YOUR HEAD IS hung low, staring aimlessly into the cup of coffee that held the smallest bit of creamer in it, so much so that it might well have been absent of it. and your body was hot, dumbly clad in all black mixing with the heat from the sun that the umbrella placed in the middle of the cafe’s outside table didn’t help much with covering you from the rays. your phone was faced down on to the very same table, buzzing every few minutes but you didn’t have the energy to check who or what was sitting on your screen.
self-isolation that you had proclaimed as much needed solitude to anyone who asked had been consuming your life the past month and a half.
your emotions were a never ending track and your body seemed to be controlled by some machine that just wouldn’t let it stop running. back and forth and back and forth you thought with your head then your heart, and somewhere in between they became so meshed together that you didn’t know which was which. you didn’t know wether to feel helpless, enraged, confused, or just outright ‘sad’—or maybe everything and nothing all at once.
maybe everything you were feeling was so intense that a dark box with a crank formed inside of you and day and night the crank wound up on it’s own and out popped your heart and sanity.
but most of all, what stuck to your whole body in the way that venom does to spider-man was the yearning, the longing, the complete and total surrender of the feeling when you miss someone. when as soon as you wake up, you check your phone and tell yourself you won’t check if they have called or texted but you know deep down that’s all you hoped for. when you just…miss their laugh, their cute little quirks—it’s different than just missing the memories of someone, it’s just wanting them to be around you even if they’re not with you.
just a chance to see them.
that’s how you felt about nikki.
all you wanted was nikki and nothing more. even if she were on someone else’s arm, didn’t dare look at you—all you wanted was to just feel like you were in the same world as her, just for a second.
you don’t understand and can’t wrap your head around how you could be together for so long, for three and a half years to be exact, for one day her emotions just completely turn off for you and click on for baron or ‘bear,’ the guy who you had the strongest distaste for in the world—or universe for that matter.
you understand the whole being friends with someone and accidentally falling for them. you can’t help it, no one can necessarily control how they feel about a person. but bear took it to another level. you seen it instantly when you first started hanging out with nikki, before you started dating, when you had met her by what you wouldn’t even say was by chance but was supposed to happen when you first moved to san fernando, mindlessly walking the streets before stumbling upon a record store where you had not been even the prettiest girl but a vision of a woman. and after pretending to search for a guitar with the help of her you just mustered up the courage to ask for her number, which of course she gave.
after texting non-stop for what felt like a month but were really a week, she confidently invited you out at a trivia night she said she often went to with her friends. immediately you seen how bear hovered over her with that stupid wide-eyed gaze he looked upon her with that would be more creepy than it already were if he was some random guy. how every time you hung out with nikki he was texting her every minute wether it be some dumb brainrot meme or how was your day? what are you up? hang today?
you could see in his mind it wasn’t just some deepened crush but rather it was that he and nikki were already together—that somewhere, somehow she felt the same. and you were never jealous or insecure around their friendship or him in general, it just disgusted you how entitled he felt to her, all of her. her time, space, energy, attention. the look he gave you when nikki held your hand, ditched hang outs to be by your side, looked at you to drive her home—every time he looked your way he just always seemed to be trying to in someway kill you with his mind. or just flat out secretly planning to kill you with his hands.
it was utterly childish and disgusting, but you were not and would never try and dictate who nikki could be friends with. plus, she always reassured you she would never even look his way, that he was nothing more than someone she seen like a brother to her and part or most of the reason she kept him around was because they had been friends for so long at that point. and truth be told sometimes, when it go too much, she’d express to you how ridiculous and uncomfortable his hovering made her.
but the one night, the actual one night where you decide you just want to stay home and nikki decides to go out without you, the one night when bear drives her home—everything changes.
you had been waiting up, nodding in and out of sleep but you hadn’t seen nikki since early that afternoon; and as clingy as it sounds you wanted to be up when she got back home, to kiss her and listen to her talk about her day/night out, no matter how tired you were. you expected her to come home, call out your name to see if you were still up while she were by the door, taking off the boots you seen her leaving in before coming into the living room to find you sprawled out on the couch. she would ask you why you were still like she always did when you wasted late hours being a night owl, but she didn’t.
if anything, she were deathly silent when she came through the door. so silent in fact you didn’t even hear her come in, you just sensed her presence as it scared you out of your sleepy daze, causing you to jump and lift up from the couch cushions.
“you scared me,” you voice is groggy as you eye the girl who weirdly seemed to be in a daze, just standing there, boots still on.
“you okay? how was trivia night?”
“it was uh,” she stiffly blinks a few times. “it was good.”
“you seem tired?”
“i just uh, i think i had too many drinks.” immediately you stand from the couch, ready to get her water, aspirin, help her take her uncomfortable clothes off—whatever she needed.
“you need anything? water? want me to grab a change of clothes?”
“no, no, i’m fine—it’s just, i don’t know…can we just go to bed?”
“of course, come on.”
that night you waited until she fell asleep to go to sleep on your own, well you somewhat got sleep because through the night nikki kept going back and forth from cuddling with you to pushing you away, back to cuddling with you but you assumed she must just be overheated from the drinks she had. you just assumed she had been in a daze from being drunk.
but the next day things got even stranger, well, in the morning everything was as it should be at first. she woke up with a kiss, told you good morning, urged you to stay in bed a little longer—but once you both started getting ready for the day, you offered to make her tea and out of nowhere she snapped on you.
“hey, baby,” you call out. “i’m making tea, you want any?”
“no,” you jump a little, thinking she were still in the bathroom but she creepily had been behind you in the open concept doorway of the kitchen.
“why would i want tea? especially from you.”
“what?” you’re taken back by her sudden hostility.
“what?”
“are you okay? are you upset or something—”
“no,” her face creases. “i’m sorry. i don’t know why i—”
“it’s okay,” you draw out, a little suspicious of this subtle, yet noticeable behavior change.
“you always do get a little moody in the morning, but we should get going, i have to drop you off then head to work.”
“actually, bear’s gonna pick me up.”
“oh.”
“i don’t wanna make you late is all, plus, me and bear start at the same time today.”
you didn’t think much of it than, really, you didn’t. it was true that you had been late to work twice that week due to dropping nikki off at the music store which was all the way on the other side of town from your job at som janky coffee shop, but once the occurrence happened three days in a row it rubbed you the wrong way. and it wasn’t just that—when you and nikki planned a dinner date she blew you off for bear, then came home acting like she hadn’t remembered any of it. you asked her to watch a movie, just the two of you, alone on a thursday night, she asks if bear can join—you reluctantly agreed.
then came the fighting.
“you’ve been icing me out, nikki. i asked you out, i asked to spend time with you and you’re blowing me off for bear.”
“he’s my friend, y/n!” her eyes cut sharp into you, through the mirror of her vanity.
“i can’t help it if you’re jealous!”
your heart is pounding so loud you can hear it in your ears but you remained leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest as you try your best to hold your natural tone, unlike her raising one.
“i’m not jealous, nikki. i trust you. i’m just trying to understand what’s gotten into you lately. you’ve been mean, picking fights, avoiding me—and it doesn’t make it better when you blow me off for a guy who we all know is in love with you, borderline obsessed with you.”
“that’s literally the definition of being jealous. why, y/n, why are you so jealous? what’s gotten into you? it’s not like i’m sleeping with him?”
a sharp breath leaves your mouth before your brain can even process it, “what?”
her head whips around, her eyes blinking a few times, the same weird way they had been for the past week like she’s coming out of some trance.
“you win, nikki. i’ll make sure to leave the door unlocked for you.” you turn your heel, feet bare as you move as fast as you can into the living room and away from her but it’s so no use as she’s following you, her heels clicking behind you.
“y/n, i’m sorry—”
“i don’t want to talk right now, nikki. enjoy your night out.”
“baby, please,” she pleads, following the path you lead as your take a seat on the couch, head hanging low with your hands to support them.
she crouches down in front of you, “i’m sorry. i—i don’t know what’s happening to me, i don’t know what’s going on and it’s making me feel crazy.”
“what are you talking about, nikki?”
“i don’t know how to explain it…”
“then don’t. not tonight at least,” your gaze shifts to her own, her eyes glossy as they threaten to spill.
“i don’t want to hear it. you’ve said enough tonight.”
“i—i won’t go out, just please…”
and though she spent that night apologizing, crying in your arms about how she weirdly felt how sometimes she had no control over herself or her own body, it didn’t really matter much because two days after that she were right back to be cruel—telling you that you were clingy and slamming the door in your face as she rushed to bear’s shitbox car.
you tried to make sense out of all that’d been happening, you thought maybe she were getting bored of the healthy covey you had build together—maybe she needed to run off and be wild for a little, and you never thought she would but if that meant cheating on you with bear then so be it, because truth is you loved her so much, you would pathetically sit at home and wait for her to come back into your arms and cry and beg and tell you how much she missed you, how sorry she was, how she only wanted to be with you.
but that day never came, instead the opposite came.
she broke up with you over text, not a paragraph, not a two hour long voice memo but rather a i want to be with bear. it’s over.
and the worst part is, she didn’t even take the time to gather her things—all of it were still in the place the way she had left, like she were still here with you and you were too crumbled to move it.
you texted sarah asking her what was going on and to your surprise she was just was weirded out as you—saying how creepy it was that out of nowhere nikki can’t keep her hands off bear, how they’re always on dates, she packs him lunch. and ian, well, ian was just an asshole and though he thought it was bizarre, he took the time to crack a joke about how bear of all people managed to steal your girlfriend away from you.
and your gut was telling something was deeply wrong but who were you to go and beg for nikki, to go to bear’s house and have her open the door while wearing one of his shirt and have her tell you she didn’t want you there.
and you would let go if you could, you would take the highs with the lows and just be heartbroken for months on end before just letting it go—before just walking around thinking and accepting that she had just been in love with him all along, finally realized it, dumped you and was just too chicken to face come and get her things and face you. but one night, two weeks after she’d broken up with you, she called you one night and though she didn’t say anything—it twisted something deep inside you with a gaping pit of worry.
your face shoved into the pillow, you reach beside you with aimlessness to grab the phone that buzzed beside you—stupidly you pick up the phone without checking what time it were or who was calling.
“hello?” you groan out to which you get no answer.
“hello? who is this?” you pull the phone from your ear, squinting at the bright light, but ultimately pausing in a chaos of emotions when you read the caller id name.
nikki <3
“nikki?” in an instant you sit up. “are you okay?”
still she doesn’t say anything, the tone going click.
you immediately called sarah after that, despite it being well over dawn—you urged her about nikki and if she were okay, or if she had heard from her. and her response didn’t make you feel any better because the last time she had seen nikki was at ian’s party that passed weekend that you deliberately missed out on—she told you nikki had read some twisted poem, acted out when they were playing a game and bear to kiss sarah, she even smashed her face in pretty bad.
it’s safe to say you didn’t sleep for the rest of that night.
and even though you were sleep deprived, as soon as cassall’s opened you drove your car like a madman up to the store; whee of course, nikki had off that day but bear didn’t.
“where is she?” in a haste you walk up to the counter where he pathetically stood.
“i don’t think that’s any of your busine—”
“is it my business. what happened at that party? she smashed her own face in? you know she called me last night right? so, where the hell is she?”
he shakes his head, “she wouldn’t call you. she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
of course that’s the head on thing he chooses to respond to.
“i didn’t know what fucking game you’re playing, bear but you’re not going to win. you’re pathetic and a fucking loser, you have nothing going for you in life and never will, so stop trying to ruin her’s.”
“look, man,” he reaches out to place a hand on your shoulder but you quickly swat it away.
“i get it, i’d be acting the same way too if i lost nikki freeman but you need to get a grip. she doesn’t love you, she loves me.”
you don’t even think, and maybe you should have but he deserves it when you reach up with full force and sock him right in the nose.
“fuck you.” you storm away, pushing the glass doors open so hard they might as well have broken.
“did you want a refill?”
you snap from your thought, the waitress now standing behind you with coffee pot in hand.
“uh, no thank you, just the check.”
“just a second.”
“thank you.” is all you mange to utter before she walks away.
it just doesn’t make sense, no matter how many ways you try to put it—you knew nikki, even if she did have feelings for bear she wouldn’t treat you this way even if you were a stranger. it’s nikki freeman we’re talking here.
nikki-fucking-freeman.
she had this laugh that was soft, yet squeaked loud in a weird way to made you contagiously laugh too. not to mention this smile that made you smile too, you couldn’t resist it—it looked like it belonged in a crest toothpaste commercial how it shined with pearl like white and were perfectly aligned. her cheekbones were sharp but also contrastingly soft, almost like they were handcraft and they were so cute you just want to pinch them. and her voice, god her voice it was like silk to the ears, she could read the most boring sentence and somehow keep your drawn in just because it were her speaking, just because it was the sound of her soft, delicate, and giving voice.
her eyes were dark and sparkly, they intimidated you but you also didn’t want to look away from them because they were so captivating; they were doe-like and she always looked like she was holding a secret behind them that you wanted to know.
her heart definitely had to be pure. it had to be by how she embodied the definition of someone who is truly selfless, doing things just because she felt it were the right, kind thing to do and expecting nothing in return. nikki, she was the type of girl who pulled the last twenty dollars from her pocket and gave it to a homeless man without a second thought. she was the type of friend who would answer your call no matter what time of day or night and listen to you, be there for you, even if she had an early shift at work. she went out of her way for others and didn’t even think about it, or hesitate. she’d drive you to work even with the last bit of gas in her tank and no idea how she would refill it.
she’d keep your secrets and take them to the grave. if she knew you liked someone, she’s the one to be your wingwoman. she hugged you when you were breaking down and somehow be this force of nature to make it all better with simple yet poetic words.
humorous, stylish, wickedly smart, and not to mention talented to the bone—like to type of talented that would take her places and open up her heart full of big dreams she carried.
point is, nikki was the type of girl you wanted around you all the time. she was the company you didn’t have to second guess. she was someone who made you want to be around her all the time without even noticing it.
she wouldn’t yell at you, she wouldn’t slam doors in your face, she wouldn’t break up with you over text—and she damn sure wouldn’t psychotically smash her face in at some party, no matter how intoxicated she was. she wouldn’t fucking date bear for crying out loud. if she were going to leave you for anyone it wouldn’t be baron bailey.
“here’s the check,” the blonde slides the small tin tray that held a receipt and pen on it onto the table.
“just sign when you’re do—” the default tone of your phone running cuts the waitress off.
“got it, thank you,” you politely dismiss her as your reach for the phone.
nikki <3
you answer with the speed of light, “nikki?”
“y/n.” her voice is weak and faint but you can still make out your name from her lips.
“are you okay?”
“i love you,”
“i love you too, nik. what’s going on?”
“it’s not me,” your brows furrow with her cryptic words. “i’m not there, i’m not the one with bear. it’s not really me.”
“what—what do you mean it’s not really you? where are you, nikki?”
“no,” her voice cuts sharp. “you can’t come here, it’s not safe, y/n.”
“i don’t care, nikki, just tell me what’s going on—did he hurt you?”
warning(s): none. fluff. not proofread. takes place after cowboys and angels.
index: We should stay right here
We should lay right here
'Cause everything is okay right here
AS SHE AWOKE, before her eyes even opened, nikki reached her arm out to the right side of the bed, hoping to grab hold of your body but instead was met with the feeling of the ruffled sheets—the side of her bed your normally occupied or had been occupying for the last two days was empty; this immediately made her eyes shoot open, brows furrowing in question. she turns to the bedside nightstand and grabs her phone, clicking on it to read the time: nine AM on the dot and a few texts from bear, one from sarah.
but she doesn’t take the time to check any of the notifications on her screen, she flips the comforter off do her body and slings her feet off of the bed, her bare soles meeting the cold hardwood floor; she were only dressed in one of your oversized gym shirts that she refused to give back; not to mention the very messy bun her hair was up into. she sets out to find you, but not before grabbing the glasses she never wore outside the comfort of her home that were laid by her phone.
her bedroom door was cracked open already, she amused first you may be cooking breakfast but she doesn’t smell any aromas in the air, nor does she find you when she meets the kitchen. and she knows you’re not in the living room because well, it were open concept. she thought about checking the bathroom but also ruled that hiding spot out when she notices her front door wide open, the screen door shut though.
taking firms steps she walks towards the door and looks either way, out onto the street and sidewalk before spotting you on the left side of the porch in one of the old wooden chairs, small table in front of you and laptop open as you type away on it.
“hiding from me?” she peeks her head out of the now open screen door.
you look up, unsurprised at her sudden presence. “how’d you find me? i was planning on ditching you actually.”
“wow,” she holds fake and sarcastic hurt on her face, brining her hands to her chest in an offended motion.
“a hit it and quit it? is that all i am to you?”
“trust, if that were the case i would’ve left a long time ago.”
“okay, asshole.” she strides forward, striking you on your arm.
“ow! stop abusing me, meany.”
a deadpanned look, “that did not hurt.”
“yes it did! i think you gave me a boo-boo!”
“are you—are you mocking me?”
“mocking you? i’ll have you know a very pretty girl said that to me before kissing me.” you tease, reaching for her you grab her waist, gently pulling her to your lap.
“anyways,” her eyes roll. “what are you working on?”
“just turning in some last minute assignments.” well you were at least before she had woken up, now you’re full attention is on her.
“mhm,” she leans into your body while wrapping her arm around your shoulders.
“you’re working on homework when we’re supposed to be spending the weekend together, celebrating our anniversary?”
you beam a taunting yet science smile, “i’m a great multitasker.”
“i can’t believe it’s been a year.”
“a year and three days to be exact.”
“you’re such a geek.”
“a geek whom you spent years fawning over, need i remind you?”
wordlessly she rolls her eyes as you continue, “but hey, i get a best friend and a girlfriend in one so i’m not complaining. especially because yearly i get to remember you showing up at my place drunk, confessing your undying love to me.”
“what can i say? i’m an writer, we’re ones for the dramatic.”
you hadn’t slept at all, and by the time your body seemed to be giving out from mental and emotional exhaustion the sun were already coming and nikki were stirring out of her own slumber beside you—but you had already had everything covered, after pacing around non-stop after holding her until she fell asleep, you made sure to grab aspirin to have it on deck for this moment.
“hey…” her greeting is meek and raspy.
“morning,” your voice is just as timid, if not more than her’s.
“how are you feeling?”
“like a train hit me. i have a headache with a bite.”
you lean over to your bedside table, grabbing the two pills. “here, i’ll grab you some water.”
“thank you.”
you give a small ‘mhm’ before moving from the bed, into the kitchen for only two seconds to retrieve a cold bottled water from the fridge.
“i won’t ambush you yet, but, uh, we should talk.”
“yeah…i think we should talk now. it’s only a hangover, i’ve had many so i’ll survive.”
you take a small seat on the bed, your back turned to her as you rub your hands together in a motion to try and soothe whatever nerves rose in you.
“so, uh, you said a lot last night—”
“i know and i’m sorry i just laid it on y—”
“nikki,” turning your body to the side, you face her, making eye contact that seemed scary.
“just—let me finish.” she nods.
