. Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it? I made things weird… ㅠ.ㅠ

You blinked slowly at the messages. It was pretty clear Jungkook had sat there and pondered over the first message for quite a while and these subsequent ones were stream of consciousness spewing. Honestly, kind of funny. Heh. You could sort of imagine it. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to respond right away. Hm, you wondered if he had hoped you would. He really was trying hard, huh. For what? What was the reason?

You tucked your tongue in your cheek and responded anyway.

Oh, you’re definitely weird, but you never know. I might like that. What’s the outfit of the day, Jeon Jungkook?

Were you fishing for a photo? Of course. He would probably scramble to put on a good outfit to impress you. To your surprise, the downloading image icon popped up instantaneously, spinning, spinning. You tilted your head, surprised at the prompt obedience. He must have snapped a pic right away when you asked. It was taking time to load though. You saw some people getting off the train and looked up, checking the stop. Oh, yours was next.

You took care not to look directly at anyone around you, keeping your sling bag in your lap.

Then you looked down to the inquisitive dark brown eyes of Jeon Jungkook with messy black hair and a black leather jacket. White t-shirt. It was a selfie, so you couldn’t see the pants. It was something borderline vain about the angle, but also a seek of approval in that parted mouth, silver ring and stud dotting the edge of the right side, flash of white teeth and slight bite of the left side revealing a small mole at the center underneath his lower lip.

You twitched.

Bold, wasn’t he?

You weren’t sure if you liked it – well, you didn’t mind it, you just weren’t sure if you like-liked it, what was he trying to play at here, trying to get your heart to beat fast or something, hmph – and you clutched your phone pointedly, your rings clacking as you prepped your fingers to type back… something, be honest here… and your fingers wavered.

Shaking a little.

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you had been holding.

Oh, the pants are blue jeans, but I’m out right now so there’s no mirror to show you.

You heard your stop being called and stood up automatically, filing behind other people getting ready to step off, the train slowing down, everything slowing down, finding yourself staring at Jungkook’s expression in the photo, why were you staring, shifting your eyes quickly, then back, it wasn’t like Jeon Jungkook could see you, ugh, this was so annoying.

Do you want to see? I can take another photo when I get home.

You let out a frustrated exhale that no one else around you could understand. Maybe not even those closest to you would get it. But you knew what it meant, and knowing also frustrated you.

Being self-aware was a bitch.

You finally sent your answer.

I much prefer this look on you than the blazer. Is this your normal fashion style?

You had worn a flowing white blouse and floaty black skirt the night before at dinner, but it was not your typical style. Well, it was, but it was one of your work outfits since you had come straight from the office. Something you wore to not get in trouble with the dress code and knowing you would have to meet up with people later. Sometimes you were a little riskier if you were feeling frisky, but Jimin had told you to look nice for the friend he was introducing you to.

But maybe it would have been better to look more you.

Then again, the restaurant was pretty high end. They might not have let you in.

Oh. Yeah. Hahaha, I wore the blazer because Jimin-ssi told me to look nice for you. I guess this is street-style? I don’t know… I’m not fashionable, I only wear what I think is cool or comfy. What about you?

You strode out of the train and briskly walked to the elevator, muscle memory already knowing where to go, typing back. Pausing when you saw the vending machine. A green tea would be nice right now.

You veered off course and headed to stand in line.

I think my friends would describe my style as dark and strong. They’re always telling me I should dress more feminine or at least in less black, but one of my core traits is not listening to shit people say. And swearing.

You tapped your card and made your selection. Waited out the whirr and clunk. Didn’t pay much attention to the world around you. It was a typical day, people passing by, no warning feelings. And, besides, your phone was much more interesting right now.

You did not just think that.

You scowled at your reflection in the glass of the vending machine before picking up your drink.

I hope I get to see you sometime soon so I can appreciate it. :)

You raised an eyebrow at your phone as you ticked open the can and started walking again, taking a crisp sip. It was slightly irritating that he was better at flirting over text than in person. Or maybe it had just been the circumstance. Come to think of it, it would have been weird if he did with Jimin right there, although you were sure Jimin wanted to be there to witness whatever unfolded. The awkwardness was probably just as entertaining to him as it would be if Jungkook had been more forward.

Hmph.

What was more irritating was that you weren’t instantly annoyed by it.

Hmmmmph.

Are you saying you aren’t intimidated by me, Jeon Jungkook?

You hurried home, following the streetlights, breathless, not because you were running, but because you wanted to be home so you could be alone with…

I’m saying I like feeling your effect on me in person.

Him.

-

wednesday.

The next time you saw Jeon Jungkook, you were groaning and setting your forehead on the edge of washing machine, screaming internally. Would have banged it against the metal if you weren’t going to lose a substantial number of brain cells. You were going to pay cash because you wouldn’t get that card surcharge if you did but, of course, of course you had accidentally shorted yourself and pocketed the wrong amount.

Fuck!

Now you were already at the laundromat. Walk back home and lug your shit to and back to get the right amount? Or just forget it and pay the extra charge? You had already put the detergent in. Fuckity fuck fuck. Technically you could go home, it wasn’t that far, but, ugh, it was extra annoying today because you had slept late and now you were grumpily doing your life responsibilities. Come back a different day? No, you had specifically told yourself to get off your ass and get that pile washed. Damnnit, if you hadn’t slept late and scrambled your egg brains, this wouldn’t have happened!

But you had been talking to Jeon Jungkook.

Ending the conversation had been more difficult than you expected. You gritted your teeth, feeling stupid for pulling such a teenage move. Still young, huh? Young and stupid.

Grr.

You heard the metal slide of the money drawer being closed and then an approval ping!

You jumped back, freaked out at the thing you hadn’t done, and then snapped your head to the sudden presence next to you. Dark blue jeans with giant holes at the knees. Gray hoodie sliding off a built right shoulder. White ribbed tank top. Messy black hair. A piercing, no, two on the right side of open lips.

Big, round, dark brown eyes.

You noticed he was wearing a few silver rings himself.

“Um… hi? I noticed you were short a little so I just…” Jeon Jungkook trailed off, giving you a hopeful look.

You gawked at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Ouch. A little too snappy. Jungkook faltered, those peepers shifting. “Ah… well…”

You bit your tongue and reeled it back. “Sorry. I didn’t expect to see you, is all. Obviously, you came here to wash your clothes like everyone else.”

He reached up and scratched the back of his head nervously. Wait. Why was he looking at you like that?

“W-Well, actually… Jimin-ssi told me you normally come here on Wednesdays to do laundry and I was nearby so I figured., maybe, I’d just check if you were here…”

You stared at him.

“You’re stalking me?”

“N-No!” Jungkook sputtered, waving his hands frantically even though you hadn’t raised your voice.

There was a bristle to your tone though. Indignation and frigidity you couldn’t hide. You frowned, narrowing your eyes, cornering him with your gaze. There were only a few people on this slow day, which was why you picked Wednesday to do laundry, but all the patrons had AirPods or other earbuds in, busying themselves with their shoving of clothing in and out of the washers and dryers. No one was going to interrupt anyway.

Not their business.

“I… I…”

“And how did you recognize me anyway? My head was down,” you remembered, advancing on him, and Jungkook took a step back, swallowing hard. Your outfit was baggy too, dark denim jacket and jeans, the tight black tank hidden by the bulk.

“I couldn’t forget how beautiful your hair is,” he mumbled out quickly, looking a little too mesmerized by your fierceness. Forget that. “And your hands were on the edge of the washer. Your rings. The star chain bracelet you wear. I…”

He was fixated on your collarbones and the thin black choker around your neck.

Or lower.

“Oi! My face is up here,” you hissed, snaping your fingers and making him jerk his head. He had stopped backing up though. You pointed at him, somewhat rudely. Actually, very rudely, but whatever. “What do you mean, check if I was here? And who told you? That idiot. I’ll kill him.”

And why was Jungkook looking at you like that?

Like he thought you were hot when angry.

He better stop that shit because you were losing your irate demeanor for some fuckin’ reason.

“I texted you almost all night. That wasn’t enough?” you half-growled, half whispered.

A tiny head shake.

Ah, shit.

You deliberately did not think that was cute.

“I liked it so much that I…” Oh no, oh no, not that honest tremble and deep gaze into your eyes. “I was hoping I could talk to you again, in person, more bravely this time.”

You opened your mouth to sink in that verbal bite and nothing came out.

The entire laundromat could flood right now and you wouldn’t even notice because you were staring at Jeon Jungkook and wondering if this audacity was freaking annoying or freaking impressive. Not this damn guy within two days leaving you speechless. Well… actually, no, never mind the technicalities.

“Are you even thinking before you do things?” you grumbled, not yet backing down.

Jungkook stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets suddenly. Hm? Nervous and shaking? You couldn’t tell, but you watched him closely, observing his body language, your eyes following those lines.

“Mmmm…” He bit the left side of his lower lip. “No?”

You strongly resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

Shy smile greeting you, accompanying the lip bite.

“I’m just listening to my heart.”

Now you visibly cringed. “Don’t say stuff like that.” Looking away slightly, somehow unable to meet those honest eyes.

“Why? You don’t like it?” Genuinely curious.

“You don’t mean it.” He did mean it and you could see that he meant it but you did not want to admit that you knew that he meant it. Yeah. “You barely know me. We only talked over text.”

“But you gave me thoughtful, frank answers. I don’t believe that you were being dishonest,” Jungkook protested, following you over to the tables a few steps away from the washing machines. You dragged your laundry bag with you and kept your voice down.

“I told you, I’m a straightforward an honest person. I won’t lie to you. And I won’t hesitate to cut you off if you lie to me,” you reminded him.

He nodded. You wanted to shake him and yell at him to stop giving you those eyes. “So I just decided to do what I wanted to.”

You cocked your head at him in disbelief. “You didn’t think you went too far?”

What was with that mischievous smile? “I’m the all-in type.”

You let out a puff of air.

“Also, you haven’t told me directly that you don’t like it,” Jungkook pointed out, leaning toward you, smiling.

You gave him a deadpan stare. “You don’t get me,” you said back flatly.

Those dark brown orbs sparkled. “That’s okay. I don’t have to get you to think you’re cool, clever, and stunning.”

Your eyebrow twitched.

“And why do you say that? Because you see how people look at me? Because you enjoyed my useless facts and tangents last night? Because you think with your dick?” You added the last question with bite, leaning forward too, having enough of this, not really him but…

The fact that you didn’t want to tell him to fuck right off.

Silence.

Jungkook was staring into your eyes.

“The shape of your eyes is so… perfect.”

You felt your ears heat.

He raised a finger and traced the air right in front of your left eye, the scent of his clean cologne drifting in your direction. “The way they sharpen in the inner corner, like a bird of prey… And your irises are so dark and striking…”

You grabbed his finger out of the air.

“Don’t be… weird.”

Why did you pause? Hello? No way you’re being like this over this guy right now.

You pointedly pulled his hand down, pinning it to the table. “Pay attention.”

Jungkook was giving you this dreamy, hazy expression. “Huh? What were you saying?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You can’t even listen.”

He leaned in closer and you caught a whiff of that delicious cologne again. “Sorry. I will. Say it again, please. I’ll listen carefully.”

The fuck were you saying again? The lights of the old laundromat flickered but you barely noticed. A common occurrence in these ol’ mom-and-pop places. And, besides, you were staring at this determined, patient smile and mentally shoving down those butterflies that you definitely weren’t feeling, nope, violently compacting those distracting internalizations into a tiny, windowless box.

“You don’t seem very good at listening,” you finally said, tight and even.

“I am,” he insisted softly. “I promise.”

“I’m too much for you.”

Or was Jungkook too much for you?

“I’m offering all of me,” he whispered to the shared air between you and him. “It might not be enough so I’ll be to work hard and do my best.”

What was he so earnest for? You hesitated, the edges to your hard demeanor softening. You didn’t want to trust stuff like this. It was so easy to get burned and you wanted to be the one to do the burning. And how could you trust people? Even you didn’t say everything out loud. Some things you could say and some you couldn’t say. It was too much trouble to believe in someone.

You had never received unburdened kindness when you were younger.

“We’re not on the same page.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Aren’t we? But you’re reading me easily and I’m doing my best to learn about you too.”

Your shoulders released the tension. “Don’t pretend with me. It’s clear you’re a relationship kind of guy. And, while I’m not against them, I can’t deliver the same kind of devotion you are willing to give. Can’t you see that?” You removed your hand from his, not realizing it was still there.

His fingertip traced a line on the back of your hand.

Sparks raced along the base of your head.

You remained stern, feeling heavy and hot in your clothes.

“Why do you say that? You don’t think you’re loyal?” he asked very sincerely.

Your eyes narrowed. “Of course, I am. If I like you in that way and you asked me to bury a body, I’d already be digging the grave. But I’m not a flowers-and-chocolate kind of girl. That’s not how I show affection.”

You had no idea how far your clothes were in the cycle. The whole world could crash down and you would still be staring at Jungkook and his body language. His shoulders slouched a little more so he could look up at you with those pleading eyes.

Inhale still in your throat.

“Then, do you not like me?”

Say something.

But you didn’t say anything at all, gazing down at Jeon Jungkook and wondering why you couldn’t get through his thick skull that you were a bad decision. Honestly? Honestly, fine, it was because you grew up with parents that never liked each other nor their kids. Honestly, it was because you grew up too fast and with too much independence to not see the filthiness of the world. Honestly, it was because you saw the finicky innate nature of humanity of never devoting themselves to anything, much less anyone, and why would they?

People were crazy.

Call it personal experience.

You sighed.

“Jungkook, I’m not gonna lie to you. I fuck before I care about anybody. I’m only living to get my pleasure and not take care of anyone, okay? I’m barely keeping my own head together. I’m blunt. I don’t need or want romantic gestures. I just want dick. There. I’m not a good person.”

He was smiling.

Aw, shit.

“I must be favored to know you.”

You twitched, tucking your tongue in your cheek to avoid scowling, which was pretty much scowling anyway, so you failed spectacularly.

“Also, you haven’t said you don’t like me,” Jungkook pointed out. Infuriatingly. “Because it’s not true and you don’t lie. Right?” He said your name with a little too much sweetness and knowing.

You yanked your hand out of his and shoved his hard, muscular chest. He bounced back, grinning a little too happily. You told yourself to hate it and you didn’t. Fuck. “What are you even still doing here? Gonna fold my clothes for me or something?”

The energy at being offered a household chore was disturbing. “Oh! I can! I’m very good at doing laundry. And washing dishes. And cleaning. I like doing that stuff.”

“Sure, you do,” you puffed sarcastically,

“I do,” Jungkook insisted, coming around the table. “And I’m good at it.”

You scrutinized him up a down. “Yeah? Because you don’t know where else to put all that energy of yours?”

His lips parted but all he did was gawk at you. Oop. Right on the money. You were liking this expression a little too much. Maybe it was time to lower these walls a bit. After all, it didn’t seem like Jungkook was going to go away any time soon. He was pretty harmless anyway.

“I could drain you in a night,” you chuckled, smirking.

The tips of his ears were getting red at your lowered tone.

“You think you could keep up?”

-

thursday.

Ugh, it was one of those days that fuckin’ suuuucked.

Woke up late and had to rush to get dressed and bounce, then got to work and some shit was going down about missing documents and people moving papers they shouldn’t have, forcing you to play manager because everyone else had no goddamn spine to fix anything. This department would be a disaster without you. To top it all off, you had people stalling, keeping an irrelevant conversation going, leading you on a wild goose chase with no funny honking – turns out the documents were in some random copier right behind you, for fuck’s sake – and you had a very strong inkling it was because of what you looked like.

Which was fine.

Unless you were actually trying to do your job.

Then, one of your side dishes you had brought for lunch had gone off, so you ended up slightly less full than you wanted to be, and you forgot your jacket at work, leaving it hanging on the back of your chair in your rush to leave, and the train halted several stations before your stop because there was some emergency maintenance or some shit.

Fuckity fuck.

It wouldn’t be so annoying it if wasn’t so windy, but it was and you were wearing a sheer sweater with splashes of jewel-toned colors and a longline black sports bra under it – you had worn your jacket half-zipped until your boss had left in the middle of the day and your co-workers didn’t care how you looked, the dress code was stupid anyway – and black jeans, mid-rise. The rules were more about being covered up rather than being professionally dressed.

The job was primarily sitting at a desk and sorting documents, did it matter how you looked?

Or maybe you just broke the rules a little because you were a rebel.

Your stomach growled angrily and you told it to shut the fuck up.

You stood on the corner halfway between work and home, debating on whether or not to do some damage. The problem was you didn’t have any of the usual bad habits most people had. You didn’t drink, so getting stupid drunk and getting thrown out of the noraebang was out of the question. Also, you couldn’t sing. But, anyway, you barely took medicine, let alone know where or how to procure the illegal fun stuff, so that was also out. You didn’t have a sweet tooth either so you couldn’t down a whole cake with gusto, although that sounded like a great way to go.

You sulked.

You had an addiction, but you just stared at the names in your phone and felt guilty. Guilty! For what? For some guy you met literally less than four days ago? Ugh, no, this couldn’t be you right now. Seriously? Seriously? You crossed and stalked up the block, not yet deciding what to do so you kept walking until you figured it out during this internal battle. You had to keep this guy at a distance. Okay, yes, you could admit you liked him.

And that was the problem.

If you didn’t really like him, you could just fuck him and establish those hard boundaries. No issue. You had been in love before but that was a long time ago and ultimately you ended it because it wasn’t right and you weren’t good enough to be devoted to.

You breathed out hard, the unease spilling out of your insides.

It was definitely easier to not expect anything from anyone. You had spent a lot of life not having and, ultimately, not needing to rely on others, both out of necessity and simply having too much to work on by yourself. Years of fighting off bitterness that you had always tasted, years of letting go of important moments realizing that supposedly important people in your life would never be there for them, years of lashing out and becoming the shadow of the abuse you endured. Eye for an eye and all that. Keep the cycle going, until you had that moment in the eye of the storm to get hit by lightning and realize that this wasn’t right.

It wasn’t any particular thing.

Just finally accepting the creeping self-awareness that you had been miserable and were making other people miserable on purpose because you tore them open and took their hearts to find yours.

Metaphorically, duh.

So now you sort of did this martyr shit of being there for people when you could and not asking for anything back. Especially not a relationship. Intimate to heal a heart and then give it away, which totally worked if they weren’t into you, just into what you could do.

You didn’t really feel it yourself but you did get sex out of it.

Bad addiction, yeah.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket.

You ignored it.

Stepped into a chicken place and stood in line, feeling the weight of your world on your shoulders. You brain tried to reason with you that it was Jeon Jungkook’s own fault if he got hurt. He was the one who chose to spend all that time sitting at the laundromat with you talking about random shit. Your favorite video game – Persona 5, excelling in your top three most important things about a video game: music score, gameplay, and art style. Your favorite American rapper – Ludacris and the way he could rhyme the weirdest words. Your favorite movie genre – surrealist psychedelic drug movies, which earned you a confused head tilt. You had asked Jungkook what he liked. Mood lamps. Singing. Watching cooking videos on YouTube.

Had asked him if he believed in soulmates.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you ordered at the kiosk and paid.

You don’t think I could have met you in another life?

You stood with the other waiting patrons, ignoring everybody and your phone thrumming against your hip, thinking about last night.

I probably broke your heart.

Thinking about that smile with two piercings and a lip mole. That smile didn’t trust your answer at all.

Maybe the universe is giving me another chance to make up for my past mistakes. I can’t give up.

You made a face at past Jungkook’s answer, too taken aback all those hours ago to scowl properly. Maybe you had been too tired. Too worn down by his earnest nonsense to fight it properly at that moment. Your hand hovered over you hip, wondering if you should check it. Then dropped.

What, did you need to see him every day or something?

Your name was called and you stepped up to receive your order.

Oh, fuck, you miss him.

You yanked your phone out of your pocket and stared at it as you walked out of the restaurant, only to get plopped by a fat raindrop on the lit-up screen. You looked up to the gray sky and let out a hiss.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You turned around and sat down, grumbling as rain poured down and you replied to Jungkook’s texts.

Stupid.

Not him. Just you.

-

friday.

“What are you trying so hard for?” you snapped.

“Why aren’t you trying hard enough?” Jeon Jungkook shot back.

It was going really well.

Clearly.

You let out a hiss and flicked your hands as if you were trying to physically get rid of his reply. Argh, this… man! The thundering rain was pouring down, down, and you were both standing under a bus stop with no intention of taking the bus. You bit back the volume of your sudden anger. There was no need to yell anyway. No one was coming out in the thick of this monsoon.

Only you and crazy-ass Jeon Jungkook.

Switched tactics. "And what makes you think your virgin ass–"

"I'm not a virgin!"

"You are here!"

And you jammed two fingers into that very muscular chest, right next to the left side of his sternum. Too fast to be stopped. The shove actually made him stumble. Or maybe it was the utter shock of the verbal and physical double jab combined with the deep growl that your voice had suddenly become. His racer jacket and black hair were slick with rain. Half of his white t-shirt soaked. Even the front of his blue jeans drenched.

You panted hard after your outburst, the anger draining away all in a flash of lightning.

Jungkook stared at you with stricken eyes.

The rain pelted down, down, beating into the silence.

“How did you know?” he breathed out.

You didn’t but somehow you did, feeling something inside of you break. Not afraid of the world. Never, never again. No, afraid of what you could do, afraid of breaking something this pure, because you broke your first love too and that past guilt still lingered. Not that you thought Jungkook loved you. He couldn’t This was only the fifth day of him knowing you.

The fuck is going on?

“I see your type all the time,” you sighed, your damp hair all over your face. “Looking for light in black holes instead of stars.” The rain had slipped off your black leather jacket. Your cropped band shirt wasn’t wet, but your black cargo pants were sodden knees down.

This coldness, however, didn’t come from the rain.

“You really should stop. For your own good.”

You looked away from him, feeling as if your own words had pierced bullet holes into your walls. Dark sky, never-ending rain, cars struggling to drive, people running with umbrellas and ponchos, arms huddled close to their bodies, and here you were just standing here in the rain, the world acting out your mind. How nice. You thought you had come to terms with everything, but obviously not. Somehow once you saw Jungkook again, once you felt his presence again, the pull was even stronger and the storm was even more intense and the worst part was that you didn’t want to leave.

You heard Jungkook’s soft, silvery voice through the gray rain.

“Why are you blaming yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened yet?”

You turned your head to look into those pleading brown eyes.

Lightning shot across the sky.

Thunder followed seconds after, eating up the night.

“W… What?”

He shook his head, dripping water.

“You haven’t hurt me. You don’t mean to, either.”

That smile, his hand extended, the inked snake on his wrist showing.

You stared at Jeon Jungkook with droplets beading on your skin but those goosebumps weren’t from the weather. Jerked your head away. What is with this gentleness? How could he know anything? He couldn’t know anything. He was just an airhead who watched too many dramas and made others believe that they could be real.

“Noona?”

You whipped your head to Jungkook, shocked at his use of the honorific. He only used it when Jimin was at the meal. Afterwards, the conversations had been clearly directed at you. Not completely informal speech, but sometimes you slipped and he did too. You never corrected him because, well.

You slapped his hand away.

Nothing was going to happen.

You closed the distance and grabbed his head, pressing your lips to his shaking ones.

It was going to be terrible. Cold. Wet. Acidic from the lingering feelings. There was no way that this kiss could be anything else with this setting.

This was real life.

Not a story.

Your hands cupped his cheeks and you sunk into his kiss. The hard edge of his jewelry and the softness of his breath, caught by your mouth, your eyes already screwed shut, nothing to do but feel, feel the way he instantly pressed back and set his hands on your elbows, pulling you closer, shuddering as your forearms pressed to his chest. A weird feeling, like two fires melting together, prickling racing across your skin, no, deeper, past your ribs and into your heart.

The storm raged on.

You snapped out of the kiss, nose to nose, water trickling in places it shouldn’t, over your eyelashes and down your neck, feeling fingers graze across your elbows. Slipping under the leather. Droplets soaking into your shirt and then warm hands lingering at the curve of your exposed waist.

Tracing your lines.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

And you kissed Jeon Jungkook again.

-

saturday.

No, you didn’t take him home. You’re reckless, yeah.

But you knew how that would go.

Not that Jungkook didn’t try. Maybe you would have done it, if you weren’t the equivalent of wet cat and equally torrenting emotions. His hands around your waist, pulling you closer, heat blossoming between layers of rain-drenched clothing, kiss after kiss, your hands in his hair, tangling those dark waves into wilderness, getting more and more breathless, heady with a feeling you knew but didn’t want to believe in.

For someone who hated lying, you sure enjoyed lying to yourself.

You had reasons.

How could this time be different if it was just following the same trajectory that you always followed?

You had to pry yourself from him, lips tingling, tongue curling, feeling your blood course through your veins and your heartbeat as loud as thunder, opening your eyes to his blissed-out expression, his own eyes still closed, pressing his lips together to savor your taste.

Damn.

You had wanted to tell him to stop it, stop it with all this falling, you were being dragged down by his vibe, clothes feeling heavy, desperate to be stripped away, but you kept your hands along the sides of his head, your exhale escaping but giving you away like a bad con artist.

Those shimmering dark eyes had opened, following Jungkook’s smile.

“You’re a great kisser, noona.”

His hands stayed on your waist, drumming his fingertips on your skin, tangible kisses creating invisible but no less real electricity.

You scoffed, corner of your lips rising.

“Shut up.”

Tendrils of his black-brown hair clung to his forehead. The rain drummed but it had lessened a bit. You had looked back to his eyes, defeated.

“Shut up so I don’t miss you more.”

One last, drawn-out kiss, tongue to tongue and you had broken from him, warning him sternly.

“Don’t follow me.”

Ran all the way home, face burning, not even feeling the rain even though it was still falling.

Now, present time, you sat at this boring farewell party in some fancy hotel with the sun blaring outside. Figures the nice weather would come out when you would have to stuff yourself in a fitted blazer dress and pretend to care about your boss’s boss retiring. Black, of course. For the formal occasion. Sadly, no one was dying except this old coot’s career.

Maybe you were a little salty that you couldn’t retire yet.

You looked down at your phone, which was on silent, noticing you had a new message.

ㅎ.ㅎ

O… Okay. Whatever that face was supposed to mean. You didn’t even bother to answer. Couldn’t, anyway, forced to plaster on a mildly interested expression as your boss gave a speech that you zoned out of. There were multiple large circular tables in the hotel ballroom. Outside the ballroom was an outdoor area with the buffet. Everyone had served themselves before sitting down, but, first, a few words.

A few was turning out to be too many and your salmon was getting cold.

Employees had been allowed to bring plus ones. Wives and husbands. There were a few empty seats, and a few significant others popped in mid-speech, trying to be quiet and politely bowing in apology. Of course, they weren’t required to be on time, having other obligations and such.

You twitched.

Was that why this was dragging on? So everyone could eat at once? For fuck’s sake, who cared if they were late. Then you noticed your boss’s wife stepping in, looking pretty and put-together in a forest green high-necked dress, holding the small hand of a kid in a lopsided children’s tuxedo with an equally confused expression.

Oh.

Come on.

You suddenly felt a disturbance in the Force.

“Excuse me. Sorry, sorry.”

You whipped your head around to see Jeon Jungkook in a black pinstripe suit cha-cha sliding in the empty chair next to you, picking up your black velvet purse and holding it out to you with a grin that made his large, dark brown eyes light up.

You gawked at him.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” He added your name politely and with affection, smooth as butter, criminal undercover. Even the honorific, oh, shit.

The blood drained out of your face and you tried not to think about how your co-workers sitting at the table were staring at you and him like you both had three heads. Of course, no one was supposed to be talking, so no one asked questions yet, but that was definitely going to start the second your boss was finished with his sentence.

You took your purse without another word and glared at Jungkook with such fire that you hoped he burned alive at the spot. Oh, this could turn into a murder and a funeral real fucking fast. All he did was give you those shining big peepers that made you want to strangle him. In an unsexy way.

For now.

You leaned over as the clapping started. He caught on and delicately leaned over, offering his ear to your lips.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Jungkook turned his head so only you could hear his whisper.

“I was nearby, so I figured…?”

You stared at him, plumb slack-jawed at this audacity.

He closed the distance and gently kissed your cheek. You ticked your head almost robotically, piercing eyes following his playful ones, and now you wondered if Jeon Jungkook was truly not right in the head or perfect for you.

Well.

You weren’t right in the head either.

You did text him earlier this morning that you needed to come to this party at this hotel to send off this important retiree. If you missed this, then it would have reflected poorly on you, especially when you wanted to keep your job, so, yes, it was part of the reason why you had not attempted to convince Jungkook to sleep over – not that he needed any convincing whatsoever – and the other reason was to get enough sleep so you could tolerate socializing. Did you think Jungkook was gonna finesse his way into the seat next to you? Hell no. Did you think he was gonna dress smartly and with his black hair parted neatly in the center, fuckin’ black tie pressed and collar pinned? Fuck, no.

Did you think you would like it?

No!

“How did you get them to let you in?” you hissed under your breath.

Jungkook was clapping like a seal because everyone else was. A champagne bottle was being popped. He looked systematically impressed and awed. Amazing acting. “I just said I was with you.” Glanced at you and grinned, the silver piercings on his lip gleaming. A hoop and a stud. “Aren’t I, noona?”

The urge to growl at him to shut the fuck up was silenced by your brain reminding you to be safe-for-work.

You felt a poke at your sleeve. Your co-worker sitting at your left, bleach-blond and with the curiosity of a child. Full of sudden comments and questions too, just like a kid.

“Oh, oh! You never mentioned anything about a boyfriend!” Because you didn’t have one until right now, apparently. “So handsome!” Yes, he was. You had taste. “How did you meet?” Circumstances beyond your control.

“Through a… friend.”

That was a very generous word for instigator Park Jimin.

Jungkook poked his head past you and waved. “Hi! Nice to meet you.” He was using you as a shield to avoid directly interacting with these people he didn’t know. Just chiming in with polite nods as you introduced him to the table and sitting back to let you have this uninvited spotlight that was burning you like the sun did to vampires.

Pretty close, in all honesty.

“Aw, what a sweet guy. It’s nice to meet you too. I didn’t think your type was so young and cute.”

You almost made a face of distaste. “You thought my type was old and ugly?” Oop, there goes your sharp tongue.

“Nooo.” You tried not to flinch at the playful slap of your arm. “More mature, maybe? But this is better. You don’t have to be so serious. Look at his smile! I bet that’s what drew you in.”

You glanced at Jungkook and he appropriately smiled big at the right time. Somehow, he had obtained a plate of steak. How, you didn’t care. You narrowed your eyes just a sliver. Jungkook did not stop smiling but there was at least an iota of fear in those big brown eyes. Speaking of vampire, maybe you should suck the life out of him because he was being too fuckin’ much.

“Well, he was persistent to put it lightly. Might as well give him the chance to win me over.”

Jungkook beamed like a billion-kilowatt lightbulb. Or a crystal chandelier. It depended if you wanted to say the light came from his white teeth or sparkling eyeballs.

Fuckity fuck.

You wanted to rub your temples but refrained.

You would never recover from this.

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asked you later.

Oh, now he wondered if you’re mad. You didn’t even look at him, dragging him away from the crowd by the elbow. Hopefully you had stayed long enough but there had been so many of the same questions that you were either getting dizzy or murderous. Hm. Why not both?

“I’m not mad at you,” you muttered.

“You kinda sound mad.”

“I’m not mad but I’m gonna get mad if you keep saying I am,” you warned. “Don’t start a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“A what?”

“Where did you park?”

His voice became small even though he was right next to you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

The sun was blaring down on the open parking lot, it was annoyingly humid, you were socially drained, and this, not this. You spun abruptly, too much crashing down too fast, flinging Jungkook’s arm from you.

“No,” you hissed out. “No. Don’t you dare take it back. You wanna be crazy and drive me crazy, fine, do it, keep doing it, don’t stop, but own up. I’ve got enough push-and-pull jammed into my head and I don’t need you adding to it.”

It was so easy to simply give in to the rising anger, but you found yourself locked into Jungkook’s wide, taken-back eyes, drowning in them, deeper than the ocean, seeing how rueful he was.

“Don’t do that to me,” you sighed.

At least your voice didn’t crack. You didn’t want to be angry anyway.

You raised your hand to cup his cheek but paused, not knowing anymore what was what. Always been so sure until the world started getting flipped upside down by Jeon Jungkook. You always knew all of the things to do to make someone interested, all the things to say to make them swoon, and now you didn’t know anything at all because this guy showed up and jumped right in, not even caring about the damages, the fine print, or the past that lingered.

Why are you blaming yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened yet?

Jungkook leaned forward and completed the curve of his cheek into your hollow palm, now looking at you eye-to-eye with a curious expression.

The corner of your lips curved upwards.

You leaned forward, saying your next words very seriously.

“You. Are. Crazy.”

-

sunday.

You sat against the window, waiting for the document to print out.

No one was in the office. You had rolled over here out of sheer boredom, looking up at the gray-blue sky and watching shafts of sunlight phase in and out. Overtime to prepare documents for Monday. You hadn’t bothered to follow dress code, but there was a breeze today, so you wore brown plaid trousers and an old vintage t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The faded album cover of Papa Roach’s Infest. Your oversized black leather jacket was on the back of your office chair once again.

You spun in your chair, the print job long done.

Thought back on the week.

Day one, awkward dinner and the start of a rollercoaster.

Day two, clutching your phone and waiting for replies due to the spotty service of the subway.

Day three, washing machines and dryers and long conversations.

Day four, shitty day with a nice ending to more texts. Better service too.

Day five, cold rain and warm lips.

Day six, surprise! You have a boyfriend and everybody knows!

You got up and wandered to the copier. Stacked everything up and clipped the right parts together, setting it on your boss’s desk. Glanced at the time at your computer. The blank screensaver abruptly appeared, showing you your blurred reflection.

Your fingertips lingered on your chest, the soft, worn fabric of the shirt reminding you of night after tumultuous night of the past. Time that made you, you. Scars you made by holding on too tightly to pain others gave you. The thought of scars in others that you started and they held on to. Repenting, in a way, healing the hearts that came in your path with intimacy and the passion you were afraid to show Jeon Jungkook because what if, what if…

What if it actually matched well?

“You,” Park Jimin had said to you months ago, “You need someone who thinks of you as their whole world.”

“I don’t want that.”

“You don’t want it. But you need it.”

You didn’t have Park-Jimin-being-right on this year’s bingo card, fuck.

You clocked out and collected your stuff, turning off the lights as you left the office, black boots the only solid sound around you, pulling out your phone to check the address one more time.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” you asked accusingly.

“Um…?”

You gripped the sides of the denim jacket and yanked it off his shoulders, pinning Jeon Jungkook’s arms to his sides. He immediately yelped but you silenced him by stepping through the door and pulling him to you by the button placket, tracing the edge of his open lips with your tongue.

“W-Wait, noona, the d-door…”

“I don’t care.”

Kissed him, deeply.

That now familiar scent, closer, slipping your tongue between his lips, succumbing to the flutters. In, out, feeling him collapse under you and moan in his throat, hard body stumbling into yours, hand haphazardly smacking the edge of the door.

It closed behind you.

You rolled your body into his, closer than close with too many layers in between, tangling his arms in his own jacket, swallowing his gasp and feeling him wiggle determinedly to free his hands and then they were on your face, strong fingers fanning out over your jaw, his jacket falling to the floor, hungrily following your tongue and lips with his own.

Something addicting about the addition of metal to those soft mouth.

This was your forte, the ability to make fantasies come true, and you took it seriously, throwing your bag onto the table by the door and shedding the protective layer of leather. Pressed chest to chest, holding his head and tracing his lips, slow fucking them, running your fingertips over the curve of his ears and making him shiver, noting the three hoops along his left ear.

Pressed your hands down his chest, over the smooth ribbed white tank molding to his muscular torso, down, down, kissing past his lips, to that mole underneath, down his chin, his head tipping back, your name drifting above your head as you kissed down his neck, the sharp clean scent of his cologne getting stronger.

“I thought… we were… o-oh, g-going out…”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” you breathed into his collarbones, hot and low, nicking his skin with your teeth and making him shiver. “Right now. Tonight. Maybe tomorrow too.” Undid the button of his jeans with some effort, yanking him towards you again and molding your hips to his, thighs to hard thighs, and that stiffness wasn’t only a sturdy zipper. “Tuesday as well. Fuck it.”

“The whole week,” Jungkook gasped as you unzipped his charcoal jeans.

“Yeah, good, you’re keeping up,” you murmured and grabbed his head again, catching a fistful of his black hair, kissing him hard with your other palm pressed to his hardness. Your tongue tracing the edge of his lips, breathing into his mouth and swallowing Jungkook’s wanton moan, intoxicated by the moment.

You pulled back just to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor.

It took longer for it to float down than for you to get on your knees.

“Woah…!”

Hooked your fingers on the elastic waistband of his Calvin Kleins and tugged them down, exhaling over that thick length that popped out. He smelled clean, like he had just showered, and you half-smiled, approving, closing the distance to curl your tongue around hard taut skin.

“Ooooh… fuuuuuuuck…”

Tightly taking control, using only your tongue to scoop around his girth and flick against his balls. Kisses, licks, flutters of breath, all of it, sensation after sensation, layering on the heat, adding sweetness to the obscene, his twitching cock hitting your cheek as you pressed kisses to his balls.

“Let me show you something,” you hummed and swallowed his pride.

Jungkook gasped so loud that his hands shot up to his mouth, fingers laced over his moan, one inked arm and one tan one, tilting his head back as your lips closed around him, softly, your tongue cupping the head, caressing the underside, the slit, letting him throb against wet muscle. Pushed him up to the roof of your mouth and slowly, in and out, rubbing the base of the head against your lips every time you ascended, fanning your fingers over his crotch to hold the base and cup his balls in between your index and thumb. Steady and consistent, sucking him off with deliberate precision.

You had a lot of fancy skills to show off but, for this first time, might as well give him the stripped-down version.

Heh.

So you blew Jungkook at his front door in your bra and pants with his clothes half-on and struggling to breathe.

“A-Ah, so s-soft… and so tight… h-how…”

You didn’t speed up. Didn’t put in more force. Used your whole torso, not just your head and neck, to avoid strain, holding his hips to take him deeper but at the same pace, letting the orgasm build with his heart rate, running your thumbs over his balls, a gentle caress, closing your eyes to savor it. Hard and twitching, but you didn’t let him disturb what you had going on, extending out the minutes, saturating every second with flowing, unavoidable bliss.

What?

You could match his vibe with your kind of romance.

You heard Jungkook’s pitch hike and the muscles under your fingers all tensed up. You spared a look upwards, but he wasn’t looking at you, shoving his hands into his messy black hair, displaying his prominent triceps, and moaning to the ceiling, dragging his bangs over his eyes.

“Oh my God, I’m cumming, fuuuuck…!”

You pillowed your tongue around the head and his salty orgasm flooded your mouth, spilling out and down your throat, but you cupped what you could and coated the sensitive head, pleased to hear Jungkook’s shudder and whimper of ecstasy, gripping his hair and pulling. The close-fitted nature of his tank top left nothing to the imagination, the aftershock rippling up his chest, even his hardened nipples poking against the fabric.

You swallowed.

Jungkook moaned and his head fell back again, his eyes probably rolled back.

Gotta finish him off right.

You licked around him carefully, cleaning him off and keeping him hard.

“You…”

Cocked an eyebrow as you shifted your eyes up, his cock buried in your throat, pulsing your muscles around his length. His chin was on his chest, wayward dark curls hanging down, shaking wide eyes watching you with fascination, his shaking voice full of awe.

“You know… how porn calls it a mouth-pussy? I really thought that shit was fake and sounded stupid, but… you have a mouth-pussy.”

You blinked at him and tried not to snort out in laughter.

You just raised both eyebrows and flicked his balls with your tongue. A few seconds later, you pulled back and countered with, “Really? Mouth-pussy? That’s how you show gratitude for the best suck of your life?”

“B-But it’s true!”

You shook you head and waved a hand at him.

“Clothes. Off.”

Every hour, every minute, every second.

Full of sex.

Jungkook wasn’t lying. He wasn’t a virgin. He was a little too good at fingering to be a virgin. Well, you hadn’t had his dick yet but it was pretty obvious with the slow circles on your clit and the kissing of your collarbones. Clothes didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Most of them were left by the door. Your shoulder blades and ass touching the bed, his other hand along your back and tracing your spine as he kissed across your breasts, shyly shifting his gaze back to your face to constantly check if you were enjoying it, not quite confident that he was making your heart flutter. You smirked back at him, taking his hand and pressing his fingers to your wet slit, pushing them in yourself.

He breathed out with you, watching your face as the pleasure snaked out from your core.

Two of them, taking it slow, but you shook your head and pressed his down, your hard nipple against his lips, and he followed your lead, faster, harder, your inner walls clenching around him, sighing deeply as the pleasure flowed, soft licks and tracing tongue. You let him have it, the slower, more romantic pace, spreading your fingers over his sheets and thrusting into his hand, adding to the pleasure, and Jungkook’s eyes glittered, kissing from one nipple to another with a smile.

“Harder?”

“And faster,” you agreed, licking the air between you and him.

Hey, you weren’t a virgin either and you liked it rough.

He kissed you first, entranced by your tongue, harder, faster, your hips following his hand, entangled in this beat, and then it was back to your nipples, kissing sucking, sparks of sensuality over your skin, your hands diving into his hair. Heat. Roughness. Passion, catching your breath and your head falling back, inhaling his scent and the clean sheets, the orgasm flooding through you, delicately forming his name with your lips.

“Ah, Jungkook…”

You didn’t let it stop there though.

His hand moved to pull out and you clutched his wrist and pushed him back in, your nail catching his ring finger, collecting it too, gasping at the added fullness, and you pulled his left hand out from under your back.

Jungkook watched you curiously as your rode his right hand and turned his left, thumb down.

You fitted it around your neck and positioned it correctly, grinning devilishly at him.

He got the hint.

Slightly unsure at first but you built his confidence, comfortably laying back on his bed and spreading out your fingers, moaning softly for him, rocking your hips into his hand, climbing to the high again, stronger his time. His fingers pressed inwards and you breathed out, savoring the choking, the way time slowed down, the way the sensations heightened, your spine arching, low gasp like heavy smoke, immortalizing the moment in his memory, black pupils blown out in those beautiful dark eyes, leaning forward to run his tongue over your nipples.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, thrusting into his fingers harder.

Lids heavy, drowning in the pleasure, his tongue, his hands, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world, the tension between you and him, sweet and intense and overwhelming, just perfect, your exhale only a thin wisp now, closing your eyes and moaning to the ceiling as you came.

It was a hard, thundering pulse, much more powerful than before, your shivering pussy gripping his fingers and your hips bucking. Thighs snapping closed, whining as you felt the hardness of his tattooed forearm, your head snapping to the side the second he released you, the rushing blood knocking you down and making your nerves sing, strong flinches across your arms and torso. Gasping to catch your breath.

Wasn’t his first time choking, but maybe the first time he got really turned on by it, because Jungkook was ogling you like a three-star Michelin meal.

It was like that all night.

From the first time he entered you, one condom wrapper the start of many, biting the left side of his lip and shuddering – “H-How are you so tight…? I just f-fingered you – oooh!” – and you wrapped around him tightly, smirking a little too smugly, one arm around his neck and one leg on his shoulder. Your fingers petaled around the base of his head, cupping him in the flower of your touch. Your thigh against his hard chest still trembling from your kisses. You angled your hips and he slipped in deeper, groaning in disbelief, his brows furrowing at you.

“H-Hey!”

Your tongue pocketed in the side of your smirk and you fucked him right.

“Gah!”

Jungkook, too, fucked you right.

You lead the pace so he could bring the force of his hips. Ah, fuck, right there, like that, and you let him know, the cries tumbling out and mixing with his, rushing wave after wave pressing into you, filling you with his girth and his power. You brought the intensity, the flint to his flame, the break in his pride and Jungkook was looking down at you, shoulders flexed, jaw tight and eyes hazy, clear emotion swirling within them and you saw your own gaze fixated on him, wanting him more than you wanted the sex.

Oh.

Shit.

You gasped and dug your nails into his scalp, grasping the pillow and throwing your head back, not expecting the suddenness of your high, injected into your heartbeat and pushing all the air out of your lungs, veins ablaze with heat as your core clenched, inner walls throbbing all around him. Jungkook groaned, biting his lower lip and thrusting hard, the small mole underneath shaking just as hard as his shoulders, but he couldn’t hold back any longer, squeezing his eyes shut, muffled scream as he came, his head falling back, two tones the start of an ongoing, wanton melody.

“Holy… fuck…”

Well, more like unholy fuck but you didn’t correct him.

You kind of expected him to pull out and leave, but instead his head snapped back and he dived down, catching your lips and dripping sweat on you, making you both laugh. Kiss after kiss, all over your face, and you could barely sputter out – “Oi, you’re sweaty!” – but he didn’t care, kissing all over your cheeks and down your neck, your chest, slurping at your nipples, you narrowed your eyes at that but those playful eyes just sparkled with deviousness, trailing down, down.

Slowing.

Jungkook pressed his lips to your waist, looking up at you.

Your heart thundered against your chest and sparks danced over your skin.

Somehow at ease.

“What?”

You smiled down at him.

“I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

Your lips parted to give him a snappy comeback, yeah, well, I gotta go to work, but nothing came out.

Jungkook grinned, his whole face lighting up and dove between your legs, biting and kissing the inside of your thighs, attacking them with his menacing mouth.

“Hey! Oi! I’m sensitive, f-fuck!”

Even planting a fat wet kiss on your clit for good measure.

“Ah!”

Shoving his tongue in your pussy.

“YO!”

You gawked at his audacity, twisting away from him. Infuriatingly, he followed, scrambling for your ass.

“There was just a condom in there!”

“Ah, who cares,” said the one that clearly didn’t. “Kiss me.”

“Hell no!”

After cleaning up and pinning him down on his own bed and thoroughly scolding him, somehow you ended up making out with Jungkook and his fingers were in your pussy again. It sounded very wet and squishy down there, probably because you showed Jungkook just now much you liked kisses under your earlobe. His tongue against your skin, teeth nicking, sucking hard and making you moan and grind on his hand, pressing against his chest.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered in your ear.

Which was know you ended up grasping his headboard and his tongue between your legs, the piercing pressed against the left side of the outer lips. You kept your weight on your knees, but Jungkook grabbed your ass and tipped your hips at a different angle, your clit right on his tongue, his nose against your crotch.

“Fuuuuck, you smell so good…”

You could barely hear him but you felt him speak, gasping at the strange sensation of hot breath and swiping tongue, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive nerves. He had a much softer tongue, but there was consistency there and plenty of gusto. It helped, actually, to have his hands gripping your thighs, adding the amplifying pleasure of restraint. You rode his face, matching the movement of his tongue. One of your hands left the headboard. Trapped your nipples between your fingers and pulled at them, making Jungkook’s eyes go wide and watch eagerly, licking and sucking harder.

Layered and intricate, full of sensation and emotion, gazing down at him and smirking as the sparks turned into lightning and you soaked his face, shivering, tipping forward at the flinches of climax, swearing under your thin breath, panting, snapped tension draining you and wetly sticking to his lips, his tongue, his cheeks.

He shoved his tongue into your quivering pussy and you sucked in a breath, feeling your inner walls pulsate around his curling muscle, his low, gravelly moan filling what little air there was between his mouth and you, his satisfaction vibrating through your body and mixing with your afterglow.

You slid down his chest and kissed him again, tasting your subtle sweet-sour on his slick lips.

He wanted you to jack him off hard and fast, the fingers of your other hand splayed out over his chest, forgetting about anything else, time only a construct, your phones discarded by the door, and here, in this bed, there was only Jungkook and you, his cock pulsing in your grip, your foxy expression to his desperate one, his eyes rolling back in the intensity, biting down hard on the left side of his lip, the small mole underneath shaking in anticipation, the tendons of his neck popping out.

You raised your free hand and gently stroked his cheek with your knuckle as you punished his cock.

His lower lip popped out of his mouth and he groaned, rough and breathless.

“A-Ah, fuck!”

A hot stream of liquid dripping down the back of your hand, drenching you and him in the strong scent of sex. Thick and potent, and you leaned forward and kissed him deeply, tightly holding his jerking cock and squeezing it all out of him.

“You’re amazing,” Jungkook panted, even after getting up – once again – to attempt to clean up your collective mess.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sitting beside him. He was radiating heat. “I was never worried about that.”

“Hah… You’re… You’re crazy…”

You had obtained your phone and just now sent a message to your boss that you would be taking a sick day on Monday. You have plenty of those. “Speak for yourself.”

“I mean, you’re like… um… uh, oh! A semen demon…”

“What?”

You almost threw your phone in laughter. Actually, you couldn’t even hear Jungkook’s explanation for what the hell he meant by semen demon because you were laughing too hard, barely able to breathe. There wasn’t a normal explanation anyway – how could there be? – and you kept inelegantly snorting afterward at inappropriate times. Jungkook, for his part, seemed proud for making you laugh so much.

“You look so beautiful laughing.”

Your response was quick, immediate, and lighthearted.

“Shut up.”

He snuggled his still too warm head into the crook of your shoulder.

“Will you stay?”

You gave him a look and then showed him the sent text message on your phone. There was something special and perfect about the smile that lit up his face, clearly showing his devotion and clearly seeing yours.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

Jungkook skipped work too. Both of you ended up sleeping in.

--

masterpost

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Rock Me - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer decides to surprise Rockstar!Reader on the road after one of her tour stops, so they fuck each other’s brains out.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I made my first custom fic header! I really wanted to capture the vibe I was picturing for this so I hope y’all like it! Decided to combine my love of music with my love for Spencer Reid, I was def picturing the vibes of The Pretty Reckless and In This Moment for the kind of band reader is the frontwoman of, reader plays the bass guitar because I always wanted to play bass when I was younger lol. Very short outro cuz I felt like it was getting a little too long lol, p.s. yes the title is a one direction song, fight me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: sub!spencer, mommy kink, established relationship, lots of teasing, playfully mean dom!reader, degradation, pet names, unprotected sex, penetration, afab + fem reader, slight alcohol mention, cum eating, oral sex (reader receiving), handjob, typical criminal minds level violence at the beginning.

Rating: R, 18+

——

You were a force of nature. Spencer knew that from the moment the team walked into that concert venue in search of a serial killer targeting high profile rock musicians. Your voice captivated him, strong melodies reverberating inside his mind, snaking around his every thought, he was hypnotized like a sailor drawn to your siren song.

When the unsub ran on stage and held a knife to your throat, Spencer’s heart stopped, until you used the headstock of your bass to uppercut the criminal, forcing him to drop the knife and stumble back into your bandmate’s drum set. You weren’t going to wait for someone to rescue you no matter what you were ordered to do, your fate was in no one’s hands but your own.

That was the moment Spencer knew he had to have you, and he’d do whatever it took to see you as often as possible. He spent the next six months bouncing back and forth across the country, from whatever state the latest case was in to wherever your next tour stop was. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Now, as he waited anxiously on your tour bus with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand ready to surprise you, he found his mind wandering back to every dirty encounter the two of you had leading up to this. He catered to your every whim, falling to his knees to eat you out whenever you asked, in your dressing room before a show, in the bathroom on the moving tour bus, even side stage right after you’d just finished performing, smelling like smoke and sweat, ripping your fishnets so he could devour your cunt on top of an amp.

What the two of you had was utterly filthy, and he loved every second of it. You hadn’t given him the pleasure of properly fucking you yet, but that’s not to say you disregarded his pleasure all together, far from it. You loved to let him put on a show for you, sitting on the bench across from him on the bus as you watched his brow furrow, his large hand fisting his cock impossibly slowly as you talked him through masturbation, reveling in the way he whimpered when you finally gave him permission to cum, shooting a massive load all over his lightly toned stomach.

He felt free with you, like he could lull the constant noise in his head for a short while and just be whatever you wanted in the moment, whether that be a loving boyfriend who’d hold you and let you bitch to your heart's content about your in-ears malfunctioning during the show, or a mere tool for your pleasure, he was content.

But right now, he was really, really hoping you’d use him like your own personal sex toy.

-

You raised your bass in the air, screaming an enthusiastic ‘goodnight!’ into your mic before running off stage, desperate to rip your clothes off and cool down after sweating your ass off under the stage lights for the last hour and a half.

You handed off your gear to the sound techs before saying congratulatory goodbyes to your band mates, making as close to an irish exit as you could, shaking off any fleeting guilt you had about it knowing you’d do the whole thing over again together in a couple days when you arrived in the next city.

You grabbed your bag from your dressing room, taking a couple snacks for the road from the basket the venue provided in accordance with your rider before heading out to the bus, ready to take a cold shower as soon as possible. You yanked open the bus door handle, climbing the short steps into the central seating area, nearly dropping your bag when you finally saw him.

“Spence!” You cheered, a little too giddy to see your boy wonder. You quickly tossed your bag aside and straddled his lap, taking his face in your hands and crashing your lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue danced with his, desperate to taste him after two weeks of no physical content. Spencer had sent you as many tribute videos as you’d asked for while you were apart, but it just wasn’t the same as getting to feel him.

When you pulled away, the deep red of your lipstick was smeared across his plush lips, and you would’ve giggled if the sight hadn’t turned you on so much. He really was so pretty, you absolutely understood why his teammates nicknamed him pretty boy. You kissed him one more time on the cheek, placing a perfect kiss print on his soft skin before reaching for the flowers he’d brought you. You took in the fresh floral scent, admiring the flora for a moment before thanking him and getting up to put the stems in the neck of an empty liquor bottle in lieu of a vase.

“I’ve missed you.” He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist as he watched your handiwork over your shoulder.

“Not more than I missed you.” You challenged, setting the makeshift floral arrangement on the small countertop. You turned to face him, your platform boots putting you right at his eyeline. He may have been taller than you but that didn’t stop the hold you had over him.

“It doesn’t have to be a competition.” He laughed, pulling you closer.

“But it does Spence, do you know how many times I got off stage and wished you were there to see the killer show we put on?” You were earnest, something only he seemed to be able to pull out of your usually headstrong facade.

“Ah, every show you put on is extraordinary, watching you is transcendent, you’re otherworldly up there, even on what you consider your bad days.” He praised, showering you with his famously flowery language. You felt a special appreciation for it, because despite the messy rocker chick stereotype, you held a life-long love of literature close to your heart.

“God, you are so whipped!” You teased, lightly pushing at his chest. Despite your deflection, the blush creeping across your cheeks showed him just how much his words meant to you.

“Maybe, but I know you love it.” He called your bluff and the back and forth was starting to stir something in you that needed attention, now.

“You know what I missed the most?” You asked, unable to keep your eyes off of his mouth.

“What?” He knew where you were going with this but needed to hear the words from your perfect lips.

“Seeing you cum all over your stomach live and in person.” Your sultry tone sent blood rushing straight to his cock, eidetic memory pulling clips of your mutual masturbation to the front of his mind.

“W-what if I came somewhere else tonight?” He stumbled over his words, having a hard time maintaining eye contact as he asked the awkwardly worded question.

“Like where?” You played dumb, exaggeratingly tilting your head and twirling your hair around your finger.

“Inside you.” He whispered, gaze locked on the wall behind you.

“Hmm I didn’t quite hear that, can you repeat it for me?”

“Inside you, I want to fuck you.” He blurted out, lipstick-stained cheeks burning bright red in embarrassment. You took his chin between your fingers, forcing him to look at you as you pondered your next move.

“I have a mountain of fan mail full of guys begging for the opportunity to fuck me, what makes you think you deserve it more than any of them?” You prompted, watching the way his features contorted in reaction to your somewhat harsh question.

“You’re being mean.” Tears started to well up in his eyes, brown irises glazing over as a lump formed in his throat. Despite how sad the thought made him, it also had his bulge straining even harder against his pants than it already had been.

“I know baby, but you’ve gotta prove how badly you want this, I’m not just going to give you the privilege without earning it.”

You could see the wheels turning in his head, no doubt debating what he could do to demonstrate his worth to you. His demeanor started to shift, holding eye contact as his shoulders straightened, practically puffing out his chest.

“I think I’ve already proven myself to you, given that you’ve cum on my tongue more times than you could count.” This sudden surge of confidence from Spencer was unexpected, but something about it had you hungrier for him than ever.

“Fair, although I do think that eidetic memory of yours gives you an unjust advantage.” You teased, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. You took a step forward, closing what small gap was left between the two of you before bringing your hand to graze over his bulge. He let out a breathy whimper, pupils dilating as you applied slight pressure to his almost painfully hard member.

“I’ll do whatever you want, I just need you to touch me.” He breathed, bucking into your hand. You began to undo his belt, pushing him back until he fell back onto the leather bench. You loomed over him, low cut top giving him a face full of cleavage as you worked to slide his pants down just enough to free his aching cock. You moved to straddle his lap, sitting back on his thighs to leave ample space to toy with his member.

“Can you be a good boy for me?” You purred, starting to pump your spit-covered hand up and down his shaft.

“God yes.”

“Yes, what?” You stared him down, watching his lips part with a gentle moan.

“Yes Mommy.” The groan ripped from his throat, prominent veins framing his adam's apple.

“That’s right baby, let mommy take care of you.” You kissed his cheekbone, then his jawline, admiring the way your crimson lipstick contrasted against his pale complexion as you worked your hand over his cock, feeling every curve and contour of his thick veins against your palm.

“Take off your shirt.” You ordered, your free hand skirting under his layered vest and button-up to feel his abdominal muscles flex with every shallow breath he took. He did his best to quickly undress, lifting the vest over his head before shaky hands began unbuttoning each adornment, finally shaking off the garment and exposing his bare chest.

You trailed your kisses down his neck, peppering lip prints across his chest, stopping periodically to suck and nip until dark red and purple bruises bloomed over his skin. You could tell he was holding back, front teeth biting into his bottom lip to stifle his sighs.

“Spencer, I need to hear you.” You bring your hand to a stop, waiting for him to release his lip from the bite before starting up your movements again. You brought your other hand down to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you increased your speed, rotating your wrist to maximize the stimulation against his increasingly sensitive shaft.

The moans and whimpers falling from his lips grew louder, his mind abandoning all inhibitions as his approaching orgasm clouded his judgment.

“You’re so loud, the rest of the band is in the bus right next to ours, do you want them to hear how big of a whore you’re being right now?” You teased, snapping him out of his love-drunk stupor.

“I-I thought you wanted me to-“ He stuttered out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re right sweet boy, I want them to hear exactly how good I make you feel.” You cut him off, a wicked grin spread across your face as you focused your movements on the tip of his cock, your thumb smearing the pre-cum dripping from his slit all over the swollen head. His moan caught in his throat, breathing becoming increasingly labored until one final twist of your hand had him falling over the edge.

“Mommy!” He cried out, his thighs flexing as thick ropes of cum painted his stomach. You slowed your movements just slightly, milking him for all he has. You took your free hand and picked up some of his spend on your fingers before bringing them to his parted lips, prompting him to suck them clean. He does as he’s told, utterly shameless about everything he does for you.

“You’re such an obedient slut Spencer, I love it.” You praised, pulling him into another heated kiss. You pulled away, watching him catch his breath and look at you like you hung the stars in the night sky.

“I think you’re ready for me, if you’re up for it.” His eyes went wide at your proposal, his heart feeling as though it could beat right out of his chest.

“Yes, yes, I just need a minute.” He panted, his cock already semi-hard again.

“Take your time sugar, I’m gonna take a quick shower.” You patted his cheek before rising off of his lap and walking to the small bus bathroom, stripping out of your black latex mini dress and shredded fishnets to wash off the sweat and body shimmer from your time on stage tonight. You didn’t bother removing your makeup, too excited to finally have Spencer’s perfect cock inside of you to waste any time.

He didn’t need to know how badly you wanted him, the cat and mouse game the two of you played was unlike anything you’d ever had before and it beyond satisfied you to know how much power you willingly held over him, and how much pleasure you mutually received from it.