“i love you. that’s the obvious here, that—that i feel the same way you do. but i want you to know, i don’t just love because you kissed me or because we slept together. truth is, i think ive always loved you and—and i pushed it down, so far away that i couldn’t see it because i was so scared that you didint feel the same. so scared that i ruin our friendship. whatever happens between us that’s the first thing i need you to know,”
you take a moment to exhale, running your hands through your hair in a soothing motion all while the brunette stares at you with unreadable things in her eyes.
“the second thing i need you to know is, i would never use who you are against you. i know who you are inside and out and i love you because of that. i know you’re scared, i know people like bear, who have some supped up imagine of you and feel entitled to you and your time have you scares but all i ever want is you to be okay, nikki. for you to be happy and i—i would love to be the one to make you happy but im not going to push you to vulnerable when you’re not ready. and—and i wasn’t jealous that night at the party, sure it hurt me but i know that things between us had you messed up and i didn’t want you to make a mistake because of it. i care about you, nikki, strings or not; friends or more, or nothing at all i care about you.”
“fuck,” she hisses, dabbing the crevasses of her eyes that threatened to spill tears.
“when’d you become so emotionally intelligent?”
a breath-ful laugh escapes you, nodding your head at nikki freeman’s inability to be completely serious, no matter the situation.
“it’s my turn to talk, so…you just listen,”
“ok,” you nod, your eyes unable to leave her face.
“i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i was such a dick to you, and that i pushed you away. i mean—i was scared and you know, as i so sloppily proclaimed last night but—that didn’t give me the right to just act like your feelings were nonexistent in this too,” she waves her finger between the two of you.
“and just because i was feeling the way i was doesn’t give me the right to treat you the way i did. i was cold you when i was the person to start all of this in the first place. i—i didn’t even know i could act like that, especially to you out of all people—”
“it’s okay—”
“just listen,” she warns. “so, i’m sorry, y/n. you didn’t deserve the cold shoulder and you didn’t deserve me deliberately kissing other people in front of you just to get a rise out of you. so, now that that’s out of the way,”
she takes a breath as you had when you were speaking, “i meant everything i said last night. i do love you, y/n, and im in love with you. i think ive been in love with you since we were like fourteen. and i don’t know where this leaves us or will take us but i want you in my life regardless—regardless of how scary it is to me, regardless of we’re friends or more. all i know is you’re the one thing that’s remained constant and i want to keep it that.”
“i want it to stay that way too.” it’s almost a whisper from your lips.
“good,” nervously she bites the inside of her cheek. “so, where does this leave us?”
“i—i’m willing to give this a try if you are—i mean obviously we take it slower this time but…”
“slower, yeah, i’d like that.”
“though, i don’t know how slow we’re going because you’re already in my bed.”
she lets out a short laugh, “yeah…sorry i just showed up.”
“no, no, i loved it. the whole breaking the silence, drunk confession, very, uh, cinematic and romantic.”
moving the comforter, she shoots closer to your side of the bed, a wide and teasing smile on her lips as she places a hand on your shoulder.
“does taking it slower involve no kissing yet?”
“mhm,” eyes flickering down to her lips. “i’m sure we can make an exception or two.”
“did you ever plan on telling me you liked me? i mean like before the kiss, when we’re kissed and you realized.”
“mhm, no,” she leans her head onto your shoulder, you hands firmly in her waist and laptop long forgotten about as you two recall that night from a year ago.
“but, you remember that party, jack morson threw freshman year?” you nod. “well, remember when we were all playing spin the bottle and you had a huge crush on lexi martin—“
“oh, lexi martin, how could i forget—”
“anyways! when you spun that bottle i prayed so hard that it would land on me but when it landed on her, i was jealous. i had my second period with her and heard her talking to her friends about she liked you, sooo i may or may not have threatened to kill her cat if she didn’t stay way from you.”
“nikki freeman,” you shake your head in joking disapproval. “you are one wicked woman.”
“says the one who knocked out a frat guy for me.”
“hey! that was different.”
“admit it, you were a little jealous.”
“i plead the fifth.” in a playful manner she leans deeper into your neck, biting it.
“ouu, you wanna do this on your porch? for all your neighbors to see?”
“okay, miss,” she shuffles up from your embrace. “i’m gonna go maw breakfast, you turn in your homework so you can spend time with your girlfriend.”
“sir, yes, sir!”
wordlessly she takes strides back to the front door, only turning to give you two middle fingers. you on the other hand go back to your laptop, which it doesn’t take you long to finish up whatever work you had left to you; after fixing a few typos on a paper and taking a short quiz you’re following in the direction she led, taking the device with you and aimlessly laying it on the kitchen table.
you smile to yourself, eyes going over nikki as her back do turned, attention on the eggs she cracked into a bowl.
“i love you.” you mindlessly confess causing her to turn her head, a small smile on her lips.
“come here,” she holds her hand and it’s pathetically cute how shamelessly fast you go for it.
she leans up, placing a chaste kiss on her lips, immediately you flow into it and wrap your hands around her waist; the feeling of the shirt she wore soft under your fingertips, just as the way her lips felt on yours—soft and somehow just made to fit yours if you had to be the judge of it.
“we should make pancakes—ou, better yet fluffy ones with blueberries.”
“you’re kissing me and thinking about pancakes?”
“you’re body is soft like pancakes and sweet like them too—”
“okay,” her hand finds a home in the center of your chest. “i’ll work on the eggs, you mix the pancakes.”
“you’re wish is my command.” you give her one more kiss.
Helloooo could you perchance write a Nikki freeman x reader in which reader is like bears cousin(or sibling) and they are childhood friends. Reader is trying to help bear confess his love (giving him better advice than Ian did 😭😭) but reader also has a crush on Nikki but they haven’t told anyone about it. Maybe Nikki also has like a crush on reader :))
treat you better ⸝⸝ nikki freeman
content && warnings. fluff, light profanity, bear is mentioned as older than nikki in this, bear is your older brother, fem!reader but i'm pretty sure this can be read by anybody, 4.3k words.
courrier. this took so long, forgive me!! i hope you enjoy this either way, also i did get a little lazy near the end im sorryyyy, happy reading 🩷
queue. treat you better, shawn mendes
“god, i can't do it.”
bear might as well have turned pacing in the living room an olympic sport at this point. he'd been walking back and forth for who knows how long, hands running through his hair every now and then just to tug at the strands and only serve to make him even frustrated and stressed.
he's said those same four words about a million times in the past thirty minutes that you've been here.
i can't do it.
if you're being honest, with how much he's spoke it out loud, he's almost convinced you that he can't do it either. well… whatever he's talking about, you mean, because you can't even remember the topic at hand with how long this has been going on.
all you remember is the guy knocking on your door and barging in the moment he realized you actually opened the door for him. so essentially, he broke in and you both just called it a day.
okay, wait.
now that you're retracing your steps, you think you might remember what your older brother is blabbering about.
“dude, you've said that ten times already,” you finally snap, exasperated at his nonstop murmuring.
bear doesn't pay you any mind, not with his eyes, at least.
“i've said it thrice.”
thrice?
jeez, this kid is really going through it.
those few words only confirmed what you thought was bugging him is exactly what's making him act so stupid.
he's in love, and as much as it pains you to give it to him—your blood brother—of all people, he's the one who came to you begging for advice on how to ask a girl on a date. that certain someone, however, is his coworkers who he sees almost every single day of the week, which would make it awkward if he fucked it up.
huh.
maybe that's why he came to you. he knows you won't lead him down a path that results in failure of any kind.
that kinda makes you feel a little bit better about giving him dating advice.
eugh. okay, maybe not that much, but him coming to you is a compliment in itself. or you think it is, at least. the only time he's ever come to you for something is either for money or a favor.
“thrice isn't a word, dummy,” you deadpan, tossing the tv remote at him without caring if he catches it or not.
much to your dismay, he does.
he groans into his hands immediately after, loud and exaggerated. the sound is similar to what an elephant sounds like.
“this is hopeless,” he sighs in defeat. “i mean seriously, in what ways would she benefit from dating a guy like me?”
i, too, wonder.
that thought doesn't leave your mind though. instead, you nudge his shoulder with yours as he flops onto the empty spot on the couch next to you.
you shrug mindlessly. “it's not hopeless. plus, nikki likes spending time with you. you'd entertain her.”
that sounds terrible.
bear seems to realize it too, his hands drifting away from his face slowly as he furrows his brows at you.
“entertain her?” he scoffs, then quickly shakes his head and focuses on everything you said before the last point. “and sure, but she likes hanging out with me as a friend and nothing more. shit, sarah has more of a chance with her than i do.”
“well, maybe…” bear glares at you, then you continue. “but i don't think she's… y'know. well actually i'm not sure, she could be bisexual, for all i know."
“so you're saying i'm right.”
“no,” you sigh, “that means i don't know because i'm not nikki fucking freeman, bear.”
“so you're saying she likes sarah?” he counters, brow cocked. “aw shit, what if they've been dating on the low and she isn't even attracted to guys at all?”
bear looks at you with the saddest eyes you think you've ever seen from him.
it sort of crushes you to see him like this, especially since you know how long he's been pining for her. ever since he moved into town a couple of years ago and got a job at that sketchy music shop downtown, he found himself infatuated with his coworker, nikki. unfortunately for you, you are also just as obsessed with her as he is.
the reality of it, however, is much worse. he's your older brother, for goodness sake, which means you aren't allowed to make your move before he does. it's some kind of unspoken rule between siblings—or maybe it's just some stupid rule you made up in your head to put a barrier between you and the confession that's inevitable.
but seriously, how are you supposed to tell your brother's coworker that you've liked her since the moment you met her at the park when you two were just kids?
it's not like it's your fault bear decided to move out of state and never got the chance to even consider talking to her and finding out what she's really like.
you and nikki have been friends since fifth grade, "two peas in a pod" one might've called you back then, and that bond hasn't changed—not even over the many years that you two have been in contact. sure you drifted away a little bit after graduation but that's just because everyone was trying to find their way and figure out if they were going to continue school or move in a different direction. unfortunately for bear, he made a plan to move out of your childhood home the moment he turned eighteen and had free will.
during the years that he was out of your life—oh, and did you mention that fact that he cut contact with everyone—how exactly did you spend it? great question. you did what he's now wishing he could've: spending time with nikki after that boring gap year between the end of high school and the beginning of your adulthood.
when the awkward stage between what you thought was "freedom" and the realization that it, in fact was not, you and nikki reconnected. in some old, dingy bar downtown just near her workplace, you'd somehow found yourselves sharing a couple of drinks at the counter and chatting it up about what the two of you had been up to in the past year.
you got her number that night, and ever since then, you'd been creating a strong bond that you enjoyed having with her.
and, if you're being honest, and that amusement slowly twisted itself into something scarily similar to the wretched feeling you've always dreaded—love.
well, a crush, really.
love might be too strong for anyone with a developing crush.
oddly, it feels pretty spot-on to you.
but then bear showed up a few years ago, snagged at job at cassell's, and suddenly he was the one who was seeing her everyday instead of you like you used to.
“bear, i—” you pause, the words caught in the back of your throat. truth is, you don't know how to respond to that.
actually you do, you just don't know how to respond to it in a way that would please your brother and calm his nerves.
with anyone else, you'd have replied, “if they're open-minded, maybe they'd let me slide between them.”
but to your brother?
oh, that'd crush his soul in irreparable ways.
instead, you just sigh. “i'm almost fifty-percent sure she's into both guys and girls,” you reassure, nudging his knee with yours. “just don't stress out about it too much. if she likes you, she likes you. if she doesn't, oh well, there's plenty of fish in the sea.”
bear huffs a laugh, exasperation and sadness mixed into the little noise.
he smiles despite himself, quietly grateful for you and your advice. “i don't understand how, but you always know exactly what to say.”
you almost laugh.
if only he knew.
“yeah well,” you hum. “just don't listen to whatever the hell ian is telling you.”
“so don't call her freaky nikki?”
“fuck no, absolutely not!” you exclaim, eyes widening in bewilderment at when and where he'd gotten that idea from in the first place. “who told you to call her that?”
he sighs, the weight on his shoulder suddenly feeling a million times heavier.
then he murmurs,
"ian."
yeah, that checks out.
if you're being completely truthful, you're kind of glad ian gave the guy such god-awful advice. it makes you feel a little bit like a savior, even if you're helping your brother get your crush wrapped around his finger.
you just wish he didn't barge into your life so suddenly and practically forced you to welcome him back home with open arms. that's not how life works, especially not with how he cut all ties with his family the moment he left town when you were younger. and now he thinks he can come in and swoop nikki off of her feet just like that?
yeah, right.
all you can hope is that when, or if he even does, confess his feelings to nikki, she remembers who raced her down sidewalks on old bikes, helped patch her scraped knees when she'd fall trying to jump over fences, and care for her with every fiber in their being. all you can hope is that she knows who was really there for her back then.
and that person?
that's not bear, never him.
because he didn't notice the way she'd absentmindedly talk faster whenever she was bluffing, nor did he notice the small litter of freckles along her nose.
whatever.
the damage is already close to being done.
and nikki deserves someone more mature, someone who is really willing to put themselves out there instead of sitting in silence in the background.
so you'll just push down that quiet wish.
"so yeah, maybe don't say that," you sigh, your disappointment for bear's brainless coworker only growing. "and please, for the love of god, don't ever even consider calling her that. not even when you're really desperate."
bear nods, a little embarrassed.
a dusty pinky hue crosses his face, further emphasizing how humiliating this conversation has turned.
"okay."
"i think i'm done here," you finalize.
"thank yo—"
"wait," you interrupt, suddenly realizing you hadn't really gave him a starting point. "you know what she likes, don't you? you remember things from when we were kids?"
bear sits there, unmoving.
you almost kick him out of your apartment right then and there, because how does he not remember?!
"right... okay," you murmur, continuing, "well, for a start, she likes crystals. she's more of a... her love language, i'm almost one hundred percent sure it's gift giving and acts of service, maybe a little bit of physical touch but you are nowhere near that yet."
he nods, mentally noting everything down.
you add on.
"she's really into things like that. crystals, i mean, and she just recently lost hers down the drain so... i think that might be a good gift to give her before you ask her out," you explain, brow furrowing in thought. "but don't make it seem like you're trapping her. usually when you give people gifts, there's a lot of thought and intention behind it, so don't lose your mind and cry about how much it was worth or some stupid thing like that if she rejects you." you catch his expression the moment the last words leave your mouth.
"if she rejects you."
he isn't even a little bit reassured.
but then you go on, tone softening, "just don't do anything crazy if she thinks you're not the one, okay? it's more likely she might develop feelings overtime if you're calm and understanding about it. and, bear you did just move back into town not that long ago, so keep that in mind."
you see his shoulders relax in real time, his demeanor calming as he leans back into your couch cushions.
a small smile quirks up at the edge of his lips as he hums quietly. "you know a lot about her. it's kinda surprising... you two never really seemed close when we were young."
okay.
now you're really hoping it goes wrong.
—
maybe you should remind yourself what day it is the next time you give someone advice.
furthermore, you should check your calendar the next time you give your big brother advice on how to ask out your mutual crush.
today was not the day you should've spilled all of that to him, because today is the day you'd told most everyone in your and bear's shared friend group to come over and hang. it's the one day everyone has off, and since neither you or your brother have anything better to do, you both thought it was a great idea to invite everyone over.
now, as the sun slowly falls back behind the horizon, most everyone is piled out here.
ian and bear are inside, having fought over who was the better cook a few minutes prior, most likely still trying to settle that point.
you escaped to the front porch for a minute of silence the moment nobody was looking.
you enjoy company, but today is just.. different. bear still has you hot-headed and with the addition of ian's idiotic jokes and even dumber topic choices, you want nothing to do with either of those boys.
nikki and sarah are the only ones you'd probably join back in for again.
but then you remember how bear hugged nikki when she walked in, hands a little lower than would be perceived as one you'd give your friend. and how sarah practically jumped into his arms when it was her turn for a greeting.
so nobody here is really of interest to you.
they're probably all having the time of their lives anyway, chugging down cans of beer and getting shit-faced.
and that's not really—
"...you need a break or have you officially decided you hate us all?"
you turn, startled.
and there she is—the woman of the hour.
nikki stands there, one foot in the doorframe to keep the front door from shutting, the other bent slightly as she extends her arm. in her hand is a soda, and she smiles softly as if she's giving it to you as a peace offering of some sorts.
despite your mood, you reach your hand out and accept the drink anyway. nodding up at her, you scoot over, making space.
"thanks," you murmur, cracking open the can with a small hiss.
she doesn't sit down right away.
instead she leans against the railing, running a hand through her perfectly messy hair.
her smile only grows at the confused look on your face. "they're idiots, you know."
"spot on," you hum in agreement, a small smirk finding its way on your face. "but they're our bunch of idiots. you can't blame me for sneaking off."
nikki huffs a laugh.
then she pushes off the railing and bends to situate herself onto the empty spot on the stairs next to you.
"mostly bear, though."
you laugh. "oh most definitely bear."
something warm bloomed in your chest the moment her laugh reaches your ears again, soft and gentle like always.
that feeling always finds you whenever you're around her, whenever you watch her do literally anything, even if it's just something simple like... like concentrating when she reads a book or cringing when she tries playing an instrument and the note is terribly off pitch or out of tune.
you only realize nikki's been staring at you for a long moment when you turn your head to glance over at her.
she doesn't even try to hide it, and that somehow makes you feel all fuzzy inside. it's embarrassing, honestly, and you can't believe she hasn't noticed your so very obvious crush on the girl.
"you've been helping him a lot," she comments quietly, stretching out her legs across the last step.
her words make you tense.
does she know about your confession advice?
and did bear finally man-up and ask her out in the few minutes you've been outside?
you reply through grit teeth, trying to play it cool, "yeah well, someone has to. he'd never know what to do with himself if i wasn't here... i just wonder how he made it back when he left town all those years ago."
she snickers, shaking her head.
her knee nudges yours, her skin soft and still cool despite the blazing temperatures that summer always promises.
"you're a good sister."
shrugging, you nudge her back. "just want him to be happy, s'all. and he has nobody to look up to since he's the oldest, so..."
her eyes drift down to her can, half-full and dented on the side, dripping with condensation and leftover water droplets from the cooler she pulled it from.
you tear your eyes away from her before you get too greedy, shaking your head subtly and exhaling heavily.
it's useless.
you and bear don't have too many things in common, but being terrible flirts is the one thing you can bond over.
"hey," she chirps.
your eyes meet hers not a second later. "hm."
"can i... can i tell you something?" there's a puzzled look on her face, one you can't really put a name on like you're usually able to. she's a pretty hard girl to read, but you've found it easier and easier over the years.
"always."
she hesitates for a second.
just a second before she's spilling like a high school girl spreading gossip.
"i think..." a small smile spreads across her face slowly, smug and knowing and dangerous. "i think bear likes someone."
you nearly choke on your drink.
shit.
"you noticed?" you murmur, eyes wide.