When you finished scrubbing down you made your way to your small bedroom at the back of the bus, finding Spencer ready and waiting for you on your bed. He was laying nude on top of the comforter, messy strands of hair resting against his forehead, pillow sitting in his lap as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch for you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He greeted you, watching as you rubbed body lotion over your skin. When you reached your chest, you spent a little extra time kneading the lotion into your breasts, putting on a bit of a show for him. He loved all of you, that much you were sure of, but he always had a special appreciation for your breasts.

He’d find any opportunity to lay his head on your chest while you laid in bed together on your off days, watching Doctor Who and nerding out over through lines and plot holes alike. It was days like those that had you really falling for him, your souls finding ways to both mesh with and contradict each other in a perfect harmony.

“You’re too sweet to me.” You smiled at him, rubbing the last bit of lotion into your skin before walking to the end of the bed. You reached forward, observing as his eyes went straight to your chest when you bent over to pull the pillow away from his lap. His cock stood straight up, bobbing slightly. A deep blush creeped over his cheeks, his shyness endearing, especially given that you had just had your hand wrapped around him twenty minutes ago.

“Do you want to be on top, sweetheart?” The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, he just figured you’d be the one in control of the whole thing, but the thought of hovering over you, getting to have a perfect view of your hair all splayed out over the pillows, your face contorted in pleasure, had goosebumps rising over his skin.

“If that’s what you want.” He surrendered, always looking to please you. You nodded, climbing onto the bed to lay down, waiting for him to reposition himself between your legs. He knelt there, reaching to grab the pillow from the end of the bed, bringing it behind your thighs. You understood what he was silently requesting, lifting your hips to allow him to slide the pillow underneath.

“Where’d you learn that, wonder boy?” You giggled, propping yourself up by your elbows to watch him.

“I read that it can ease the tension on the lower back created by repeated movement during intercourse, I want you to be comfortable.” He explained, bleeding heart showing once again. You nodded, smiling at him. His fingers slid up your thigh, pausing at the apex before dipping into your folds, his digits welcomed by your warm arousal.

“Y-you’re so wet already.” The look of amazement on his face amused you, as if he was somehow completely unaware that you were, in fact, truly attracted to him.

“Spencer, believe it or not, I actually do enjoy our time together.” You teased, raising your knees to your chest to give him a better view of your cunt. His features softened, your joking easing his nerves as he prepared himself for what he was about to do.

“Can I start?” He asked, positioning his hips just above yours.

“Yes baby, go slow.” You locked eyes with him, pushing a strand of hair away from his face. He brought his cock to your cunt, rubbing the head through your folds before tapping it against your clit a few times, making absolutely positive that you were relaxed enough. He positioned his head at your entrance, slowly pushing forward until his head popped into your welcoming hole.

“Stop.” You commanded, voice firm. His eyes widened in panic, freezing his movements.

“W-what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He rambled, fear in his tone.

“I’m okay Spencer, I just want you to stay like that until I say otherwise.” He could hear the amusement in your tone and although he was no longer concerned, confusion quickly replaced it.

“Why?” He questioned, apprehensively obeying your request.

“I’m just doing whatever I want, just like you asked me to. I want to see if you can resist your urges.” He was almost annoyed, knowing that this was another one of your power plays, but the shiver that ran up his spine told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

So he stayed there, wincing every time you clenched your pelvic muscles around his tip, trying to break him. You knew it wouldn’t work, he was the definition of obedient, but it was oh so fun to watch him squirm in anticipation. After a good five minutes you decided you’d had enough, ready to let him fill you.

“You are so deliciously pathetic.” You laughed lightly, pulling him down into a kiss. You felt him smile against your lips, his hand snaking up your stomach to grope your breast. Your nipple hardened against his palm, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“Move, Spencer.” You finally gave him permission, your hand tangling in his messy locks. He pushed further into you, his thick girth stretching your walls in a way that had you begging for more.

“So tight.” He moaned, pausing to just feel the way your pussy hugged him before pulling out and thrusting quickly back into you, his eyes shut tight in concentration.

“Look at me.” You moaned, needing to see the pleasure in his beautiful eyes. His eyelids fluttered open, catching your gaze as he found a steady rhythm inside of you. Each thrust of his hips made the filthiest sound, wet slapping skin mixing with both of your moans, his whines and whimpering music to your ears.

The pillow beneath you made for the perfect angle, allowing the veins on this cock to rub deliciously against your sweet spot. He grabbed the side of your face, his mouth practically devouring you as he swallowed your moans. When we pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips fell to your chest, and without hesitation he dipped his head down to lick it up, repeating your earlier actions as me marked your chest, working his way to your breasts.

He increased his speed, pumping in and out of you at an animalistic pace, his mouth finding your nipple and sucking hungrily. You threw your head back into the pillows, your hands finding his back and your acrylics digging into his delicate skin. You scratched up his back, surely drawing blood and for a split second you worried you’d taken it too far, until he moaned loudly against your chest.

“I’m gonna cum.” He panted, shifting so his face was above yours again. He looked to you for permission, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“No, not until you beg for it.” You told him, digging your nails into his back again. He slowed his pace just slightly, his free hand finding your clit and rubbing quickly over it, hoping it would soften your conviction just a little.

“Please let me cum, I need it.” He weakly pleaded, his actions growing increasingly desperate.

“Come on baby, I know you can do better than that.” You encouraged him, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts. He whimpered, hanging his head for a moment to center himself.

“Please Mommy!” He groaned, watching your tits bounce with every thrust.

“Do it, fill up Mommy’s cunt Spencer.” You finally allowed him to let go, getting in a few more hard thrusts before his hips stuttered, his cock twitching and coating your walls with his warm cum. The feeling of his warmth deep inside coupled with his hand on your clit sent you over the edge, every nerve in your body on fire as the tension in your core dispersed through your body, the pleasure washing over you in waves.

When you both came down from your highs, Spencer collapsed face down on the bed next to you, his head turned to face you.

“I love you.” He whispered, half hoping he’d said it low enough that you hadn’t heard.

“I love you too, Spence.” You returned the favor, any fear he had immediately dissipating with the mutual confession.

——

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[xtreklx]

Low ~ Raphael x reader

One-shot: bayverse Raphael x reader Word count: 3.7k Warnings: cursing, mature themes, and slight NSFW, so this one is rated 18+ (minors DNI, see my masterlist for disclaimer) A/N: holy Toledo this one's a doozy. I've been working on it for a while, and it's def one of my favorite things I've written so far (at least, for now..). loosely based on the song Low by SZA, and lyrics are included in the text where I see fit. also I added color-coded dialogue for funsies. thank you guys for all the love on my stuff, and I hope you enjoy :)

__________

As a young, blossoming adult, your life so far has been overall steady. It staggers here and there, of course: moving in waves as life often does. But for the most part, it is everlasting mundanity. Your early twenties are supposed to be where it begins to roar; when you obtain the dizzying adrenaline and overwhelming fear of free will. Empty wallets, fleeting romances, broken hearts, anxiety, love, hurt. These emotions are meant to be felt, and life is not lived without them.

So, as life would have it, your steady mundanity was indeed set ablaze in your early twenties, when you fell in love with someone you had originally thought you hated.

Some might call that cliché. But, in actuality, not quite.

You had been friends with the mutant ninja turtles for years, ever since they saved New York City from the infamous Kraang attack of 2016. Your father was a police officer, and you had all met at the post-battle award ceremony and celebration. You and the turtles were 17 at the time, and you saw them repeatedly after that as they continued to work with the NYPD. Over time, you grew to become the friends you were now.

Well, not all of you. From your first encounter with the brawny brother in red, you discovered that he had quite the knack for pushing your buttons. While Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Donatello became some of your closest friends in the world, Raphael did everything he could to block you out. He was argumentative, temperamental, and unpredictable. You two could fight about anything: what kind of toppings to put on pizza, DC vs. Marvel, song or movie choice, even knitting patterns. The two of you were always bickering, always finding some way to make a snide comment or butt heads about something.  You couldn't stand him, and the feeling was very obviously mutual. 

On the topic of heads: flash forward five years later, when it finally came to one. You had been spending a lot more time with your turtle friends after finishing off your online degree program. While you were happy this was the case, the tension between you and Raphael seemed to be growing the more often you were around.

One day, the guys had gone out on their regularly scheduled patrol, with Raph staying behind because of a particularly nasty fight with Leo. You were waiting in the lair for them to return so that you could have your weekly movie night, but you were growing bored, and Master Splinter was nowhere to be found. Thus, you made the difficult decision to go bother Raph as he worked out in the dojo. 

When he saw you approaching his bench, he groaned through a rep, his eyes rolling back into his head. "What do ya want, shortstack?" He grumbled as he continued to bench press his barbell, the veins in his big, green arms flaring with each movement. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed. "Save it, meat head. The more entertaining members of this family are gone, so I'm stuck here with you and nothing else to do. So..." You paused for a moment, watching as a scowl grew on his face while he continued his reps. "Do you want a spot.. or something?"

Raphael let out a breathy laugh as he set the barbell down back onto the stand. "Easy, tiger," He spoke as he sat up on his bench, side-eyeing you. "Even if you could lift this bar, I sure as shit ain't letting ya spot me. You'd purposefully drop it on my head before I could even bat my eyes at ya."

Your arms uncrossed and your hands went to your hips as you took a step closer to the red-masked brute. "Pssh, like I'd ever let you bat your eyes at me. I'd gouge out my own eyeballs before that could happen."

He scoffed up at you as he began to unwrap the bandages on his hands, which had been protecting his calluses from the aggressive texture of the metal bar. "Gee, yer a real charmer, aren't ya?" he questioned sarcastically, slightly under his breath. "Must be why you gotta line of men falling at your feet. Someone's gotta tame the tiger."

The dig at your love life (or rather, lack of one) made your face heat up, and you clenched your fists at your sides, taking another step closer to the brute. After all these years of bickering and insults, you were finally nearing your limit. "God, I try to be civil with you for one single day and you're a total asshole for no reason. What's your damage, Raph?"

Raphael whipped his head to you, the bandages he had just finished unwrapping long forgotten as he tossed them to the floor. He stood up from his bench as he spoke, taking a step towards you. "Ain't that easy. Yer my damage, sweetheart. Always have been, always will be."

"Oh, yeah?" You two stood not even a foot apart, and you were glaring up at him with the most intimidating look you could muster. "And just what exactly is your problem with me?" You could feel your heart rate increasing from the growing tension in the room. The air surrounding you felt like it had been injected with adrenaline, and you felt your temperature rising by the second. "Another easy one," Raph growled, looming over you. "You annoy the shit outta me, and ya never know when to shut yer goddamn mouth."

Your rage was increasing by the second, and by the fumes you felt radiating off of his mutant green form, you could say the same for the turtle in red. You were practically pressed against each other, him with a scowl on his face and you with a fire in your eyes. Your chest puffed up, and the words were out of your mouth before you could have a second thought.

"I bet you'd like to make me, wouldn't ya?"

It was silent after that. After quickly thinking it over, you almost gasped aloud at the implications of your words. The eye contact changed from a heated stare battle to his hazel eyes dominating, searching yours. You had been feeling very confident up until this moment, but that sentence alone caused the confidence to wither away, confusion at yourself taking its place. What the fuck did I just say?

Raphael's snarl had changed into a look of surprise. Confusion. And then back to anger.

With a frustrated grunt, he grabbed your waist and smashed his lips to yours. 

And that was the kerosene to the match that set your young adult life ablaze. 

The kiss was all burning rage, gory passion. It was tongues brushing and teeth clashing and a harsh grip on your waist and an even harsher grip on the tough, scaled skin of his shoulders. It was embers and flames and then the roar of a forest fire.  

You couldn't help the sounds that the kiss drew from deep within your chest. You didn't know how or why, but your soft lips fit oh so perfectly against his rough, scarred ones. Your mouths moved together in a harmonious rhythm despite the chaos, even as he gripped you by your thighs and carried you to his bedroom, as if you had practiced this a hundred times before. It felt like second nature to kiss Raphael, even though this was your first time doing so.

And you hated that you felt that way. 

What followed could, in no universe, be described as love-making. It was desperate and reckless ecstasy, a steaming release of the fury and tension you had been feeling towards one another for all these years. It could be seen in the way your nails clawed at his tough skin, in the way he pounded himself in and out of you, in the way your needy moans synchronized with his low grunts, in the way you clenched ever so tightly around him as he filled you with himself; it was aggressive, rough, almost mean.

You and Raph stilled for a moment after it was all over, breathing heavily and not saying a word, when you suddenly heard commotion coming from the living room. You made eye contact quickly, eyes widened, before scrambling to get dressed and cleaned up. You scurried out of his room and into the hallway, making it look to the returning brothers like you had been merely using the bathroom. And neither one of you spoke of it.

If you see me out in public, you don't know me, keep it silent In the bedroom, I be screamin', but outside, I keep it quiet Keep it on lowski, I'm the lowest of the lowest Wanna see if you can keep it like nobody know shit

The months that followed held similar tales of hidden passion. You and Raph never outright discussed what was transpiring, but assumed the unspoken rule of not mentioning it to his brothers. You continued to hang out with them when you could; on movie nights, you told them that you liked to wait in the lair for them to return from patrol so that you could eat all the popcorn without them. If Raphael stayed back from patrol, you snuck into his room or the dojo with a sarcastic remark and a smug look to annoy him to the point of 'teaching you a lesson'. If one of you was feeling particularly desperate to let off some steam, he would sneak out to your apartment on their nights off, telling his brothers that he was going to go get some air to 'clear his mind'. No matter what time he called or texted, you answered. It was almost like an addiction; you couldn't get enough of each other, and you couldn't deny how the other was able to satisfy you perfectly. 

You know how to reach me every time and it plays in your mind With a rush that feels like we committin' a crime You know where you belong, I'm gon' save you a spot But we can't be outside 'cause the block is too hot And I'm all on your mind...

At first, as stubborn as you both were, you kept up your gig of hating each other, despite the passion you were displaying. Between kisses and within sexual acts, your bickering continued relentlessly. "Wow, ya didn't even wear panties today. Gettin' desperate, are we?" "By the looks of your crotch right now, I don't think I'm the desperate one, dumbass." "Ya better watch yer fuckin' mouth." "Why, Red? Can't handle the heat?" "Oh, I'm boutta show ya heat, sweetheart." 

It was a balancing act, both of you trying not to break face and show the other how much you were enjoying these rendezvous of yours. Pride is a crazy thing, however, and as the situation went on, it began to manifest itself in other ways. 

Raphael was the one to start it, about a month into the endeavor. He couldn't help himself; after a day of arguing with Leo and feeling like a disappointment, he sought you out to release his frustrations. And the way you looked writhing and whining above him (as he munched like his life depended on it) had him feeling real smug. His hazel eyes watched you as he worked, the liquid gold shining with mischief. When he came up for air, his hands still keeping busy, the pride emerged.

"Anyone else make ya feel like this, doll?" He asked, his low voice scraping your ears like gravel, a dark smirk spreading across his face. "Tell me. Can anyone else make ya feel this good?" You had rolled your eyes and scoffed in the moment, but couldn't help the moans that continued to emerge from your mouth at his actions, clenching the sheets beneath you. He saw your bratty behavior and abruptly halted his movement, holding your hips still so that you were trapped. "Answer the damn question, or I'm stoppin'." You squirmed for a moment, whining, but your need had consumed you like a demon. "No!" You yelped. "No one else makes me feel this good, Raph! No one else makes me feel like you do! Please don't stop, please!" You wouldn't have called it begging after the fact, but he most certainly did. 

After that, something shifted. Sure, your sessions were still utilized for tension release, but there was more of a possession between you two than there had been before. The two of you were hanging out more often than you ever had. The bickering lessened, and in its place was validation, need, and your names on each others' lips. The contact grew more tender, and the conversations afterwards were more joke-y and only held friendly fire.

"So... do ya wanna put on that movie you were tellin' me about the other day?" "Wow, you wanna watch a movie with me? You must reallyyyyyyy enjoy spending time with me, Red~" "To be honest, I'm not here for you, I'm just here for the take out I know yer gonna end up orderin' later." "I love this hot n cold thing we have going on here. It's really turning me on." "Yer such a fuckin' goofball."

Between the two of you grew a mutual respect, an understanding, a cooperation: a love.

You found yourself thinking of things you wanted to tell Raph about when he wasn't around, and craving his input when you sought him out for advice. You yearned for the sound of his gruff voice and his blunt choice of words that always made you laugh or eased your mind. He found himself longing for the random questions you asked him or the jokes you'd regularly crack (whether they were funny or not) and the angelic sound of your laughter. Neither of you told the other about these feelings you were having, but they continued to develop on both sides.

Raphael found himself pondering these feelings one day while hitting the bag in the dojo, growing frustrated with himself. You had been in the lair hanging out with his brothers, and he continued his workout routine in the interest of being discreet, but he longed for nothing more than to hang out with you. To just be with you like his brothers were right now.

Of course, a particular brother in blue was bothering him more than normal. Leo was closer to you today than he normally was: giving you long hugs, sitting close to you on the couch, making you laugh with his idiotic jokes. Raph scoffed as he heard your laugh from the living room now, throwing an extra aggressive jab. What did Leo know, anyway? He'd bet that he could make you laugh twice as hard. He stopped, annoyed with himself for being so worked up, and stepped away to grab a towel and some water. 

As he made his way over to the mini fridge to grab a bottle, he was surprised to see you making your way over to him. Normally, on nights like these, he didn't expect anything from you besides your staged bickering until his brothers went to sleep or you went back to your apartment. You had a playful smile on your face as you approached the mini fridge, a message in your eyes that he couldn't quite make out, but goddamn he knew they were trying to say something to him.

"Hey, big guy. Leo sent me to grab some water," you looked up at him as you spoke, the smirk still on your face. And all the hope that Raph had felt in that moment dissipated, like popping a balloon. He scoffed at you, rolling his eyes before grabbing a water bottle and walking away. 

"Wait, woah. What's the matter?" He heard you ask from behind him, confused. He shook his head as he walked. "Nothin's the matter," He spoke slightly under his breath, but you could still hear him. "Why don't ya just go back to Leo? You're all over him, anyway."

He heard your footsteps as you followed him over to his bench. "Hold up, do you have a problem with me hanging out with your brother?" Raph couldn't make eye contact as he turned around to face you, so he looked down at the ground and huffed, eye ridges furrowed.  "Well, ya know me, and I don't like ta share. So if you're gonna hang out with him like that, then go ahead." 

"And just what would you be sharing?" You stood your ground a couple of feet in front of him, arms crossing at your chest and a determined glint in your eye. "Be straight with me, Raph, 'cause it's time we talked about this. What's going on between us?" He let out a grunt, shocked at your sudden confrontation, but still refusing to make eye contact. "Obviously nothin', if yer gonna go hang with Leo like that."

You inhaled, trying to maintain your patience. From the proximity you now held with the turtle in red, you knew you wouldn't get anywhere by fighting back. "Let me rephrase that. What do you want to be going on between us?" Raph moved to turn away from you, huffing again. "I don't know! Geez!" He exclaimed, before you grabbed his large bicep. He faced you, his massive form towering over your frame as you stepped close to him. He finally looked into your eyes, and saw nothing but a genuine question. No teasing, no tormenting, just a silent plead.

"Hey, talk to me, Red. It's just me." You smiled softly, begging eyes searching his liquid gold ones for something, anything, to grab onto and run with. He let you for a moment, before looking down at the ground again, growing more and more frustrated with himself. He took a deep breath, and kept his gaze on the floor as he spoke. 

"...I'm not very good with words, ya know that." He paused for a moment, making quick eye contact with you before looking back to the floor. "But I just... I like how this is goin'. How we're goin'... I like us together. I like bein' with ya, Y/N, and I just wanna do that without any of the other shit. I..." He stopped again, taking another deep breath. "I want to be with ya for real. And I'm sorry if I messed this up and that's not what ya want--" 

"I want that, too, Raph," You cut him off with a rising smile on your face, not being able to wait any longer. "That's all I've been wanting to be honest. I should have mentioned it earlier." Raph returned his eyes up to your face, shock gracing his expression. "Wait, so yer not into Leo?" He questioned, slightly caught off guard. You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful shove. "No dumbass, I'm into you." He watched your smile grow into a beam, silent, before a smile began to grow on his face as well. 

"God, finally," a voice exclaimed before Leo came out from behind the entrance of the dojo, walking up to the two of you. "It took you guys long enough. Even I was getting impatient." "Thanks buddy," you said to him, smiling as you guys bumped fists. Raphael watched the exchange, confused. "Wait... what?" He asked gruffly, eyes flicking between you and his brother. "You knew... about.. us?"

"Dude, we've all known for a while." Mikey shouted from the living room. Donnie walked past the entrance of the dojo and paused, a newly filled cup of coffee in his hand. "Yeah, you guys aren't exactly the most discrete," he said, before continuing his stroll back to his lab. Leo chuckled before turning back to his brother. 

"I was tired of watching you guys sneak around, so I finally confronted Y/N about it last week, and she spilled the beans on how she felt about you. Something told me you felt the same way, call it a brotherly instinct. Or maybe it was all the times you not-so-secretly snuck off to her apartment." He gave his muscly brother a playful punch to the bicep. "So pardon me for playing matchmaker a little bit."

You took a step closer to Raph, hugging yourself around one of his arms and looking up at him through your lashes. "Yeah, I mayyyyyyy have gotten impatient and recruited Leo to help me move things along. That's why we were all cuddly today. But you don't mind, right?" You jokingly pressed him, batting your eyelashes. 

He rolled his eyes at you and scoffed, removing you from his arm, but wrapped his arms around your waist instead of pushing you away. He pulled you from his side to his front, turning you to completely face him and ignoring his older brother present in the room. "Yeah, I guess it's fine or whateva," he fake-sighed, bringing you close to his plastron and leaning in toward you. You, too, leaned in, your arms reaching up to wrap around his neck. 

"Okay, at least wait until I'm out of the room to start sucking face," Leo commented, turning around and booking it out of the dojo. The two of you turned your heads to watch him leave before facing each other again, glowing smiles on your faces. 

"So... I guess I tamed the tiger, huh?" He teased gruffly, nudging his snout into your cheek. You giggled, a mischievous glint reaching your eyes. "Who said anything about tame?" You teased back, playing with the ends of his blood red mask.

"That's my girl," he murmured, before smashing his lips into yours.

[rainylana]

Random Sex headcanons

Eddie Munson

warnings: smut 18+ mentions of being high, std’s, swapping partners, no use of y/n, talk of kinks, masturbation and sex positions, threesomes.

• i will die on the hill that eddie finishes very quickly. i think he can maybe hold it off over time as he gets older, but his first few times having sex he’s coming within 30 seconds.

• he’s very kinky and that’s no surprise. i think he’s probably perfectly fine with having regular vanilla sex, but when he finds someone he can be super kinky with, he really enjoys himself.

• i definitely think he’d be into bondage, tying someone’s hands up with his belt to a headboard. maybe he even has a stash of rope for the occasion. i think he’d be very into pain play and decrophylia. he likes the power, but i can see him being a sub every now and then. he likes a woman in charge, too. he finds it very sexy.

• he’s always jerking off to porno magazines and has a stash under his bed. or he’s renting rated x movies from the video store when steve is working, just to purposely tease and gross him out.

• his favorite position is doggy because of how aggressive it can be. quickies get him more excited than anything. the idea of being caught thrills him when he’s fucking in public. second choice would be someone riding him so he can grip there throat from below. he’s really into choking.

• DEGRADING! he’s so into dirty talk and being mean to his partner. it’s all consensual, of course. he makes sure that whoever he is with is 100% comfortable with what they do.

• but at the same time i see him being very easy going with sex too. he goes with the flow and whatever the mood is. he can be very giggly especially when he’s stoned. he can’t stop kissing or tangling his limbs with his partner.

• he’s always swapping partners and has had threesomes. definitely should get tested for std’s.

• he’s very loud during sex. very very vocal and he’s not afraid or embarrassed to be. if he feels good, he’s going to express it.

• i feel like he would either LOVE daddy kink or HATE it because of his upbringing. it’s either way.

• loves to have his hair pulled. def loves his nipples sucked and played with. he’s really into begging. he loves to be in control and have the power. he wants his partner on his knees begging for his dick.

[mingi-s-dimples]

dinner table - mingi

pairing: mingi x fem reader

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut (filth), non idol au

summary: Mingi invited you over after your date so you can spend more time together.

WC: 2k

warnings: non idol au, bf!mingi, oral (f receiving), eating out, cumplay, cumming. cum eating, cunnilingus, established relationship. unprotected (wrap up IRL), completely consensual, fingering, big dick!mingi (obvi), overstim, multiple orgasms, multiple rounds implied, squirting unedited (will def edit the formatting later), for sure forgot sth.

Author's Note: This one took me so long I'm so so sorry 😭😭😭 I started school again and I'm getting a loooot busier than usual so I'll try to post as often as possible but the minimum I can do is one fic per week AHHHH 😞 I loved writing it man 😇 It's delicious (to me)

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & doest not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The crisp autumn air greeted you as you stepped out of your apartment, its coolness invigorating as it brushed against your cheeks. The world around was painted in rich hues of amber, gold, and crimson, the trees standing like sentinels of the season, their leaves fluttering gently to the ground. Every step you took crunched against the scattered leaves, the sound a soft reminder of the season's embrace. Today was a day you had been anticipating with a mix of excitement and nervous energy—your first ever official date with Mingi, your boyfriend. You've been hooking up with him for a while, but you just officialised it some weeks ago.

The two of you had decided to meet at a cozy little café tucked away in the heart of the park, a place that, with its warm atmosphere and large bay windows overlooking the tree-lined path, felt like the embodiment of autumn itself. As you walked along the winding trail, the scent of cinnamon and wood smoke filled the air, blending with the earthy aroma of the fallen leaves. The park was alive with the quiet bustle of couples and families enjoying the day, their laughter mingling with the rustle of the trees. It was the perfect setting, a backdrop that felt as if it had been painted just for this moment.

Your heart fluttered with every step closer to the café, the anticipation growing with each passing second. You spotted Mingi before he saw you, his tall figure unmistakable even from a distance. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The soft, golden light of the late afternoon sun framed him in a way that made him seem almost ethereal, like a figure from a dream. His dark hair ruffled slightly in the breeze, and when he looked up and your eyes met, a warm smile spread across his face, instantly melting away the last traces of my nervousness.

You felt a wave of calm wash over you as you approached him, the world around the two of you narrowing until it felt like it was just you and him in that moment. Mingi stepped forward to greet you, his smile widening as he reached out and took your hand, his touch warm against the coolness of the day.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that matched the autumn hues around us. "You look amazing."

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks as you took in the sight of him. He looked effortlessly handsome, his coat hugging his broad shoulders, the color of the fabric harmonizing perfectly with the vibrant scenery around.

You stepped into the café together, the bell above the door chiming softly as you entered. The interior was cosy and inviting, with wooden beams overhead and a fireplace crackling in the corner, casting a warm glow across the room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air, and he found a spot by the window, where you could watch the leaves fall outside as you sipped from the drinks he ordered.

As you settled into the seats, the initial nerves you had felt earlier faded entirely, replaced by a comfortable warmth that spread through you as he began to talk. Mingi's laughter was infectious, and soon you were sharing stories, the conversation flowing effortlessly. The more he talked, the more you realized how much you enjoyed his company, his easygoing nature, a perfect complement to the serene atmosphere around.

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the park and painting the world in deeper shades of orange and red. The day felt like a beautiful, slow unfolding, each moment with Mingi more meaningful than the last. The warmth of the café, the crispness of the autumn air, and the simple joy of being with someone who made you feel so at ease—everything felt just right, as if the world had conspired to make this first date something special, something to remember.

As the evening drew closer, the two of you decided to take a walk through the park, hand in hand. The path was lined with trees whose branches arched overhead, creating a tunnel of golden leaves that crunched underfoot. The air was cool, but with Mingi by your side, it felt perfect, each step took together affirming the connection you were beginning to build.

There was some kind of magic in the air, something unspoken yet understood between the two of you, walking in comfortable silence. The day had been everything you could have hoped for and more, a perfect beginning to what felt like the start of something truly special. As you paused by the edge of the pond, watching the reflection of the fiery sky ripple across the water, you knew that this was a moment I would hold onto for a long time—a perfect first date, wrapped in the beauty of autumn and the warmth of newfound affection.

"H-hey so... I know we haven't been together for long but.."

"Hm?" you said, confused.

"You know that when we were hooking up, you came over at my house multiple times to play my favourite video game with me but... would you maybe want to spend the night... with me? I enjoyed spending time with you today, for this first date. I absolutely loved it", Mingi said, taking your hands into his, rubbing to warm them up.

"Y-yes, babe. Why not? We can watch a movie or something" you said, embracing his broat yet comforting body.

"Okay then, let's go" he murmured and held your hand, walking side by side.

*several minutes later, arriving at his apartment*

"Oh, let me" he said, taking off your coat. "Make yourself at home. In case you'd like some snacks, you know where to find them. I'll get us something to drink and I'll turn on whatever movie we haven't seen." he said and got his flip flops on, stepping onto the dark coloured rug in his living room. "Do you have any preference?" you heard him from the kitchen. "Nooo! Choose whatever!" you shouted back. You took out some random snacks and cookies from the cupboard and went back in the living room, taking a seat next to Mingi.

"I put on some kind of romance, I think we've seen it already but I didn't invite you here to watch a movie, necessarily. I wanna spend time with you. Wanna cuddle, maybe... while watching said movie, hm?" he said, embracing you.

"Yup, sounds good. Here, take some cookies, I just got em from your cupboard" you said, giggling, taking one of the cookies out and bringing it up to his lips. He took a bite and smiled at you, his right hand carresing your thigh.

"So... Mingi, babe. How do you feel about the fact that, after weeks, even months of hooking up.. we finally officialised our relationship?" you asked, looking him in the eyes.

"I was.. shy at first, to be honest with you. Like, we've made out in the past and all but the intimacy we later had because of this relationship was top tier. I don't know, I felt really positive about it." Mingi said, confidently.

*about two hours later, still cuddling up with Mingi on the couch, feeling a tad sleepy right as the movie ends, because he carresed your back the whole time*

"Sweetie, are you asleep?" Mingi said, softly.

"N-no, I was just staying still for a moment, why?"

"D-do you remember how the movie started..?" he said, making you a little bit more attentive.