"i'm not blind, babe."
babe.
okay, that's completely fine.
she calls everyone that. well, she calls a select few people that, but still. it's something she calls most of her friends.
"yeah," you nod. "right."
nikki sighs then, head hanging low now.
you fight the urge to ask her if she's okay, if she wants to go back inside and lay down.
the sun is blazing right now and you wouldn't blame her. you're sure everyone working at cassell's is probably three seconds from dropping to the floor from heat stroke with how that store isn't air-conditioned properly. hell, you wonder how half of their instruments aren't junk by now.
"i just wish..." she trails off, blowing a stray piece of hair from her lips. she stops herself before she can continue.
instinctively, you glance over again.
she doesn't look unwell.
"what?" you whisper.
"...nothing, nevermind," she dismisses, and you fight the urge to push her towards telling you whatever was about to slip out from between her lips.
her name leaves your lips before the logical part of your mind can catch up.
"nikki, come on."
she looks at you then, eyes gleaming.
"i just wish he didn't—" she pauses, stammering for a moment, "—i wish he didn't like me because i—i... don't..."
your smile faltered.
oh, that's going to hurt when he hears it.
"wha—uhm, why?"
she goes quiet for a long moment.
in that moment, you take the silence and comfortable atmosphere to lean back on your palms, skin warming from the hot pavement of the porch.
everything feels like it's spinning right about now, and you almost drop the conversation immediately because if nikki is about to start trash talking your brother, you want no—
nikki speaks again.
"because i like someone else."
your stomach drops.
right.
yeah.
there was no way she was into either you or your scruffy little brother.
"oh," you say, feigning nonchalance. "cool."
she nods, glancing over.
"...yeah," she murmurs. "i just don't know how to tell him. maybe i'll do it when he finally has the guts to ask me out."
you force a smile.
at least she's not going to be an ass about it.
"i hope it works out," you nod over.
"yeah... me too."
silence envelopes the two of you after those words leave her mouth.
birds chirp somewhere up power lines, the leaves on the trees in your yard rustling with the gentle breeze. it's warm and it does nothing to cool either of you off.
you stare at the grass instead of nikki now, trying very hard not to wonder who it was, but even that was no use when the girl who you have a crush on who doesn't have a crush on you is sitting right next to you. it's pretty much useless to even try, because now that's all that will consume your thoughts until she's really in a relationship and you have to let her go for good. maybe then you'll find yourself bonding with your big brother.
nikki simply sits there, taking one last sip from her can before throwing it on the last step and crushing it beneath her boot. the sound makes you flinch, and the girl beside you chuckles quietly before you even realize you did it. that laugh definitely belongs to someone more worthy of it than you.
you really need to start kicking rocks sooner than later. she's obviously way out of your league and—
"you really don't know who it is?" she laughs suddenly, startling you again.
you blink, confusion painted across your face.
"what?" you scoff.
nikki just stares at you like you've missed some very crucial information that is insanely, painfully obvious.
she shakes her head in disbelief.
"i've liked them forever," she continues, gesturing in the air with her hands slowly.
"lucky them."
"they're really kind."
great!
now she's going to start listing off the many qualities she likes about this asshole.
you wish the ground would open up beneath your feet and swallow you whole. this is more than humiliating.
"they're funny," she sings.
"...sounds nice," you deadpan, then whisper, "wish i was."
she laughs and you almost think she heard you until she adds on, "they've always looked after everyone around them even if they didn't have any reason to."
"for the love of god nikki, just tell me already and stop—"
she's already staring at you when you look over again, and the words get caught in the back of your throat.
and then she laughs.
"it's you, stupid."
everything around you freezes.
because there's no way in hell you heard her clearly.
you point to yourself without thinking.
"me—wait, wait, wait, me?"
she nods slowly, waiting for you to fully process her confession.
you don't believe it because she just made it seem like confessions are the easiest thing in the entire world.
like you haven't been rehearsing your own confession for years on end.
"mhm, you."
you just stare at her.
"but i thought you..."
"you thought i liked your brother?" she hums.
you nod frantically, "well yeah!"
she laughs, a full-body laugh that makes her shoulders shake. she even snorts, quiet but still noticeable, and you fight the urge to not burst out in laughter as well.
you've never seen her act like this.
so weird.
it's almost like she's flustered.
"i love bear."
fuck.
you're moving out of state tomorrow.
"...like an annoying older brother."
"okay."
she scoots closer, knee brushing yours now. she doesn't even need to lean over anymore, she's just... there.
it's suddenly very hard to breathe now.
you've never acted like this either.
"i've been trying to flirt with you for months, yn," she confesses quietly, voice just above a whisper as her eyes flick everywhere on your face. "you've just been so blinded by your jealousy caused by bear's crush that you didn't see it."
consider yourself dumbfounded.
and maybe a little embarrassed because sure, okay yeah, maybe what she's saying does carry a little bit of truth.
"oh," you say, volume dropping. "...you have?"
she groans in faux annoyance.
you wince.
jeez, you're really selling this right now.
"oh come on," she exclaims, "you thought i just really liked borrowing your hoodies for long periods of time? you seriously never questioned, even once, why you never got them back?"
"i never gave you your hair ties back either, so... i guess i thought it was an exchange of some sorts."
she drags her hands down her face.
a low groan escapes the back of her throat again, but this time it's ten times louder and twenty times more exaggerated.
"oh. my. fucking. god!"
"i'm sorry nikki, i didn't know!"
"dude, you wouldn't know a good thing if it slapped you across the face."
you laugh nervously.
this is beyond embarrassing.
but at least you have the chance to finally admit your own feelings now.
"i've had a crush on you since we were kids," you confess finally, tone softer now. your guard lowers, shoulders relaxing. "i just never told anyone because of—"
"because of bear?"
you nod. "because of bear. and also because i didn't want to hurt him immediately after he moved back here."
she smiles so softly you almost die on the spot.
"you're sweet," she compliments, smiling way bigger than you've ever seen. "i like that about you, yn."
"i've also apparently been incredibly dense."
"mmh.. maybe a bit," she giggles.
then she reaches for your hand, pushing away your empty can from between you two. your fingers fit together like they'd been interlocked a million times before.
"so..."
"so?"
she glances up. "are you gonna keep helping bear gather the courage to confess?"
you sigh, frustrated at the reminder.
"i think i have to now," you huff.
she laughs, nudging your arm with her free hand. you just shake your head and look into her eyes, grateful.
"we should probably tell him before he does," she suggests. "so we don't break his heart in a different way."
"sounds good," you nod in agreement. "he'll probably kill me though."
"oh absolutely not!"
you grin, tilting your head.
she just nudges you again. "he's sweet as sugar."
a laugh escapes your throat at that, and nikki squeezes your hand once more.
"he'll probably just complain that he spent weeks asking the wrong person for dating advice," she shrugs.
you hum in response. "...worth it?"
she leans over, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling back.
You'd almost be mad that you've been demoted to assistant if you didn't receive those messages from Maddy every couple hours.
Bitch, you're so cunt for this.
My entire shoe collection's yours.
Have the best time.
You've pretty much looked up to Maddy Perez since you joined Miss Penzler's agency about three years ago. She joined around the same time, but unlike you, she didn't have to go through rigorous interviews and training and challenges. Apparently she came into a coffee shop and Miss Penzler just hired her, straight-up. So, yeah, that, and the fact that she was a tad older — twenty three to your twenty — just kinda made the idolisation that much easier.
Thankfully, she's not a bitch, she just looks like one.
And when she'd shown you a picture of a seventeen-year-old version of her, you'd kinda been no better than a man in your commentary.
"Holy shit."
"I know.", she'd said, sucking on her teeth after she blew out smoke, watching you zoom in on the picture of her in her little cheerleading outfit sucking face with some tall footballer.
"Wait, he's actually hot."
"Yep."
"But you're, like, hotter."
"I know."
"And he fucked your best friend?"
"And fucked and fucked and fucked."
"That's fucked."
She'd snorted at that, shrugging as she tapped out her cigarette. "Well, if you think that's fucked.", she muttered, tossing you a gaudy pink card with fancy gold writing on it. You held it up to the light, before your eyes widened. "No fucking way."
"Yep."
"They're getting married?"
"They're fuckin' made for each other."
"Why are you invited? Wait, no, better question. Why are you going?", you'd spluttered, gesturing at the dress she'd had dry cleaned and hanging behind her door.
"The girl is Cassie."
A pause.
"The dumb blonde you're managing?"
"Yeah."
"Please be fucking with her."
"No, I'm a woman of God now, baby, come on. I don't do that shit. I need the commission on her, anyway."
"But don't you want to?"
She'd leaned in. "So badly. As badly as I want a fucking Maserati. But I'm not going to."
"You're a stronger woman than I am.", you'd commented, handing her the phone back.
"You didn't let me finish. I'm not going to, but you are."
She'd watched you tilt your head for a moment, tongue slowing on the spoon of ice cream. "I am?"
"Damn straight."
You'd laughed. You'd thought she was probably fucking with you. She likes doing that, she thinks you're cute when you're confused. "Why am I doing that?"
"Because you wanna avenge me."
"Do I?", you asked, stretching the first word a little more than usual.
"Don't you? I mean, if I found out a bitch did that to you in high school, I'd throw hands right now. Fuck mature. I mean, I am, but fuck mature."
You'd raised a brow at her, watching her for a while, waiting for some sort of punchline. It never came. "You seem very over it."
"Listen, you might get to fuck him. You clearly think he's hot, and objectively, he is."
"Dude. Maddy, I am not becoming a homewrecker."
"His fiancée is, was, and will always be a homewrecker, too. They're not married yet. You get him to fuck you and prove he hasn't changed , I mean... I'm saving Cassie from him and herself, at that point, yeah? Win-win."
"Not for him."
"Oh, come on. He'll have gotten to be with three — well, I don't know if I'd count Cass — two really sexy, badass women in his lifetime. He'll live."
You'd pondered it for a while. You were bored, and unlike Maddy, your side-hustle isn't also management, it's remote-work with flexible hours. "Will I get in legal, financial, or mortal trouble?"
"No."
"Will I get paid?"
"In... emotional satisfaction and orgasms, sure."
"Dude." This shit is risky and she knew it. You'd only even thought of considering it because she mentioned the whole 'saving Cassie' idea.
"Fine. Take a cut of my Cassie commission."
"Fuck, yeah."
And so, here you are, four weeks later, following an unnecessarily sexy dumbass around a desolate office, almost two 'yes, sir's away from cracking your clipboard over his head.
"I think we need this shit, don't you?"
"Desperately, sir."
You watch him snap his fingers and point at you, before looking back down at the plans he'd drawn up with no funds to back it up. If you're gonna get to fuck with him — and fuck him — you'd rather he not be bankrupt and devastated. It'd make it a bit harder to enjoy.
"Sir, but we also need funding for that and—"
"You said the P&Z sent you?"
"Environmental Board, Sir. To make sure nothing happens to the fritill—"
"Fritillary, yes, it's always about the fucking fritillary isn't it?"
You pretend to flinch at the slam of his hand on the table that follows, because you've learned his game by now. He gets sexier when he cares, and that's rare.
Nate runs a hand across his face, before he stalks around the table to reach you. "Hey.", he murmurs, and his hand hovers over your head, hesitant. Then, it lowers. And soon enough, he's stroking your hair, gently tugging to get you to look up at him.
This is a step up from the last time, when he'd just apologised. Yes, you let him think he intimidates you so that he can baby you after. So what? Maddy said "any means necessary", and what, you don't deserve some TLC?
"I'm sorry, I'm a little stressed.", he mutters, leaning his head down gently to yours. "Yeah?"
You put on your best rattled face. "Uh, yeah."
He sighs. "You don't seem convinced."
"No, no, I get it. It must be stressful."
He nods. "Let's take care of that goddamn flower, hm?"
It's not long before the lines blur a little more.
He hugs your shoulder.
He calls you beautiful.
Asks about your love life.
Asks about the ring on your finger and if it means something.
You tell him it's a gift from your friend. You don't tell him it's Maddy.
All the while, you're actually helping him figure out this fritillaries thing that you're pretending you're passionate about. "How about incorporating it?"
"Not possible, we're not allowed to use it as a logo or anything."
"No, I mean... letting it spread and creating a garden of them and making that the plan."
Once again, he snaps and points. "You're a fucking genius. You— you're a fucking genius, baby.", he declares, once again making the journey from across the table to the opposite end, where you stand. However, this time, there's no hesitant, apologetic hair-stroke. No, he just grabs your face and kisses the gratitude into your mouth. And weirdly, you don't let him. Sure, you could pretend this is part of your elaborate plan to fuck with him, but you're suddenly filled with some traitorous spark of righteousness. "You're married."
He nods, wiping your mouth with the back of his hand, before bringing your hand to his mouth to clean him up, in some weird, covertly sexual, severely undertoned message, before he speaks. "No. I am not. I am engaged, we're not married."
"Right. You don't love her?"
Nate squints out into the setting sun on the horizon through the window beside you at that, and you have to admit, the sunlight's making him look so dreamlike, you kinda wanna kiss him again. But Maddy warned you about this. Let him come to you, begging. It's apparently much more rewarding. "You know you're the single most interesting person to ever walk into my office?"
Deflection. Sexy.
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"You're supposed to hate me. And watch me so I don't fuck with that goddamn flower. And instead you're helping me, so much that I forget you're the enemy."
"The enemy?"
He smiles. "Yeah. My nemesis."
Your tongue runs to the back of your mouth as you try to think up a flirty response to that. But your mind fails you and instead, you just tell him the truth. "I think you're your own enemy, Sir."
"How so?"
"You've got a gorgeous girl waiting for you at home, and you're worried about whether she's your fiancée or your wife. You've got a father that owned and operated the business ready to help you out but you're standing here trying to fix it all yourself."
He licks his lip. "Who died and made you Miss-Know-It-All?"
You smile.
"Come here.", he calls, holding his arm out and gesturing with a waggle of his fingers for you to walk back to him. You do, and he brings you back to the table by an arm over your shoulder, to peruse over the plans. "Garden there. Right?", he asks, pointing at the spot marked with red tape on this miniature diorama of his land. You nod. "Some spiel about life's preciousness and miracles and shit?" You nod once more. "That's fucking perfect. You're a fucking genius."
And this time, you let him kiss you. Against the table. Then against the wall. Then on his desk. You act like you're guilty about it afterward, so that he can talk you into it between tiny presses of his lips to your forehead and nose.
If there's one thing you've learnt about Nate Jacobs from not only Maddy's anecdotes, but also your observations, it's that he needs some sort of a power imbalance to get off to.
And luckily, you're willing to fabricate just that.
"I don't know, dude, like. Lay off."
Maddy rolls her eyes from across the kitchen counter, sliding you your bowl of cereal. "Bitch. No fucking way. Tell me."
"So, it's apparently this, like, flower, or something, I dunno. I didn't have a plan, I just showed up, he said 'you here about the fritillary?', and I just kinda went with it."
"What's so great about a fucking flower?", she asks, furrowing her brows as she pours milk into hers, as well.
"It's apparently endangered. So he can't do shit about it."
She snorts, shaking her head on her way to sit by you on the couch. "So, he's under the mercy of a fucking flower?"
"Yup.", you respond, popping the 'p'.
"Karma, you sexy whore.", she grins, taking a spoonful. "So, you fucked yet?"
"No."
She studies you for a moment. "Uh-uh. No."
"What?"
"No. Uh-uh. Fuck that shit, Y/N. Stop."
"What?!"
"Don't feel bad for him. Don't— nuh-uh, you're not sympathising with Nate fucking Jacobs!"
"Empathizing."
"Same difference, bitch. No. Ew. He's married."
"Engaged."
Her mouth gapes, incredulous. "He's got you believing that bullshit, too."
"What happened to saving Cassie?"
"What happened to avenging me?"
"I—", you groan, setting your bowl down in favour of running your hands through your hair.
"He's in debt because he needs to be. God's plan."
"God's— Maddy, come on. This was never about Nate. You loved Cassie more than you loved Nate. It was about her."
"So? This shit's happenin' to her, as well, yeah? Two birds, one stone, and I don't want you fuckin' with God's plan, okay? Or I'm pulling you out. Understand?"
"Maddy—"
"Understand?"
You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing down at Maddy's finger pointing at your face. "Yeah."
She shakes her head. "When somebody shows you who they are, believe them. And I'm fuckin' warning you that those two have shown me exactly who the fuck they are. Okay? Have your fun, but don't fuck it up."
You nod, earnestly, already deciding you're going to go against whatever she said, because, well...
Nate was growing on you.
The first time Nate fucks you, you see stars, because it's so good, but then... it fades.
He's losing his shit on top of you, you're having post-orgasmic clarity.
You might actually like this punk.
So, you do something reckless. You ask questions.
"What are you going to do about the fritillaries, Sir?"
He frowns at that, eyes still on the rain-distorted stoplight in front of him. "Wait, I guess." His fingers tap along the steering wheel and it times up perfectly with the drops outside.
"For what? Divine intervention?"
"If that's what it takes, yeah. God's plan, right?"
Okay, people have to stop using that to justify shit. "But what if they disapprove the garden-of-miracles idea?"
"We'll figure it out." You watch the back of your hand being lifted to his mouth. "Why are you so workaholic, baby? Relax. You're off the clock."
And he's off his rocker.
"Does your wife know? About the garden? Does she think it's good?"
"My fiancée doesn't know."
You try to put your finger on what sounded off in that sentence, looking out the window at the blur of gold and green, as streetlights and trees alike whizzed by. Suddenly, you turn. "She doesn't know about anything, does she?"
"No."
"What?"
"Butt out of this, I'm warning you."
"You could tell her that y—"
"That what? I can't provide for her? That's my job as a husband."
"What happened to 'fiancée'?", you scoff.
"She's my wife when you piss me off.", he retorts, chuckling as if you were supposed to join in, too. But you're starting to realise some shit, and it's not really making you jovial and happy-go-lucky at this juncture. You yank your hand away from his, sucking on your teeth as you turn back to look outside the window. Maddy was right. He's got you believing there's a difference between cheating and infidelity and engagement and marriage and it's borderline terrifying how subtly this all happened.
"Oh, come on, baby, stop pouting. What are you, twelve?"
"You think this is pouting? I'm two seconds away from decking you."
"Still a twelve-year old ass vibe.", he muses, flicking at your jaw. "Come on, it's weird you're more worried about her being blind to the finances than her realising I'm cheating on her."
"Why's it weird?"
"I'd assume you'd be jealous."
"Of a woman who doesn't know she's bankrupt? Sure."
He snorts loudly at that. "Jesus, you're cold. It's hot.", he remarks, rolling his eyes right after you do. "And for the record, I'm not bankrupt. I'm figuring shit out. It's a rough patch."
It's not long before you start remembering who the fuck you are. "Okay."
He scoffs. "You can't seriously be mad for her. That's insane."
You're actually not mad for Cassie. You could care less about her. You are mad at yourself for being like her, and falling for Nate's bullshit, just like Maddy had warned you about.
Fuck. You decide you'll stay away, especially since he took a fucking sabbatical (from what, you don't know. He barely works, anyway) for his wedding.