"Yes, what's with that?"

"You know.. I thought we could.. maybe recreate it?" he said, looking in your eyes, his gaze darkening upon seeing your outfit once again for the night.

Oh.

"Mingi, I-" you stuttered.

"It's totally fine if you don-" but you interrupted him by going in for a kiss, which he took as a 'yes'. He then basically jumped on you, like he has been waiting for this moment for an eternity. One of his hands on your waist and one on the nape of your neck, he was all over you.

"Y-know baby, I've been waiting for this moment for so long" he said, breaking the kiss. "You've always looked so good, damn. But I never dared touch you when we were hooking up. This little... almost fragile-like body of yours... I never dared to feel it.. afraid I might destroy it. But now... oh babe, I am not gonna hold myself back." his kisses going from your cheek to your neck, where he softly marked you.

"D-don't hold yourself back-ngh" you stuttered, already feeling heat pooling in your lace panties, as his right hand was finding it's way under your blouse, now resting on your bra, tugging at it softly.

He put one hand under your ass and one on your lower back, holding you close. You couldn't see where he was going, but you were sure of one thing. He wasn't gonna take it slow.

As he placed you on a table, which was in the living room, he stopped for a moment to look at you. He was eye-fucking you, literally.

"God damn, love." his right hand on your waist, the other one under your breast, holding you still, his thumb brushing over the nipple. "You look so fucking good, like this..." his left hand going to your bra, unbuckling it. "Are you sure you're all good with it?" he asked once more.

"Yes. Mingi, please-" you pleaded.

"I thought so." he said as his hand slid your blouse off, your nipples getting harder at the colder sensation, bare in front of him. He then took you off the table for a moment, helped you out of your jeans and panties. You were now completely naked in front of him, Mingi fully clothed. His hard erection straining against his jeans, you were standing in front of him, looking contently from his lips, where you wanted to plant a kiss, to his bulge, which you wanted to take care of. You tugged at his pants for a moment. He smirked at the sight, but he wasn't quite content with your decision, yet.

"Sweetie, you eat your dinner take out or at a restaurant, I eat mine on this table. Get on, now" Mingi said an tapped the table. You did as he said, of course, and in a second he softly pushed you on your back, being careful about your head hitting the hard wood. He dragged you almost to the rim of the table, to which he halfway kneeled in front of you.

"Oh- my god" you said as he tightened his grip on your thighs, keeping you still.

"Spread out, babe. Don't be shy, I wanna see and eat every part of you" the tall man whispered. He left a trail of kisses on your thighs and without warning, his right hand went right between your legs. You lightly flinched at his touch, two of his fingers rubbing your wet folds. His fingers were soflty fondling with your cunt, his kisses getting dangerously closer.

"Stay. Still" Mingi said and started eating you out, his tongue hitting all your sweet spots. You started squirming under him, but he had a death grip on your thighs which you thought it would for sure leave marks later. His sharp and perfect nose hit your clit numerous times, sending shivers down your spine. Nails digging in your hips, his tongue traveling your body in ways you never thought you'd get explored.

"N-this feels so good-" you murmured. When he hears those words, the rytym of his tongue got faster and steadier, sending you over the edge. It didn't take long for the heat in your belly to appear and with a few more nibbing at your clit, the knot that formed in your belly unfolded and you came, some strings of silky white liquid dripping on the man's chin as he stood up.

"You taste so good... But I'm not done with you" Mingi said and took his clothes off, leaving only his briefs on. You softly gasped at his size, the girth and length for sure being way more than you could take (your fingers or the vibrator you bought a while ago whatsoever). His right hand went to your neck without warning and pushed you on the table again, laying flat on the surface, while his left hand brought your legs over his hips, lining his cock right to your hole. You were basically already all prepped up from him eating you out so he pushed himself in without warning, getting a loud moan out of your softly rising chest. He stood like that for a moment then started rapidly pounding you, the dining table moving under your weight and his power.

"You look so hot, babe. All flushed for me" he said and bottomed down, your cheeks indeed being rosy red and your forehead sweaty, your head dizzy and your legs trembling. He was still going at it and you could already feel the total opposite sensation you usually feel and that was... your body being overstimulated and overwhelmed by all that's happening. He couldn't care less tho, he had and wanted to take care of his own erection, to which he was ramming into you with a lot of power and steadiness.

Though, he was getting closer and closer. A quiet string of curses was leaving his lips, hips snapping against your pelvis, your legs bringing him closer and locking him inside you. He took that action as a free pass to finish in your cunt and did so, the feeling of being filled all up by your one and only man sending you over the edge and another knot in your belly unveiling... this time you squirted all over you and him, his face forming into a pleased smirk at the view. He fucked you through his orgasm and slowed down.

""Cmon up, easy" Mingi said and helped you stand up on your own, legs trembling and head dizzy. He looked at you contently and hugged you, giving you soft kisses. The closure he showed and gave you right after he was inches deep inside your cunt warmed your body up, cuddling against his bare skin.

"Let's get you washed up. How... was it?" he softly said and guided you to the bathroom.

"I have no words... it was fucking amazing!" you said.

"Up for a 2nd round?" Mingi winked flirtously at the shower.

"Mingi!"

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117

[igbylicious]

bound [hongjoong x seonghwa]

pairing: necromancer hongjoong x revenant seonghwa

rating: 18+

genre: darkfic, smut, angst, fantasy

summary: Seonghwa will die for Hongjoong, over and over again, and he pretends it means something every time his master brings him back.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: dom Hongjoong, sub Seonghwa, oral; 69, face-fucking, rough sex, choking on cock, cum swallowing, temperature play (sortof), toxic relationship; Seonghwa’s soul is contractually bound to Hongjoong, violence, blood & injury, resurrection; Seonghwa dies but he gets better

a/n: idk if i’d call these doves dead but they def ain’t the pinnacle of health ^^;; pls mind the warnings!

Seonghwa might die for Hongjoong today.

It won’t be the first time he has died, and it won’t be the last. He can live with that.

There are a lot of things that Seonghwa can live with, or so he’s discovered ever since he signed this contract. He can live with blood on his hands; he can live with the uncertainty of whether that blood is innocent.

He only cannot live without Hongjoong.

“Well done, pet.” His master’s voice is delicate today, a soft purr that never fails to make him shiver. Hongjoong reaches a cool hand to cup Seonghwa’s blood-splattered cheek, tainting his fingers with spilled life. “Hold the rest of them off while I finish the ritual, won’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“My brave obedient wardog,” Hongjoong either praises or mocks him — Seonghwa is never sure — and he presses his cold lips against Seonghwa’s warm mouth in a shallow kiss. Sometimes Seonghwa wonders which one of them is more alive.

Hongjoong’s intoxicating scent wraps around Seonghwa and he bites back a whine as a clever tongue briefly teases against his lips; but Hongjoong is gone before Seonghwa can lose himself in the kiss. His master turns away with a billow of his heavy fur cloak, snow crunching underneath his leather boots as he makes his way to the ancient stone altar site.

The fresh body of a careless scout lies on the dais, limbs contorted and flesh ripped. Dragged here after Seonghwa had disposed of him; an easy lonely target who wandered too deeply into Hongjoong’s net. The scout’s lack of caution volunteered him for one of Hongjoong’s aberrant ceremonials, ensuring he will never report back to the hunting party that follows behind.

Hongjoong bends down next to the body and runs a gentle hand across the torn skin, and jealousy pierces through Seonghwa like a fiery hot blade. He tries to shake it off, reminding himself there is no cause for envy. His master holds no contract with this miserable scout; no soul will be pulled from the wretched remains that Hongjoong is about to lay his hands on. This unremarkable corpse is nothing like Seonghwa.

No one else is like him.

He is special.

He does not know why Hongjoong choose Seonghwa’s body and soul to bind with his. Seonghwa is a gifted warrior, but so are countless others. He was desperate when Hongjoong found him — but who isn’t, in this war-stricken land? Out of an overabundance of choice, Hongjoong still picked him.

That means something. It has to.

Otherwise, none of this means anything at all.

Seonghwa focuses himself back to his task, extending out his awareness to the forest around him. Heightened senses are one of the benefits to his contract; his revived body finely attuned to the world. Death has brought him closer to life, so Hongjoong likes to say.

Seonghwa closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and makes note of every sign of life in this otherwise dead forest. Ever since his master made this place his ritual site, wildlife has long fled the area. Driven off by the slow petrification of thickets and flowers, drained of their vitality. And as Hongjoong’s circle of corruption expands, any living thing here is threatened by the same fate.

Except for Seonghwa. Seonghwa thrives.

Just as his master feeds on life, Seonghwa feeds on him; and Hongjoong always provides him a rich meal.

It does not take long for the hunting party to skitter into the edges of Seonghwa’s eyesight, though he sensed their imminent arrival long ago. They have not split up, tactics abandoned by the blind faith in their superior numbers. It is their first mistake.

They close in on Seonghwa, believing him to be the true threat to eliminate; their second mistake.

Hongjoong is the true threat, and Seonghwa is nothing but his fierce guard dog.

He protects his master not only with his body and sword, but by concealing him in the shadows of Seonghwa’s reputation. He covets anonymity, and so Seonghwa eagerly feeds into the horrid myths of a black-clad warrior of otherworldly beauty. By now, there is not a single soul in the land who has not heard of the infamous Black Repose.

Even his attire is deliberately imposing. Black leather covers him from neck to toe, stitched with intricate golden patterns that flatter the elegant lines of his body. His head is left unprotected; exposing the coldness of his dark eyes to his enemies. The delicate, icy beauty of his face is framed by long strands of black hair, slightly curled by melted snow.

He holds up a heavy long sword in his hand, the double-edged blade resting across the back of his shoulders as he waits for his prey to trap itself. Darkened steel flashes in muted sunlight as he slowly moves into position, putting himself between Hongjoong and the soon-to-be-dead.

The first hunter to gather his courage goes for Seonghwa’s unhelmeted head. They always do.

It never works.

Blade clangs against blade in the petrified forest, and Seonghwa is unleashed. He deflects the blow easily, his face contorting in fury as he lets out a rage-filled shout and goes on the offence. Soon the clearing is filled with violent chaos, with Seonghwa at its centre. Steel connects with steel over and over again — until steel finally connects with flesh.

His blade bites deep into muscle, hot sprays of vivid red smeared across the snow-covered grounds. Every move is graceful, filled with purpose, a dance of macabre beauty that Seonghwa performs at his master’s every whim. And Hongjoong doesn't even spare his performance a glance.

No, he is fully immersed in his ritual, nearing completion. The air thickens with rot, permeating Seonghwa’s senses. He can taste the decay on his tongue, a thin film of something cloying gathering on his skin.

Soon there is only a trio of hunters left, confused and shaken by the curdled air around them. One of them finally notices the cloaked figure on the stone dais, and Seonghwa sees the moment of realisation on her face; she has recognised the true source at the heart of this corruption.

She charges forward at the altar.

Seonghwa has no choice but to admire her commitment, as desperate and foolhardy as it is. But fools can make for the most dangerous of opponents; and this is one of them.

The hunter moves so suddenly that Seonghwa is forced to wildly fling himself between his master and the threat, skewering himself on the incoming blade. Adrenaline overrides pain, but Seonghwa knows the wound is deep.

Ah. So he will die for Hongjoong today.

Seonghwa smiles faintly, even as every breath draws blood into his lungs. Imminent death is no excuse to shirk his duties.

The hunter crumples to the ground with her sword still sunken into Seonghwa’s chest. The remaining two watch in horror how Seonghwa still stands, seemingly unencumbered by the grievous injury. That horror is their downfall, holding them frozen in place as Seonghwa’s blade finds their necks in one last brutal swing.

Silence falls in the clearing, only broken by Seonghwa’s heavy, gurgled breaths; and the skittering of bones. Hongjoong’s new servant has returned to this earth in a soulless mockery of life.

Faintly, Seonghwa hears his master call out to him.

There is concern in Hongjoong’s voice, or so Seonghwa likes to imagine. In the moments before death, he always allows himself these sweet indulgences.

Seonghwa collapses as the light leaves his eyes; but it will be back. His master will make sure of that.

It starts again with a heartbeat.

Sluggishly, the heart pushes at the blood that has accumulated at the bottom of this body, forcing a current to flow through drained arteries and veins once more. Function returns to the body’s organs; to its undamaged ones, at least.

An impulse sparks through a vast network of nerves, shooting all the way up the spine into the brain. It has one clear message for the newly reborn cognition inside this body’s skull:

Pain.

Muscles flex to open this body’s mouth. The mouth screams.

The pain is excruciating, it is all-encompassing. Anything in this body that is capable of sensation, senses nothing but agony. Torn flesh, punctured lung, shredded skin, all freshly knit together but still filled with memories of past injury. Even the unmarred pieces of this body are screaming in pain, death still clinging onto its meat with clawed fingers. Nothing else exists, endless and endless and endless—

— until it is endless no more. Even the infinite cannot survive superior power.

The pain is not gone, not entirely, but it has receded just enough for the brain to remember its body’s name. Seonghwa.

The entity that knows himself as Seonghwa realises he is naked and cold, and his muscles have regained enough strength for him to shiver uncontrollably. His skin’s nerve-endings send a cacophony of information to his brain, which he slowly untangles to know he is laid down on rough stonework, scraping against him with every twitch of his body.

A pair of familiar hands runs over his skin, a distant voice whispers by his ear.

To translate sounds into language into meaning is still a challenge for his freshly revived brain, but Seonghwa knows the voice belongs to Hongjoong, and that is enough. Seonghwa’s vocal cords vibrate when a jumbled noise escapes past his lips, and he prays that he just begged “please”.

He aches for Hongjoong; the pain of his need for his master is just as agonising as his resurrection, if not moreso. His soul is unmoored on this mortal plane, threatening to drift away, and only Hongjoong can anchor him.

Bleary vision returns to Seonghwa’s eyes. The forest is dark around him, and Hongjoong’s cloaked figure is nothing but a distorted shadow above him. Seonghwa whimpers, not understanding why the blurred image does not clear up — until his master reaches to wipe away his salty tears.

Hongjoong’s fingers are wet, smearing blackened blood across Seonghwa’s cheeks. Its metallic, festeringly sweet scent invades Seonghwa’s nose, but underneath it all he can still smell Hongjoong. His scent like a frigid winter’s morning, all sharp ice and no gentle snow.

His master’s delicate hands on his body go down, down, down, until they find a part of Seonghwa where Hongjoong’s touch causes him to shudder and arch. Pleasure. That's the sensation that throbs through him like a fever, heat flooding his newly alive body. His heart beats faster as it sends blood down to where Hongjoong’s hands stroke and tease. Sharp breaths fill Seonghwa’s aching lungs with oxygen, the air returning out his throat as even sharper whines.

“Are you back, my pet? You performed your duties so admirably today…” Hongjoong coos, his weight settling on Seonghwa’s thighs. As he shifts, his heavy fur cloak falls away to reveal a naked, lean body. He is unbothered by the night’s cold, already hard for his loyal servant. “Allow me to reward your devotion.”

The crescent moon provides little in the way of light, but Seonghwa’s enhanced vision allows him clear sight of the faint glisten gathered on the tip of Hongjoong’s cock. This is why Seonghwa’s master never mocks him for dying, never treats it as a failure in the line of duty. It excites him too much.

“Master…” Seonghwa rasps, feebly reaching for Hongjoong. He can barely lift his arms; his muscles are still weakened from his temporary demise, leaving him entirely to Hongjoong’s mercy. (Then again… isn’t Seonghwa always at his master’s mercy, even at his full strength?)

Dark satisfaction flashes across Hongjoong’s face at his pet’s desperation, knowing exactly what Seonghwa craves. Hongjoong leisurely palms at his cock, smearing his fingers with the clear fluids of his arousal. He then laughs lowly at how Seonghwa’s face contorts in pathetic pleasure as Hongjoong feeds it to him. Seonghwa’s long tongue swirls around cold fingers, moaning at the salty flavour. He always wants the first thing he tastes to be Hongjoong. He needs it to be Hongjoong.

“Such a diligent servant I found,” Hongjoong says with a slow, wicked smile, delighting in Seonghwa’s whine when he pulls his hand away. “So faithful, so greedy. You want more, my loyal soul?”

yes yes yes—

Seonghwa’s voice cracks as he tries to answer, his airways scratchy and raw from his earlier screams.

Hongjoong laughs again — fondly, Seonghwa convinces himself. He is allowed these sweet indulgences in the moments after death. A wired excitement thrums through him while Hongjoong repositions himself, caging Seonghwa’s head between his knees. Seonghwa eagerly cranes his neck to run his tongue over the underside of Hongjoong’s cock, unwilling to wait even a moment longer before he attends to his master.

Hongjoong hisses, his thighs flexing above Seonghwa’s face. “Patience, pet. Find your strength first,” he chides, bracing a hand on Seonghwa’s hip to lean over and wrap his lips around Seonghwa’s flushed cockhead. Seonghwa groans at the wet heat of him; the inside of Hongjoong’s mouth is one of the few parts of him that runs hot. Even his lips are cold, a constant contrast to Seonghwa’s senses as Hongjoong engulfs him, sliding up and down at a torturously slow pace that has Seonghwa writhing underneath him. He is always sensitive, but even moreso at these times, like death has torn the memory of pleasure out of his body, every experience new like it's his first time being ravished by the skillful hands and mouth of his master.

Even in his weakened state, Seonghwa can't stand it anymore; can't stand being the one attended to when it should be him, him on his knees before Hongjoong in ardent worship. He tips his head up to lap at a throbbing vein that runs along the length of Hongjoong’s cock, then takes him inside.

Seonghwa’s worship is clumsy, his muscles stiff from revivification, but he is devout, eager, and Hongjoong accepts what is offered with a zealous groan. He uses Seonghwa’s mouth with deep rolls of his hips, his moans rippling through Seonghwa’s own cock — then a cruel chuckle when Seonghwa gags on him. Hongjoong bucks again, forcing himself deeper down Seonghwa’s throat, like he does not care if his devoted servant suffocates right on his altar. Seonghwa does not care either. He would die for Hongjoong right here all over again — just as long as Hongjoong comes on his tongue first.

Pleasure crackles through Seonghwa’s veins, his eyes tearing up as Hongjoong overwhelms him, his cold lips dragging over his length only to be replaced by his hot tongue, deftly suckling and licking at him. Throbbing arousal floods Seonghwa’s senses, every emotion heightened by the sheer force of physical ecstasy brought to him by his master.

Seonghwa can feel it, how his release pulses closer and closer. How all physical and emotional sensation blends together into a volatile melting pot, the strong catalyst needed to fully align his body and soul after their brutal separation; the final stage to his resurrection to prevent future deterioration. Seonghwa chases it mindlessly, light-headed from Hongjoong fucking his throat, his cheeks puffy and flushed and wet from tears.

He whimpers when Hongjoong’s nails scratch across his thigh, then down to graze over Seonghwa’s ass, two fingers rubbing around the sensitive rim of his tight hole. Drool leaks from his mouth, choking out a moan when Hongjoong ruthlessly pushes him to the very edge of his limits with wet, noisy slurps. He squeezes a hand around the base of Seonghwa’s cock, tongue swirling around the tip as Hongjoong presses his hips down, forcing Seonghwa to take him and keep taking him, staying deep as Seonghwa garbles around his cock, throat spasming.

Oxygen becomes harder and harder to come by as Seonghwa’s nose clogs up, muffled sobs barely able to escape his mouth. His hips buck uselessly when Hongjoong’s lips disappear from his aching cock, but they are replaced by a cool palm that burns against his feverish skin, and Hongjoong brutally jerks him off while sucking at his testes.

The rough edge is just what Seonghwa needs, the soft warmth spreading through his core turning sharp. He cries out, his nails digging into Hongjoong’s ass and hips as he convulses, light-headed with pure pleasure. He uselessly tries to gasp for breath with strangled whimpers, electricity shooting through his nervous system as ropes of white spill over Hongjoong’s fingers and onto Seonghwa’s stomach, swiftly cooling in the night air. Static rings through his ears, exhaustion setting in as the dizzying euphoria clears up — yet Seonghwa also feels stronger, more complete, and while the ritual might be done, Seonghwa is not yet finished.

He hollows his cheeks and curls his tongue around Hongjoong’s throbbing cock, warmed by the wet heat of Seonghwa’s ardent mouth, who groans when his master’s hips move again. Hongjoong presses his hands against Seonghwa’s chest as he grinds down, thighs flexing.

Seonghwa’s eyes roll to the back of his head, darkness flickering across his vision as consciousness threatens to fade. But he hangs on, desperate to please. Crude wet squelches fill his ears, almost overpowering the sound of Hongjoong’s pitched whines. Seonghwa moans in satisfaction when Hongjoong shudders violently, the taste of him bursting on Seonghwa’s tongue, down his throat as he greedily swallows down his master’s essence.

Cold air sears through Seonghwa’s airways and fills his no longer aching lungs when Hongjoong pulls away, slumping down next to his faithful pet. He runs frigid fingers over Seonghwa’s flushed, heaving chest, grinning down on him.

“So tell me, Park Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, his face split apart by a wide, dangerous grin, a wild glint in his dark eyes, “do you wish to renew our contract?”

The question always feels like an insult, even if Seonghwa knows it is necessary. But Hongjoong’s grin proves he also knows how rhetorical his query is, and that soothes the sting to Seonghwa’s pride in his loyalty. Of course he will.

Seonghwa had been dying and desperate the first time he committed to this agreement, left little choice unless he could make peace with his life’s end. Now he is neither desperate nor dying — yet he still has only one path forward. He doesn’t know what Hongjoong will do if he declines; he never asked. It does not matter. There is no choice; there is only Hongjoong. Seonghwa knows his place; at his master’s feet.

He wipes his ruddy cheeks, blinks the lingering tears from his eyes. “I renew our contract,” he says, steadily meeting Hongjoong’s sharp gaze as he extends his hand.

Hongjoong shakes it, his icy hand sending a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. There is a strange sharpness to his cold touch, like tiny icicles piercing Seonghwa’s palm. Seonghwa swears he can feel blood being drawn, but his skin comes away unmarred.

And just like that, it is done. The verbal contract has been signed.

The first time, Seonghwa had waited for something grand to happen; for Hongjoong’s dark magic to coil around them in swirling black fog, swallowing them both up and spit them back out as a bound entity. It is nothing like that; no impressive displays of power, only a brief whiff of an acrid smell in the air that leaves Seonghwa dizzy and nauseous until it fades, making way for an odd, fuzzy euphoria.

Hongjoong stands up and picks up his fur cloak, putting it back on with a dramatic flourish. He always did enjoy a touch of theatrical flair. “Come, my faithful guard dog, we have much else to do,” he commands, and his voice cuts through Seonghwa’s disorientation like a siren song.

Seonghwa’s head clears and crawls back onto his feet, gathering the pieces of his black armour that are intact enough to wear. His soul brims with renewed purpose, knowing his place in life — and death. He could have said no to the contract. Hongjoong is many things, not all pleasant, but ‘true to his word’ is one of them. He would have released Seonghwa. Perhaps he would even let him live out this final life in peace as repayment for his service.

But what kind of life would that be?

Hongjoong does not need Seonghwa. For him, a thousand others. But out of all those thousands, Hongjoong still chose him. That means something. It has to.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

almonds, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You're having a really shitty day and it ends with Jeon Jungkook cumming on your ass. Oh, some stuff happens in the middle. You eat some almonds. Yeah.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; acquaintances-to-lovers; mentions of fasting (restricted eating for the day); reader is the hot girl bro of her friend group (yup); so much TENSION; JK is def a shy mess and reader teases him just because he's cute; smut w/o penetration (fem reader, semi-public sex in a rented photo studio space, m-receiving oral, handjob, fingering, forearm kink, nipple play, m-masturbation, cum-eating, multiple orgasms, overstimulation); non-idol!BTS – hobbyist photographer!Jungkook x model?reader

--

“You seem annoyed.”

“Just had to tell someone I didn’t want to date them and then had to deal with a grown man’s hissy fit. Well, I guess that doesn’t make him grown, does it? Hmph. Anyway.”

You threw your jacket aside with too much force and exasperation. It flew off the chair and shot into Jeon Jungkook’s legs.

Oops.

“Um…”

“Sorry,” you muttered, hurrying over and yanking your black-and-scarlet leather bomber off the ground, dumping it firmly on the seat of the foldable chair. “Sorry. It wasn’t that serious. It was simply unnecessary and a waste of time. I also hate being late. Sorry, again.”

“N-No, I mean… we don’t have to do this today. If it’s too much trouble for you.”

You didn’t know Jeon Jungkook that well and yet here you were. You knew of him. He was friends with a lot of your friends, but both he and you were introverted and were the type to be in own your own worlds. There wasn’t much chance to interact with him and you didn’t think to. Also, your male friends got a little weird if other guys approached you too readily, even if they personally knew them. Some macho man shit or something. You didn’t know.

“It’s no trouble. Really.”

You rubbed your forehead and placed your backpack on the table. Maybe you needed a snack. No, now was not the time. You hadn’t eaten at all today. Specifically, for this. You didn’t know Jungkook well, but you did know he was helping another of your friends who was a tattoo artist. He had a photography hobby and he had tattoos done by said friend, so they asked him to take some artsy shots for their tattoo and piercing studio. Your forward helix was done by the same guy on a drunk night (not that the customers were going to know that… also the piercer was the drunk one and you were the sober one, so, honestly, who was the problem), and so were your double helix piercings (sober day and you paid him like a responsible human being), all on your right ear. Since you didn’t have tattoos, you didn’t think you would be asked, but.

As your friend put it, “I don’t want to look at only dudes on my walls. I’m sure my customers don’t either. I need at least one hot girl. Be a bro.”

Okay, bro.

“I was only trying to buy some almonds and I got accosted by this guy I was talking to, then I had to stand there through this guy’s sobbing as the register was malfunctioning and it was all very annoying,” you sighed, then put a pin in the (literal) sob story. It (he) was irrelevant anyway. “But I am free of him.... hopefully… and I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t expect that to happen today, hah, I simply wanted some fuckin’ almonds.”

You had bowed with your apology. Upon finishing your last remark, you yanked the small packet of almonds out of your bag and slapped them on the black canvas accusingly as if they were the ones that caused you a lot of trouble. As if it was the almonds’ fault, not some dude that couldn’t take the hint and comprehend that you didn’t want a relationship with him.

Maybe you male friends getting a little weird were on the right track.

Also, maybe you should stop trying to sneak behind their backs and meeting guys through apps.

Sigh.

The silence lasted a few seconds.

Then.

A very tentative, “You like nuts?”

You suddenly remembered Jeon Jungkook was standing next to you. Oh, right. “Ah, I heard models eat raw almonds on shoots to curb their hunger,” you chuckled sheepishly, looking up at him and realizing, once again, that there was a lack of closeness preventing you from being too comfortable. He was taller than you and was gazing at you with big, round eyes and a curious expression. You cleared your throat before speaking again. “Since I’m wearing a crop top, I didn’t want to…” You trailed off, hoping he understood.

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, mussing up his hair. “Oh, yeah, I’ve been doing intermittent fasting so I would…”

Then.

Your eyes connected with Jungkook’s and you both stopped talking.

It was only then that you fully processed the man in front of you.

He was wearing a ribbed white tank top that very much showed off his built frame. Whenever Jungkook happened to be at the friend gatherings, he was the type to always wear baggy shirts and loose pants. You had heard before that he worked out a lot, but you had never really thought about it because he preferred to be a fabric mountain in public. Understandable that he enjoyed being comfortable. But now you were taken aback by the close-fitted top and his tapered, straight-leg, dark blue jeans, complete with messy black hair falling over his forehead and grazing the nape of his neck. He typically wore beanies and baseball caps at the get-togethers, probably to avoid styling his hair. All that to say that you weren’t prepared for Jeon Jungkook to look…

Like a model.

Yeah.

He seemed to sense your visual analysis and started, placing his arms over his chest awkwardly as if that was going to block anything. His arms were muscular too. There were no tattoos on his left arm – for now (you knew his type). His entire right arm was a sleeve of them. Deep black and vibrant color, lively tattoos that spread all the way up to his shoulder, ending with crowning petals resembling a floral mandala reaching almost to his collarbone. His hand even had a few small tattoos, the most notable being the sheepish emoji with the squiggly smile.

“Oh, y-yeah, I t-thought… er…”

You didn’t interrupt.

You simply stared at him.

It was unnerving him and it was beginning to greatly amuse you.

“I mean, to take photos of my sleeve and stuff… and you’re so… uh.”

You looked down at yourself. “You said I should wear black and white if I could.” Tight white cropped tank with a thicker, more rigid construction so you didn’t have to wear a bra. Exposed midriff and mid-rise black jeans with a slight flare to accommodate your high-heeled black ankle boots with silver buckles suggestively coffin-shaped.

Hey, you had to have some personality even in a bland outfit.

Jungkook was malfunctioning a little.

“Y… Yeah…”

He also had two rings pierced on the right side of his lip now. He only had one when you saw him last. When had he gotten the second? Your eyes tracked the silver hoops interestedly as Jungkook gulped, revealing the little mole underneath his lips. He had another one on his nose, several on his right cheek, and one on his neck. Hmmmm.

“I was thinking the m-majority of the photos would be black and white… and I would just take some shots of my arm in color later.,” he was saying, backing away from you and into the rented studio space, to the white backdrop and bright lights. There was a camera tripod and monitors set up already. In the center of the white background was a rectangular white pedestal. Probably to sit on to aid with posing. Everything was going to be torso up it seemed.

You followed him, scanning the room. “Oh, I should check my make-up, huh,” you thought out loud.

Sudden heat.

“No, I mean, it’s better if it’s natural, there’s a little–”

You were still standing absolutely motionless as Jungkook brushed his thumb against your left cheek, leaving a trail of prickling skin and a hot sensation pouring down your spine. When did he–? And what was with this earnest, concerned expression? Not quite making eye contact yet, but suddenly realizing what he had done as the silent seconds ticked by. His shaking irises slid towards you, immediately apologetic, but too embarrassed to speak.

Jaw completely slack, mouth open, completely frozen.

“I, um,” you coughed, waving a hand loosely. “It’s a mole. Next to my lip.”