Maddy's been weird.
She'd gone to the wedding.
Said she'd be gone a while.
Came back when you were still working at hers (you've taken to doing that, lately, seeing as most of the files you need for Miss Penzler are at her place), which was way too early.
"You didn't go to the reception?"
She doesn't respond, and instead, she saunters over to her room, and leaves you to debate whether to ask a follow-up or not. You decide not to.
She comes back in more comfortable clothes, and stands right in front of you, between the couch you're sprawled on, and the coffee table your laptop's on. "You're gonna fuck him up. I don't know how you're gonna do that shit, but you are. Him and that little cunt. You understand?"
"Maddy, what happened at the wedding?"
Maddy sucks at her teeth, narrowing her eyes at you for a moment before she slaps lightly at your cheek. "Do you fuckin' understand?"
"Listen, I—"
The real slap comes exactly as you expect it to. You should've learnt by now not to instigate her.
"Okay, fine!"
"In front of my fucking eyes, alright? You aren't sympathizing with that freak-ass son of a bitch or his bimbo-ass wife, either."
You shuffle over when she tells you to, and she snaps her fingers to point at your phone. "Do something. You got information on his ass. Call Cassie. Tell her he's been fucking you on the low."
"On her wedding night? Maddy, that's harsh."
She's fighting back tears, and you've never seen her hands quiver like this. It's scaring you and picking at something raw in your heart. Fuck. "I can— I'll do something else."
"Like what?"
"There's this guy, Fred, who's insane with the amount he's investing. I'll let him know this guy can't afford the wedding? Maybe?"
"Do that.", she says, immediately, as she nods. "Now."
Your eyes race from your phone to her face — determined and scarily focused — to recheck if she's not just acting out of whatever had devastated her at the wedding, but her gaze is steadfast and her jaw is set. "Could you go any slower?"
"I gotta search for him, Mads.", you mutter, just as you find the Note on your phone titled : "Sun Settlers Investors".
You copy his wife, Heather's number because you know it's gonna have more impact, and then type out a rough guess as to how much debt he's in.
Maddy lets out a breath once you turn the screen to her and allow her to read it under her breath, lips moving. "Okay."
"Maddy—"
"Nothing. Go to sleep, you got shit to do tomorrow."
"Miss Penzler said it's her dog's funeral, so we get the day off —"
"Sun Settlers has no canine deaths as far as I can remember."
"Maddy, come on—"
"Don't fucking test me right now, okay? You're gonna follow through."
You decide not to test her.
In fact, the next day, when you simultaneously get a text from Maddy :
Get your ass over here. You won't fucking believe who's in my living room.
as well as a text from Nate :
Hey I need you.
In the early morning. Before your alarm even rang.
You drop into Maddy's home, which helps you to understand exactly what Nate probably needs from you, because Maddy opens the door with a fucking grin, and behind her, unpacking shit like it's her job, is Cassie Howard. Well, Jacobs, you suppose. Maybe not, though, if she's here.
"Entire shoe collection's yours, by the way.", whispers Maddy, kissing you on the cheek. "Now, go clock in."
When you reach Nate's house, you immediately know something awful has happened, even before he's ushering you out the door and hopping into your car, briefcase and poster boards in hand. "The fuckin' P&Z hearing's today.", he groans, frantically pulling out of the driveway.
"It's alright, we've got time."
You chew on your top lip, eyes moving out the window as he parks. He gets down, and you do, as well, helping him with his briefcase before giving him an encouraging nod when he sits down in the waiting area.
Maybe you've been too harsh on him. You're manipulating him, too, right? He's just trying to do what's best for him, like you. Except his prize is sex and a fulfilled marital life, and yours is Maddy's validation and her shoes.
He's actually, all things considered... okay.
Sure, he's not exactly a family man, seeing as he's the definition of infidelity but then again, you're not a family girl.
He's pathetic, even, you realise, as you grimace at his little stunt at the P&Z. He knelt. Good God.
But when he's out, he doesn't seem upset or complaining. In fact, he's chiller than usual, even though he's just created a gigantic scene and potentially lost his business. In fact, it's like a ho-hum day at the office, like the two of you shared before his wedding. He just wordlessly tosses your bag into the back of the car like it's normal, at the end of the "working" day.
"Nate?" You're about to ask if you can drive, because he looks borderline manic, the way he's whistling and fake-vibing to the music.
"Cassie left me.", he tells you.
Silence permeates through the car so that you can pretend that you don't know and that you do care.
"Oh." Seeing as she's currently getting assfucked (both literally and figuratively) with Maddy milking the fuck outta her for OnlyFans content, you're not too sympathetic to either of them. Though, yeah, maybe you feel a tiny bit of guilt, but Maddy wanted you to fuck with both of them. And hey. She's fucking with Cassie, so you'll see this through and fuck with Nate. "You... okay?"
You're only used to him babying you.
"Peachy."
"No, I'm— I don't know what to say, so I asked— I didn't mean that."
"Okay."
Another silence. "Is it because sh—"
"Yes, goddamnit, yes! Because she found out we're in debt! That what you wanted to hear? That you were right?", he snaps, but it's thankfully drowned out by the sounds of his palm slamming on the car horn, and the horn itself, so you don't flinch.
"Now what? Gloating? You calling her up in a moment of feminist solidarity?"
"I just wanna go home, Nate."
Nate doesn't reply for a while, switching lanes with care like he's not intending to kill you. . "...Am I allowed to stay?"
"Sure."
"Are we gonna...?" The fucking audacity of him to ask if he's getting laid the night his wife leaves him and the second you're nice enough not to snap right back at his sudden crashout.
"I don't know, Nate."
But Nate gets what Nate wants, and he also gets what he doesn't want, so it's no surprise that he got fucking left. He got the wedding and also the potential divorce.
When you toss your bag onto your couch and your keys behind your back to Nate, you're exhausted and just wanna stay the fuck away from this conniving little prick who's in a dangerously devastating situation that may end up softening you to his potentially perilous tactics. You open the fridge, grab a soda, and chug. He places his bag near the foot of the couch and then comes up behind you like he gets to. "We don't get that much time together, baby, you really gonna spend it being a bitch?"
Your eyes focus on the bright white of the inside of the fridge, scanning it subconsciously for leftovers, and watching the cold air float around you. His arm wraps around the expanse of your collarbone, as his lips pressed up and down your temple.
"Nate." You're tired, but you hope he gets that the last thing you want right now is to help him get over the fact that his wife has left him for his ex, more or less, and he is in severe financial (possibly even mortal, if he has a couple loan sharks he hasn't mentioned to you) peril.
"You do this a ton, y'know? Act all sad and distant so I can kiss it off you and baby you and make you feel like someone actually fucking cares.", he murmurs, breathing you in almost lewdly, giving you goosebumps. He gently pries the soda can out of your hand, before placing it with a tiny clink on the counter behind him.
"What's that, the Maddy strategy?"
To say you freeze would be a severe understatement.
To say he seemed to care enough to comment on it would be even more of one.
"What else she coach you on? She tell you to bite me like that? She tell you I like the tongue thing during makeouts?"
"What?"
"She tell you to wear only pink bras because I fuck with that shit? Or is that you, hm? Is that all you, learning me every single second that we breathe the same oxygen? You think you're slick, don'tcha?"
His teeth attempt to bluntly break the skin of your neck as his inner elbow constricts your throat.
"Nate—"
"Oh, what, am I hurting you?", he asks, scoffing before two fingers pinch into either side of your face, pivoting you around so hard your head hits one of the magnets on the fridge. "You're a fucking bitch, and I don't say that shit lightly."
You can't really say anything, seeing as he's now using his elbow to push at your throat, the magnet digging incessantly into the back of your neck. "Nate, the magnet."
"Yeah, maybe it'll kill you so I won't have to."
"Nate—"
He presses you further into the magnet for a single, terrifying moment, before he clenches his jaw and yanks you back forward. "But where's the fun in that? That's what it was, wasn't it? Fun? You get to have your fun — you and Maddy — by screwing up my life because of one bullshit breakup in high school? What was in it for you? Money? Yeah, Cassie told me Maddy's some big-shot manager now, is that right?''
You shake your head.
"Then? What, you don't get laid enough? You wanted a quick fuck with the bonus of getting into that cunt's good books?"
You can't shake your head again because his lips are pressed against yours, a solid wall of rage. "How long did you think you could get away with it, huh?", he scoffs, unbuttoning your jeans with his free hand. "You thought you'd fuck me till I went bankrupt then you'd leave like I didn't exist? Or did Maddy want something more sinister? Is she the one who sent Nas the wedding invite? Or did you do it, like a stupid fucking minion?", he asks, pressing his fingers deeper into your cheeks to discourage you from fighting against his enraged undressing of you.
"Nate, I promise—"
"BULLSHIT!", he spits, nose against yours now.
"Nate, stop, you're scaring me!"
"AND WHAT ABOUT ME?! Don't I get to be scared?! Everyone around me is FUCKING with me, cutting my toe off, threatening to kill me, leaving me, and now you—", he cuts himself off, breathing harshly against your chest as his forehead collapsed onto your collarbone.
You wait until he gently removes his hands from your pants out of sheer fatigue, licking his lips as he continues to gasp. "You wanna know how I knew you screwed me over?"
You don't respond. It's rhetorical.
"Even I don't have Heather's personal cell, but she called for Fred when he was with me in the office, once, and you took the call."
Huh. You'd considered him too dumb for that level of logical deduction. You're almost inclined to give him a gold star and a pat on the head.
"And Maddy?", you ask, still gripping onto the fridge behind you, because even if he's exhausted and not still borderline assaulting you, he's still gripping onto you like he's still thinking about it.
He looks up, and instead of responding with "wouldn't you like to know?" or, indeed, laughing derisively, he brings his hands to either side of your face, giving you one of the gentlest kisses that you have personally ever had. You'd almost think he loved you and wanted to grow old with you, instead of the truth, which was that he hated you and wanted you dead, right about now.
"You grew on me.", you say, in a last-ditch attempt to convince this clearly very unhinged, manic man who has nothing to lose, that you're not a threat and that he should not kill you or get you fired or whatever the hell he's planning to do.
He chuckles against your lips, shaking his head as he kisses you a couple more times. "I'm sure I did. And I'm sure Maddy told you to nip that at the bud, hm, baby?"
"Well, yeah, because—"
"Because? What, I'll fuck with your head? I'll 'gaslight' you? When did I do any of those things?", he snaps, his hand slamming onto the fridge right next to your head like he's one of those annoying main characters in teen shows. "It was HER who made YOU do that shit to ME! News fuckin' flash, huh? Think about it!"
And so you did. And... sadly... he might be right. You did have an unhealthy need for her validation and yeah, he didn't gaslight you — in fact, he gaslit his wife.
Objectively, yeah, you can see why you liked him. He's never been cruel to you, not the way Maddy described him. He's smart, determined, kind (when he wants to be) and gentle when it matters. He has the tenacity to not jump ship and to see this financial shit through, he has the decency to feign remorse when putting his clothes on even though both of you know he's going to come over again probably the next day. Gentle.
"Did you do it all to ruin our lives because Maddy Perez said to?"
"I thought you were good looking."
The most honest either of you have been to each other since you met.
"I knew it couldn't be all you. You're good, you're pure, you're not a cunt like Maddy.", he whispers, kissing all over your face like you've just gifted him redemption. He continues where he left off with your pants, but slower, this time.
You think it's 'cause he's over this betrayal.
It's actually because he knows you're doubting Maddy's genuineness, and that means, lo and behold, he has someone at his side. Fuck Maddy, FUCK Cassie for being such a pussy that she ran away from her problems. You ran to him, and that's enough.
And yeah, you make mistakes.
Like the time he wasn't at the office and some guy called Nas had shown up and you'd told him Nate was out arranging things for his wedding, and he asked for a picture of the invite. Nate figured it out later. Minor setback. Honest mistake.
He's a magnanimous soul, and he's glad you're starting to see that, because he's done research into you and knows you could — at least, your family could — help him out.
What's funny is, the same way you don't realise he gets off on distorting reality until it favours him, he also doesn't realise that you get off on making him believe he's got control so that the tiny things you do can go unnoticed.
It's like you're meant for each other, like... twisted in ways that complement each other.
𓊆 ❤︎ 𓊇 ──── seven powerful businessmen have the luxury, the influence and anything they could ever desire — yet none of it makes them feel alive anymore. that is, until they become captivated by a waitress who awakens something inside them for the first time in years. drawn in by your presence, they offer you one night of passion and pleasure in exchange for money, never expecting it to end in such an unforgettable way.
PAIRING ✦ dom!bts x sub!f.reader
GENRE ✦ gangbang au, BDSM, polyamory, eightsome, porn with little plot, smut, fluff
WARNINGS ✦ 18+, explicit smut, rough sex, eightsome, multiple orgasms and positions, creampie, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), free use, mentions of safe word (not used), semi public sex, they're all obsessed and possessive over her, drinking and smoking, flirting, they protect her, sexual fantasies and interest, so much tension, makeouts, hickies and marking, scratching and hair pulling, mentions of blood, they literally have the sweetest yet dirty relationship development, kinda semi public sex, thigh riding, groping, power play, size kink, heavy body worship, stripping, praise kink and dirty talk, switch but mainly submissive!reader, slowburn sex cos they take their sweet time with her, they call her her with such endearing nicknames, oral sex (f. receiving), breast play and nipple play, so much nipple stimulation, belly button stimulation, teasing over panties, clit rubbing, panty sniffing, finger sucking, they tease her so much, clothed sex, cunnilingus by multiple men, pussy eating, face riding, clit sucking, pussy inspection, she's always being touched in every way possible, so much hypersensitivty and arousal, edging, cum eating, finger fucking, scissoring and g-spot and cervix stimulation, fisting and penetration from several fingers, anal fingering, rimming, use of lube, yoongi saves the best for last so he claims her ass first, anal training, cum denial, begging, they make her squirt while giving her oral, oral sex (m. receiving), kneeling circle blowjob to all seven men in rotation, deepthroating, throat fucking, gagging and saliva play, she switches between them, ball sucking cos our man jin loves it, use of belt as a collar, cock slapping on face/tongue, sloppy messy blowjob, crying, overstimulation, simultaneous handjobs, sensory overload, they masturbate onto her body, cum facials and cum play, cleaning cocks with mouth post cum, they constantly check in on her, yoongi fucks her in reverse cowgirl, choking, mirror sex while doing it doggy with hoseok, manhandling, spanking, mid air suspended position by jungkook, deep pounding, cowgirl position, she rides seokjin while yoongi sucks her clit, bondage with the use of silk ties, missionary by taehyung and jimin, degradation, they cat call her, cum inflation and frothing, nasty sex, so much bodily fluids, double penetration, namjoon takes her ass while jimin takes her pussy, tit fucking and handjobs together, they pass her around and uses her (consensual), double vaginal penetration done by yoongi and jimin, triple penetration, belly bulging, all holes used repeatedly and creampied, slight details of several more positions and orgasms, they compete against who can make her cum the hardest, sex throughout the night, she kinda ends up losing her consciousness, they all take care of her together, sweetest loving aftercare
WC ✦ 28k
NOTE ✦ it's finally posted! i'm so sorry for the delay but i hope y'all enjoy this oneshot, this is also my biggest oneshot so far and definitely my smuttiest one yet so i hope it leaves your panties wet and your thighs trembling a little hehe, i've put a lot of time and effort into this story cos it's also my first time writing an ot7 smut, i hope it's worth your time and lives up to your expectations, if it isn't perfect, i apologize since this was my first attempt writing a fic involving so many characters at once, i'll keep practicing and working hard to make even better ot7 fics in the future, as always i'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback in any form, it means the world to me and always motivate me to keep writing, i love you sweethearts, happy reading !! <3
『 teaser | masterlist | read on wattpad 』
“another win today.” namjoon says, leaning back against the couch with a sigh.
jeon jungkook, kim taehyung, park jimin, kim namjoon, kim seokjin, jung hoseok and min yoongi, seven powerful businessmen had spent the whole day in boardrooms acting like actual hunters in sealing the deal that left everyone else speechless. exhausted and filled with the adrenaline of victory, they'd all collectively decided to head straight to one of the city's most exclusive clubs. they didn’t wanna face the quietness and loneliness of going back to their house, where everything seemed too consuming but coming here wasn’t any better.
they had everything one could only ever dream of, endless money, private jets, yachts and influence over the highest ranks yet the men today felt a certain hollowness in their chest. a void that no amount of luxury could fill, it was mocking because they were supposed to celebrate winning billions today.
they were all seated in the vip section that had been prepared for them before they even arrived, their status was known too well by everyone.
jungkook the youngest yet fiercest among them, who is used to getting what he wants slumped back against the cushions, his black suit jacket unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose around his neck, revealing the tattoos that traveled up his arm to the side of his chest. taehyung was beside him as he accepted a glass from the waitress, his own tie loosened as well. jimin fiddled with his cufflinks before tossing them aside while namjoon, who was often like the leader when it came to their business, crossed one leg over the other.
seokjin the eldest ran a hand through his hair, loosening his tie completely to be able to breathe properly. hoseok beside him, probably the least grumpy and bubbliest in the group, leaned forward with elbows on his knees but he also tends to be intimidating at times when necessary. yoongi the quietest and most intimidating was right beside him, lighting a cigarette with a flick of his lighter. he was the most feared and intimidating one among all of them, those sharp eyes alone sent shivers down people's spines.
“it feels empty..” hoseok broke the initial silence as he exhaled smoke from his own cigarette. the vip rooms glass walls allowed a view of what was going on outside but inside it felt too isolated.
“billions more in the bank—we should be celebrating shouldn’t we?”
but even as he spoke, his eyes drifted to the ashtray, his usual vibrant energy dimmed by that same hollow feeling they all shared. they were tired of the constant days of work and the same routine that nothing seemed to spark that feeling of being alive anymore.
“yeah.” jungkook replied with a frustrated tone as he stared into the distance, lost in thoughts of the day that should have left him exhilarated but instead left him numb.
“fuck… it feels like i'm losing myself amidst so much work.”
taehyung nodded slowly, swirling the alcohol in his glass before taking a sip, his gaze distant as he took off his suit jacket throwing it over the armrest.
“i feel it too… there's no excitement anymore, no one to share it with that truly gets it.”
it felt like they'd climbed every mountain to reach the top and they finally had but now the view is just empty sky. the conversation went on between them comfortably until jimin chimed in too.
“i caught myself standing by the office window earlier.” he mutters.
“i was thinking about how we used to make such a big deal of every win. now we’re making billions and i barely feel anything.”
he lets out a dry laugh.
“that's messed up isn’t it?”
namjoon ever the philosophical one, nodded.
“i get it, we spent years working for it convinced it'd make us happy then we get here and.. life just keeps going.”
“exactly.” seokjin added.
“i brought the latest new car last week, the one everyone won't shut up about.”
“and?” hoseok asked making jin snort.
“and nothing, it was cool for ten minutes then it was just another car you'd brought.”
a few chuckles spread around the table. yoongi remained quiet but his rare interjection cut through, taking a drag from his cigarette before speaking.
“every day feels the same lately.”
the others looked up at him.
“wake up, work, make money, go home, repeat.”
“and the worst part?” taehyung says quietly.
“we should be happy..”
“but we’re not.” jimin finished.
silence settled as they sat there with just their thoughts. a stripper began her usual routine just outside their enclosure, her body moving in a seductive dance catching the attention of every single man present there but not one of the seven men so much as glanced her way, their eyes remained unfocused staring into space, occasionally sipping their drinks or puffing smoke out. all their thoughts were interconnected in some way.
jungkook traced the rim of his glass absentmindedly while taehyung's brow lifted when yoongi spoke up again.
“we're sitting here acting like a bunch of depressed old men.”
that earned a few genuine laughs.
“maybe we are old men.” seokjin admits.
“speak for yourself.”
the laughter faded but the mood felt lighter for a moment even though the silence returned because it wasn’t awkward just familiar.
in the main area outside the exclusive section, you walked around balancing a heavy tray full of cocktails and liquors. you'd worked this job for far too long, your sweet smile remained fixed on your lips as always but that never quite reached your exhausted eyes. the uniform you wore was the standard for the club and what all the waitresses here must wear, a tiny shirt and a black blouse with a neckline plunging enough to reveal your cleavage but not overly vulgar. it was tiny and tight leaving little to the imagination and you'd grown used to the wandering eyes and glances of drunk men while working. your feet ached in those heels today and the constant barrage of customers earlier had left you drained but you still pushed forward with determination.
just a few more hours before you can go home and relax and get out of this hellhole.
as you continued serving in the main area moving between tables, you hadn't even glanced toward the vip section yet, focused entirely on the section you were serving placing drinks in front of some loud men nearby but you didn’t know that taehyung's eyes had lifted suddenly, scanning the crowd out of habit before locking onto you. for whatever reason, you caught his attention immediately and completely.
there was something about the way you carried yourself, even from where he sat he could see the tiredness etched deeply in your eyes, the way when you thought no one was watching you let your posture slump. he couldn’t help but notice the subtle bounce of your breasts with each step and the way your hair was styled but slightly messy from the busy night. it wasn’t just the physical allure even though you were one of the sexiest women he had laid eyes on, it was also the authenticity, the way there was something real in you. it was like a cherry on top, making you look even more attractive in his eyes even though he hadn't interacted with you and it made his heart race. unexpectedly.
intrigued taehyung straightened, genuine interest flickering in his usually bored gaze as he leaned toward the others.
“hey all of you, look over there, the waitress serving the main floor.”
the group shifted their attention subtly, eyes following his direction. jungkook raised an eyebrow crushing out his cigarette as he took in the sight of you balancing another tray.
“damn… there's something about her.” jungkook observes.
jimin tilted his head, a small smirk forming as he observed you.
“i know right?”
he was clearly intrigued as namjoon nodded thoughtfully, eyes assessing you even from afar. it reminds them of something genuine almost, she doesn’t even know they're watching and it makes them want to learn more about you. why do you stand out so much? and why even though they haven’t interacted with you, are you already making the night feel less lonely?
jin chuckled as yoongi finally speaks up, his tongue coming down to lick at his bottom lip collecting a stray drop of alcohol.
“she caught my eye too.” he confesses.
they go quiet for a bit just watching you, feeling that unexplainable pull that took away the heaviness from their chest for a fleeting moment. taehyung grinned, eyes still tracking your movements.
“told you she's something else. makes you wanna know more doesn’t it?”
everything else was put aside, now all their fascination is on you as you continue to work completely unaware.
you leaned over a corner table to set a drink in front of a middle aged man with a sweaty face and bloodshot eyes clearly several drinks past his limit. you were about to turn around to leave but that’s when a meaty hand clamped down hard around your wrist. it happened so suddenly that you jumped, turning around to look at him with wide eyes.
“hey there sweetheart.” he slurred, his breath reeking of whiskey and something stale that made your nose wrinkle. his other hand hovered dangerously near your waist.
“what's a pretty thing like you doing serving drinks when you could be sitting on my lap instead? bet you'd look even better with that skirt hiked up. i could show you a real good time.”
you were used to this. it had happened several times before in this club filled with entitled men who mistook your politeness for availability, thinking that they had free rein to touch you or grope you whenever but bills didn’t care about your comfort or the dread you felt, they demanded payment and this job as risky as it was, was what kept the roof on top of your head and food on the table.
some backed off easily when you threatened to call the manager, a kind hearted woman who had always had your back and also all the other girls who worked alongside you, knowing the difficulty of handling men and got security involved without hesitation. others, the way too gone ones or insistent ones, required her intervention and you'd be so grateful each time the guards kicked them out. still the constant risk gnawed at you. you wondered sometimes what if your manager wasn’t nearby, if things escalated too far before help arrived, you could never protect yourself from these men. you weren’t strong enough.
these days you hated the job more than ever but what choice did you have? it was the curse of never having enough money.
you tried to pull your hand away gently at first, twisting your wrist in his grasp while maintaining that professional smile though it felt strained because of the disgust you felt just from his touch.
“sir please let go, i need to get back to work.” you said evenly even as fear started rising in you. his grip was tightening painfully.
“if you don’t, i'll have to call the manager right now. this isn’t okay.”
but he didn’t listen, leaning closer with his lecherous grin.
“aw come on, don’t be like that baby.”
his crude words continued making your stomach churn as you looked around hastily, no other staff was close enough to notice anything and the music drowned the majority of the noises as genuine fear gripped you, now realizing how trapped you were against the wall and the table’s edge.
from the section overlooking the main floor, all seven of them watched the scene unfold with growing anger but before any of them could react, jungkook's eyes narrowed, his tattooed hand clenching around his glass as he watched the man disrespect you. he didn’t think twice and stood up walking straight up to the table. his hand shot forward from behind the drunk man, yanking his grip away from your wrist with such force that the man stumbled back.
you gasped sharply at the sudden interruption, looking up at the handsome stranger who just became your savior. he radiated such power and fury. the man immediately recoiled as he took in jungkook's tall frame and the glare he had.
“w-what the hell man? this isn't your business.” he sputtered, trying to puff up but clearly intimidated.
“it is now, touch her again and you'll regret it. get your hands off her and fuck off before i make you.”
the man tried to protest, his hand reaching towards you once more and that’s when jungkook's control fully snapped. you watched, eyes wide in horror as jungkook grabbed the man's wrist hard before it could touch you once again and twisted it so hard that the crack of bone was audible even over the club's noise as the man howled in pain, doubling over.
“shut the fuck up!” jungkook growled, not wanting the man's scream to pull even more attention and put you in the spotlight.
“or i'll break the other one too. now leave and don’t even think about coming back here.”
the man now pale faced and squirming in pain, nodded frantically before scrambling away, clutching his injured hand. you watched as he disappeared into the crowd. you stood there frozen for a long moment trying to process what just happened, your heart fluttering.
no one had ever defended you like this before and it was so foreign that you struggled to find words now, not being able to compose yourself.
“i… t-thank you.” you managed shakily as you rubbed your sore wrist absentmindedly.
jungkook's gaze softened as he looked at you, scanning you for any other signs of injury.
“are you okay? are you injured anywhere else?”
you nodded attempting a small smile, not wanting to think about what would happen if he didn’t interfere on time.
“yeah i'm… i'm fine. thank you again really. i appreciate it more than you know.”
“you don’t have to worry anymore, i'm jungkook by the way.” he rasps, holding out his hand for you to shake it.
you stared at it for a bit, your lips parting as you shakily gripped his hand, your hand looking comically small and delicate in his tattooed one. he held your hand in his gently like giving you the free rein to pull back if you want, not the forceful grips that you're so used to.
“y/n.” you breathe, his thumb brushing on the back of your hand in a comforting manner but it instead sends a shiver of thrill down your spine.
how long has it been since a man’s touch excited you instead of making you disgusted? and now with you holding his hand, it made you realize how much you’ve been yearning for it.
“y/n.” he repeats as if tasting your name on his tongue.
the emotions swirling in his eyes almost hold you captivated for a long time before you pull your hand away from his as he studies your face for a long moment.
“you don’t have to go back out there right now.” he starts.
“wanna take a break? come sit with me and my friends over there just for a bit.”
his offer surprised you as you hesitated only briefly, your feet ached in your heels and you'd been working for so long, you didn’t want to lose contact with this stranger named jungkook so soon so you nodded.
“okay a little break sounds good.” you whispered.
jungkook's lips curved as he guided you to the vip section amidst the crowd, his presence parting people like they knew who he was but you still didn’t grasp who he was yet as you stepped inside the area, you paused, recognition finally drawing into you. you'd seen their faces a few times in newspapers or news channels even though you'd never paid enough attention to learn about them in depth.
they were extremely rich, powerful businessmen and they looked so different in real life even more fierce and dominant. six of them lounged across the couches and they were big not just in height and muscularness but also in the aura they exuded. they made you feel small and out of place, they looked you up and down taking in the way your uniform hugged your curves tightly.
their gaze didn’t hold anything lustful but something appreciative like you were truly worth noticing and deserved adoration. it made your stomach twist with a strange heat as you shifted on your feet, smoothing your hands down your uniform self consciously, not knowing how to step past the door but jungkook led you further, his hand resting on the small of your back.
“this is y/n.” jungkook announced to the group as he gestured to you.
“figured she could use a minute away from it all.”
the way the men straightened immediately told that they didn’t mind having you in their space one bit as if they'd been dying to have you near, their eyes locking onto you with undivided attention. one by one they introduced themselves, the one with the broadest shoulders spoke up first.
“i'm kim namjoon. nice to meet you y/n.”
next to him, a man with such perfect handsome features smiled.
“kim seokjin but you can call me jin.”
a bright eyed man leaned forward.
“junghoseok.”
right beside him was the quietest man yet with such a piercing gaze that spoke more about him louder than any words can.
“min yoongi.” he offered a small nod only.
the two other men introduced themselves next, the one with plush kissable lips whose name was jimin and the man who noticed you first, a smirk present on his expression named kim taehyung, a little stubble present on his jawline that made him look even sexier, his voice also the deepest among them.
there was so much masculine energy and the smell of male in this small room that you felt fully surrounded by it in the best way possible and that you might as well have just fainted from how weak in the knees you were. you’ve always been so confident in handling everyone in your job but this was the very first time that you were so fidgety.
“come sit please.”
one of them spoke up and you nodded dumbly before taking a seat on an empty couch right in front of them. you realized quickly with just a little introduction of how different they all were yet fundamentally similar to each other in some way. maybe that’s what deepened their bond so much. the men exchanged glances, their thoughts still clearly fixated on the incident outside.
“fucking prick.” jungkook muttered as he settled near you, cracking his knuckles.
“a guy like that thinks he can grab whoever he wants, i saw red when his hand touched her.”
taehyung nodded, his eyes still on you.
“we all did, no one should have to deal with that shit in their workplace.”
“it's good that you handled it kook. i was so close to beating his ass up too.” namjoon turns to look at you.
“are you sure you're okay?”
their protectiveness made butterflies erupt in your stomach.
“yes i'm okay.” you bite your lower lip, looking down at your hands, twisting them together.
you were acutely aware of how their eyes followed your every small movement and the tension was palpable even when there was silence. you noticed one thing, none of them, not once had glanced at the stripper dancing just outside even though the other men were staring at her like a hawk and catcalling her but to these men, it seemed as if she didn’t exist and you were the only center of their attention, like you were the only one that existed in their world.
it was overwhelming.
intoxicating
“so y/n tell us about yourself. how long have you been working here?” jimin broke the silence, wanting to learn more about you.
“i've been working here for a while… pays the bills you know? it's not ideal but it's what i have right now.”
you talked shyly at first but words started flowing more easily than you expected. you shared bits about your long shifts and the exhaustion and how you dreamed of something more stable but life doesn’t always go the way you want it to. they listened intently, asking thoughtful questions as if they really wanted to know more and cared about your life. they also shared about themselves too.
“we just closed a massive deal today… but honestly? it feels empty.” jimin explains.
they looked at you like you were the only spark they'd felt after months, watching you as you laughed lightly at a joke hoseok cracks. you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with pink cheeks when you felt all their eyes on you at once.
“you're cute when you're shy.” seokjin chuckles.
their compliments weren’t crude, they admired your beauty and the efforts you made at your work, your confidence and how despite everything, you were so strong to do this every day.
time seemed to pass by without any of you realizing when the topic turned deeper, they learned of your financial struggles too. you never let anyone know about your weakness but for whatever reason, you trusted them so easily to let the words flow.
“i manage, i make it work somehow.” you shrugged.
their expressions shifted with concern.
“you also don’t have to worry about that guy from earlier bothering you again, he's suspended from his job.” namjoon clarifies.
information on that man was retrieved by the guard outside and namjoon learned that he worked at a measly low grade company that they could probably buy within seconds but they wanted him ruined so they made him lose his job instead with just a few texts, they held the power to do so. seeing him touch you like that pissed the hell out of them.
you paused, blinking in shock.
“what? y-you did that for me? but why? i'm used to it, men are always around in this place so it's nothing new for me.” you croaked.
they reacted immediately as yoongi's jaw clenched.
“used to it? you shouldn’t have to be. no woman deserves to face this every day.” his voice was low with anger while jin's usually light demeanor hardened.
“you're handling all this out there?”
you smiled sadly, looking down at your lap.
“you really didn’t have to do all that for me—”
but jungkook interrupts you before you could finish your words.
“we'd do it again in a heartbeat. you're worth more than being treated like that.”
you swallowed at their words, almost feeling tears brim in your eyes that you pushed back, your heart not being able to handle such affection and possessiveness but in a good way from them, in a way that you’ve never received before in your life. it left you speechless and with a thousand unknown feelings and little did you know that even to them you seemed even more extraordinary than their words could convey as taehyung leans back on the couch, his eyes locked on yours like he hasn’t missed a single word.
“you know.” he starts speaking.
“most people in places like this… they're always acting like someone else but youre just... you, even after a shift like that its nice to see it honestly.”
the others nodded in confirmation, knowing what taehyung means by heart. they've been constantly surrounded by too many fake smiles and even women who have had eyes on their wallets rather than them. they've had countless encounters before with girls trying to be too close to them because of an intention, none of them were honest and wanted them for who they are.
“yeah i get what he means.” hoseok added softly.
“it's just… refreshing talking to you feels normal like actually normal.”
“o-oh?” your heart thuds harder at their words.
“you're honest.” yoongi said simply.
“people don’t really do that much around us anymore.”
“i'm not that special.” you breathe.
“you are y/n.” jungkook glances at you.
“when that guy grabbed you… you were about to handle it even before i intervened. you're tougher than you look.”
you're the kind of woman who could bring kings to their knees without even trying, that's how they saw you. they made you feel desired, not merely physically but as someone captivating in her entirety, your your smiles and beauty and your confidence mixed with shyness, they loved everything.
you felt this certain heat all over you that pulled you towards them, your legs clenching together and that didn’t go unnoticed at all. sensing the shift and needing a moment to compose yourself amid the overwhelming feeling, you offered them a slightly breathless smile.
“um do you all want some drinks? i can go get a fresh round.” you offered, noting how all their glasses were empty but that none of them seemed even the slightest bit drunk because of how well they were at handling alcohol.
they nodded in agreement and you rose from the couch, feeling their eyes follow every movement as you turned, feeling their stares caressing the curves on your back and it made goosebumps of excitement rise up on you as you walked to the bar, almost hurrying to be back to them, not wanting to waste any second with them.
returning moments later with a tray balanced with their liquors of choice but nothing too heavy, you felt the intensity multiply upon re entering their space. you set the tray down on the low table slowly which required you to bend forward but you did so almost intentionally and coyly so that they'd get a good view of your cleavage. doing a subtle arch of your back that allowed the already short skirt to ride up exposing the curve of your ass, you heard sharp intakes of their breaths and that makes your heart pound harder.
your uniform was so short that you'd always avoid bending down but doing so in front of them made you feel wanted. your cleavage pressed forward against your top, the soft swells visible for the men in front invitingly.
“damn y/n...” jungkook breathed first as he shifted in his seat.
“are you trying to kill us bending over like that?” jimin lets out an appreciative hum, not complaining one bit to have you like that while hungrily tracing your figure.
seeing you like this is stirring things they haven't felt in ages. you bite back a grin when you hear yoongi let out a growl when he catches a glimpse of your white lace panties. your thighs pressed together subtly as you straightened, feeling exposed yet empowered.
you handed each of them a glass, jin's fingers brush yours when grabbing the glass and the contact makes you gasp.
“easy guys, we've got all night.”
what started as conversations and shared stories had slowly turned into something deeper as the tension and intimacy grew that none of you could deny it anymore. there wasn't anything normal anymore, there was too much need and their eyes were growing increasingly hooded. it was like both of you guys were in a game wanting to see who'd break first and take what they need, challenging each other through eyes alone. jin was the first one to break, not being able to fight the pull anymore.
“come here y/n.”
you watched him manspreading so sexily as he patted his thigh and you let out a shy smile, standing up almost immediately to walk to him. he guides you onto his thick thigh, his large hand resting at your lower back, the heat of his body and his scent make you tremble as you place a hand on his chest. sitting on his lap made your skirt ride up and you made no move to fix it, your feet dangling off the ground because of the height difference with jin and not only him but also all the other six of them were just so huge especially namjoon, whom you guessed was the tallest of all.
you felt a subtle shift of his muscles as he adjusted, supporting your weight with literally no effort. the others watched with appreciative eyes, already jealous that jin gets to have you so close at first, their focus on the cigarettes and drinks was completely forgotten.
“are you comfortable like this y/n?” jin rasps leaning closer, his warm breath hitting your ear.
his hand stayed put, thumb rubbing circles against your thigh and you nodded jerkily, the proximity making it hard for you to breathe. you forgot about the club, the music outside. it was just the seven of them who were pulling you in their spell even deeper. then taehyung, not being able to help himself, leaned forward from his seat.
“can i kiss you sweetheart?” he asked directly, eyes searching yours for any hesitation.
the way he asked for consent made you flush, you were not used to it at all and it only made your need bubble higher and more fiercely.
“yes please.” you plead.
he closed the distance slowly, his hand cupping your jaw before his lips met yours right there with you still on jin's lap. it started soft but quickly deepened, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth before slipping inside making you moan into it which he swallowed. the breathy sound began to ignite something in all of them because even if your eyes were closed, you could sense their expressions.
the kiss was unhurried, he took his time exploring every inch of your mouth as both your salivas intertwined. he tasted like something entirely different like dark chocolate. his fingers threaded through your hair and he pulled back his eyes half lidded and breathing unevenly.
“fuck you taste good.” he mutters, thumb brushing your swollen lower lip.
hoseok joined right after taehyung, sliding closer on the couch, looking at your lips with dark eyes, wanting permission without any words and you reached for him grabbing the collar of his shirt. while your other hand pressed harder on jin's chest for balance, fisting his shirt. the makeout with hoseok was different, it was hungrier like he couldn’t get enough as he sucked your bottom lip and you let out a louder whimper.