It seemed, to the shock of neither party, that Jungkook had understood that way before you even said it out loud. Probably because he had attempted to wipe your moles away with his finger. Awkward. His thumb was still lingering by your ear.

“O… Oh.”

Yeah. Oh.

“I don’t really wear foundation,” you tried to clarify. “Only on special occasions.”

Jungkook’s face was quite close to yours. He had to bend down a little to be eye-to-eye. He was really staring, similarly to how you were analyzing his body earlier. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable and you didn’t view it as invasive since you had partaken in the same act earlier.

It was just…

Giving you a racing feeling throughout your veins.

“Your skin is so smooth and pretty already,” he murmured in that deep, dreamy voice of his, almost inaudibly, like he hadn’t meant to say it.

The tops of your ears were abruptly on fire. You had to force the word out.

“T… Thanks.”

You were still clutching the packet of almonds as if they were life support.

The sharp crackle of the plastic cut through the silence. Jungkook jerked, pulling his hand back, and you let out a silent breath, surprised at the suspension of the unpredicted moment. Both looking away from each other, and you didn’t dare look back to check how he was doing because you were internally scolding yourself. It was only the current circumstances. The way the chips fell today was throwing you off your game. You weren’t being professional, not that this was an overly professional setting, but you expected yourself to be professional or at least not intimidate the shit out of someone you were about to work with.

Wouldn’t want weird vibes the entire time.

You wanted to say you were sorry again, but it seemed unnecessary and you would rather show your apologies with action. You shoved the packet of almonds in your pocket.

Damn almonds.

“So, um, what would you like me to do? I’m not a model, but I can follow instructions.”

You forced yourself to face him and not make it weird. It wasn’t a shameful moment and there was no reason to act ashamed about it. At first, Jungkook didn’t move, big peepers and all, but you firmly walked over to the white background and stood there in front of the camera lens, seeing one of the monitors was facing you. You weren’t in focus. You backed up to the rectangular pedestal and now you were, skin glowing under the bright lights, looking inquisitive at the arrangement. Raised a hand. The image was flipped rather than mirrored. Ah, okay. You played with your reflection for a moment while Jungkook hurriedly went behind the camera and fiddled with the settings.

Neither of you said anything about the…

Uh.

Tension.

You left the spot for a moment to hurry back to your backpack. Water, extra clothes in case an outfit change was needed, pocket hand sanitizer for the bus, another package of almonds. You fished out your makeup bag and felt around, taking out the two black hair clips inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Lotus flowers. After a moment of consideration, you unhooked your white gold hoop earrings on your lower lobe piercing and put on the pearl lotus flower earrings you had brought with you. They were tiered and dangled on thin silver chains, waterfalling against your neck. You placed your other earring set in a small black velvet pouch and pocketed them in your right jeans pocket, just in case Jungkook thought the dangling ones were too distracting. As a last thought, you plucked the hand sanitizer from your bag and squirted some on your hands, rubbing them together swiftly.

You had messed with your piercings, after all.

You hurried back, pulling your hair away from your right ear, peering at the monitor. Tucked your hair behind your show ear and placed the hair clips accordingly so all your ear piercings were on display.

“Oh!”

“I thought it would be good to show off a little,” you mentioned absentmindedly, frowning as you noticed the chain connecting one of your helixes to your higher lobe piercing was tangled. You carefully pulled the strand of hair away and swept it back. Hadn’t thought of bringing hairspray, shit. Hopefully–

You froze, your hands framing your ear.

Looked up and Jungkook was gawking at your narcissistic use of the monitor.

“Ah, it’s just… there’s no mirror…” Your eyes shifted, rueful in your vanity. “I could go to the bathroom and…”

“N-No, it’s totally fine,” he sputtered. You sensed movement and looked back to see him waving his arms frantically. “I didn’t even think of any of these things, like accessories and hair and stuff… I was kind of hoping that you already knew what you liked… and stuff…”

Even though you weren’t originally close with Jungkook, there were parts of your personality that you just couldn’t hold back.

Like teasing.

“You said and stuff twice,” you snickered.

Immediately, Jungkook gave you this look of puffed cheeks and indignation. “Hey!” Then he seemed to realize his childlike outburst and flushed, shaking his head quickly. “Argh…”

You laughed, dropping your hands and relaxing your shoulders. Better to move along with this newfound tension than the previous one. You straightened and turned your body, right side with all your piercings facing the camera, the ornate earrings catching the light.

“Come on. Let’s start.”

You had thought it would be weird, modeling like this, but it was much easier since you weren’t supposed to look at the camera. With a purpose and your willingness to continue, Jungkook instructed you to tilt your head and move your body. It was quick considering it was primarily your right profile. He asked for movement of your hair and head so there was some life to the photos rather than just the stills. Once you sat on the pedestal and moved your head, he brought the camera tripod closer and stepped around it, holding the small remote in his left hand.

“I did a few solo shots before you arrived,” he was saying, concentrated on the task at hand. “Just to test lighting and stuff. Do you want to review? Or should we move on?”

“Do you like at least one of them?” you chuckled, turning your head back.

Jungkook was bent over the table, bringing the wireless mouse over so he could change the window and scroll through what was taken. You had a brief moment of looking at his shoulder blades and back muscles before ripping your gaze away, seeing your own face in a filter of black and white. Oh. It hadn’t really sunk in that this was photography until this moment. You almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Was that you?

Whoa.

“This one is good. And this one.”

Lips. Jawline. Lowered lashes. Hair curling along the other shoulder, creating that kind of wild devil-may-care fantasy. The choice of mother-of-pearl shone even in the black-and-white. For some reason you had thought of your role in this as quite small – Jungkook was the tattooed one, after all – but there was a mood created here. Calm yet definitive. On the edge of rebellious.

Maybe you had been chosen for more than just being the bro hot girl.

Hm.

“Do you think we need more?” you asked, not knowing the answer.

Jungkook chewed on the left side of his lower lip, puffing his cheek cutely. A thinking face. “I don’t think so? There’s going to be mostly drawn art and finished tattoo photos on the walls. As far as I know, our full-body pictures are going to be blown up but used very sparingly. We’re just there to be pretty.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “So, you think you’re pretty.”

You saw his shoulders flinch. “T-T-That’s just what I was told,” he stammered, tongue-tied.

“It’s okay, I think you’re pretty,” you casually interrupted. “Then this is probably enough. How do you want to pose for the couple photos?”

“C-C-Couple?”

You took a second to stare at yourself for another moment and turned your head, lifting your gaze. Not trying to make it weird. Round, dark brown eyes with curls of black hair over his brows. Lips parted and quickly shutting as you made eye contact. Someone was silently telling themselves to get a grip.

Well.

You were about to get close.

“Um…”

It was already weird just standing in the frame with him. Deep breath. It would be no good to stand here like self-made scarecrows. Come on. It wasn’t like you would be forced to interact with him every day after this. Plus, you already started with a bad impression. The sooner you finished, the sooner you would be able to go home and treat this like any other day.

Right?

“What about…”

You backed up. Jungkook squeaked but you ignored it, taking his right arm and placing his hand on your left shoulder so it crossed over your body and he held you against his torso. Again, you didn’t have to look at him or the camera. You only took a moment to adjust his forearm and not think about how solid it was before turning your head to the left and pulling back your shoulders to lift your chest.

Your ass touched the front of his pants.

Ahem.

You tapped his thigh impatiently.

“Ah, r-right…”

You tried not to think about how deep his voice was or how you could feel his chest vibrate from the tops of your shoulder blades against his pecs. Nope. You heard the sound of the camera and tilted your head again, raising your chin, and did not think about how nice he smelled. Like fresh laundry detergent but not overpowering. You swept your hair back so your collarbones were bare, putting your hair between him and you.

Jungkook angled his body so he wasn’t chest-to-back anymore.

Oh.

Then you attempted not to stiffen as his arm slid across so that his elbow was above your breasts, no, pressed against them, the grip on your shoulder tightening and suddenly his bicep and forearm were pushing your tits together through your crop top.

Um.

The right side of his body pressed against your back and you felt his breath against the crown of your head, his chin resting on you, um, but still you didn’t say anything, his leg shifting forward and now his thigh was pressed to your ass and the back of your leg, UM?!, and Jungkook exhaled, slow and with a shudder.

You did not interrupt.

Stood shock still.

It didn’t so much bother you as it confirmed some things.

“Ah, s-sorry, I should have as–”

“It’s fine,” you replied automatically, not wanting to get into it, glancing at the monitor. The preview was small but even at this distance it was effective. Worth it. “Do whatever you think would give a good result. We have to try things,” you muttered, untangling yourself a little. “Let’s…”

Fuck it.

You turned around.

For a brief glimpse, you spotted Jungkook’s shocked expression, but you avoided it, planting your hands on his waist. No, that wouldn’t do. Your arms felt like they were in the way. You slid them back, over his sides and up, fanning your fingers out. Centimeters between your body and his. His right arm was now along your back, but only loosely, and with his musculature it wasn’t laying quite right if you kept this current distance between each other. You could tell from the way his upper arm was positioned against your shoulder.

You pressed to him.

Chest to chest.

Angled your head so your cheek faced his face and your eyes fixated to the side, not looking at him. But you could feel him. Feel the shallowing of his breath against your cheekbone. Feel the solidness of his body in your arms. Feel his shoulder muscles under your fingertips tense. Like you were really hugging him, except you weren’t.

Not really.

Right.

“Put your arm around me,” you said softly but firmly.

“T-This…?”

“With your thumb in my right back belt loop.”

You felt Jungkook’s entire body stiffen.

“E-Eh…?!”

Your eyes darted to the side and you glared at him from your peripheral vision, seeing beautiful expressive eyes far too close but never mind that. “Come on. It’s a tattoo and piercing shop. Provocative, remember?” You looked away again, to your right. Steeled your voice and sharpened it. You could feel the damn almonds in your left jeans front pocket. You should have put them in your bag.

For fuck’s sake.

“Do it.”

You had asked him to do it but you still weren’t prepared for his fingertips to brush the top of your ass and his palm rest against your hip. You lifted your pelvis away from him, pressing more into his torso, involuntarily closing your eyes. Too weird to stare out wide-eyed anyway.

“Just tell me when you’ve taken it.”

Seconds that felt like hours.

You could tell he was taking the photos. You felt his arm shift. Tilt. Another. His hand moved up and you managed not to shiver. Nudging your head with his nose. You followed the movement obediently. You weren’t going to make this any weirder than it already was. His touch barely on your hot skin. Held your breath.

“O… Okay.”

You moved back and you felt Jungkook also release a tense exhale. He didn’t back away from you though. You tried to think of another pose. Maybe if you just laid your hand on his shoulder as if you were about to walk past him and.

Wait.

You jerked back as Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest and yanked his white tank top up and over his head. Arms flexed, tan skin and inked patterns. You bit back the surprised sound that threatened to escape, looking away quickly and snapping your jaw tight.

“Wha–What are you doing?” you forced out as evenly as you could, snapping your head as Jungkook flung the article of clothing aside like it was goddamn litter. Um, hello? You gawked after it as it skidded across the floor, missing the table just so.

“Shit, I missed–”

You whipped your head back and Jungkook froze, as if he only now noticed you were real human being and not a prop. Now you were aimlessly standing there with a shirtless Jeon Jungkook that you had been getting closer to, but wasn’t this too close, he was too fit and attractive to…

To?

Oh, fuck.

You really hoped he hadn’t noticed your glance at his hard dark nipples and toned abs. It wasn’t exactly something you could ignore. You weren’t curious. Really. His pecs were right in front of your face. Still, you didn’t want to be seen as disrespectful or creepy.

Your jaw was slack.

On cue, an inappropriate thought popped into your head.

And you said it, because, well, you never missed an opportunity to tease.

“This is exactly how all porno vids start, Jungkook.”

Oh, come on. Not that casual tone. And why did you add his name with familiarity like that? That was so unnecessary. Now he was turning fifty shades of red. Great. None of that helped. Of course not. And you chose the crass term over adult films. Maybe you were too much of a bro. You cleared your throat and looked away, trying to break the tension with a soft chuckle.

And, of course, you both spoke at once.

“Ah, why did you…?”

“I mean, you said provocative, so,” Jungkook blurted out way too fast. “I had fasted because I thought it would be good to take off my… uh…” And now you witnessed the processing of that idea in real time. Hm, taking off your shirt for a photoshoot? Great idea. Taking it off in front of a woman you only kind of knew? Er. And in front of a woman that he…

You looked at him.

Jungkook immediately shut up.

You could see he was mildly regretting yeeting his tank top so far.

This couldn’t end if you didn’t get a grip. So, you got a grip and stepped up, half of your body covering his chest, your left side to his left side. You saw him stiffen, but you ignored it, looking straight ahead to the white paper backdrop behind him. Told yourself to breathe. Then you turned your head and you were staring at Jungkook’s left ear. He had three earrings on this side, but they were plainer compared to the five thicker huggies on his left. He stood shock-still, unsure of what to do even though this was his idea.

“Turn your arm so it shows the tiger lily.”

His head jerked and suddenly Jungkook was looking back at you.

You were so close that you could see his moles clearly, especially the one underneath his soft parted lips.

“You… You noticed the tiger lily?”

It was on the inside of his forearm. You had seen the vibrant orange under your lashes and immediately recognized the distinctive shape. You stared into those chocolate irises, barely moving your lips.

“You like them?” you whispered.

Your breath and his breath, mixing.

“It’s… It’s my birth flower…” Jungkook mumbled, dream-like.

He was both a striking and adorable man.

You smiled.

Not breaking eye contact.

“Take the photo.”

A second of hesitation.

“Ah, r-right.”

But Jungkok didn’t look away.

You felt his left hand by the bulge in your jeans pocket. Those damn almonds. Felt him press the button and wondered why the fuck you were still carrying deez nuts, but those thoughts came and went, not dawdling because you were under Jungkook’s gaze. Not overbearing, not trying to feel you out, but, rather, relaxing as you watched him, curious. That was the word.

Curious.

You leaned in closer, pressing your hip to his.

These goddamn almonds.

Placed your fingertips on his collarbone, casting shadows over his neck and jaw.

His chin tilted down, and now your lashes were lowering and so were his. Heavy with a mood. Acting. Just acting, you reminded yourself. Your brow barely touched his. Nearly nose-to-nose. You felt his hand shift a little, but at this point that was his job to press the button and your job to pretend like this chemistry was natural. His scent really was lovely. His sheets must smell just like him. Must be nice to lay in them and wake up with him beside you.

You whispered into the still air between you and him.

“I don’t really like this side of my face,” you murmured.

Those dark eyes flickered to yours.

“Looks good to me,” Jungkook said delicately.

Your fingertips slipped over the curve of his muscle.

He gasped under you and he tried to hide it, letting his eyelids slide shut. He couldn’t see you now. Couldn’t see you tilt your head just a little more. The faintest movement. His hair brushed against your forehead and temples. The distance between your lips and his was so narrow that you could feel the metal of the silver rings as you spoke once more.

“You can’t hide from me just because you close your eyes.”

A moment of closed lids.

Then.

Those brown irises rising beneath coy lashes.

A second.

You took a step back, mid-smile.

Jungkook’s right hand shot out and gripped your waist, pulling you back.

It happened all at once. The wispy exhale leaving your lungs. The warmth of his touch and strength of his tug making you collide with his body. Your hand stopping yourself, pressed against his sternum, molding to the curves. Your face suddenly centimeters from his, a soft gasp falling from your lips, and those round brown eyes went wide as if he only now realized that actions have consequences, as if this wasn’t the expected result, as if his bold move wouldn’t be met by a bolder one.

The movement had been so fast that strands of his black hair were still falling back onto his forehead.

You angled your head and kissed him.

Not the quick flitting peck that toyed with emotions but the press-to-heart, inhale-and-caress kiss, your hand sliding down, the pad of your middle finger stopping on his nipple. Not moving it, but he shivered against your touch, muffled whine under your lips, and your other hand grazed his hip, fingers dancing along the waistband of his jeans. No hesitation. Mature and sensual, his hair against your temples, yours whisking over his arm, your crotch to his hip.

You moved your left thigh forward.

Jungkook yelped into your mouth and drew back, his cheeks flushing pink.

Your hand slid across his bare back and pulled him back against you. You and him now entangled in a ying-yang embrace, no one able to escape. Traced a circle around his hard nipple and you could feel the trembling against your chest, hear the sharp inhale, watch him bite back a whimper. Your lips and breath followed his jaw as you spoke.

“Now, where do you think you’re going?”

His hand on your waist tightened.

You raised an eyebrow to his stunned expression that seemed more like a cover-up than it was honest. Not a cover-up for ill intentions, no. He was trying to hide something else. Excitement. Ah, that wasn’t it either. You stared into those expressive eyes. Read him like a book. He was…

You smiled.

Pressed your thigh against the hard bulge between his legs.

Jeon Jungkook was horny.

“I…” He completely paused with his mouth open. You waited, dancing your nails over his spine. “I was… I was going to…” His face was getting redder. He was still clutching you, his expression telling you that he couldn’t believe that you had taken that last moment from him. You ticked your head.

Challengingly.

“Go on then. Kiss me like you mean it.”

You wouldn’t have held it against him if he didn’t. Wouldn’t have been salty about it. You could be wrong, after all. Could be, but weren’t, because Jungkook’s brows furrowed, a spark of annoyance flaring through his expression. Flint to flame. You tilted your head back. Making him reach for it.

A sliding clatter.

Your head whipped to follow the sound. The small camera remote shot behind your bodies, hitting the backdrop, stark black against white, and then you felt strong fingers slide into your hair, turning you back to a playful smirk adorned with two silver lip rings.

Jungkook kissed you.

A little bit of desperation, a lot of defiance, and the electric taste of uncertainty, the fear of coming on too strong, but you did him one better, rolling your body into his and pressing back to him. Breathing in his scent, running your fingertips over his skin. Hooking two fingers on his belt loop and pulling him closer even though he couldn’t be any physically closer. It wasn’t enough. The tip of your tongue flitting between his lips, gently asking for more.

His sweet gasp addictive, saturated with the wind of the butterflies in his heart.

You ran your thumb along the top of the waistband, stroking his hot skin, and slipped your tongue into his mouth. His tongue brushed up against yours, sending a delicious wave of shivers through your chest, and you exhaled into his throat, low and slow, tasting him, savoring his quivering whimper, trapped in the heat under bright lights and electric tension. His left hand cupped your head, deepening the kiss, more, another, tongue against tongue, body against body, pulse beating in harmony.

You broke the kiss, but only to breathe and cross your arms.

Pulled up, inside out, stripping off your top and casting it out of the way, your hands already taking Jungkook’s wrists before it hit the ground. He stared down, wide-eyed, sputtering, and you pressed his palms to your sides, shivering at the contact of another. Guided him up, up, gliding your fingers over his and closing them around your breasts.

Jungkook gawked at you, jaw completely slack.

You smirked. “Wanna take a photo like this?”

His eyes narrowed. A touch possessive. It made your smirk grow.

“Fuck no.”

Your chuckle was cut off by another one of his kisses, respectively hard and soft from his piercings and his lips, insistent and heated. His hands squeezing, and you sighed approvingly, letting go so he could explore, running his fingers over your hard nipples. Moaning with you, kiss after kiss, breaking the chain to look down and awe at the way his hands framed your breasts, following the curve, pushing your large nipples with his index fingers, and he groaned, his eyes hazy, kissing you again, harder, hips to hips, that hard bulge fitting between the space of your thighs. Rolling his body into yours, chasing your lips despite you not moving away. Pleas hidden in his thin breath. You hooked a leg around his thigh and you saw his eyelashes flutter, moaning into your mouth, needy and wanting.

“What’s wrong?” you purred.

Grinded against him, lightly thrusting, way past suggestion at this point, stings of pleasure racing through you as his fingers flicked at your nipples, those brown irises glassy and unfocused, struggling to get his bearings.

“O-Oh… fuck…”

You fanned your fingers over his sides, sliding down his shapely back, your touch slipping under the top of his jeans.

“Don’t you wish?”

A shadow of confusion, but you simply rocked his hips into yours, digging your nails into the top of his ass and making him gasp, pressing up against you. Your lips hovering over that trembling mole under his lips, placing a single chaste kiss on his skin.

Airy chuckle.

“I didn’t plan to fuck you, so I didn’t bring protection or anything,” you explained, bouncing your breasts into his muscular chest. “I’m sorry but I can’t take that risk just because you’re cute and I like the way you taste.”

His defeated whine was too delicious to resist.

“But.”

You wanted to feel this heat a little more. Stare into those eyes a little longer. Too fast, other people would say. Fuck off, you would say. Those large brown eyes, that dreamy curious expression, that racing feeling from two electric hearts entangled with lustful friction down below, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“I have some ideas of things we can do.”

You led him back, making him lean against the rectangular pedestal.

“Poses, if you will.”

The way Jungkook smiled make the world sparkle with mirth.

“You cool with that?” you asked, not wanting to continue if there was no desire. His erection threatened to rip his damn jeans, and yet you wanted to hear him say it. Took his hands from your chest and placed them behind him, helping him catch the corners so he didn’t topple over. Placed your hands over his, stroking his knuckles. You lifted your head and Jungkook caught your gaze.

Biting the side of his lower lip and wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

“I’m cool with you.”

Couldn’t help but smirk, leaning in. Lips and tongue and the slow fuck of his soft mouth, devouring his whines as you traced his body lines. His thighs. His sides. Down the center of his chest, your fingertips grazing, your lips leaving his and feathering down his neck. The tremble of his pecs now under your kisses, even the raging beat of his heart, his shallow breath skipping as your tongue tasted him, intoxicated by his scent and the way his body followed your every touch, wordlessly begging for more.

His moan was low and throaty, tapering to a whimper as you unbuttoned his jeans.

Unzipped them, breathing hot over his clothed section, pressing your lips to the strained fabric.

“P-Please…”

Even here, he smelled intentionally clean. Pure. Physically, anyway. Mentally, you doubted it, mostly because Jungkook was practically humping your face in impatience as you wiggled the top of his jeans down his tense thighs.

“Please… anything you want… please, please, do it…”

You pushed his black boxer briefs down.

Washing a burning hot exhale over taut skin and straining veins, making sure to look up at him to see Jungkook checking to see if you were satisfied with what you discovered, then immediately turning red when you caught him, tucking his chin against his shoulder to avoid your gaze. Black hair falling over his eyes. Biting his lip hard, trying to keep his cool.

You licked the dark red head expectantly.

His hips bucked. Gasp torn from his lips. The strong taste spread over your tongue, pre-cum and lust, and you cocked an eyebrow as Jungkook carefully ticked his head back, looking down at you from his peripheral vision, the left side of his lower lip caught between his teeth. He was a sizeable length and girth. Nothing you couldn’t handle and dismantle.

You closed your lips around the swollen head and teased the slit.

“Nrgh…hah…”

Tongue swirling, taking him deeper. Slow, wet, running wet muscle up and down from tip to base, rubbing that thin skin just under the head with persistent pressure and then all the way down to flick out against his balls. Hard then soft. Fuck. That prickling sensation sliding down your back was not a good sign. Molding your tongue to his cock, taking him deep, digging your own grave in the way that everyone hoped for when touching someone for the first time.

The taste, the scent, the lust.

The earnestness of him trying to hold himself back, wanting to succumb to your tight mouth and persistent desire rather than heedlessly chase his own pleasure. Trusting you and trusting that you could get him there.

Fuck.

You wanted to hiss, have some common sense, but your mouth was full of his dick so that wasn’t happening.

“You’re so hot, oh, fuck… fuck…”

Glanced up and saw Jungkook was staring down at you, your face, your tits, your knees planted down firmly. Your hands were on his thighs, keeping him steady as you took him in your mouth, deep to hit your throat and squeeze around the head, up across the roof of your mouth with your tongue rubbing against the underside, your lips catching at the base of the tip and brushing against the throbbing skin, his moan hitching, so sexy, so dreamy, so sublime in its rawness, unfiltered and untainted by expectation.

Well.

You hadn’t expected to suck off Jeon Jungkook in the middle of the photoshoot either.

Life finds a way.

There wasn’t room or time to laugh at your inappropriate thoughts so you went back to focusing on keeping that pressure, that building pace, pulling your shoulders back and driving them forward to diffuse the impact of the force you were exerting. Close, hearing it in his rough voice. Seeing his head tilting back, black hair and tan skin glimmering with sweat. His toned chest flexed, his shoulders strained, and suddenly you realized that it was your name in that needy, desperate tone. Your name falling out of shaking lips, followed by so good, fuck, you’re so good. Your name melting into his moan, filling his lungs, each breath drenched with potent, carnal desire. You were used to that.

What you weren’t used to was this sudden unbearable craving to hear Jungkook say it again.

And again.

Him, specifically.

Fuck.

He came with a groan, his head falling so far back that you could barely see his face, his hips thrusting up and your lips closing in. Thick spurts, messy spasms, squishing saliva and cum into the back of your throat. Strong and surprisingly delicious. An obvious tingle dispersing up the insides of your spread thighs, the pulse of his shuddering length mirroring your lower body.

Want me more.

Licking all around, swallowing, gripping his shaking hips so he couldn’t escape you, encouraged by his delicate but still compliant whimpers. There was an undertone here. How long? How long had he felt these sparks? How long had he dreamed for them to become fire? Was it after your bodies had touched or after you walked in and took off your jacket?

Before that?

You pulled back, your tongue lingering, swirling around his stiff, twitching length.

Those glassy brown eyes would tell you anything right now.

“I don’t want to stop here,” you murmured, staring into the windows of his soul.

“Please, d-don’t…” Breathless, panting, erotic. “I–”

Your fingers wrapped around his girth and pumped him.

“A-Ah!”

Calmly leaned in and curled your tongue around his balls, scooping them into your mouth, all while twisting your hand. Base to tip, creating a tight seal with the residual saliva. He wasn’t prepared. You could visibly watch the ecstasy ripple up from his core to his shocked expression, his eyes rolling back and his head falling, flushed lips quivering, hardly breathing as you held both with his balls with your lips and danced your tongue over them. Rapid strokes. Wet slick. Switching from one and then the other, humming to provide a strumming vibration. Changing the direction of your tongue and the pressure of your lips before switching again, from left to right, all the while keeping a firm, steady pace on his cock.

“Oh, s-shit, what, a-aaah… Your m-mouth is insane, wha…?”

Chasing a feeling.

His high and maybe it could be your pride, your ego, whatever. Sin. The immense satisfaction of watching someone unravel. Jungkook made it beautiful, surreal with his deep but clear voice, dreamy with his hard body lines and soft trembling against you, trying so hard to be so good and not disturb your hard work so he could get the most out of it.

So he could savor your desire for him.

So he could bask in it.

So he could want it more.

“I-I, ah, I’m gonna cum again, please, please, please let me cum in your mouth, ple–”

The fuck was Jeon Jungkook so stupid hot for?

The slight irritation must have shown on your face and it did nothing to stop him, his head snapping back and suddenly he was burning under your gaze. You popped your mouth off and left a trail of spit down his legs, sliding your tongue out to hover under the dark purple-red head of his throbbing cock, pushing him to the edge, hard, fast, racing, I’m so close, you’re so sexy, oh, fuck, that racing prickling down your spine and a heady haze invading all your thoughts, the kind of haze that made you forget common sense, forget the earlier events of the day, and forget even the previous apprehension of being so close to someone you didn’t know too well.

Now you knew a lot.

Heh.

He could see it and you could feel it, the warm streak streaming across your tongue, another splattering before you pressed the flinching head to your mouth, hearing his ragged moan and hiking whimpers, oversensitive and overstimulated and willfully drowning in it, feels so fucking good, your lips are so soft, a-ah, swallowing and grazing your lips over him, faint but so wet, sucking off your saliva and replacing the wetness with kisses, making his body twist and writhe, unable to take it all but wanting to, needing to so damn bad that he thrust into your face, smearing your cheek with leaking cum and spit.

Jungkook moaned so fucking loud that you swore security was about to walk into the rented studio space and catch you pinning him down.

“Hey, hey,” you chided, crawling back up his body, gripping his shoulders. “Don’t lose your mind–”

His lips collided with yours and silenced your words, lip piercings electrifying the contact, kissing you again and again, surely tasting himself but you had no time to warn or complain, suddenly feeling hurried hands fumbling with your jeans, slipping, stumbling, too much haste and too much lust, mumbling against your lips.

“Stop me, stop me if you don’t want it,” he was saying and there was no need, but you appreciated him saying it all the same, fighting with his grasp to undo the fastenings yourself, and then his fingertips found your hot skin. You sucked in a tight breath. Jeans heavy enough to fall down your thighs, and then two fingers hooking on each side of your barely-there, bikini-cut black panties, a second and then gone, now shivering at the rush of cool air on your damp heat.

The moment before he touched you.

Your gaze caught his under lashes, and his eyes shifted back up to you, his lips brushing against yours.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone this fast and this bad,” he gasped.

Honestly, you couldn’t really think about anyone else but Jeon Jungkook right now.

“Me neither.”

You grabbed his right hand and shoved two of his fingers into your pussy.

Middle and ring finger, gasping at the full feeling and the slick ease, pushing him up to his knuckles right away. The response was immediate. His eyes widening, your inner walls closing in around them, your juices dripping onto the silver ring on his index finger, hoping he was okay with that. Thankfully, it was a plain band so there wasn’t much irritating friction when you began to roll your hips into his hand. He thrust upwards, shooting a wave of pleasure through you, and you snapped your head up, exhale laced with the sting of hunger.

“S-Sorry, I got excit–”

You grabbed his head and shut him up, driving his fingers into you to indicate the deep and intense pace you desired before diving into his lips, catching his tongue and sucking on it. You had expected him to be strong and he did not disappoint. It was a rough ride and you rode it with ease, with wild greed, with commitment of your full body, hips and back and teasing his tongue, one hand tangled in his hair and the other gripping his hard forearm just in case you needed to tell him to adjust or stop.

His muscle was like iron.

You glanced down, seeing ink shadowed by your vicious grip. He must work out. Had to with this amount of control and how hard he was flexing right now. Looked back up and Jungkook was watching you, curious of your attention shift, and then you felt his forearm pulse.

Teasing you.

A flash of mischief in those dark brown orbs.

You narrowed your eyes and nipped at his lower lip.