“mmph!”
jin's hand on your back slides lower, brushing against your butt and it makes you shiver, your bottom pressing harder on his thigh. he rearranges you until you are straddling one of his thighs, only causing the entire pressure on your clothed pussy alone making you squeal. you shifted on his thigh to chase more of that friction, your skirt now rode up further revealing your lace panties fully.
one by one they each took their moment and kiss until you were surrounded by heated touches and kisses. namjoon cradled the back of your head as he explored your mouth thoroughly.
“you're so responsive baby.” yoongi growls against your throat, all the men enjoying your cute little noises.
he takes his turn too. yoongi's kiss was full of bites and clashes of teeth from how impatient he was that you were afraid your lips would start bleeding from how he wouldn’t let go. jimin placed slow open mouthed kisses on your neck and jawline while the others observed what made you moan and squirm. like the expert jimin was, he immediately found the sensitive spot below your ear and locked his mouth there to suck a mark while you struggled to breathe into yoongi's mouth.
jungkook held you in place with a hand around your throat, squeezing slightly and his kiss was a bit more rough while he took your mouth like he was starving for it.
jimin took his turn too, sweetly.
their hands roaming everywhere they could find every exposed skin, gripping your waist or thigh, getting busy making out with you or leaving hickies on your throat and cleavage while your hips twitched occasionally on jin's thigh. your lips remained parted, tongues tangling lewdly with each of the men. jin takes your mouth and sucks on your tongue making you whine and rock on his thigh, his hand fully cupping your butt, encouraging you to grind harder.
“u-uh…”
you whined as jungkook's hand caressed your inner thighs so close to your panties. your body responded eagerly, nipples hardening as you pulled away from jin's mouth, panting hard from all their devoted attention feeling yourself melt into a puddle just from touches and kisses alone. you squirmed on jin's thigh, feeling his hard muscle flex beneath you.
the other men breathed heavily too, chests rising and falling, your whimpers and their rough breaths the only sound that could be heard. they were visibly affected too and you could feel the growing hardness pressing against your thigh from jin. their eyes roamed your flushed face and how kiss swollen your lips were, their jaws clenching as after a particularly heated kiss with jimin that left you gasping you pulled back slightly.
a sudden wave of nervousness took over you. the vip room was private, not see through from the outside yet it made you pause when you realized what you were doing in the haze.
“i… i don't do this.” you whispered shakily, glancing towards the door.
“my shift isn’t even over, i should go back out there. this isn’t… i'm not that kind of girl.”
you’ve never slept with anyone here in the club, probably the last time you had sex was years ago with your ex and the heartbreak of it never led you forward to another relationship even though your body pined for the touch of a man who made you feel wanted in every way and for the first time in years, they made you feel that. never in your dreams would you have assumed that it would be seven of them doing so.
the men looked at you but there was no judgment, only understanding and want as jin's hand stayed comfortingly on your back.
“we stop whenever you say but fuck.. we want you, not just like this but more.” taehyung growls in that deep husky voice of his that makes you weak in the knees.
“yeah exactly…” namjoon added.
“you make us feel alive again and we don’t just want a quick thrill here, we want you for the whole night.”
you made the fire in their veins rise once again after years, you made them forget the hollow feeling they’ve been carrying, it eased the second you walked in here even though you were hesitant, your body betrayed you, shifting again on jin's lap and feeling that delicious friction.
“but why me? i'm just… me, a waitress. you guys could have anyone, someone who fits better with your world. i don’t understand.”
the insecurity was evident in your voice and you didn’t understand why they'd want you and care so much when they could have someone of high class. women probably threw themselves at them every day yet they looked at you like this. they look at you like you are the center of their universe. jungkook cupped your cheek, making you face him so you could see the sincerity visible on his expression.
“because none of that other shit matters. you caught our attention because you're you, it feels right and it’s the best thing ever.”
hoseok grinned, tracing a finger along your arm.
“and we can see you want this too baby, those pretty eyes of yours are telling us everything… the little hitch in your breathing.”
your bottom lip quivers at their words as your thighs clench around jin's thigh, the action pulling a small wanton noise from you.
“let us give you the best night of your life sweet girl.”
you remained quiet even if your hand clung onto jin's chest hard
“please?” he breathes.
they dominated everyone, high status companies and billions, yet for you they'd be ready to beg on their knees. your body ached for them but most importantly, it was your heart too that was screaming at you to say yes.
namjoon leans close to you, the tempting column of his throat exposed from where you'd pulled at his shirt while kissing.
“you don't have to decide right now but... come home with us tonight.” namjoon said with such genuineness and the others nodded with him. they murmured their approvals in a chorus as jimin's eyes locked onto yours, seriousness in his expression now.
“no pressure at all beautiful, it's whatever you want…”
they knew one thing for sure, they couldn’t forget the way you looked at them and the way your body responds to every little touch. it makes them want to know how you'd react to touches at your most private places. hoseok reaches out to brush a lock of hair from your face.
“we've got a black card here, if you need anything, leave this job and take this. come with us whatever that helps you feel secure.” he whispers.
it wasn’t about buying you with the card, it was about wanting to give you the world because you deserve it. all their words made your chest tighten with emotions.
you sat there stunned as you thought of their offer. the black card in hoseok's hand represented everything, a lifetime of not worrying about bills, living with no fear of not making ends meet and being able to breathe without feeling like you have to survive but more than that, it was them and you knew money or no money, you wanted this, wanted all seven of them so you made your decision in a heartbeat.
“i… i agree.” you whispered at first almost quietly before finding a bit more strength at their encouragement.
“yes i'll come with you.”
their reactions were immediate as they let out chuckles. yoongi's hand squeezed your knee and he let out the first real grin since he came here.
“that's our girl. fuck you have no idea how happy that makes us.”
getting praised by yoongi made your clit throb, your face falling on his chest as you nuzzled against it while jin rubbed up and down your back.
“we'll take care of everything, you don’t have to worry.” jin confirms.
with the decision made, they didn’t wait any longer, wanting to have you in their place so they could claim you there with all the time in the world. they guided you out of the vip section with possessive hands at your waist. your heart raced so fast you could feel it in your throat and you felt like it might burst right open.
you spotted your manager near the bar, her eyes widening when she saw you flanked by the seven most well known business owners whose faces had been everywhere. she straightened up instantly not finding words, instantly terrified of what might happen as they stopped in front of her.
“she's not working here anymore.” namjoon stated firmly, his arm slipping around your shoulder.
“y/n is coming with us. consider her shift over permanently, we'll handle any necessary paperwork if needed later.”
your manager blinked rapidly, clearly intimidated but nodded quickly.
“o-of course sir, y/n take care of yourself.”
she shot you a quick look but the men's presence left no room for her to question anything else while you still couldn’t grasp the reality fully. feeling freedom and disbelief all at once.
they led you outside to the waiting matte black limo which was pure luxury, starting from the exterior to the interior. they helped you inside and once the door closed, the vehicle started moving and just along with that, their hands on you were at full force.
this time yoongi didn’t hesitate and pulled you onto his lap first, gripping your hips as he ate at your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours drawing out whimpers as the others shifted closer. jimin's hand slid up to cup your breast through the fabric of your uniform making your back arch even through layers of clothing, their touches felt so prominent.
you didn’t know what would happen once you reached their penthouse and they wouldn’t hold back anymore. hoseok sucks and bites on the side of your neck while jungkook placed a loving kiss against your cheek, his eyes blazing as the ride felt too long because of of what was to come.
“can't wait to have you spread out for us at home.”
you couldn’t wait either.
the limo pulled in front of their penthouse and you stepped out on shaky legs still buzzing from their heated touches that had filled the ride over.
the door opened, welcoming you inside the open living room before you could admire the poshness and extravagance of the place, you were surrounded by all seven of them, their presences closing in like a wall of dominance until you were fully trapped between them. like seven predators closing in on their little prey and they wouldn’t let you go easily especially when there was so much impatience and all the teasings from earlier had left everyone on edge and frustrated.
jin and jimin positioned themselves on either side of you immediately, their breaths ghosting over your skin as hoseok's hand boldly slid under the hem of your uniform, tracing your skin and the skin around your belly button.
“you're so damn soft.” hoseok murmured huskily.
jin's lips found the curve of your neck, placing delicate kisses along your throat, tongue darting out to taste your skin while jimin mirrored him on the other side, alternating between pecks and nips that made you gasp softly. they went oh so slow as if they wanted to memorize every inch of you with just their hands alone, pulling you deeper into their circle.
“look at her already trembling for us.”
jimin whispers against your ear before capturing your lips in a hot kiss, his tongue making that sex act of thrusting in and out that left your knees weak, your hand grasping onto one of their shirts.
“can i?” taehyung gruffs out.
his gaze never left yours as he reached for the zipper at the back of your dress.
“y-yes.” you stuttered, letting out excited huffs of breath.
his fingers worked it down slowly while his mouth sucked on the exposed cleavage of your breast as the fabric parted, revealing the expanse of your back and all seven men watched with rapt attention, their fists clenching in need. you could see their hard cocks straining against their suit pants.
namjoon stands behind you now while yoongi leans against the couch with a smirk enjoying the scene, his arms crossed, eyes devouring every revealed inch, jungkook's hand brushed your hair aside to help taehyung pull the zipper down properly as the dress finally slips down your arms and pools at your feet, leaving you in just your heels, stockings and those tiny lacy white panties, your uniform didn’t need a bra so your breasts jiggle free, making them all groan in unison at the sight. your hand instinctively goes up to cover yourself but taehyung holds it, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a kiss against the back of your hand.
“don't hide from us… god you're perfect.”
you let out a needy moan at his words and how they traced every inch of you with such fascination that you felt like the most beautiful woman in the world and most worshipped. you never thought one could be worshipped with eyes alone and for the first time, you also believed that you could feel perfect… because when you viewed yourself through their eyes, you indeed felt that.
“you look like a dream.” seokjin grumbles.
their praises seemed to reach every corner of your soul. they didn’t take off the panties wanting to admire you like this first, watching the way your nubs were pointed in the air into twin peaks the more as cool air brushed against them.
“we've wanted this since we saw you out there…”
namjoon rumbled, his fingers brushing your spine while yoongi stepped closer, his cold facade cracking as he ran a hand down your side making you lean onto him while panting.
“fuck these curves…”
you were driving him fully insane, their chests puffed up because you were letting them see you like this, your body a bit squirmy at first from being bare in front of them while they're all fully clothed but slowly adapting confidence from their words. all their hands joined in touching you until you couldn’t tell them apart anymore, gliding over every curve, caressing your breasts while thumbs brushed against the nipples.
“oh… hahh.” you whined, your head falling back on jimin's shoulder, your panties wetly clinging to your folds as you clenched your legs together hard but it did little to relieve your ache.
hoseok drops to his knees to kiss along the tops of your stockings while his cock throbs inside his pants, the smell of your arousal hitting him so directly that his nostrils flare but before they could start properly and things could escalate further, they all paused suddenly making you look at them with confusion, your breasts rising and falling. they had to force their eyes from your blossoms to speak to you.
“we need to hear it from you y/n. are you sure about this? fully sure?” namjoon asks.
“i am sure.”
you crooned, your lips forming a pout due to them suddenly stopping and it makes their eyes narrow at how the sweet action pulled at their heartstrings. they'd do anything you asked if you gave them those eyes and that expression but they need to finalize a few things.
“you can use the safe word anytime, red for stopping completely, yellow to slow down and green to keep going yeah?”
you nodded, seeing the care in their faces even in between so much tension and need.
“we've seen how men treat you at the club… so we won't do anything without your consent. we want you so bad but only if you want us just as much.” jungkook rasps.
you didn’t know if you'd ever felt so valued and safe before in front of men and it makes tears of gratefulness well in your eyes as you pressed yourself closer to them, giving your body to them fully.
“i've never been more sure in my life. i want all of you please… please.”
you whimper, feeling their chest and nuzzling against taehyung who is in front of you now and he makes a low noise right beside your ear. they were ready to lose themselves in you completely, all their restraints and control gone.
you were laid back on the couch in the center of the room as you looked up at them, nervousness yet anticipation in you, your body already hypersensitive from being touched. jin leans down to your right side when he cups the underside of one of your breasts, feeling its weight. his thumb flicked it, your nipple hardening even more under his ministrations. you felt his touches all the way down to your clit.
“oh god…”
a squeal left you when taehyung left wet kisses along the side of your other breast, not wanting to keep your other breast neglected before he captured the peak between his lips, sucking at first then with more pressure while jin's skilled pinching and rolling combined with taehyung's warm suction. your back arched off the couch as your breaths came out in short gasps, every pull of tongue and twist of fingers on both your nipples drew involuntary moans from your throat.
the others watched everything, their own need evident as they shifted closer even though taehyung and jin were having their moment, the hands of others would occasionally brush your arms or thighs in reassurance.
“ahh.”
you let out a particularly loud moan as taehyung bites slightly on your nipple before soothing it with laps of his tongue making you feel heady as seokjin's mouth joined too, leaving your breasts wet with saliva. your breasts were like a glistening playground of sensation.
“ahh… jin taehyung… it feels so good.” you whimpered, your hand gripping onto the couch from the pleasure. jin lifted his head briefly, his lips shiny.
“yeah? you like when we suck on these pretty tits baby?
“it makes your pussy feel good mhmm?” he asks.
taehyung hummed in agreement, switching to light nibbles and soothing licks, their words making you even more horny as you nodded dumbly.
“she's dripping so much just from getting her nipples played with… just look at that wet patch.”
jungkook comments, all their eyes falling on your panty covered cunt where a damp spot had started forming from the amount of arousal you leaked and the white lingerie made everything see through. meanwhile, namjoon began kissing torturously down your stomach, his tongue leaving a trail as shivers race up your spine as he worshipped your belly, circling his tongue around your belly button. when his teeth scraped a certain ticklish spot, it made you giggle and you grabbed onto taehyung's shirt who was beside you.
“mm…”
taehyung grinned at your giggle while namjoon glowed softly.
“so beautiful, every inch of you.”
he praised, nipping just below your navel. your legs couldn’t stay spread, feeling a little shy from the copious amount of essence you were leaking and also from the building ache but hoseok and jungkook didn’t let you hide away so easily, holding one leg apart, each opening you completely to their gaze. jungkook leaned in first, pressing his face close to your soaked panties inhaling deeply with a guttural groan.
“shitt she smells so good.”
he mutters, his hot breath fanning over your covered core making you twitch.
“i know right?” hoseok adds, already too obsessed from earlier after getting a waft of your pussy when he was so close to it. jungkook begins kissing and sucking marks onto your inner thighs, starting high near the crease and working inward, each harsh suck leaving reddish hickeys.
“j-jungkook..” you stammered as his tongue avoided your pussy entirely and focused around it, only puffs of air hitting it and you squirmed helplessly as hoseok's fingers dug in near your panties.
“spread wider for us princess, let us see how much you need this.” hoseok encouraged when your thighs trembled.
jimin and yoongi were the only ones left to join and they didn't hesitate anymore. their fingers joining to touch you over your panties, fingers expertly finding your swollen clit through the lace.
you whimpered, the pressure was never enough to push you over the edge but just enough to keep you teetering on the brink. jimin's touch was precise, he used the pads of his fingers to rub tight patterns between your folds that made your hips buck, with taehyung and jin watching your pleasured expressions with focused intensity.
“feel that sweetheart?”
yoongi asks as he flicks your clit side to side.
“hmm?” he persists when you don't reply, pressing his thumb against your clit even harder and it felt so much even without them touching you directly.
“y-yes haggh.” you mewled.
yoongi presses the fabric against your folds, rubbing up and down the length of your slit until the lace lewdly sticks between your pussy lips.
“listen to those sounds she's making… fuck.”
seokjin and taehyung conversed among themselves, their eyes focused on your pussy and what the other men were doing and it makes you even more excited if that was even possible, there was something so naughty about having the others comment on you while you were being touched as if there was an audience itself. it doubled the sensations for you as jin and taehyung occasionally tweaked your nubs just to hear you gasp between your moans from the maddening clit rubs that left your pussy clenching, your arousal coating your inner thighs messily now. you couldn't take their teasing anymore as your head thrashes.
“please goshh more... i need more.” you begged breathlessly, not being able to stay still.
jimin offered two fingers, pressing them against your lips.
“open up baby. suck them like you mean it.” he instructed.
you obeyed, eagerly opening your mouth as he slid them past your lips. you swirled your tongue around his fingers, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed your head slightly. the others watched intently, already imagining you sucking their cocks exactly like this and all their cocks twitched inside their pants while jimin groaned at the wet feeling of your mouth, his eyes growing half lidded wondering how his cock would feel inside your mouth.
“look at that mouth working so well.” jungkook added.
he pushed in his own fingers right next to jimin's, pushing his tattooed fingers so deep that it brushed the back of your throat, his fingers giving slight thrusts as tears brimmed your eyes trying not to gag.
“just like that, get them nice and wet for us.” jimin murmurs.
jin grabs ahold of your hair, not enough to hurt but hard enough to make you feel the slight pain mixed with pleasure as he pulls your mouth to him for a sloppy passionate kiss that leaves you dizzy, swallowing all your noises. you made a throaty sound when jungkook's fingers finally left your mouth, his eyes focusing on your pussy, not being able to stand seeing it covered anymore and from the state of others around, they're impatient as well.
he went down your body as you watched with wide eyes but instead of using his hands to slide them off, he leaned down, your breathing growing ragged. with a dirty glint in his eyes, he caught the edge of the panty between his teeth and began to tug them downwards slowly making the fabric peel away from your core with a wet sound.
your pussy now fully exposed to the seven men and jin and taehyung also joined the others below to look at you making your cheeks flame from the vulnerability of it all and how exposed you felt while two of them spread your legs further until you were eagle spread, your folds parted as well, the soaked panty dragging along your thighs, leaving a trail of your own slickness. your entire body trembles as the cool air hits your center. the panties finally slip past your ankles and jungkook tosses them aside with a satisfied growl.
all of them leaned in closer where you lay bare as if inspecting you and it makes your brow furrow, heart pounding hard. you've never felt more exposed at once while your clit throbbed helplessly. they let out a mix of curses and loud exhales. their eyes held something else entirely, it went far beyond lust like they wanted to eat you whole and never stop. you felt like you were surrounded by seven hungry wolves and you'd give yourself up to them willingly. namjoon's breath hitched audibly, his large hands clenching at his sides as if fighting the urge to touch immediately.
“fuck...” he murmurs.
they'd never seen anything more perfect, it was like you were a work of art.
you were bare except for your thigh stockings and your heels. jin lets out a hum, his plush lips parting as he stared. your folds were swollen and parted slightly to reveal your labia and your gaping entrance, the clit on top shiny from your arousal and throbbing under their gaze. it was as if they were touching you from their stares alone and they hadn't even touched you yet.
“look at how she's clenching around nothing. fuck that's so hot... you're so empty aren't you angel?” jimin asks so adoringly that you let out another soft sound at his endearment.
taehyung stared in awe as he tilted his head, it was as if your pussy itself was begging for their tongues and fingers on its own. they've never wanted anyone more, it was like you're the only woman in the world. they've always appreciated a female body but their bodies never reacted in such a way. they were never so mesmerized. they wanted to learn more about what made you moan or cry, where you liked being touched, what made you giggle and most importantly, what made your precious heart happy.
jimin chuckled with admiration when he saw you hiding your face between your hands because of how overwhelmed you felt from all their eyes on you at once.
“hey baby...”
he removed your hands from your face and pressed a kiss against your forehead.
“don't be shy… you're stunning. look at how hard you make us just from staring at you.”
your eyes fall on their tented bulge and it makes you exhale shakily, it was the proof of how true their words were and it gives you a little more strength. yoongi's tongue darts out to lick his lips.
“i bet she tastes even better than she looks.” he comments, tilting his head making your breath hitch.
jungkook still positioned closest, looked up at you with those piercing eyes. you gulped, feeling your stomach flutter.
“i... i've never had anyone look at me like this.” you whispered, trying to find words to say what you truly wanted.
“especially not all of you, i-it feels… too much but good. i feel wanted.. really wanted.”
your pussy gave a clench along with your words, drawing another groan from them by the sight of it and from your words.
“do you want me to eat your pussy baby? nice and slow mm?”
you nodded desperately and jungkook didn't waste time and dived in first, his tongue pressing against your entrance, dragging upward in one lap stroke all the way up to your clit.
“ahhh mm fuck—”
you squeaked at the sensation of his tongue and lip piercing combined and he let out a hiss at the taste. he took his time, eyes locked intensely on yours the entire time, never breaking contact as he repeated the motion, savoring every drop of you like it was the finest wine. the pressure was perfect, not too light and not too rough yet enough to make your hips jerk and your hands fist into the cushions beneath you.
“she tastes incredible joon.” he murmurs to namjoon beside him. you squirm at the feeling of the cool metal of his piercing hitting your clit.
you tasted sweet and tangy at once, it was everything.
your eyes fall closed, not being able to keep them open as your head falls back in sensation. jungkook paused, biting onto your inner thigh, making you gasp as your eyes pop open.
“look at me while i taste you or i stop.” he threatened.
you let out a long moan and kept your teary eyes open, the touches of others sending jolts straight to where jungkook was eating you. namjoon groped one of your breasts, squeezing it while hoseok rubbed his still clothed cock against your thigh not being able to help himself. a damn spot formed on his pants from the precum.
“you want a taste too?”
jungkook smirked at taehyung, who was watching him eat at you with hungry focused eyes and jungkook moved aside to let taehyung have a chance. his tongue felt different, slow yet so deep as he traced every fold with the tip of his tongue. he suckled gently on your clit, humming around it to make your toes curl. your pussy was blooming more and more for them.
“i could do this for hours mmm.” he moaned against you, his tongue dipping inside your hole a bit to collect your fluids.
during all these, your legs were held open so they could eat your pussy with no resistance at all. namjoon's mouth was on your breast now, replacing his hands sucking on your nipple and also leaving a hickey on the underside of it while yoongi watched everything with hooded eyes, squeezing himself over his pants.
“pleaseee!”
you whined loudly, pressing your hips harder towards taehyung's face, feeling yourself getting close but he pulled back slightly with a chuckle looking down at you.
“not yet darling, we all have to have a taste first don't we?”
from his words you knew that the torture was just beginning and you already felt like you'd cum but they were just beginning, they were about to take their sweet time. jimin pressed his mouth against you giving you teasing flicks of his tongue across your clit quickly that built the pressure rapidly before pulling back, leaving you whining pathetically and he almost felt bad but he enjoyed teasing you.
“aww.” jimin cooed, wickedness present as the others smirked.
“you want more don't you? but this pussy is too good to rush.” he rasps, catching a droplet of your arousal that leaks with the tip of his tongue.
in the meantime, jungkook and hoseok latched onto your nipples, simultaneously sucking and biting while their hands roamed your body taking the chance to discover your breasts too since they didn't before and you grabbed onto their hair, holding them to your chest while sobbing. yoongi grunted, watching your pussy while the denial makes your body shake. the room filled with your breathy moans and the wet sound of their mouths working on your body.
namjoon was the first to slide his fingers along your mound and his intentions make you pant as his middle finger presses against your clit, a needy whimper leaving you.
“so fucking wet baby. this pussy's been begging since the club hasn’t it?”
“want it uh…” you whined needily.
taehyung ran two of his long fingers along your outer lips, spreading them apart with his thumbs so namjoon and he could see every slick detail making your thighs quake.
“feel that? she's pulsing so much.” namjoon observed.
you moaned loudly, head falling back when namjoon's fingers breached your entrance before dipping inside so slowly while taehyung continued his exploration on the outer part of you. the feeling of having something inside you from them even if it's just one finger, felt heavenly almost euphoric as he curled his finger immediately against that spongy spot inside you.
“oh god… oh please.”
you let out brokenly your hand fisting jungkook's hair, who still lets little licks on your sensitive nipple. jimin chuckled, his fingers replacing taehyung's on your clit as namjoon added a second finger, scissoring them to open you up as you bit your lip to stifle the cries that were trying to escape and they didn’t like that one bit, they didn’t like you holding back in any way.
“let us hear you princess. don't hold back… that’s it.”
your lips parted to quiet little “ah ah ahs” as namjoon pumped two of his fingers while jimin and taehyung took turns flicking your clit up and down, side to side, whatever motion they desired. your arousal coated their hands and dripped down to soak the couch. your eyes widen when hoseok's hand joins namjoon's, his fingers teasing your entrance around namjoon's thrusting fingers. namjoon's lips curl up as he makes space for hoseok's, whose two fingers slide inside you so easily considering how wet you were.
“nghh oh god i—”
your words cut off in a cry as you felt your pussy stretch and accommodate four fingers. their fingers were already so thick that you were stretched beyond imagination, stretched more than even dicks alone had done to you from just their fingers. you couldn’t imagine what their cocks would do to you then. the burn was delicious, your hips rocked against them chasing the pleasure, feeling your orgasm get so close.
“unngh!”
you bite onto jungkook's clothed chest because he was the closest beside your head making him fist your hair.
“come on boys, make her feel it.”
he grins, earning aroused laughs from namjoon and hoseok. both their fingers curled against your g-spot while taehyung pressed his thumb on your clit, holding it there with a blinding pressure that has your eyes rolling back. your pussy clenching continuously on their invading fingers as they wiggled and twisted their finger inside you as if they were searching for something deep inside you and your legs thrashed, not being able to take too much.
“shhh… you're going so good.”
taehyung soothes you, sensing the overload of sensations. you cried out, back almost lifting off the couch despite the men holding you from all around, your walls fluttering wildly around the intrusion.
“yess fuckk, ah r-right there!”
you wanted more and wanted to escape at once, your mind couldn't catch up from the stretch and the curl, the constant pressure on your clit from multiple hands now taking turns also your breasts never being left alone. you didn’t even realize when namjoon and hoseok left your pussy so that jungkook's three fingers could take place inside you almost immediately, they slid in with no effort as he pumped them roughly.
squelch. squelch. squelch.
it makes loud wet noises that seem to override even your moans and gasps and the men around you groan at the noises too, a pained look on all their faces from holding back. jungkook watched your face contort in ecstasy, his jaw clenched.
“atta girl, squeezing so tight around me, so damn hot… yess.”
he hisses, his thighs starting to grind against the corner of the couch, wanting stimulation from how crazy you are driving him. jin watched everything with dark eyes rubbing against your inner thighs.
“you ready for two more fingers baby?”
jin asks, stroking one of your butt cheeks as you watch him with a swallow, wondering how you'd take two more fingers while jungkook had three inside already but your orgasm was so close you couldn’t think straight and by the way, your pussy was gaping, you wanted more.
“y-y-yes.” you stammered nervously.
“i'll be gentle yeah?” he coaxes.
slowly jin penetrated two of his fingers alongside jungkook's three moving ones, basically fisting you and you let out a loud cry, your toes curling.
“oh god, oh god.” you chanted.
they all watched the way your pussy accommodated several fingers, lips parting hungrily while you were a mess beneath them. they moved their fingers in and out slowly now, mindful of the fullness in a rhythm that had your juices overflowing with pornographic sounds leaving you. your thighs trembled hard and uncontrollably as you struggled to breathe, choking on your saliva.
“i-i can't... it's too much.. feels so good.”
the others paused their actions just to watch jungkook and jin having their moment, hitting your spots relentlessly. taehyung pressed down on your lower belly to heighten every sensation and to feel their fingers moving inside you. your hips bucked wildly but strong hands pinned you down, forcing you to take every bit of pleasure they gave and it was building higher and higher without mercy.
“ah please please let me cum! i need it, i'm so close hahngh.”
you babbled, not even making sense, your hand gripping hoseok's shirt so hard that it ripped, buttons flying all over. the orgasm was so close to hitting you and that's when they decided to stop altogether, fingers leaving your cunt and their touches stopping.
“noooo why?”
you sobbed out tears streaming down your face now. it was as if someone had just snatched your high from you after so long and it left you heartbroken and your body aching.
“we've got you baby.” jimin murmurs soothingly, his hand rubbing circles on your belly while you try to recover from the denial.
amidst that, taehyung had gone upstairs to grab a bottle of lube from a drawer before walking back downstairs, it's like they knew exactly what they planned to do. taehyung's eyes met yours with a smile that somehow made even this intimidating moment feel safe.
“you ever had your ass played with sweetheart?”
jungkook questions and you flush at the question, the hint of what's about to happen making you restless.
“i-i yes… i did touch myself a few times but i didn't have anyone inside t-there.” you stuttered shyly.
you had experimented and fingered yourself on your back hole during moments of need all alone, you even tried butt plugs but that was pretty much it. you weren't so experienced because no one had you there before.
“yeah? do you want us to be your first?” taehyung questions.
you huffed, leaning onto taehyung, your lips falling onto his throat and sucking a mark.
“just make me cum please.” you sign.
“fuck anything you want sweet baby.” he grunts.
their hands are already soothing over your thighs and palms spreading your legs wider, pressing them upward and against your breasts to give them better access to your lower portion.
“we'll go slow okay?”
hoseok's palm stroked the inside of your knee while jungkook's hand rested on your hip. you shuddered from a mix of nerves and arousal. you felt thrilled and excited for what was to come even despite the fact that they didn't let you cum.
yoongi grabs the lube from taehyung, his eyes falling on you, looking almost feral. he had been controlling himself all this time, watching the others have their fun with you while he didn't intervene at all because he was the type to strike at the right time and also because he wanted the part of you that no one took first so he'd held back. your heart races as you look at him lean over you, your hand gripping his shoulder on its own.
yoongi always did the most calculative unthinkable moves and when he attacked, it was always in the most intense way. he drizzled the lube, making the liquid trickle slowly over your tight asshole, you gasp at the sudden unfamiliar sensation.
“breathe for me, in and out.” he instructed and you tried following him, breathing in and out. he circled the pad of his finger around the puckered rim not pushing in yet, just feeling around.
“mmmmm… yeah…”
his free hand rubbed circles on your thigh, coaxing you to relax.
“you're doing so good already.”
jimin murmurs, leaning in closer from the other side, adding more lube with his fingers. it mixed with the juices already leaking from your pussy making everything even more slick while their eyes watched every twitch of your body and the moans that left you.
“ahh... it's cold but feels… good gahh.”
you whimpered, your hips shifting slightly as namjoon held one of your legs steady. they worked you open with patience. multiple fingers from different men joined in. yoongi's thumb continued rubbing over your rim along with jungkook's finger.
“oh—!”
you squealed as taehyung's two fingers sank back into your pussy, doing that scissoring motion making you sob. it seemed more intensified because of your rear being touched.
“fuck she's so tight back here.” jungkook groans and yoongi nods in acknowledgement before slowly pushing the tip of his finger inside as you tense.
“relax just let me in...” yoongi rasps.
you gripped his wrist, whining, trying to not clench too hard while hoseok grabs your thigh, stroking your skin to distract you from any discomfort. yoongi's finger sank deeper and the lube made him sink all the way in so suddenly that you cried out raw.
“oh god... h-hahh.”
yoongi cursed at the feeling of how tight you are.
“color?”
he asks, your bottom lip quivers at his caring tone despite how long he'd held back.
“g-green.”
you gasped and he smirked slowly, starting to pump his fingers while jimin and jungkook touched around your stretched rim or your clit while taehyung still had his fingers pumping, both of them delivering careful thrusts. there was pleasure, pain and so so much ecstasy. you never thought getting fingered on the pussy and ass could feel so good as you couldn't stop moaning. namjoon's mouth latched onto one of your nipples, sucking hard while his tongue flicked the sensitive nipple.
“haah… haah…”
you felt like you'd burst when hoseok leaned closer to your pussy to lick at it, flicking it over your clit. the dual assault combined with the fingers till stretching and pumping inside both your holes was mind shattering and you could barely think straight. namjoon's suction on your nipple intensified, teeth grazing while the others held your legs open, preventing you from closing them against the overwhelming stimulation. yoongi's fingers curled inside your ass, touching the spot that you didn't even know existed and his fingers were extra long, as were taehyung's and both of them continued fucking you with them.
“ah-ah-ah-ah—fuck!”
you saw stars behind your eyelids with tongues on your pussy and the slide of fingers knuckle deep in your ass and cunt and the pull on your breasts. your nipples felt like they were on fire from the constant sucks and bites they received, they were swollen and almost reddened. all of the several sensations were about to do it for you.
“please… p-please! i can't...”
your voice breaks into a series of whimpers.
“i'm gonna... i need to cum... ahh please let me cum!”
they didn't stop their movements at all, drawing it out even slower to heighten the peak.
“yeah?”
he curled his fingers again and again just to see you tremble.
“you only get to cum when we say so.”
jungkook rasps against your clit before sucking into it even harder between his lips, humming vibrations through it making you twitch and wail out.
“please please.” you chant, your head thrashing side to side.
hoseok licks you all over, lapping at the lube and your juices mixed together. namjoon switched to your other nipple, biting down gently while his other hand massaged the first breast. the pressure built unbearably. your asshole and pussy clenching around the digits, every muscle in your body tensed, toes cuddling in your heels as the orgasm finally crashed over you with their permission.
“that's it, let go. cum for us.” yoongi commanded softly, his hand stroking your thigh.
your first orgasm of the night ripped through you and it was more intense than anything you've felt, the first best orgasm of your life. your pussy gushed around taehyung's fingers and your ass spasmed around yoongi's while you screamed, body shaking violently.
“ahh! fuckkk.”
you cursed as you saw stars behind your eyelids while they continued licking and fingering you through it. spurts of liquid left your pussy soaking the couch and their hands and they all groaned, licking at it. even yoongi leaned down to get a taste while making animalistic noises. the aftershocks making you twitch and whimper, your chest heaving as they slowly eased their fingers out making you whimper at the loss. their hands didn't leave you entirely, now murmuring praises.
“you did so well angel...” jimin cooed, kissing your thigh.
their eyes couldn't get enough of you as yoongi brought his glistening fingers to your lips for you to taste yourself.
“mhmm.” you licked obediently, feeling dazed and blissful, doing the same to taehyung's sloppily while still breathing hard.
they let you catch your breath while they looked at you with hunger and need that it made your chest tighten, wondering what they'd do next. that's when one by one they began to undress themselves fully, shedding off their dress shirts and pants that had already been partially opened. the clink of belts and the metallic sound of it makes your eyes hooded as you swallow, staring at them.
taehyung undressed first, taking off his shirt then pushed down his pants and boxers together, revealing his big cock. your eyes widened at how long it was, flushed at the tip from his need as he kicked away his pants. namjoon was next, taking off his shirt to reveal his muscular body, the type that came from gym sessions. his cock sprang free, thick and heavy, curving slightly upward with a prominent vein running along the underside, already glistening with precum.
jimin had all lean muscle, his abs rippling, the nevermind tattoo and the tattoos on his back as he revealed a perfectly shaped dick, not the longest but girthy enough to make your pussy clench at the sight, it looked like it was perfect to hit every sensitive spot. jungkook revealed his tattooed body next as he stripped, your mouth watering at the sight of his tattoos and muscles, revealing a cock that was both long and thick, veiny and aggressive looking, standing proud and pointing at you.
hoseok was confident in his bareness, he just seemed to have a flexible physique like he could put you in any position he wanted, his huge cock bouncing free, slapping against his stomach. jin moved next, revealing his broad chest and shoulder that you stared at with parted lips, his cock was thick as well and he was utterly shameless in it when he grabbed it and gave it a slow stroke, smirking at the way your eyes widened.
finally yoongi undressed last because he was too busy savoring your reactions to the others getting naked. his body was lean and strong, his pale skin makes him sexier and you gasped when his cock was exposed like it was a weapon, along with a slight thickness that promised deep thrusts and he was leaking steadily.
you were in pure awe as you took them all in, surrounded by such raw masculinity in every way possible. it felt so much more fierce because they were all bare. that you didn't even know whom to admire, you wished you had the capability to admire them all at once and to your heart's content. they were magnificent, each uniquely breathtaking and exerted dominance and masculine perfection and their cocks? they were all intimidating despite being different and you couldn't stop staring at them, you wondered if you were drooling.
you felt so incredibly powerful and unreal that you affected the men like that, they were all hard and leaking precum just for you. your pussy still throbbed from the aftershocks but couldn't stop clenching.
“oh my god...”
you whispered, your cheeks burning as you stared openly unable to look away. nothing in the world mattered in that moment except them, the way their bodies looked and the way muscles shifted under their hard and ready cocks because of you. you still couldn't believe that this was happening.
“you're all... so big.”
your tongue felt loose, the words leaving on their own. the men's egos boosted at your reaction, some smirking while the others looked at you heatedly. jungkook ran a hand through his hair, his piercing caught between his teeth.
“fuckk look at her staring like that, like we're the only thing she's ever wanted.”
he murmurs and namjoon chuckles deeply before nodding. you got that look in your eyes. they've had such powerful companies bow for them yet nothing compared to the way you looked at them right now. they didn't even want to compare you to anyone else, you were that special. they felt irresistible in your eyes.
“keep looking at us like that baby and we won't last long enough for everything we want to do to you.” hoseok grumbles.
you shifted forward onto your knees without needing much prompting, your knees sinking to the hard floor but jin quickly grabbed a cushion from the couch and gently placed it under your knees.
“don't want you bruising those pretty knees princess.” he says, stroking your hair once before stepping back as your heart flutters.
the seven of them formed a circle around you, their cocks at your eye level until you could get their clean male scent so well. your pussy dripping anew with eagerness. yoongi stepped forward first. he gathered your hair into a loose ponytail with one hand, pulling you close with a firm tug.
“open those sweet lips for me baby.” he rasps.
you parted your lips with a whimper and he slowly fed his cock into your mouth inch by inch. the taste of salty precum and clean skin made you moan as you took him deeper, your tongue swirling and he groaned, his eyes half closed in pleasure.