Still felt him smirk though.

Punk.

But there was no time, inhaling sharply as you came in violent pulses, your pussy molding around his fingers and squeezing tightly. Your slick juices sticking to the inside of your thighs despite his hand being there, your skin tingling hot even with the aggressive air conditioning, your lips pressing into his. Shuddering, eyes closing, heartbeat pounding in your throat, alive.

Fuck.

“F… Fuck…”

Jungkook didn’t scold you about your unladylike language, at least.

“Can I…?”

He asked you something but the afterglow was leaving you lust-drunk, simply agreeing and turning around. His wet fingers trailed over your hip, your thigh, and then back to where they had been between your legs. His other hand on your lower abdomen, pressing your ass back and you finally understood, half-smiling when you felt his semi-hard cock sliding between the dip in your ass. His whimpering gasp, letting go of your torso to adjust himself behind you. Now the wet head was tucked in the space just under your tailbone. An obscene scene, his two fingers sliding back into your pussy, ah, so full, and his hand returned to your chest, pinching your nipples. His forehead hit your shoulder, forcing you to arch your back.

His moan heated your shoulder blades, desperation pitching as he rolled his hips into your ass.

“F-Feels so good, your skin is so soft–”

You reached back and pushed the sides of your ass together, creating a deeper channel.

“A-Ah, oh, fuck, fuuuuuuuck…”

You were about to say something but then you realized the camera was still on.

The remote was meters away so no photos were being taken. The monitor was still on though, and you could clearly see yourself with Jungkook’s left hand all over your breasts, your hard nipples pinched and tugged at, his tattooed forearm over your lower belly and crotch while you held your ass in position for his hardening cock to rut behind you.

Your hair was a gotten mess, leaving your face in tangled shadow.

The top of his black hair was balanced on your shoulder.

His forehead was pretty damn sweaty but you didn’t even care.

His hand between your legs slipping, the two fingers now atop your swollen clit, rubbing softly, harder, your voice hoarse with exertion, and he did exactly as you asked, building up the pace, your nipples stiffening even more at his actions and causing sparks to dance in your blood, your breath shallowing, falling into it, letting go, your hair tumbling back onto his shoulder and closing your eyes, diving into the pleasure, wave after wave, feeling him harden against you, his strong thighs behind yours, somehow holding you up through sheer willpower.

You gasped his name, delicate and breathless, and Jungkook moaned behind you.

Slick becoming slicker, the scent of sweet-sour lust saturating the air, sticking to the insides of your thighs.

Should have brought a damn condom.

His hand left your tingling chest and you felt the head of his cock throb, smearing even more pre-cum between your ass. The aftershocks of orgasm stung through you, leaving you faint and woozy. He kept rubbing against your skin, rock-hard, whimpering, mumbling under his ragged breath.

It took you a moment to realize he was talking to you.

“Can I… Can I cum on your ass? Please? Please, I…”

Was it possible to fall in love with someone for being an insatiable horndog?

You had to laugh. It sounded more like an airless wheeze. Nice. If that didn’t lock him down, you next words had to be the ticket.

“Are you a freak?”

You turned around to face him and Jungkook shrugged, chewing on his lower lip.

“I am now?” he admitted in uncertain question.

You grinned. “Lucky you, ‘cause so am I.”

Then you pointed to the active monitor to remind him that the camera was, in fact, still on, enjoying every second of his face turning shades of deeper and deeper pink with his hand still around his hard dick. He had such adorable wide-eyed shock. You yanked him up, both of you still entangled with your pants down your shins, and yet it was just a fun obstacle at the time (although much later you would wonder why you hadn’t simply kicked them off). Shuffled to switch places, balancing your lower abdomen and crotch on the top of the rectangular pedestal, bending over with your ass in the air.

This was probably the best action this studio was getting in its entire existence.

Blessed, truly.

You turned your head to make sure you were in frame, not putting much pressure but just enough to not fall over, arching your back to have your breasts look their best, exposing their full perky shape, reaching back to spread your pussy lips for Jungkook to look at as he jacked off.

You were, as they say, a generous sex goddess.

“W-Woah!”

You smirked as his attention was completely diverted from the equipment, forgetting to be embarrassed, his jaw dropping as you flexed your opening, letting out a shaky breath as you heard the wetness echo in the silence. Tightening your core, releasing, and you could see his grip tense, moving, his lashes lowering. The pleasure was palpable from the heavy scent of sex to the sound of hand on taut skin. Jungkook was standing slightly beside your legs, every so often grazing the dripping, tender head to the top of your ass, moaning wantonly at the contact. You could clearly see the rapid movement of his arm, could sense the speed and power and desperation, fiercely chasing orgasm with his eyes roaming over your back, ass, pussy, back up to the monitor to stare at your obviously hard nipples, and if someone walked in right now you would most certainly snarl at them to wait for Jungkook to finish.

They would probably be too shell-shocked at this literal porno-vid-to-real-life to even say anything but never mind that.

You stiffened reflexively as you felt his searching fingers glide over your slit. Checked and his eyes were rolling back, groaning as he felt your muscle control, mumbling something about wanting to put his cock in your pussy so bad, not right now, I can’t, I can’t, I w-wouldn’t last, a-ah, I have to be good for you, shivers racing through your body at the suggestion, a craving created, and you gave in, sighing dreamily, his finger circling your sensitive clit, the pulse thudding under his touch, and you moaned for him, asking for it.

Which was how you ended up orgasming again with Jungkook stroking your clit and shooting out a stream of hot cum over your ass, pitching forward and smearing it up your back.

Dripping all over you.

“D-Don’t stop…” you gasped out.

Not shying away from the overwhelm and instead aching for it.

His fingers pumped in and out of your wet tightness, your walls spasming at the extended pleasure, barely registering him lifting himself up so he didn’t crush you into the pedestal, rocking your hips back so he struck deeper, harder, and then you yelped, hazy vision clearing suddenly at the feeling of hot tongue to your back.

The surprise made you freeze as you spotted Jungkook in the monitor.

His dark eyes followed yours as he licked his cum off your ass, devious mouth trailing kisses.

Well.

Shit.

An intense high bolted through you and you gasped, knees buckling, pussy clenching around his fingers and throwing your head back, drawn-out moan bursting out of your lungs, clutching the corners for balance and perhaps just to orient to reality, the impossibility and sinfulness of the situation blossoming into a vicious orgasm that crawled up your legs, your arms, chewing throughout your lungs, mounting pleasure as Jungkook pulled a finger out to press against your clit.

He must have felt it.

His warm moan heating your lower back, the delicate pad of his fingertip sensing the brutality of the throbs ransacking you. Even you were witness, the camera monitor revealing everything, seeing the tendons of your neck pop and your collarbones prominent. Lashes low, pink tongue sliding out of your flushed lips, the memory of his unique kiss lingering and making you dream of him already.

You had run out of witty things to say.

Thoughts in general currently obsolete.

“H-Hah…”

Your hands slid down, still shaking from the fallout of the afterglow.

“L-Let me… Let me go to the bathroom and get you something to c-clean up,” Jungkook panted, attempting to get to his feet very unsteadily. You made a noise of agreement, breathing hard although not very loudly, pushing your hair back. It was doomed. You were hunched over and the tousled wave simply fell back, but you let it be because at the moment post-nut clarity was setting in.

Bro.

You just fucked Jeon Jungkook in the middle of the photoshoot.

Pushing off, standing on legs that had the structural integrity of soft tofu, wondering why you also had brains of soft tofu as well. For fuck’s sake. What happened to getting a grip? You yanked at your jeans, not quite pulling them all the way up yet. How old were you now? Surely true adults aren’t this deranged. Surely over the years you would have learned to not fuck a guy you barely knew. And completely sober!

Your stomach growled.

The hunger was not only sexual, it seemed.

Your hand hit the left pocket of your jeans. The crunch of plastic. You frowned, reaching in and pulling out a small package of almonds. You stared at it. Wow. Seriously. The mascot on the almonds looked way too jovial for how disheveled you were right now. You stomach clawed at your insides upon seeing the food.

Fuck it.

Jungkook came back to you holding the handful of almonds and chomping away.

The plastic was on the ground. Actual litter. You would pick it up later. Eat first. He was still shirtless. You wondered if he ran into anyone. You found that you didn’t really care as long as he only thought about you. Seemed like he did, because he skidded to a stop, looking terribly concerned.

You popped another almond in your mouth.

“Uh…”

Shit, you really liked him.

His brows knitted together. “I got some tissues. And paper towels, in case your back…”

You took the tissues and wiped between your legs, still holding the unsalted nuts with your left hand. “I probably need a shower. No one is gonna know you came on me anyway.” Chew, chew. Damn, you super liked him. Shit. Jungkook hovered next to you, not wanting to leave. You usually hated that but not with him. Oh, no. You pretended that you weren’t going to give up all responsibilities to fuck him seven days a week even though you barely knew him. Well, you knew what he was like in bed.

Really fuckin’ good.

Heh.

Technically not in a bed yet, but, eh, semantics.

“I’m really hungry,” you remarked.

“Me too,” Jungkook nodded, but he was still stuck to you, as close as he could be without clinging onto you. Trying to be cool about it. You glanced at him and he looked away quickly, feigning like he hadn’t been staring. Your jeans weren’t buttoned, but they were hanging off your hips. Ah, that explained it. You hadn’t handed him the wad of used tissues despite him clearly showing that he would help you with that gladly.

You fisted the rest of the almonds.

No, not actually.

Fine, you dumped the remainder into your mouth. Chewed thoughtfully. “I have a question and I want a truthful answer,” you mused, directing your gaze at him. Jungkook peeked back through his curls of mostly dry black hair. Must have wiped off his sweat. “Did you plan this?”

He shook his head very quickly and straightforwardly. “No, I didn’t. I swear.”

You believed him. “Never thought about it?”

His hesitation was glaringly obvious.

“Um…”

You waited.

“Y-Yeah… but it was hard to approach you… and I didn’t even think you remembered me.”

You frowned. “Of course, I remember you. I’ve seen you often. You’re not easy to miss.”

His ears were bright red. “O… Oh…”

You thought about it. There weren’t many opportunities for Jeon Jungkook and you to be alone. Then… The cheerful trickster face of the tattoo artist popped into your head.

You frowned slightly. “Did he plan this?”

The possibility seemed to have dawned on Jungkook. He looked surprised and then confused. “I never said… was it that night, when we were drinking at four in the morning…?” His dark brows furrowed. “I don’t remember what happened that night…”

You stared at him.

He slowly slipped from his thoughts and looked back at you, somewhat terrified at your intensity.

You told him exactly what you thought.

“You’re an idiot.”

He sputtered. “H-Hey!”

You shrugged. “Still wanna fuck you though. With condoms. Wanna come back to mine?”

“W-Wait…what?”

“Actually, we should grab something to eat first because I can’t live off only almonds. I’ll die.”

It wasn’t until you were fully dressed and Jungkook was yanking his tank top back on did you look more closely at the monitor screen. After clean up and kisses and light teasing (much to Jungkook’s dismay but he better get used to it if he wanted to be around you), you peered at the narrow column of previews on the side, tilting your head at the last one taken.

Uh.

“Jungkook?”

He was scrambling around behind you, snatching something off the ground. Oh, right, the camera remote he threw. “Huh? Ah!” You heard a thud and swearing. Must have run into the pedestal in his haste to get to you. You ignored his chaotic grumbling and used the mouse to click on the preview, expanding it.

Oh, you know.

Just you and Jeon Jungkook kissing for the first time in high definition.

You raised your eyebrows as he bounded up behind you, what, what, what, then skidding to a dead stop, centimeters from your crouched form. You stuck your tongue in your cheek. He must have pressed the button when it happened.

“Accident?”

Turned your head to look at him.

Those big peepers shifted awkwardly.

You blinked again, agonizingly slow.

“Uh… Yeah…?” he cautiously answered.

Believable.

Not.

You straightened and crossed your arms, giving him a look. Thoroughly intimidating. Jungkook blinked very fast and looked like he was trying not to enjoy it, which did not help you in maintaining the front. This fucking little shit. Or, rather, tall and muscular – never mind. You clicked your tongue and ticked your head to the screen.

“What were you gonna do with it? Frame it?”

He shrugged veeeery slowly. Raising his hands with his shrug as he replied.

“Maaaaaaaybe?”

You tried not to snort in laughter. It was very difficult. Sigh. He was so freaking annoying. And what was worse was that you liked it. Fuck. Maybe you hit delirium. Damn almonds. You wouldn’t have been so weak for Jeon Jungkook if it wasn’t for those fuckin’ almonds creating your aggravating morning.

Hm.

That had to have been the fattest lie you have ever told yourself.

“Can you just have a meal with me so I don’t have to tell everyone the reason we’re dating is because we fucked during the photoshoot?”

He started speaking very fast and stumbling on his words, Busan satoori slipping out. “Oh! We’re dating? Yes! I mean… yes, please! Wait… are we going to your place too, I mean, I would like to but I understa–”

Well.

You should remember you got yourself into this, bro.

--

masterpost

[fandomfix13]

Get Him Back - Rafe Cameron 18+

* HI ITS BEEN A WHILE SINCE IVE WRITTEN ANYTHING BUT IM HERE NOW

* TBH THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING SMUT SO BARE WITH ME

* This is so super long and also completely filthy at parts SO MDNI and pls read warnings

* little bit of fluff? Def some pretty smutty smut. This did not start out as smut but here we are

* WRITTEN IN Y/N’s POV, lots of dialogue

*anything in italics is your inner monologue

Word count: 4K

WARNINGS: MDNI!, mentions of cheating (not rafe), toxic ex,  oral (giving and receiving), fingering, rough-ish??, p in v sex, hair pulling, light choking??, not rated e for everyone

The rain is pouring down in sheets. Falling harder than it has in a while. My head is pounding from holding back tears, that I might as well let out. I never thought that I would be in this situation. Forced out of my boyfriend's car after a fight at nearly one in the morning, with a dead phone, left to walk home alone in the pouring rain. How cliche. Not to mention the fact that I’m just over three miles away from home. What a dick. Some “man” he is to leave me like that. For all he cares, I could be kidnapped out here. However, it's highly unlikely being that I’m wandering in one of (if not the nicest) neighborhoods in this entire state. Constantly guarded by a neighborhood watch, with gated community after gated community.

 I can see the the sharp rain plummeting down in the glow of the street lights. Unlucky for me, the wind has picked up too making this walk even more miserable. At this point, I have two options; 1. I could continue to walk home in this miserable weather OR 2. I could lose all dignity and show up to Sarah’s house after not talking to her in months. Seeing as this storm is showing absolutely no sign of stopping, its looking like the second option is better. As I turn the corner, I approach the Seabrook Gated Community. A little ways down is the fence that Sarah and I used to hop all the time when we would sneak out. That’s my in. It’s an old rusty fence that is hidden behind some overgrown hedges behind some wildly overpriced house that rarely ever has anyone living in it.         

After nearly slipping off of the slippery fence, I make my way down the street to Tanny Hill. Mentally preparing myself for the absolute humiliation that will occur if Sarah opens the front door. We had our falling out about 3 months ago and we haven't spoken since. We have tried our best to avoid each other at all costs. At least I’ve tried avoiding her, that is, until this very moment. 

As I approach the front lawn, I genuinely consider turning around and quite literally braving the storm and walking home. As it is, I’m already soaked from head to toe and probably on the verge of pneumonia. However, I shake off my thoughts and walk towards the front door. I knock three times in hope that someone will hear. I don’t ring the doorbell out of fear of waking up the entire Cameron household which is the last thing I need to do. After a few seconds, nobody answers. This house is huge maybe they are coming. I convince myself that nobody is answering the door so I turn accepting my fate and I walk away. Suddenly, I hear the front door unlock and my breath gets caught in my throat when I hear his voice. 

“Y/N? Is that you?” Fuck. Me.

“Hey Rafe.” I choke out. God I probably look insane.

“What are you doing here?” he looks at his phone “at 1:26 in the morning.”

“Um. Is Sarah home?” I spit out, trying to avoid conversation.

“She’s not…but I am.” He leans against the door frame looking me up and down in a ‘you good?’ way. “You also didn’t answer my question.” He adds.

“I uh…I didn’t know where else to go.” I say quietly. I was right. This is in fact humiliating. He just stands there and stares at me. Clearly unamused at the fact that I still haven't answered his question as to why I am standing on his front porch looking like a wet dog. I would stare too. “Are you gonna let me inside? Or are you just gonna keep staring at me in silence.” I add.

“That depends.” He says lookin back into the house then back at me. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re here? Or are you just gonna avoid the question.” Touche. We stand here in silence for a moment as he watches me get pelted in the face by the rain and I chatter my teeth. He finally pushes the door open further and gestures for me to come inside. Thank go Sarah isn’t home because I would be shitting myself out of embarrassment right now. I walk in and Rafe opens a hallway in the closet as he reaches in and grabs a towel that he throws at me. “If You get anything wet, Rose will lose her shit.” 

“How kind.” I say with strong notes of sarcasm.

“Hey I didn’t have to let you in. I could've just left you outside on your own.” he’s right.

“Well you wouldn’t be the first guy to leave me outside tonight, so I probably would’ve been fine” I blurt out without thinking. What happened to me tonight is none of his business. Plus I’m sure he will hear about it anyway. However, he did let me inside which he did not have to do, so I could at least pretend to be grateful. 

“Damn. That's rough. Sorry about that.” he almost sounded embarrassed.

“No, it's fine. Thanks for the towel.” he nods and sits down at the kitchen counter. We stand in silence for a bit as I ring my hair out into the sink. This couldn’t be more awkward. Here I am standing in my ex best friend’s house with her older brother, who was in fact my first kiss in a game of truth or dare years ago, and who happens to be the best friend of my boyfriend who just dumped me on the side of the road in the middle of the night. This is just grand. “Do you have a phone charger? My phone is completely dead.” 

“Uh yeah its upstairs. Do you wanna-” he cut himself off before speaking again. “Do you just wanna come up with me so you can change?” Right. So. Apparently this absolutely CAN  feel more awkward. Whatever. I need to charge my phone and honestly a change of clothes sounds devine. I silently follow Rafe up the stairs and into his room. “If you want you can take a shower to warm up. Your teeth haven’t stopped chattering since you got here.” he’s being frighteningly nice. 

“Um sure.” I say hesitantly as I am incredibly confused by his nice attitude. I plug in my phone and Rafe hands me one of his old t-shirts and a pair of booty shorts that were surely left here by some random girl, but honestly I don’t care. I have to get out of these clothes. “Thanks.” I say taking the clothes and entering his bathroom, closing and locking the door quickly behind me. Literally what the fuck. There is no way this is really happening. 

I take my time in the shower as I let the steaming hot water warm me up for a while. When I’m done, I put on the clothes that Rafe gave me, and open the bathroom door seeing him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey Topper called you like five times when you were in the shower.” He says unfazed. My attitude shifts almost immediately. 

“You didn’t answer it did you?” I blurt out. Nice job y/n! That wasn’t suspicious at all!

“No…why would I?” he laughs clearly confused as I let out a sigh  of relief. Once again. Awkward silence. I take a seat on the edge of the bed going through my phone. “Are you gonna call him back?” he asks. Before I could answer him, his phone starts to ring. Toppers name is displayed on the screen. Rafe looks at his phone, then back to me, then back to his phone. 

“I am NOT here. Answer it. Put it on speaker.” I say frantically. Now he's intrigued.

“Hey Top!” Rafe answers. “Rafe! I fucked up man. I fucked up BAD! I’m coming over. I need a drink asap.” I am immediately shaking my head and mouthing ‘no’. “Top I can’t tonight man. My dad is on my ass and if Rose finds out I have someone over, I’m dead bro.” Is he seriously helping me right now? 

Topper scoffs on the other line. “Since when have you given a shit about what Rose thinks? I’m already on my way!” 

“Then turn around and go home man. I can’t tonight.”

“What is up with you dude? You never turn down a drink” its silent for a minute “Oh shit do you have a chick over right now?” Im disgusted at the change in tone in Top’s voice when he  brings up Rafe having a girl over.

“Yeah bro I do. And she’s alone right now in my bed so I gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow.” Rafe responds, very quick to go along with Topper’s question.

“That’s my man!” Topper laughs “is she hot? She better be hot!”

Even Rafe rolls his eyes at Topper’s comment. “Yeah she’s hot. Okay gotta go man.” Rafe responds as he hangs up the phone. Is that true, does he think I’m hot? I don’t care. Do I?

I let out a huge sigh of relief that we dodged the bullet of Top showing up here. 

“So. Are you gonna tell me why I just had to lie to my best friend?”

I shift nervously. “Well technically you didn’t lie. There is a ‘chick’ here and she is sitting on your bed.” I try to make a joke avoiding this conversation at all costs. 

“Y/n.” He says, raising his eyebrows. He clearly wants an answer. 

“I broke up with Top and he didn’t take it well.” I say on an exhale. He doesn’t say anything because he’s not stupid. He has probably figured out that much already. I let out a heavy sigh. “He kicked me out of his car in the middle of the road three miles away from my house in the fucking rain because I accused him of cheating on me. He told me that I had no idea what I was talking about. He said I was crazy, and that I was making shit up. But I’m not. I know for a fact that I’m not. It’s not the first time either. He’s done it before, which I’m sure you already know since you’re his best friend and he probably tells you everything.” I make that realization as I’m rambling my story out to him. Rafe is probably well aware of Topper’s lack of loyalty. 

“I uh. I knew about it the first time.” He admits. His honestly with the situation makes me laugh a little as I roll my eyes.

“Of course you did. Being that it was with your sister. I’d be shocked if you didn’t know.” The look on Rafe’s face instantly changes. It’s almost like he’s holding something back. “Unless…Sarah wasn’t the first girl was she. There was someone else.” Tears that I have been pushing back for weeks start to well in my eyes. Not because I’m sad, but because I’m furious. Even Rafe doesn’t know what to say. Without thinking, I grab my wet clothes and my barely charged phone, and head towards his bedroom door. “I should go. Thanks for the shower and-” 

“Y/n don’t be ridiculous” he says quickly following me. “You can’t leave right now that storm is getting worse” He puts his hand on the door, shutting it. 

I turn and he is standing close enough to me to create an odd sort of tension. 

“Why don’t you get him back?” Rafe suggests as I roll my eyes.

“I don’t want to get back with him Rafe I’m so ov-” he cuts me off.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I mean get him back. As in revenge.” he says as he steps closer to me. Jesus Christ I’m an absolute idiot.

“Revenge…right.” I laugh awkwardly. He continues to inch closer, creating an even bigger amount of tension. Not that tension is an unfamiliar thing with Rafe and I. There has always been a weird tension between us. Ya know…the whole best friends brother thing. I’ve known Rafe for almost 10 years. Something about his cocky attitude has always been attractive to me. Call it toxic. I don’t care. It’s just the truth. Rafe and I are standing right infront of each other. He is towering over me as my back is still to the door. 

“You know…They say that one of the best ways to get over a guy is to get under another.” He almost whispers while moving my hair out of my face. I can’t help but blush. The thought of getting back at Topper crossed my mind the second he cheated on me. The thought of getting back at him by hooking up with his best friend? That’s even better. Rafe leans down and starts to kiss my neck. “Rafe we probably shouldn’t do this” I whisper clearly enjoying it.

“Of course we shouldn’t. But I do shit that I shouldn’t do all the time.” He stops kissing my neck to look me in the face.

“Me too” I nod letting out a breath as I crash my lips onto his. The kiss is instantly filled with an insane amount of intensity. Rafe backs me up against the wall as he deepens the kiss. He moves from my mouth to my neck, leaving hickeys all over. He is making sure that I can’t hide what we are doing. And I’m totally here for it. His hands move from my hair, to my hips, to underneath the hem of my shirt. Well. Technically his shirt. I’m braless since my bra got soaked in that rain earlier. He quickly realizes this as his hand grazes over my tits. He starts to grip them while kissing me, making me moan softly until he stops for a second. 

“As hot as you look in my shirt…it’s coming off” he nearly growls. I lift my arms as he lifts the shirt over my head and throws it across the room. I reach for his shirt to take it off. Once he takes it off his mouth is back on mine. Our foreheads are pressed together as our bare chests are rising and falling against each other. He hoists me up, grabbing my ass as I throw my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. We don’t last long against the wall before we move to the bed.

He lays me down on the edge of the bed as he hovers over me kissing me yet again. Each kiss gets more aggressive. We bite each other's lips between kisses. He moves his mouth from my lips to my neck leaving more marks. Slowly, he makes his way to my chests. The marks he makes get darker and darker. He puts his mouth over my nipple, making me moan as he slightly bites down. He quickly moves his hand up to cover my mouth.

“Shhh. Baby we gotta stay quiet.” He says as he moves from one nipple to the other. I moan into his hand as he stifles the sound that comes out. His hand moves from my mouth to my throat as he wraps his hand around it lightly. His lips meet mine again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” holy shit. I moan into our kiss as his hand is on my throat. His hand travels down my body until its hovering over my shorts. He’s moving his hand from one thigh to the other. Barely grazing the spot where I need him the most. I breathe into our kiss as his hand stops at the waistband of my shorts. He’s such a fucking tease. He hovers his hand there for a minute sensing that I want more. 

“Oh my God Rafe” I moan out of anticipation.

“You want more baby?” he smirks against my lips.

“You know I do” Smartass.

“Say less” he moves from his position above me, to kneeling on the floor at the edge of the bed. He hooks his fingers around the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down, revealing my bare pussy. He pulls me closer to the edge of the bed and spreads my legs in one swift motion, causing my breath to hitch. He leans down and attaches his mouth to my clit. This of course causes another accidental moan to slip from my mouth. I immediately throw my own hands over my mouth to quiet the noise. His tongue is swirling circles over my clit as he inserts two fingers without warning. As hard as I am trying to stifle my sounds, nothing could stop the groan that I let out at this moment. He moves his fingers at a faster pace that matches what his tongue is doing. 

“Holy Shit Rafe.” I whine.

“You like that?” he smirks up at me. I nod and roll my eyes to the back of my head before shutting them tightly. But suddenly Rafe stops. “Open your eyes y/n. I want you to look at me when you cum. I want you to see who is making you feel this good.” I do as he says and open my eyes as I prop myself up on my elbows to get a better view. “Atta girl” He smirks before burying his face into me yet again. He adds a third finger as I throw my head back while remaining eye contact. He curls his fingers as he eats me out and I want to scream at the pressure building up inside of me. I reach forward and tangle my fingers through his hair as he grins up towards me. 

“Rafe! Oh my God” I let out a string of other soft noises and words.

“Go ahead baby. Cum for me,” I look Rafe in the eyes as I jerk my hips and arch my back, completely unraveling in front of him. As he removes his fingers from inside of me, he brings them up to my mouth. “I want you to see how good you taste.” he says as I take his fingers into my mouth until they are clean. He removes his fingers from my mouth and laces his hands through my hair as he devours me with a kiss. 

“That was incredible.” I breathe heavily.

“Oh we aren’t done yet princess.” the sound of him calling me princess was enough to nearly send me over the edge again. 

“I’d hope not” I tangle my tongue with his as he deepens the kiss by pulling my hair back. I reach for his pants and I undo his belt. 

“Eager are we?” he scoffs, pulling away for a moment. He removes his belt and  his pants. Leaving his boxers for me to remove. I gesture for him to sit on the edge of the bed where I just was. When he sits, I climb onto his lap, straddling him over his boxers. I can tease too. I lean in kissing him as I slowly start to rock back and forth on his lap. I can feel him getting harder by the second. To be honest this is doing just as much for me as it is for him. I start to kiss his neck, leaving marks similar to the ones he left on me. I start to rock faster back and forth until he is letting out moans the way I was. I cover his mouth.

“I thought we had to stay quiet.” I give him a sly smile before kneeling on the floor and removing his boxers. I come face to face with his cock as I run my tongue up the side, looking up at him while I do it. I move my tongue to the other side slowly, taking my sweet time. 

“Fuck y/n” Rafe groans as he places his hand in my hair. 

I wrap my mouth around the head of his cock and start to suck slowly, using my hands to work the rest that I can’t fit in my mouth. I bob my head up and down while I look up at him, my eyes are starting to water. He grabs my head and slightly pushes me down further, and I can feel his tip hit my throat. When it does Rafe lets out a deep moan with a mumbled string of “oh fucks”. After a few minutes, I can sense that he is going to cum. I don’t bother asking where he wants to finish before he finishes in my mouth. I swallow and look up at him with a smile.

“Holy shit. You really know what you’re doing.” He lets out a heavy content sigh. “We still aren't done yet. I need to be inside you.” He says laying me back down on the bed. I still cannot believe that this is happening. 

Rafe wastes no time climbing on top of me leaving sloppy kisses up my chest and meeting my mouth with his. “You sure about this?” He looks down at me.

“Never been more sure about anything.” I nod. 

“Good” He says as he grabs a condom from his nightstand and puts it on. Seconds later, he is lining himself up at my entrance. His tongue plunges into my mouth as he enters inside of me. His cock stretched my pussy perfectly. He moves with smooth motions leaving us both moaning into each other's mouths as he starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts. He brings his hand to my throat once again,barely applying pressure, making me let out a moan that was too loud to be stifled. He doesn’t seem to care. 

“You like when my hands are around your neck?” He whispers in my ear.

“Yes! Oh my god yes” I am starting to get louder. He moves his hand from my throat to my mouth to keep me quiet again. I moan into his hand as his thrusts hit the perfect spot inside of me. He can tell that he has hit the spot when my hips start to buck in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. I am almost screaming into his hand. As he leans down to kiss me again. 

“You gonna cum with me?” he asks, pressing his forehead against mine. I nod unable to speak, to stop myself from screaming. “Words y/n. Use your words” 

“Fuck yes. I’m gonna cum!” I whine out. He thrusts in and out a few more times, hitting the spot perfectly making me squirm underneath him. With one final thrust, I arch my back as I scratch my nails down his, definitely leaving scratch marks. We cum simultaneously as we let out deep and hungry moans into each other's mouths. He just gave me the best orgasm I have ever had. He pulled out and laid next to me.

“Holy shit. I’ve waited so long to do that.” he says looking at me out of breath.

“Me too. I always had a crush on you ya know.” I say looking at him equally as out of breath.

“Yeah I know.” He smiles and lets out a soft chuckle.

“Took you long enough to do something about it.” I laugh back.

“Thank God I did. And I plan on doing it again. Just so you know.” I winked at me 

“I’d hope so.” I smile, laying there next to him. He was right. That was the best way to get over someone. 

** hi! I really hope you liked this. If you did and want to see more let me know what you want to see! I had fun writing this and in my many many years of writing fanfics this is somehow my first time writing smut so I hope it was okay lol ❤️

[peeponastick]

Touch My Soul, Pt. 2

Domme!Reader x Virgin!Uchiha Itachi  

Word count: 3.6K

Rating: Explicit NSFW 18+ Minors DNI

cw/tw: fem!reader, porn w plot skip to the diamonds for smut you horndog, name calling? (Hidan being an asshole, calls Itachi crow boy lmaoaoao), sappy and romantic, pining?, one bed trope heheh, hand kink, scent kink?, dry humping, corruption kink, praise, exhibitionism, breast & nipple play, cum play, ball play, dirty talk, cursing, use of pet names (sweet boy, good boy, etc), masturbation, not super intense BDSM D/s dynamics (reader is def a switch), inexperience & virginity loss (Itachi, let me cook), multiple orgasms, creampie.

Synopsis: Part 2 of Touch My Soul, (Pt. 1 here). Itachi is just a lil' nervous baby. The more time he spends around you, the more he doesn’t know what to do with his growing feelings. When you find yourselves in an unexpected situation, you take the wheel, ruining him for anyone else.

I really appreciate the love I got on my first-ever smut（╹◡╹）♡ (Yuji fic here). Wanted to follow it up with another kinktober addition, featuring one of my other beloved anime men.

I’m on a subby men streak rn and no one can stop me!!! Hope y’all enjoyyy <3 <3 

It was late that night when you heard two gentle knocks on your door that made you jump, butterflies fluttering deep in your stomach knowing it was Itachi at your door. The rest of your fellow Akatuski members surely had gone to bed already, making it the safest time for the two of you to meet alone. 

You hurriedly grabbed the nearest piece of clothing, slipping into your light pink satin robe that deliciously slinked off your curves, pausing in front of your floor-length mirror to wonder if it was maybe too much before shaking off your anxious thoughts and rushing to answer the door. 

You swung the door open to see Itachi, brows arching in surprise to see you in such a different light. “I- uhh,” he stammered as his eyes betrayed him, trailing down and back up your figure to drink in the stunning display you unintentionally put on for him. His cheeks burned red as he realized how indecent you must’ve thought he was being.

“I-I’m sorry, is this not a good time?” He nervously scratched his head, eyes darting around anxiously in an attempt to not ogle you any more than he already had. You had to admit it was adorable, seeing someone who seemed so composed and mature acting like a nervous schoolboy. 

“No, no, come in!” a smile on your face that you were unable to stifle, “Sorry, it’s just those robes we have to wear all the time are so uncomfortable, I’m out of them the second I can be,” you laughed lightly. He followed you into the room, guiltily indulging in the sight of your body from behind. 

As you cleared some space on your bed, he stood observing and admiring all the little knick-knacks and oddities you had scattered around your room, his eyes setting on a small ceramic figurine of a cat.

You sat on your bed and pat the spot next to you, signaling him to sit. He hesitantly approached, “You, uh, sure you don’t mind me sitting on your bed?” a sheepish smile creeping across his face. A giggle burst out of you, realizing how things could be misinterpreted. 

You shook your head, “It’s not safe to talk here,” you reassured him in a hushed tone, “I’ll use my jutsu to transport us into my soulscape, where we can talk further.” Itachi’s nervous energy dissipated and he sat beside you on your soft bed. 

Once again, you weaved the hand signs of your special jutsu. This time, you took Itachi’s hands and placed them on your shoulders before touching your forehead to his. He did his best to ignore the rush of blood and tingling nerves he felt being close enough to smell the sweet scent radiating off your skin.

You both were transported into your soulscape, where Itachi began taking in his surroundings in awe. You stood in a field of wildflowers under a cotton candy-colored sunset, an early-rising crescent moon in the distant sky. The magnificent colors lit up his visual field as he processed all the information flooding his senses about who you were and all you’d been through. 

He turned to you, an enchanted look of admiration in his deep brown eyes that made your cheeks burn, feeling flustered with vulnerability. You had never shown anyone your soul before and having someone see into you with such love was a foreign concept.

You cleared your throat, preparing to explain the inner workings of the Akatsuki, the intel you’d gathered, and the plan you were preparing to enact now that you had the piece you’d been waiting for– an ally strong enough to help you carry out the downfall of the Akatsuki and Madara himself. 

After that night, you found yourselves in each other’s room to strategize quite often, mostly in the late hours. The snickers from the other Akatsuki members rumored the two of you had begun dating and were trying to hide it. 

One night when Itachi was leaving your bedroom, gently closing the door behind him, he turned to find Hidan standing menacingly against the wall wearing a look of disgust.

“You’re always scurrying out of her room in the middle of the night, huh crow boy,” he sneered.

Itachi’s eyes blazed crimson “And what business do you have lurking around her door?”

Hidan scoffed and walked off, muttering his hateful thoughts about the two of you.

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The more time Itachi and you spent in each other’s presence, the closer you became. Though you’d only known each other a short while, there was a mutual, deep understanding of one another’s souls.

He had never felt this way before, heartbeat nearly pounding out of his chest anytime you sat close, your hand accidentally brushing against him sending sparks through his body. Having to pull himself back down to earth every time he listened to you talk, getting lost in your sparkling eyes, every flutter of your full lashes hypnotizing him further. 

He had without a doubt fallen for you, almost certain the feeling was mutual. His perceptive eyes picking up every quick glance you stole at his lips, the way you blushed anytime his attention was a little too focused on you. 

He wanted more than anything to make his move, for you to be his, but all his years of being a high-ranking shinobi had never really allowed him time for relationships. How could he ask for something he had no idea how to do? And worse, he thought, someone as beautiful and amazing as you shouldn’t settle for someone like him. 

He knew you’d already seen him inside and out and accepted him fully, his sordid past somehow not making your opinion of him falter. But still, there was the matter of his inexperience, or rather, lack of any experience at all adding to his insecurity. 

On a night you had gone to his room, your planning and discussion went on longer than usual. Upon releasing your jutsu, Itachi stood up to find a paper he wanted to show you. You wearily sat on his bed, drained from casting your jutsu for so many hours. As he rummaged around his room, your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, body lightly swaying before you admitted defeat to your fatigue and laid yourself down on his bed, the sight of his back growing blurry as the comforting smell of his bedding pulled you in. 

He turned around to find you asleep, curled up with a sweet, peaceful expression spread across your face. He hummed affectionately, pulling the blanket over your worn-out body. He paused, staring at you for a moment, smiling to himself as he envisioned what it’d be like to have the gift of seeing this every night, before tossing a pillow on the floor for his makeshift bed. 

Your eyes blearily opened, “Whaa-what’re you doin’?” your voice croaked, still half asleep. 

His head tilted inquisitively, “I just, umm, figured I’d sleep on the floor so you can be comfortable,” he replied with a kind smile.

You outstretched your arms for him, drowsily shaking your head, “Noooo way, this is your bed,” you lilted in an almost child-like manner. His eyes grew wide, brain short-circuiting as he realized you were okay with him sleeping next to you. You impatiently waved your arms around, ushering him to come soon as sleep was calling your name. 

Itachi hesitantly approached, crawling into bed beside you trying to awkwardly maintain a respectful distance. You turned into his broad chest, nuzzling up to him with a faint smile on your face as you drifted back to sleep. His muscles tensed, heartbeat deafeningly pounding in his ears at being so close to you.

Focusing on his breathing his body eventually softened, looking down at you and feeling pure bliss. He had dreamt of this moment so many times, he couldn’t believe it was really happening. Wrapped up in the warm feelings, he soon followed you into sleep. 

Several hours later, Itachi woke to an unfamiliar stirring in his pants, tired eyes blinking with confusion at the pressure he felt repeatedly nudging his pelvis. His breath hitched as heat flushed his entire body at what he saw. 

You had flipped sides at some point in the night, your back now against Itachi’s chest as you pressed your ass into him over and over again, grinding against his growing bulge. You were dreaming, soft whimpers leaving you every time your hips connected with his in your unconscious state. He couldn’t help himself from wondering if you could be dreaming about him, ears ringing at every angelic sound you made. 

He fought with himself, feeling guilty for not waking you immediately, but he couldn’t help it, every rock of your hips into him sent divine pleasure rippling through his entire body, his cock becoming uncomfortably hard in his pants, even with such little stimulation. He closed his eyes, fully indulging in the moment for a few more seconds before he lightly tapped your arm. Noticing, in his heightened arousal, how soft your skin felt under his fingertips, how the heat of your sleeping body projected your intoxicating scent.

You were deep asleep, unresponsive to his gentle touch. He took a deep breath, collecting himself before he tried again, this time tapping a little harder, “Y/n, hey. Wake up y/n,” his deep, gravelly voice rasped in your ear. Your eyes opened slowly, “Hmmm? ‘tachi?” your sleepy voice squeaked, “Wass goin’ on?” you rolled back against him, looking up at his flushed face with confusion. 

Your mind shot awake, finally processing what an intimate position the two of you were in, “Oh shit! I’m sorr–,” a small gasp left your lips as you noticed his eyes dark with lust, feeling the growing bulge between his legs pressed up against your ass, “Fuck.”

Heat bloomed across your cheeks, suddenly overcome with heady arousal, the masculine and fresh scent of his skin and bedding sending pulsing shocks to your clit. A gentle moan slipped past your lips as you slowly resumed grinding your hips against him. 

He breathed deeply, his nimble hand acting on its own, trailing down the curves of your body to grab onto your hip, “C-Can I touch you here?” his voice hoarse with arousal.

“Uh-huhh,” you breathily moaned. 

His hand needily latched onto your hip, pulling you in closer, both of you feeling a magnetic pull between your cores. You rolled your hips together, the pace quickening as you began losing yourselves in the intensity of the moment. 

His breath fanning the shell of your ear from behind, you drank in the sounds of his gentle gasps and moans, breath growing ragged at the overwhelming pleasure he felt. His vision going hazy, he tucked his head into the crook of your neck as he began humping you frantically, his carnal senses controlling him. His large hand gripping you bruisingly, a strained moan dragged out of his chest as his orgasm suddenly exploded out of him, coating the inside of his pants with copious amounts of cum. 

You smiled sinfully, turning over to face him but he avoided eye contact, his cheeks burning bright red as he tried to catch his breath. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t believe I–,” his brows furrowing with embarrassment, “I’ve just never done anything like this,” he quietly admitted, innocent eyes anxiously scanning yours. 

A switch flipped in you. 

You hummed, tenderly stroking his warm cheek with your hand as your eyes fell to his lips. You smiled affectionately, “I know, sweet boy,” slowly bringing your plump lips to his, pausing a breath away, smile tinging with deviance as you looked deep into his eyes, “just watch me," you whispered against his mouth before pressing your lips to his. His lips parted with a shaky moan, kissing you back hungrily. 

Rolling onto your back, you began tracing the hills and valleys of your curves with your hands, stopping to indulgently squeeze your breasts, massaging your hard nipples. He swallowed hard, his sharingan eyes watching your every move, burning the moment into his memory.

Your hand snaked its way under your shorts, fingers dipping into the wet heat between your thighs, letting out a soft moan as you ran a finger over your swollen clit. You looked into his eyes, biting your lip as you began pleasuring yourself. 

He moved his hand to gently brush a stray hair out of your face, wanting to have a clear view of your features twisting with pleasure. Your head turned to catch his fingers along your open mouth. You wrapped your lips around his thumb, sucking on it as you looked up at him wantonly, eliciting a deep groan from his chest. You released your lips with a pop as he began messing your pout with his thumb, relishing in the sensation of your luscious lips beneath his fingertip.

He looked at you, eyes glazed over with lust, before passionately cupping your face and kissing you deeply as you continued playing with your pussy, thighs shaking and body tingling with heat as you rubbed firm circles around your clit.

Itachi was devouring you with his eyes, your body and mind buzzing with electric arousal at being watched so intently. 

“You can touch me, it’s okay,” you purred between breathy moans, reading his mind. You grasped his hand, guiding it up under your shirt to cup your full breast, “Like this.”

A whimper left Itachi’s lips as his warm palm connected with the delicate skin of your breast, exploring your body with fervid curiosity. Squeezing the plush flesh and ghosting his fingertips over your nipples, you moaned in delight. 

You began feeling the sizzling electricity of your building orgasm, fingers rubbing faster and tighter circles around your pulsating clit. Waves of white-hot pleasure washing over you as you rocketed into your climax, the feeling of Itachi's clothed cock, hard and eager for you again, needily pressing into you sending you over the edge. 

You collapsed with a pleased smile, taking a moment to catch your breath before sitting up unexpectedly, motivated and ready for more pleasure. “Itachi– off, please,” you demanded, needily tugging at the waistband of his black sweatpants. He hurriedly lifted his hips to pull them down, fumbling as he tried to yank it off his leg not wanting to delay a second longer, then grabbing the back of his black t-shirt’s collar to pull it over his head.

His length stood fully erect, no longer restrained by his pants. His body was heavenly, like a carved-marble depiction of a god. Pale skin covering his chiseled, lean muscles, marred with battle scars. His cock was so pretty, the perfect length and girth for a delicious stretch, bulging veins dancing along the sides, messy with sticky, white cum from his previous orgasm, and throbbing with need.

“Fuuckkk, you’re so big baby,” you licked your lips, mesmerized by the sight as you wrapped your hand around his length and began stroking his cock, using his cum as lube. 

His body heaved at the sensation, a choked whine leaving his lips. He let out a small gasp as you thumbed his glistening slit, “Such a pretty cock,” you cooed, dropping your other hand to massage his heavy balls. His eyes rolled back momentarily in ecstasy, he could cum again just from the way you spoke to him. 

You brought your hand up to lick his cum off before crawling over him, breasts brushing against his lean chest, hips arched seductively. Itachi laid there panting, so overwhelmed with arousal he couldn’t do anything but let out needy moans as his wildest fantasy unfurled in front of him. You lightly dragged your lips along the ridge of his ear, breathing lightly against it before kissing the tip of his earlobe.

“Mmmh please let me feel you inside me baby, pleeeease?” you moaned against his skin, kissing along his sharp jaw and down his neck, “Don’t you wanna know how good my wet pussy feels wrapped around your cock?”

A shuddering moan left his chest at your provocative words. You looked up at him, siren eyes hypnotizing him. He nodded enthusiastically with a dazed expression, pupils blown wide with lust, completely drunk on arousal– mind floating out of his body.

“Y-Yes, pl-pleasee,” he hiccuped, struggling to process that this was happening to him in real life. 

“Hmmm good boy,” a devilish smile on your face, “just lay back and let me make you feel good, okayy baby?” 

You got off him, standing up and turning around to teasingly pull your shorts down, giving him a front-row seat as you bent over seductively, sliding them off at a torturous pace, exposing your lace-covered pussy from behind, a sweet little whimper leaving his lips as he saw the wet spot from your orgasm. Pulling off your shirt to reveal a matching bra, his brain malfunctioned at how exquisite you looked. 

You then began languidly pulling your panties down, revealing your decadent pussy to his eyes. “Ooohh my–" he gasped, "oh my god,” feeling the pulse in his erection as it twitched with desire. You flashed him a confident smile, fingertips dragging up and down the curves of your body, feeling his dark eyes on you, memorizing every touch and squeeze.

Seeing his eager cock, precum leaking from his tip and dribbling down his shaft, you licked your lips, pussy fluttering in excitement at the thought of being stretched by him. Crawling on top of him like a feline stalking her prey, you drank in the sensual power you felt as you locked eyes with him. 

You captured his lips in a sweet kiss, “Ready sweet boy?” you confirmed. He was more than ready for you, breathlessly watching your every move in anticipation of what came next. Your juicy pussy hovered just above the head of his cock, so close his sensitive tip could feel the heat radiating from between your thighs. He hazily nodded, head foggy with such unimaginable lust and desire he didn’t know was possible to experience.

You slowly began sinking down on his cock, both of you releasing depraved moans, delighting in the heavenly sensation of his thick cock sliding into the hilt, burying deep in your soaking wet pussy. Your hands splayed on his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall as he experienced the sinfully wet heat of your pussy for the first time. 

“Fuuuuckkk y/n, oh my god!” he cried out, he gripped the sheets with white knuckles. You gave him a moment, a sultry twinkle in your eye seeing him squirm in unbearable pleasure beneath you. 

You began riding him, the tight walls of your pussy squeezing his engorged cock as you slid him in and out, strained moans leaving his chest. You reached down to grab his hands, bringing them up to place on your waist as you bounced up and down on his dick. 

“How does that feel baby, hmm?” your voice pouring out of you like honey. He winced in unbearable pleasure, “S-So, fuck–” struggling to respond between panting moans, “sooo f-fucking good” he sobbed.

Everything was too much, too good– the unbelievably gorgeous sight of you on top of him, breasts bouncing, the way your tight pussy was milking his inexperienced cock. Heat pooled in his lower abdomen as the pressure at the base of his cock began rapidly rising. 

He looked up at you, eyes flashing with anxiety. He was too enmeshed in the moment to find the words, but he knew he was going to cum quick. Sensing his urgency, feeling his cock twitch inside you, you leaned down to kiss him.

“Want you to cum inside me,” you purred against his lips, “want you to fill my pussy up, pleasee.” Your words rattled around his brain, the tether binding him to reality snapping. 

Every fiber lit aflame with pure ecstasy, his mind went blank– only a singular motive, his primal need to release himself inside you. 

His arms flexed as he wrapped them around you, pulling you in closer to his chest, fingertips digging into your skin as he began pounding your pussy from below. Sounds of two feral animals ravishing each other echoed off the walls as you simultaneously reached climax, his thrusts growing sloppy as he stuttered his hips up into you. 

Obeying your command, he plunged his length into you as deep as he could, strangled moans reverberating in his chest, cock spasming as he began pumping ropes of his thick, hot cum into your pussy in amounts he had no idea he was capable of producing. 

“Oof-fuckkk!” you mewled, “Feel so full, such a good boy,” you praised, your hand pressing above his cock, near the point where the two of you were fused as one. You rubbed his lower abdomen, tossing your head back in pleasure at the erotic sensation of being stuffed so full of his cock and cum, overwhelming warmth spreading through your core. He whimpered at your words, cock quivering as your pussy clenched around him, not yet wanting to unsheathe his sensitive length. 

You collapsed against his solid chest, both of you sweaty, panting messes holding each other in a loving embrace, completely drained from cumming multiple times. He closed his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face as he ran his fingertips soothingly up and down your back as you pressed kisses to where your lips met his skin. 

“That. was. amazing.” his smooth voice blurted, his ability to form coherent sentences returning to him, “Thank you so much,” he leaned his head down to press a meaningful kiss to your forehead. You giggled, endorphins flushing your system making you feel giddy with love, you could stay like this with him forever.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

If you read this far, thank you so muuuuch I luvv you!! ♡♡♡

[idksmtms]

The Prettiest Trophy (Capitol Elite!Aegon II Targaryen x Games Winner!reader (Hunger Games AU)

Summary: You never thought you would make it out of the hunger games, but now you have another fight ahead of you. What do you do when one of the most powerful citizens of the capitol has chosen you to be his? 

Word count: 3.5k 

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, innuendo, Dub-con due to power imbalance, coercion too ig (???), some angst (reader talks about survivor’s guilt from the games),  p in v s*x, unprotected s*x, oral f receiving, degradation (constantly referring to lesser status of districts), objectification and ownership,  (please let me know if I missed any) 

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :) 

AN: Aaaaa my first fic finally! Didn't mean to make it this long but I got a bit carried away! I hope you enjoy! (Side note: I was imagining his hair as the style in the black and white pic, just with Targaryen white, Side note 2: I def realise the references to the way Gollum talks about the ring, IT WAS ON PURPOSE)

You never thought you would leave the arena. Every second could have been your last and you still didn’t quite believe you had made it out, that you were standing outside the President’s mansion at a lavish party, dressed in silks and jewels. No one told you how to live after the games were over. It had taken you three days just to be able to get out of bed and move around again after leaving the arena. Being at this party? It felt like a betrayal to all the people who had died so you could live. You sipped from the sickly sweet drink that almost seemed to glow in the night, and looked around the garden. 

Most people had finally left you alone thankfully, though you could still see eyes turning your way, whispers and conversations pointed toward your presence in the garden. At least no one was trying to force you into a picture like some capitol celebrity anymore. 

People in the most lavish costumes customary of the capitol milled about, talking, whispering, cackling like witches in their modified bodies with their modified voices. It was a horror show. The gardens had been decorated with delicate yellow fairy lights strung up in the trees and over poles around the tables. You assumed they wanted to give it a warm and welcoming look with the yellow lighting but it only cast grotesque shadows on the building that was not only the backdrop to this party, but to all your nightmares. There were tables set up with stark white tablecloths draped over them, an area cleared away for a dance floor, and more noise coming from the entrance to the mansion. Avoxes walked around carrying trays of food and drink between their hands, heads bent low, and shame began to rise inside you. What were you doing here? Why were you forced to be here?

There was someone behind you. You didn’t know when you had become so aware of any presence, probably somewhere between fending off humans and wildlife alike in the arena, and you could distinctly feel someone behind you. A slight shadow fell over your shoulders. A small touch rustled the train of your dress. Someone cleared their throat. You turned around, hands quivering, and looked at the man smirking broadly at you. Your first thought, shamefully: was he even real? 

His hair was so blond it was white, cut short and combed back so perfectly he could be no less than an aristocrat. He wore a suit of dark grey over a black shirt, one of the less eccentrically dressed people at the party. But his shoes were lavish. Black and shinier than anything you had ever seen, embroidered with gold thread, gold jewellery dangling from the laces and gems stamped into the fabric. Surely this man was of the richest of the rich, because even in the capitol people were wont to have shoes so lavish. You stared at his shoes for a good minute, whole body frozen, when he cleared his throat once more. You looked at his eyes. You couldn’t tell if they were more blue or grey, like ice had formed over a stormy ocean. 

“And who might you be?” He asked, mouth still smiling, before he brought his glass up to his lips and took a drink while waiting for your answer. 

“You don’t know who I am?” You asked, almost taking a step back. That couldn’t be true. Viewing was mandatory, your face had been plastered across every screen in Panem for weeks, it couldn’t be true that he didn’t know you. And yet… for a moment… it felt so good not to be recognised. You were just some other girl, lost in the crowd at a party, who hadn’t gone through what you had gone through. 

“Well, I may know of you, but I don’t know you know you,” his smile had softened and he stepped closer until his elbow lightly brushed yours and you were both looking out at the party.

“I suppose that’s true,” you answered quietly, still watching his face. His skin was almost as dangerously pale as his hair, and sallow, like he was never quite in the best of health. Though you couldn’t deny the truth, he was a handsome man regardless of his slightly ragged appearance. 

“Aegon Targaryen the second,” he held out his hand, running his eyes over your face like he hadn’t gathered enough of it the first time, “and you?” 

“Y/n L/n,” you breathed out, reaching out an unsteady hand to limply shake his own. He gently clasped your fingers and brought your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to your knuckles before releasing your hand. It was such an odd sensation, his hot breath brushing over the back of your hand, his fingertips slightly rough - but not enough to suggest any sort of manual labour - clasping the skin of your palm. Your cheeks went hot, the tips of your ears tingling, and you continued staring at this enigma. 

“How has the capitol been treating you?” He asked, chugging the rest of his drink and depositing it on the tray of an Avox as they passed by like some well-practised dance. You didn’t want to reply. “Well, I suppose you haven’t had the time to truly enjoy it. At least, not the truly fun bits anyway,” he shrugged, tilting his head and looking at you like it was a particularly amusing thing he just said. 

You couldn’t understand this at all. Who was this man? What was this interaction? What did he want with you? Why was he acting so mundane, like this was normal?! None of this was normal. 

Noticing the look on your face, Aegon chuckled and reached forward to push some hair over your shoulder. It took everything within you to hold in your shiver. 

“Ah, you must be confused about who I am! I shouldn’t have assumed you would understand the name Targaryen. We may be famous in the capitol but who knows what goes on in the districts,” you swallowed hard and nodded, trying not to flinch at the dig. “Our family works in all sorts of sectors, for example, my uncle Daemon is responsible for manufacturing arms for the state, my younger brother Aemond works under the president in some position or other - god knows he never shuts up about it - and my father currently runs the peacekeeper program. Of course I’m expected to step up to that eventually but- I won’t bore you with the details.” 

You didn’t really consider that work. You had seen the way your parents toiled in the factory every day, had seen the way every member of your family slowly became a hunchback from their work. But you weren’t going to say anything to him. 

“What does your family do?” He asked, and again you almost moved out of surprise. His face seemed so sincere as he watched you, waiting for an answer. 

“I’m from District 8, so my parents work the looms,” you answered slowly. You almost sounded condescending, like you were talking to someone who couldn’t quite understand your words, but Aegon understood it was the shock of him speaking to you. After all, it had only been a week since you had left the arena, he understood how difficult it would be to gain your confidence. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. And Aegon was a firm believer that flattery could get you anywhere, especially a girl’s bed. So he decided to change course. 

“Do you see that man over there?” He pointed discreetly to a spot just to your right and you shuffled back so you could look over without being noticed. You sipped from your glass as you noticed the man, an older gentleman wearing a full fursuit topped with a lion’s mane going around his head. Even his face had been painted with fur and whiskers to resemble a lion with the body of a human. You nodded to Aegon, turning away from the man. Something about that picture made you uncomfortable in a way you had never been before. “Well, rumour has it that he wears that entire get up, face paint and all mind you, every time he fucks.” You gasped, staring at Aegon with eyes so wide they started to hurt. 

“You can’t be serious,” you whispered sharply. 

“I am the most serious, dearest. Why would I lie to you?” He smirked, leaning closer once more. He draped his arm over your shoulder and you stiffened for a moment before continuing to listen to his next story. 

You were slowly beginning to relax in Aegon’s company as he continued to chatter to you. He no longer asked questions or expected you to speak, just pointed out people in the crowd and made colourful commentary that had you hiding your face in his shoulder and giggling against the fabric of his suit. He gazed at you with sparkling eyes full of mirth and shared his ever-full glass of whatever drink they were serving at the time. You couldn’t help but be charmed. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone in the capitol was as bad as they seemed. 

“D’you wanna go somewhere quieter?” He finally asked after completely relieving another stranger of their dignity. You took a moment to catch your breath and looked at him, at the sudden darkening of his eyes and the way his tongue poked out to lick his lips. He watched you like a tiger readying to pounce. You nodded without a second thought. Though he had made the party bearable, anywhere would be better than here. He smiled and reached down, sliding his fingers over your inner wrist, then your palm, then grasping your hand in his own. “Come on.” 

Aegon led you into the house and up the stairs, nodding at random people (who sometimes you could barely recognise as people), skilfully dodging attempts at conversation. Up and up the lavish stairs you went before walking down a large hallway and stopping in front of a wall. Aegon pushed at the wall and it gave way, revealing a spiral staircase in the dark that led up into an abyss. 

“Um, are you sure you know where you’re going?” You asked, pausing at the entrance to the rather dingy looking chamber. 

“There are some perks to having been at the president’s mansion practically since I was born. One of those being secret access to the roof, now come on!” He dragged you into the dark and shut the door behind him, before ushering you up the first steps. 

The staircase really wasn’t all that tall. In fact, you could see the top and light bled down from the opening. Your heels clanked against each step and you almost toppled back into Aegon more than once. Then you were at the top. Then you could see the whole Capitol. Oh it was breathtaking! The whole city, laid out before you like a miniature scene to play with. There were lights glimmering in houses and cars on the roads and life! There were signs of life everywhere. Oh you couldn’t believe it. You almost believed you could see to the very edges of Panem. 

 “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Aegon asked, and you turned to meet his eyes. Both of you had moved right to the edge of the rooftop so you could look out over the party, and he moved to stand directly behind you. You could feel his chest press into your back. The fabric of his shirt rubbed against the skin of your back and he was a solid pressure behind you, like the comfort of a wall at your back when you slept. “Hm?” He asked again, bending his head down to run his nose up your neck. You shivered, the light graze was just ticklish enough to start a spark inside of you. 

 “Yes,” you breathed out, clenching your hands on the concrete to stop yourself from leaning back into him. You didn’t know him. You didn’t really know him. You didn’t know him at all. 

 “You know,” he began slowly, hands going to your shoulders and turning you around to face him. “When I first saw you on the television, the day of the reaping, I knew you would win.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your mouth was so dry. You wished you hadn’t discarded that sweet drink so quickly. “And look at you now,” he leaned in closer, cupping your face to force your eyes to meet his, “you’re the winner, the greatest person in Panem, to come out of the districts anyway.” He gently kissed your right cheek, warm lips on plush skin, and when he pulled away the breeze cooled the hint of saliva he had left behind. “You’re the greatest treasure one could possess, you know?” He kissed your other cheek, firmer this time, like he was trying to leave the imprint of his lips on your skin. “Everyone knows the winner of the Hunger Games, and to say you own them? To parade them on your arm for everyone to see, saying you own the very concept of survival?” He seemed to groan in pleasure, and then everything was moving. 

His lips were on yours, slightly wet and forceful. His tongue was delving into your mouth, tasting like sugar, too much sugar, and you wanted to pull back because it was so overwhelming and everything he had just said and and and… and it felt so good too. It was warm, and desperate, like no one had ever been for you before. 

A hand moved into your hair and grasped the strands at the back of your head tight, pulling slightly to tilt your head back so you had to look up at him. He was almost leaning over you so your spine bent over the edge of the roof, and the skin of your back scratched against the unpainted concrete. He huffed against your mouth then pulled back, his other hand coming up to trace your mouth with his thumb. You stared into his eyes but he wasn’t looking back at you, not really anyway. He was watching his prize, the reward that no one but him deserved. 

You whimpered, a small and pathetic sound that only seemed to make his skin hotter, and he let go of your hair to begin pulling the straps of your dress down your arms. It was a heavy thing, and it felt good to finally be rid of the weight, but you were keenly aware of the cold night and the party in full swing just underneath you. If someone in the garden decided to look up, they would surely see you bent over the edge. 

“Wait-” you began to protest, but Aegon was past listening, past caring. He just shoved the dress under your breasts and down your legs, before grabbing your face and bringing your mouth to his own again. His hands travelled over your neck, then caressed your shoulders. He gently pressed the red indents the straps of the dress had left and you sighed into his mouth, leaning onto his chest. Your nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt and you gasped into the kiss before moving your chest slightly. The warm little tingles travelled all the way through your torso and you clung to his arms. 

Aegon kissed sloppily over your cheeks, your neck, pausing to bite into it until you grunted with pain and pushed at his shoulder. He licked all the way down to your chest, his tongue warm and wet, then the slick trail of spit suddenly cold. Your legs felt unsteady, and you leaned back against the barrier as he began mouthing at your breasts, little circles of warmth formed everywhere he kissed, and then his mouth closed over your nipple and you clenched. It was so… weird. A wet suction formed over your nipple and it seemed to make the inside of your breast spark, your stomach jolt, and the space between your thighs tingle and turn to mush. 

“Come on precious,” he mumbled against your skin, “you can be louder,” and he bit the flesh. It really was a live wire attached to your skin, so easy to spark, so easy to create a fire that spread all throughout your body. 

Aegon was quicker with the other nipple, licking over it like a dog with a bowl of water, before making his way down to the apex of your thighs. He seemed to be in a hurry with the way he dove his face between your legs. A cry left your lips, loud and shriek-like, at the overwhelming activity. His nose slipped between your lips and pressed to your clit, his tongue out and flat and lapping against the sticky slick that covered the puffy folds that hid your hole. He was ravenous, pressing his face in in in until you stood on your tiptoes and half your weight was balanced against his face. The contours of his face pressed at your hole, his nose rubbed at your clit, and he moved his face back and forth so his tongue could poke inside of you then slip back into his mouth. He began speaking into you, rumbling words you couldn’t understand over the rushing in your head. 

“Come on, cum on my face,” he huffed, grabbing your thighs and licking at your clit until it was puffy and swollen. “I wan’ you to cum on my face, give me what I want.” He pressed his tongue inside you. In. Out. He licked your clit. In. Out. He sucked it into his mouth, and your legs shook so much that you would’ve fallen onto the floor if you weren’t practically laying on the barrier already. It was a release. That’s all it could be called. Every muscle clenched then released. Even your mind felt like it had slowly been clenching and now it had been unravelled and was slowly dripping out of your skull. 

“Fuck, that’s right,” Aegon mumbled as he pulled away, standing to full height and pulling your hips against his own. His hair had fallen forward into his eyes and his mouth and nose glistened in the low light, but he didn’t seem to care one bit. He had leaned over your body again, pressing his face into your neck. The slick on his chin stuck to your skin and squished whenever he moved. He humped into you a few times, grunting and groaning, before hurriedly reaching down and fumbling with his belt and zipper. You could hear the clanking of metal, the rustle of fabric, and then something warm pressing to your thigh. 

There was no waiting with Aegon. His body simply didn’t contain the patience for it, and really why would you wait when the prize you had so long coveted lay bare before you, just ripe for the taking? A shift here, a push there, and he caught at your entrance. He finally pulled away from your neck and looked into your eyes. He caressed your cheek, and you could tell all he saw was a trophy he had just won. 

Then Aegon pressed into you, and his veins rubbed at your slick insides, pressing against your walls and sliding against your own textured flesh and you were leaning back to moan into the night sky, chest heaving. He kissed your breasts and pushed into you again, his lower stomach pressing your clit. Again, he moved into you and the sparks flashed and you clenched around him, onto him, and he moaned against your ear, hot breath fanning the shell. 

“Fuck yes, you’re my precious little thing aren’t you? Huh? You’re my special little prize?” His hips slapped against yours and the sound echoed over the roof. His mouth biting into your neck sent sparks through you. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and oh god it was too much! You clenched onto him and screamed into his neck, open mouth pressed to the sweaty skin. You clenched and unclenched onto him as waves passed through you, melting your flesh and your bones. It was over too soon yet it lasted too long. He pushed once more, twice more, and you could feel him quiver against you, even as you tried to push him away from the pulsing flesh of your insides. You could feel the spurts inside you, hot and gushing. You felt it trickle out of you, slide down your thighs in warm rivulets and you shuddered. 

Aegon still lay on top of you, huffing heavily into your neck. You didn’t know what to do, so you stayed still, waiting for guidance, waiting for the other shoe to fall. He slowly pushed up on his arms so his face hovered above yours, and he smiled a dazed and delirious smile. Was it always there, or had it just appeared, that insanity in his eyes? 

“Oh my precious,” he sighed, cupping your cheek, “we have so much ahead.”

[scuttle-buttle]

Co-Pilots

Nobody asked for this. I have the flu. I needed something nice to focus on and apparently this was it. Blame @lorna-d-m my partner in crime :) also kudos to winniemaywebber and sagesolscitcewrites because i def read all their stuff and was vibing it and the pet names and stuff sooo hard

Rated: 18+

Word Count: approx. 3k

Tags: MMF, fluff and reassurance, mentions of wartime ptsd, body confidence issues, mentions of having children, PiV sex, female receiving oral, male receiving oral, voyeurism, no stated use of contraception

A/N: Croz is referred to as Crosby, Harry, and Bing in this (so as not to confuse). And idk what rank Rosie is by this point so were just going with Major

✈️

The bright lights blinded you the first time you walked through New York City; tonight was no different. Flashes of neon whites, golds, blues, reds, lit up your path as you entered the lobby to the Ritz hotel. Your husband had made arrangements for you to meet him in the city much as he had a near 2 years ago during the height of the war. You wanted to meet him at the airport. Crosby insisted he find you at the hotel. And now, with Hitler defeated, he was on his way home. For good. 

His phone call had startled you. Usually, you wrote him weekly, sometimes more if you felt lonesome. Harry’s letters were less frequent, but no less loving. Little Steve kept you more than busy most days, back home safe terrorizing your mother and father while you got some rest and relaxation with your Bing in the big city. The toddler was a shining light in your dark days. He had the same dark curls, the same downturned eyes as his father. A piece of your love that was yours no matter what the war brought - or took.

You’d nearly lost your footing when you heard his voice, gruff and mellow, across the line. Darlin’ it's me, he'd said, I'm coming home but I've got some business to finish in the city, meet me there. I'm bringing Rosie, you remember him yeah? Said he'll take us dancing at the best jazz spots. I love you Mrs. Crosby. See you soon.

Now you wait in the lobby for your love and his friend.

Minutes tick by as you wait. Maybe the plane was late? Maybe they had to meet somewhere after landing to debrief? Maybe there was a problem with the engine? Just as your maybes started to drown out the chatter and bustle around you a voice rang out.

“Well ho-ly mackerel, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes Mrs. Crosby.”

The sight of your husband had you dashing into his waiting arms. Tears streamed down your face as you kissed him senseless over and over and over. Crosby couldn’t contain his laughter at your reaction, nor did he bother hiding it when he wiped his eyes dry. 

“I’ve missed you so much Bing.”

His forehead rested on yours. “God how I’ve missed you too, Darlin’.” 

Over his shoulder you notice a taller man, stylish moustache and curls neatly gelled into place, attempting to avert his eyes and give your reunion privacy. You were struck by how attractive he was. “Bing?”

“Oh!” Harry takes a step back. “Darlin’ this is Robert Rosenthal - or Rosie as us boys like to call him.”

Rosie gives a toothy smile and holds out his hand for a firm shake; “so nice to meet you, Mrs. Crosby. Croz here has told me all about you.”

Giving your husband a raised eyebrow, you ask “all good things I hope?”

Both men chuckle. “Only the best, ma’am.” 

The three of you settled into your rooms before deciding that a celebration was in order. Rosie commandeered the evening, promising only the best jazz New York had to offer. Drinks flowed, the band jived, and couples danced the night away. 

Night after night, Rosie took you somewhere new. You’d split your time whirling the dancefloor between both your husband and his pilot friend, never satisfied until your feet ached. Harry claimed all the slow dances, nestled up close to your body. But Rosie? He got the fast-paced, jumping, hip swaying swing that Crosby claimed he couldn’t keep up with. Two left feet, he’d claim. Each morning after you slept in the plush, luxurious Ritz bed until lunchtime while they attended to their military duties. 

Friday rolled around. It had been a week of this routine. You should’ve been exhausted, you should’ve wanted to slow down - after all you were no spring chicken anymore. Yet, something about being in the arms of your husband and Rosie as you swayed to Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, and Glen Miller felt so right. 

When the barkeep yelled for “last call” you knew it was time to retire for the evening.

“Say, why don’t you come have a nightcap in our room, Rosie? Crosby asked.

The three of you settle into the living room of the suite assigned to you and your husband. Bing plops into an armchair with a satisfied huff. You join Rosenthal on the loveseat, a respectable distance inbetween. A bottle of whisky sits open on the fireplace mantle. Conversation comes and goes as the trio fall from the high of the night. It’s easy. Almost makes the boys forget the horrors they endured in Europe. 

Around 1am the conversation begins to lull as you finish regaling the group with a story of the shenanigans you and your girlfriends would get up to during university days. “-You think you boys were bad flying all around in your skivvies, but it was nothing compared to us girls that night!” Laughter filled the room until all had let it trickle to a close; the silence was warm like the fireplace embers. Robert sat enraptured by your story, by your beauty, by the thought of you under that blue dress and all your curves. He knew he shouldn’t have noticed…..he was just a man after all. And with the things he’d seen? Could you really blame him?

“How long’s it been Rosie?” The question broke the man’s gaze from you and directed it towards Crosby. He didn’t know it was so obvious. 

Rosie was about to stumble out an answer, an apology for looking at you like that, he doesn’t know, when Croz interrupts again. “When’s the last time you felt the touch of a good woman, Rosie?” Harry waits for an answer. Rosenthal can feel his face heat; he runs his fingers through his hair mussing the curls out of place. This confident Crosby was much bolder than the one he’d met when he first shipped out to the 100th. “Before the war?” There is no judgment in his eyes, no disdain or hesitation towards his comrade as he asks. Rosie shakes his head in affirmation. His glass clinks against the table as he sets it down, whisky unfinished.

Crosby sighs. “Too long.”

“Too damn long…” Rosie agrees in a mumble. 

You sit and watch the boys in rapt attention before meeting Bing's chocolatey eyes. Rosenthal is a good man, a great one from what your husband’s letters proved, and he deserves kindness and softness after all he’s been through. They both do. A delicate hand moves to rest on Rosie’s knee where he sits next to you. His brow furrows. The Major flits his gaze between you and your husband.

In all seriousness Crosby says “It’s alright, I don’t mind.” He tilts his head forward in permission, a silent go ahead. 

The navigator noticed how Rosie looked at you all night, how you returned the glances like a game of chicken. Each admiring but neither willing to do anything about it. How the two of you danced around the club without a care in the world at his insistence. He hadn’t seen Rosie smile like that in ages. He knew you hadn’t laughed like that since before he announced he was heading to the front. You definitely were reveling in the attention of both men tonight. This was never something you had discussed with your husband; somehow you just knew each other well enough even after so long apart to know that it was okay. It was something you both wanted.

Your fingers drifted higher on Rosie’s thigh; not enough to be indecent, but enough to get the message across. His larger palm came to rest atop yours, stopping the movement. “You uh- you’re okay with this?” the Brooklyn native questioned. 

Without hesitation you reassure “I am.” 

In a measured, almost odd approach Rosenthal shifts towards you. His lips hover over your cheek for a moment before the softest kiss brushes your skin. The whiskers of his mustache tickle. You can’t help the grin that threatens to break. He continues to kiss along your cheek, once, twice, thrice, each getting closer to your waiting lips. Finally, his chapped lips meet yours. This kiss is awkward at first as he gathers his bearing, quickly finding a rhythm as if no time had passed since he last kissed a pretty dame.

Crosby sunk deeper into his chair as he watched. He could feel the tell-tale sign of his slacks becoming tighter as he watched his best girl and his best friend. “She loves it when you kiss her neck,” he instructed with that smirk of his. Rosie dragged his lips to your throat. “Little lower-” again he shifted “-right there.” A moan slipped from your parted lips as your body warred with the directions from your husband and the attentions from your lover. 

The room felt stifling. Rosie’s coat, your dress, his shirt, your stockings, his trousers, your brassiere - each fluttered off to the floor one by one. Even Bing had lost his button down. 

The Major guided you onto your back along the couch, trailing open mouthed kisses down your sternum, along your breasts. A moment of clarity passed your mind that your body was different now than the last time you had been made love to, whether by your husband or not, since the baby. Your breasts weren't as pert, your stomach was softer than it used to be. Lips pursed, you let out a small sigh. 

“What’s wrong darlin’?” Bing asked. The navigator leaned towards you, brushing a strand of fallen hair from your face. “You know I can read you better than any map.” Rosie stopped and rested his chin on your abdomen to look up. 

“We can stop,” Rosie offered.

“No, It’s silly…” you tried to brush off.

Both men came to your defense immediately. Looking between the two you finally settle on your husband’s face. “It’s just that… since the last time we saw each other I’m different. My body changed and- I don’t know. I want it to be enough for you. For you both,” you add with a look to Rosie.

Crosby drops from the chair to his knees before you. “My pretty girl.” He kisses you slowly. “We’ve all changed.” From below Rosie adds nothing is the same. “You are still the most beautiful, most incredible, woman I’ve ever seen. Gosh - you’re my wife. Mrs. Crosby! I would fight to the ends of the earth to come home to you.” Softer he adds “I did fight to come home to you… and to bring this flak-happy bastard along too,” he laughed, nudging his elbow at his mate. “Now be a good girl and let us treat you right.” At your nod Rosie resumes his ascent down your waiting body. 

With a flourish your panties are gone, your dripping center exposed to his hungry stare. “What does she like, Croz? Because I'm not stopping until she comes begging all over my tongue.” He licks a deep stripe along your slit. “Sweet as sugar, babydoll.” Gone is the man unsure of himself, and in place is a god amongst men who knows exactly what he wants. It’s all you can do to hold on as Rosie devours you at your husband’s suggestions. Fingers dig into the cushions, tangle into his curls as you writhe under him. 

Rosie puts in his best effort to undo you; your husband saunters up to your face, his pants long forgotten. Cock stiff and ready, dripping with need, he runs the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip. Your teeth nibble at the pad.  “Think you can take me too, darlin’?” A whimpered please is all that comes out.

A cacophony of moans fills the air as your senses are assaulted - Rosie latched to your pussy like a lifeline and your Crosby’s cock deep inside your mouth. “That’s it darlin’, just like that. I bet you missed me, huh? I can tell you did, sweet girl. Fuck I missed you….” 

You gave him everything you had as you licked and sucked at his length. You could have sworn it was bigger than you remembered. He could tell by the look in your eyes you were getting closer, hell he was too. Lord knew he didn’t want to finish like some schoolboy in your lovely mouth. Crosby pulled himself out and you gasped for air. Cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down your temple he turned to his partner. “Use your fingers Rose, drives her wild when you crook them up inside her ‘n don't be afraid to get rough - give her a nip.” He punctuated the end of his command with a nip of his own to your throat. Rosie did exactly as instructed, sending you careening further to the edge and hips bucking.

“Oh- please Rosie- oh god don’t stop-” tumbles out as you start to fall. You swear you feel him humming against your clit as his fingers burn pleasure into your skin.

“That’s it darlin’, just let go for him. Being such a good girl for us,” croons your Bing.

When it all gets too much you gently push him from you. He goes gracefully, dropping chaste kisses to your thighs and hips. Despite feeling like a bowl of jello you remember your purpose tonight - to give Rosie a proper homecoming. 

Sitting up you demand he rid himself of his trousers. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.” 

Just as Rosie goes to cover your body again you place your hand on his broad chest, pushing until he is in a sitting position. You quickly seat yourself over his lap, his length resting against you. Grinding down, he grunts. “Let me take care of you Rosie, it’s okay.” Kissing his temple, the corner of his mouth, his Adam's apple, you repeat “I want to take care of you dear, let me.”

With another roll of your hips he enters you. He feels different than your husband, but no less wonderful. Rosie’s hands land firmly on your hips as you rock above him. He knows he won't last long, you feel too good. “God Croz how do you do it? She’s so- ugh fuck” he grunts, head tossed back as you squeeze his length. 

“I know, Rose, I know. Just like heaven.” Your husband rubs your back as you move.

Rosenthal buries his face in the crook of your neck, his whimpers muffled so that only you can hear. There are no words for him to describe this feeling: the feeling of being comforted, the feeling of warmth, the feeling of home inside you, even if just for tonight. He almost feels a tear spring to his eyes. Circling your arms around his shoulders you remind him that you’ve got him, that he’s safe, that you're here. You pick up the pace as you ride him, bringing him closer and closer to his fate. His pelvis bucks up to meet yours with every roll.

“Honey I- I’m getting real close.”

You seal your lips on his; “I’ve got you, Rosie. I want you to come for me dear.”

With a deep groan he lifts you off his cock, his spend covering your stomachs and lap in a sticky mess. You hold him as he comes down from his high. 

“That was wonderful, thank you…just, thank you.” You kiss him once more; he knows he doesn’t have to thank you for anything, but he does because he’s Rosie. He carefully cleans you of his come with his discarded undershirt.

Crosby drops his lips to the crown of your head, beginning to pull the pins out of your carefully styled hair. “Come here, Darlin’.” He helps to lift you from his colleagues’ lap. “I wanna make love to my wife.” 

In seconds you’re on the floor under Crosby, his cock already buried to the hilt within you. Neither of you move as you both enjoy the feel of each other reunited as husband and wife. Whispered streams of I love you and I missed you and fuck you feel so good tumble from your lips, barely an inch apart. Harry would never need a map to know the curves, the sensitive spots, the constellations of beauty marks on your body - he knew it better in his memory than any map he could chart.

Besides you on the couch Rosie has slumped over to lay down, his arm hanging off towards you. Every breath of your husband’s puffs against your neck, every tickle of hair from across his chest reminds you that he’s here and he’s alive and he’s yours. Emotion overwhelmed you; “Bing, love please, I need you.”

Crosby hitches your thigh up and around his hip; “I’m here Darlin’.” With that he starts to thrust within your walls. His lithe body moves with a power you had nearly forgotten. Each roll of his hips he pounds into you harder, faster, with abandon; his dog tags cool against your breasts where they hung. Harry was a gentle man, but held so much emotion inside. He could let go with you. 

Your next orgasm was building, hotter and faster than the first. Nails raking down your husband’s back, you reached out your other to grab hold of Rosie’s outstretched palm. The slap of skin echoed around the room, mixed with the crackle of the fire and the sound of heaving breaths. 

An inferno raged within you. Every touch, every movement atop you sent sparks down every nerve ending. You didn’t know where you stopped and your husband began. “Fuck Bing mmmm- Harry please-” The rug beneath you rubbed your back raw but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as long as he kept going.

Crosby had his thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit in an instant. “Tell me you’re close, I need you to come Darlin’.” You couldn’t catch your breath so you nodded the best you could while squeezing the life out of Rosie’s fingers.  

Another snap of his hips and you’re gone, obliterated. Everything felt euphoric and white-hot. Crosby follows suit, his release filling you and your name on his tongue. Bruises will surely linger on your thighs. 

There you lay, tangled in the afterglow, your loving husband above you stroking his knuckles against your side and your new lover’s hand in yours. No words needed to be spoken. The moment you shared would be seared into your mind forever playing on repeat. God forbid another crisis happened that would ship your boys out and away from you - yet if it did you would hold on to tonight like a talisman. It had been a long four years, and longer so for them. But the war was won, with spoils a plenty. 

Finally. 

Lips meeting your Bing’s sweat-slicked forehead, your grip on Rosenthal tightens. “Welcome home my boys, welcome home.”  

Tags: @sagesolsticewrites @winniemaywebber @sailorscuttle @thirstyvampyr @hellfirequinnie @lorna-d-m

[mingi-s-dimples]

Can I request a yeosang x reader smut where she's hurt during the concert and waits outside and Yeosang spots her and takes her to the Hotel he's staying in but she's bleeding and he wants to see the would( it's on her side where her bra is) so he bluntly asks her to take off her top and bra etc?

Please make it to where they have intercourse and she's a shy one. So when she squirts she gets really really embarrassed

perfect opportunity - yeosang

REQUEST BY: anon

pairing: bf!yeosang x gf fem!reader

rating: 18+

genre: slight idol au, romance, some fluff, smut (not filth)

summary: you get hurt at the concert, but that only ends up being a nice and wanted opportunity for the two of you.

WC: 2k

warnings: bf!yeosang, gf fem!reader, first time intercourse, cumming, squirting, some nice fluff here and there, mentions of blood (reader got hurt at the concert), lil bit of overstim (reason of reader squirting), pet names, smut (def not filth), aftercare ☹️🤍, completely consensual!, unprotected (WRAP UP IRL!), unedited, probably forgot something.

Author's Note: this was really nice to write actually. Anon. I hope you'll enjoy it! I loved to build up the crumb of plot for this one, I absolutely loved the circumstance they were in. I hope I'll see you around more, anon! (Also anon 💭, I didn't forget about you!!!!!! It's in my drafts 😇)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The energy in the venue was electrifying, with thousands of fans cheering, their voices blending into one thunderous roar. The lights danced across the stage, illuminating Yeosang as he performed with the effortless grace that always took my breath away. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, captivated by the way he commanded the stage. His presence was magnetic, and the crowd responded to every move he made.

As the beat of the music intensified, the crowd surged with excitement. People around me started jumping, their enthusiasm contagious. But in the chaos, I suddenly felt a sharp push from behind. My body jolted forward, and I stumbled, my chest colliding with the barrier beside me. Pain radiated through my side, sharp and sudden, catching me off guard. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and the noise of the concert started to feel distant, almost muffled.

Knowing I needed to get some air, I carefully made my way out of the crowd, each step feeling heavier than the last. The moment I stepped outside, the cool night air hit me, wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. It was a chilly night, the kind of August evening where the heat of the day fades into a crisp, refreshing breeze. Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help but appreciate the night’s coolness; I had always loved these chilled nights in August, where the air was cool enough to wake you up but not cold enough to make you shiver.

Leaning against the wall outside the venue, I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The pain in my chest was still there, a dull ache now, but the dizziness was beginning to fade. The distant hum of the concert was still audible, and I smiled faintly, thinking of Yeosang on stage, hoping he hadn’t noticed my absence.

*about an hour later*

As I was sitting on the bench, at the back of the stadium where the boys would come from, far away from the main entrance and the public, I saw someone rushing over to me. It was Yeosang.

"Baby, what happened, hm?" he said catching his breath. "I suddenly couldn't see you in your spot and I panicked. Are you okay?" he said, looking worried.

"Yes, yes. Nothing to worry about. We were jumping and I was pushed and hit the barricade rail, hurt my side a bit but I promise I'm okay! I just got out to get some air and that's all" you said, trying to reassure him.

"Hey, let me see" Yeosang mumbled, trying to get you to move your hand. You did as he wanted and he saw a bloddy spot on your side, still a bit wet, meaning the injury was still open.

"BABE JESUS WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S OKAY?!" Yeosang shouted, hugging you thightly. "Let's go to the hotel, let me see the wound there, alright?"

"Mhm, okay. Let's go, baby."

*several minutes later*

"Here baby, let me see" Yeosang said approaching you after closing the door.

"Where is the injury, hm? Tell me babe" he said willing to help you.

"On my right side, here" you claimed, tapping on your torso, right besides your bra.

"Oh, there? Take your shirt off"

"Hm?"

"Take it off, let me see"

"Uh, okay sure"

You were confused at how adamantly he was asking you to undress yourself, but he was your boyfriend anyways. Matter of fact, the two of you haven't been in a relationship for too long. You only officialised it about 2 months ago, both of you being really shy about it and all. Like, you knew he liked you and he also knew you liked him, but it was so hard for him to confess to you at first. You gave him a nod, softly blushing at the situation you were in. He took of your shirt, leaving you in your bra in front of him. He gulped at the view, himself shy and hesitant, but you gave him a soft kiss and he felt more confident. After all, it was the first time he has seen you like... this. You were feeling a bit aroused, not knowing what would happen next if you gave him the idea of having sex with him for the first time. But you waited.

He froze for a moment, watching you contently. He hovered his eyes over your collarbones, then over your shoulders. His gaze darkened upon seeing your cleavage, chest rising with slow and steady breaths. He slowly approached your body with his hands, almost scared to touch you, thinking he might make you uncomfortable. He unbuckled your bra, letting it fall by itself from your chest. His hands stopped at your waist, squeezing it tightly.

"Ah, fuck" he mumbled, looking down at his pants, a tent forming. His flushed face, he was trying to look you in your eyes but he couldn't.

"I'm so s-sorry, babe. I don't know what's gotten into me" he said rapidly, flustered.

"No, no, don't worry! Actually I-uh.. was enjoying it as much as y-you were" the words came out of your mouth, his eyes searching yours.

Yeosang tried to continue without thinking about the situation in.. that way. "Give me a bandaid, I already disinfected it. Let me stick it".

"Oh, yes sure. Here"

He lifted your arm, the wound exactly on the side of your chest, under the place where your bra would be supposed to sit. He slowly but firmly tapped the bandaid, making sure it was stuck completely. Then, his hands went to your thighs, rubbing them slowly up and down, trying to say something.

"Uh, -h, baby."

"Y-yes? you mumbled.

"C-can I?" he said, closing the gap between the two of you, his hands traveling politely, gently on your body.

"Y-yes, Yeo" you said and went in for a kiss, which he deepened in a second. A slow, lustful kiss, more of a longed one. You knew he might have wanted to do this for a while, but both of you were so shy, neither of you could make a step. But this was an opportunity he didn't let go of and gave in.

"Are you sure? T-tell me if you want me to stop" he whispered, putting you slowly on the bed, a pillow under your waist and him on top of you, inspecting every part of your fair body. His hands were travelling, from your collarbones, to your waist and to your thighs, then again up to your chest, softly fondling with your breasts. You could feel his hands slightly trembling, himself being so shy about it, that you could've laughed. But the next move threw you off a bit, as his right hand went to your pants, slowly unbuttoning them. You could feel how arousal was pooling in your panties, feeling the urge to close your legs for some friction, but as soon as you were left only in your panties in front of your boyfriend, your chest rose with a relieved sigh.

"B-babe you're so.. pretty and.. beautiful" your boyfriend stuttered, trying to unbuckle his pants, but fumbled two times. He was staring at you, no wonder he failed. He was eating you up on the spot with his stare. When he finally undressed himself and was only left in his briefs, you gulped at the sight. He was big, you didn't know what to expect before this exact moment, but you were... pleasantly surprised.

He then approached you, his crotch softly brushing over your thigh as he got to your panties, pulling them down. He then froze for a moment, debating what to do. He approached you with a soft but deep kiss, then he left kisses all the way from your neck and collarbones, to you belly and your thighs. He looked at you contently for a moment.

"C-can I?" he said, refering to what he wanted to do all night since you've met and saw you like that.

"Y-yes, please Yeosang"

He didn't hesitate. His right hand went between your thighs, softly rubbing your wet folds. He was still looking at you from time to time, to make sure you're doing good. You gave him a nod of approval and he pushed two of his fingers inside, receiving a soft moan from your slowly rosing chest. He was working his way in, shy at first but slowly getting more confident, he was prepping you up for himself, taking his time.

"A-are you ready?" he mumbled, shy and almost quiet enough to not hear him. He went in for a kiss, guiding his length to you cunt, pushing himself in, slowly but surely. He let you get used to his size, then with slow thrusts he closed the gap between the two of you. Your legs were over his, leaving room for him to bottom down with every thrust. He was still deep in the kiss, feeling your soft moans revebrating through his body, sending shivers down his spine. It hurt, you woulnd't lie but.. it felt so good at the same time. You were making love with your lovely boyfriend, feeling his love and sweetness radiating from his body. His pace got a little faster, one of his hands on your waist and one on your back, he lifted you up to sit on him. He was hugging you thightly, all touchy on your back, feeling up every inch of your soft skin.

"Ngh-h Yeo, I t-think I'm close" you tried to mumble, your breath hitching with every thrust. His length hit your sweet spot every time, sending shivers through your whole body. Your chest rose with every breath and whine you let out, feeling how the heat in your belly was getting tighter and tighter. When he bottomed down again, you felt yourself trembling under his grasp, creaming on his dick, feeling it twitching inside you. He slowed down his thrusts for a moment, giving you time to catch your breath. He then suddenly sped them up a bit, your face rose with confusion.

"I k-know you've finished, babe" Yeosang whispered.

"But I' didn't so-" he stopped for a moment "I also want to finish" he mumbled, his voice rumbling and sending shivers down your spine.

You could feel your high building up again, his dick hitting all your right spots and his pelvic bone also hitting your clit whenever he completely bottomed out. But in the end it wasn't your... high that you were catching. Yeosang thrusted into you a couple more times, holding onto you for closure and finally came, still fucking you through his orgasm, but slowly. Suddenly, you could feel how overstimulated and overwhelmed you were and when he bottomed out for the last time, you squirted all over him.

"Oh- my fucking god"

"I'm so s-sorry Yeosang" you mumbled embarrassed, trying to get off of him.

"What are you sorry for? You... squirted, that's all" he reassured you, but you weren't quite.. content with what happened.

"H-how could this happen... oh my god" you burried your forehead in the nape of his collarbones, you didn't want your eyes to meet his.

"Babe, relax. It's normal. I should be sorry for overstimulating you after you came, that wasn't very nice of me, but you felt so good... I had to finish" he said, giving you soft forehead kisses.

The two of you stayed like that for a minute, feelings overwhelming you with how loved you were by him, by your boyfriend. He then got up and washed you up, then tucked you in bed. He did the same and while you were waiting for him, the only thought that was racing through your mind was how long he must have waited for you to have courage, but you were so happy to finally give in.

He then came in the bed and tucked himself in, turned on a random movie on the tv and stroked your hair and forehead to sleep.

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