“good girl just like that. your mouth feels incredible.”
you relaxed your throat even more at the praise, wanting to do the best for him, taking him further until your nose brushed his pelvis, your eyes watering at the stretch. he held you there for long moments by your hair, savoring the tight heat then his hips started rolling lazily. his free hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away a stray tear.
“look at me while you take it… yeah just like that.” he growls.
the others watched intently, hands stroking their own cocks.
“she's handling yoongi so well.” hoseok commented huskily.
“look at her throat bulging a little, goddamn it.”
yoongi fucked your throat with such deepness that it left you gasping and moaning around him. he took your mouth for several long minutes, knowing others are still waiting so he reluctantly pulled out with a pop.
“perfect start sweetheart.” he praised.
jin moved in next, he tapped the head of his cock against your tongue almost immediately without letting you catch your breath. doing it a few times enough to make you whine.
“tongue out.” he ordered.
you obeyed dragging your tongue along his cock, letting out an “mmm” at the way he throbbed under your attention. then he guided you lower.
“now my balls suck them.”
jin was a balls kind of man, he had such sensitive balls and he loved it when they were sucked nice and gentle so you did exactly that. you leaned in, taking one into your mouth sucking while your tongue massaged it. your hand came up to cradle the other heavy one. jin let out a long satisfied moan, his head falling back.
“just like that... fuck… you're a natural. swirl your tongue more.”
you tried your best to follow his words, alternating between sucking and kicking while your other hand stroked his shaft as well, not leaving any part of him unattended. he grinned at how eager you were taking care of him so well even after everything they did to you earlier. you were worshipping his balls like they were your favorite treat.
“don't forget the rest of us baby.”
namjoon chuckles, the others making amused impatient noises, dying to get the feel of your mouth. your lips were already swollen and glistened when you pulled off jin's balls to breathe and he was about to slide his cock inside your mouth but hoseok was already taking his place next, his cock throbbing as he guided your head with one hand tangled in your hair.
“come here baby.” he murmurs, making your stomach flip.
your lips remained parted on their own so he slid it inside efficiently. your hand was placed on his thighs to hold on as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked.
“shitt.” hoseok groans, his hips beginning to fuck your mouth, each thrust pushing him deeper until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. you gagged as you heard wet slaps of his skin meeting your face as he picked up the pace, your moans drawing vibrations around him.
“yes… yes keep sucking like you mean it.” he rasps.
“so fucking pretty with your mouth full.” hoseok rocks into your mouth with a few more rolls.
his fingers tightened just enough in your hair to guide you, snapping his hips and burying himself deeper inside your mouth. from his ragged breaths and groans you felt that he was close and he wasn't letting go so easily. saliva dripped down your chin and onto your bouncing breasts.
“ahh.” hoseok pants as you licked along the underside of his shaft on a particularly hard thrust.
“you're gonna make me lose it if you keep that up.”
you only quickened your movements as the men around you were feeding off the sight.
“easy there hobi, don't wear her out too soon.” taehyung teased.
“yeah save some of that energy for the rest of us, give us a chance,” namjoon added, pumping his fist slowly over his cock. jungkook beside him, doing the same.
hoseok even though he was so close, pulled back, breathing hard as he petted your head as if you'd done a good job. they'd all planned to cum together and hoseok didn't wanna break the rule first. namjoon cupped your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing over your precum soaked lips.
“you okay baby? want more?” he asked, checking in before taking his own moment.
“hah y-yes.” you nodded eagerly.
he filled your mouth completely with his cock from how slippery it was from all the fluids of others and your drooling mouth. his hand moved to rest on your throat, just cough to feel the bulge of his cock with every roll forward and you gagged, tears streaming down your face as you tried your hardest to breathe through your nose. his fingers flexed slightly as he controlled the pace so you took him to the hilt, he groans at the way your throat constricts around him.
“this throat feels so tight and good.” he murmurs. eyes half lidded as he watches the outline move under his hand.
“ugnngh!” you make a throaty sound that makes his grip tighten more. he loves the sight of you choking on his cock.
“she's taking it all... so hot.” yoongi observed, his cock still glistening from when you'd sucked his earlier and he used that to stroke himself.
namjoon's thrust grows faster as he fucks your mouth and the eyes and praises of others made your head spin and your thighs squeezing together from the frustration and need to finish once again. jimin stepped up, not wanting to wait any longer and as namjoon's eyes fell on him, he slipped out with a growl.
“perfect... you're absolutely perfect.” jimin hums with a mischievous glint in his eyes. he rubbed the head of his cock along your bottom lip first, tapping it lightly against your tongue without fully entering inside your mouth, pulling back whenever you leaned forward eagerly.
“ah ah, not yet angel.” he cooed.
“chase it… show me how bad you want my cock.”
you let out a whine, eyeing his cock with glistening eyes, tongue out sluttily but he was having his fun making you work for it. you part your lips, your tongue darting out to taste him, only for him to shift his hips to pull his cock away from you at the last second, leaving you whimpering and shifting on your knees. you watched helplessly as a bead of precum left him that you couldn't catch with your tongue, your mouth watering for more.
when he finally let you have him, it was just the tip sliding past your lips before he withdrew again and he let out a smirk. he sure had incredible patience to do this because the others were eager for your mouth while jimin was taking his sweet time. he makes you chase after it, your lips trying to suck him in desperately, each time he allows you just the head of his cock licking off his precum.
“p-please.” you sobbed.
“don't be such a tease jimin.. give our girl what she wants.”
jungkook chuckles hotly and the others nodded with a grin enjoying jimin's little game
“she's loving it though, she'll work even better on me once he's done.” taehyung adds with a grunt, already having made up his mind that he will go next.
“yeah? you want it bad baby?” jimin snarls and before you could reply, he abruptly filled your mouth with his cock, making your eyes widen.
“then suck it good will you?”
you suckled instantly, like you've been given water itself after being thirsty for so long, bobbing your head while making sputtering noises.
taehyung's turn came too slowly as if he knew exactly what he was doing. he sat on the edge of the couch unlike others who decided to take your mouth, standing on his long legs, man spreading so you're able to kneel comfortably between them. his dark eyes locked onto yours without blinking. taehyung's focus was solely on you. he reached down to gently stroke your tear streaked cheeks, it was such a tender touch compared to how hard and throbbing he was against your lips.
“you ready baby?” he murmurs.
you flushed, parting your lips slowly as you enveloped him with your mouth lapping onto the very tip of him as his taste fills your senses. his hand continued to stroke your cheek like you were his darling even as you sucked deeper.
“ugh!” he hissed, hips twitching as he lets you set the pace at first, loving the way you lap at his tip.
“your mouth feels like heaven... keep those pretty eyes on me, don't look away.”
the eye contact made it even more intoxicating as you tried to look up at him through blurry vision due to your tears and it made it even more intimate while he hit the back of your throat.
“just like that.” his head falls back onto the couch with a gasp.
jungkook follows soon, walking up to you with his belt, pulling your mouth off taehyung's cock with a slight tug in your hair that makes you moan. he was so impatient and rough after waiting so long for everyone to have their turns, his hand gripping your hair hard enough for pain to mix with pleasure. taehyung watches with a smirk, a little annoyed that his fun was cut short but he lets the youngest have his fun.
jungkook clasped the belt around your throat like a collar making you gasp, he used it as a handle as he pushed his cock inside your mouth in one go. he growled at the feeling, rolling his hips, throaty noises coming out of you from how immediately he reached the depths of your throat.
“take it deeper… ugh just like that.”
his hips delivered more sharp pumps while pulling your head forward with the help of the belt and you struggled to breathe properly, choking on his cock and your tears, he slowed just a little after a while.
“breathe through your nose baby. you're doing amazing.” he grumbles.
you breathe shakily as he pulls his cock out for a bit to let you breathe.
“mmph-”
your noise gets interrupted because he lets you take one inhale before driving back inside your mouth with full force. what started as you giving jungkook head led to more when the desperation in the group increased and they couldn't keep themselves away especially from how near they were from jerking off and also from the attention you've given to every single one of them differently and you knew what the men wanted without even proper words as you slowly started switching between all seven of them.
there were seven cocks surrounding you in a loose circle and you struggled to even focus properly. one moment your mouth was full with jimin's length sliding in and out of your mouth while yoongi's hand guided your hand to his cock from the side so you'd be able to jerk him off simultaneously.
“ah ah... mmmphmm.”
a mix of their husky moans and your muffled noises was all that could be heard. next you were turning to take namjoon's girth while both your hands jerked hoseok's and jin's cocks in rhythm. your palms were fully slick with spit and precum as you stroked them from the base to the tip.
“she's literally made for this.” namjoon rumbles as he holds your jaw, thrusting into your mouth.
“she can handle all of us together uh-huh?” jungkook lets out an amused groaned noise.
the different tastes and sizes were sensory overload for you, jin's cock filling your mouth and you also switched to sucking his balls like he liked while jungkook rubbed his dick against your face, leaving wet trails of precum on your pink cheeks. their hands didn't leave your body either, fingers tweaking your nipples, stroking your thighs or even guiding your head to the next cock. all this made you drip all over the floor, your pussy producing so much essence. you pulled off taehyun's cock with a gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his tip, only for hoseok to messily kiss you right after, his tongue tangling with yours and he growls at the saltiness from everyone before pushing your mouth back to yoongi's cock.
“oh...” you squealed.
when taehyung rubbed his cock against your cleavage, sliding down to flick your abused nipple with the tip of his cock
“tae pass her to me.” jungkook breathes out.
you whimpered as taehyung pushed your head on jungkook's cock so you'd be able to suck onto him while you twisted and pumped other cocks, occasionally leaning to lick or suck on balls or kiss the heads messily. no one came yet, they were holding back and edging themselves while you rotated between two or three cocks demanding your attention.
they noticed the way your thighs trembled and the sticky mess that was falling on the cushion between your legs and they didn't like neglecting you like that while you were working so hard on them. a shared look of understanding passed between taehyung and jungkook before they kneeled in front of you, making your eyes widen as they positioned you so your legs are spread while your mouth and hands are still able to work on others.
“ah-hahh, shit…”
jungkook and taehyung bury their heads between your spread thighs, their hot mouths devouring your pussy with hunger as your mouth couldn’t stop producing mindless noises. jungkook's tongue dragged slowly from your dripping entrance all the way up to your clit in long strokes, his lip piercing hitting your clit every time, sending shivers up your spine with every pass. taehyung focused on tracing every fold with the tip of his tongue, sucking on your clit whenever jungkook moved his focus on your opening.
“hmm...”
he hummed, the vibration along with the dual sensations was overwhelming. both their mouths worked insistently as if they had all the time in the world, their tongues occasionally brushing against each other sloppily while your hips bucked. around you, the other five men stroked their thick cocks with pumps of their fists, their dark eyes locked on your writhing body.
“fuckk.” namjoon breathes.
his large hand gripped his length firmly, thumb swiping over the leaking tip as he watched jungkook's tongue disappear inside you continuously. you looked so goddamn pretty taking both their tongues like that.
“she's making a mess joon. watch how much she’s leaking.”
seokjin's lips curved up in a smirk as he let out a raspy chuckle with namjoon, both of them stroking their cocks side by side.
“she sure is.” he groans.
jin couldn’t help himself as he leaned down to grope one of your heaving tits to roll and pinch the nipple until you whimpered. hoseok's hips suddenly snapped forward, slapping against your parted lips. he panted smearing his precum on your bottom lip.
“mmph!” you let out a muffled sob when in one go, hoseok stuffs your mouth full of cock, almost cutting off your airflow, his eyes growing half lidded with lust and pleasure. yoongi and jimin were almost hypnotized with the sight of your pussy being so thoroughly eaten as hoseok grabs the belt around your throat that was being used as a collar and uses it as leverage to fuck your throat. pulling you closer with sharp tugs of the belt, fucking your mouth like his personal sex toy while choking you with the collar.
gluck. gluck. gluck.
the wet sounds of your throat getting fucked were all that was ringing in your ears along with the obscene slurps and sucks from between your legs. the men around you let out shared masculine moans and groans. you let out broken whines that you couldn’t hold back no matter how hard you tried, struggling to breathe.
“oh god...”
jungkook growled against your cunt as the two mouths between your thighs pushed you higher and higher. they held you apart when your thighs trembled so the others could get the perfect view.
“you're clenching so damn much baby.”
taehyung grumbles as two of his fingers slide inside you effortlessly from how slippery and wet you were while jungkook's tongue focused on your clit with renewed vigor.
“she's probably gonna cum again… she’s squirming so much.” jimin says and the other men made noises of affirmations.
hoseok pulled his cock out not giving you a chance to catch your breath as yoongi takes position and is already grabbing a fistful of your hair. he feeds you his cock and you couldn't help but clench on jungkook's tongue, making him let out a muffled groan, diving in again while taehyung latched onto your clit.
“taste so fucking sweet, are you gonna cum again for us princess?” taehyung pulls back enough to speak.
“ummmhg.” you let out a whine on yoongi's cock and he smirked
“yeah you will?”
one of his fingers joining to curl inside your pussy, making you sob, your eyes closing on their own. the others around you stroked their cocks right in front of your faces, stroking faster and faster, their breaths growing ragged muscles tensing. they also made you switch between sucking cocks of whomever you could and squeezing until you almost forgot whose cock you were touching or whose one was getting inside your mouth, you just blindly followed whatever they guided on you while jungkook and taehyung kept fingering and licking you beneath, stroking their own cocks. your boobs sometimes groped or squeezed against their cocks and also slid against each other. their eyes devouring your tear streaked flushed face, your body twitching hard.
you knew that they were so close. one by one they began to cum in sequence. all you could hear were groans and curses and the noises of liquid hitting the floor. jungkook pulled back from your pussy when he reached his peak with a harsh breath, stroking himself furiously over your mound before letting thick ropes of cum land across your pussy lips and clit, painting them white.
“fuuuuck yes marking this cunt right up.”
he hissed through gritted teeth while taehyung continued licking around the mess tasting your juices and jungkooks release mixed together with a moan his hand working faster as well. you pant against jimin's thigh, your forehead rested against it, all your attention diverted to the men coming around you instead of your own pleasure. namjoon aimed for your open mouth as you panted, his cum shooting across your tongue.
“shallow for me, take every drop.”
he commanded and you obeyed, gulping down everything. there was a slight bitter edge to his cum and you loved it. seokjin followed next, groaning deeply as he came across your tits and stomach, squeezing the last beads onto your skin while you squirmed.
“shitt yes yes...”
hoseok lets out groans as he cums against your cheek and lips, some landing on your tongue as you lick it up instinctively. jimin and yoongi targeted your breasts and belly, adding to the mess that now coated your upper body and within a few minutes, taehyung cums all over your ass cheeks too. the sticky warm fluid was everywhere and there was so much of it sliding over your curves, dripping down your sides and mixing with your sweat. fingers from some of them joined in pushing their combined release into your mouth, feeding you more as you moaned around the digits.
“such a good little cumslut.”
yoongi murmurs, roughly pushing two fingers coated in cum past your lips for you to suck clean. the taste of their release mixed together was so erotic that you couldn't stop gasping and whimpering. their cum slid down your forehead and eyelashes and they loved it, it made them even more possessive at the sight of you glazed by them.
you were their personal canvas.
taehyung scooped some of his cum from your ass and brought it to your lips too.
“shallow it all down baby, show us how much you love being ours.” he exhales.
jungkook and hoseok rubbed their softening cocks against your cum covered tits, smearing the white fluid further while namjoon and jin worked with their fingers to gather more and feed it to you, making you drink copious amounts of seed.
jin made you clean his cock properly while he groaned in approval before yoongi joined in, letting you clean every trace of his release, sucking at the tip while he stroked your hair. hoseok went next, guiding your head as you took him deeper while residual cum dripped from your chin and onto his shaft. he murmurs out soft praises while you move to clean namjoon as well with slow licks, smiles on all their faces in the afterglow.
you cleaned taehyung and jungkook together while they caressed your cheeks sweetly, ending with jimin, finishing cleaning all of them thoroughly.
your breasts heaved with every inhale as there was silence for a bit while you leaned there on the floor, your thighs quivering from the multiple edges they'd brought you with their tongues and fingers. your mind was hazy after giving all of them head even though they'd made you swallow a lot of it. cum still dropped slowly from your chin and onto your collarbone, you could still taste some on your lips. jungkook panted and moved closer first as he looked at you with lingering hunger as he brushed a strand of hair from your sticky forehead.
“so beautiful covered in us... you took everything we gave you.” he murmurs in genuine awe.
taehyung nodded in response.
“are you feeling okay y/n?”
the others gathered closer too. hoseok wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, jimin biting his lip as he admired the view and yoongi watched you, all of them waiting for your response. you nodded weakly at first, your throat hurting from sucking them and the constant moaning.
“i... am good more than good, that was...”
you couldn't find the proper words to finish your sentence but you were honest, it was everything and you shifted slightly, still feeling the ache of your unfinished release. the men exchanged glances, silent communication passing through them.
“she's still with us guys.”
jungkook said with a grin, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your forehead. jin reaches down to take off the belt from around your throat, letting you breathe properly. the belt left a pink mark that made them let out appreciative noises.
“drink some water first, you've worked hard and if we're gonna keep this going, you need to stay hydrated.”
hoseok coos as he walks over to grab a cool water bottle from the fridge, having no shame in walking around naked, his cock bouncing and it makes you flush harder. he uncapped it, holding it to your lips himself, tilting it carefully so you could sip slowly. it soothed your raw throat as you drank greedily, some of it spilled down your throat mixing with their cum.
even drinking water looked sinful on you.
they let you rest for a few longer minutes, their presence comforting you, hands roaming soothingly on your body while murmuring praises about how responsive you've been and how well you took them.
“think she's ready for more?” taehyung asked the group.
“she's nodding already, she's eager... aren't you angel?”
you smiled as you let out a sigh.
“yeah... i wanna continue.”
you admitted, your voice gaining new strength, no longer hoarse after the water and the break from them. the men lit up with renewed need, their cocks already twitching back to life at your words.
after a few more minutes of the rest period, they also helped wipe you clean with some tissues, not wanting you to be uncomfortable because of the stickiness and for what was coming next and they did that slowly, taking their time even if some of their cocks were already standing hard.
seokjin scooped you up as if you weighed nothing and into a bridal style, your body pressing against his chest. you gasped at the sudden lift, your arms wrapping around his neck, feeling his heart thud beneath your palm which told you that his heartbeat matched with yours. the others followed as jin carried you upstairs, your head resting against his chest, inhaling his scent.
“we've got you beautiful.” jin whispered.
they led you into the massive master bedroom which had a soft light giving a sensual glow. jin laid you gently in the very center of the bed, your body sinking into the mattress while they stood taking you in and how your thighs pressed together instinctively. there was so much desperation and anticipation. you were gonna lose a lot of fluids before the nights over so they were glad that you drank water.
“tell us baby... do you wanna keep going?”
you nodded, feeling impatient but still a little over the moon from their constant checks but you felt so good and naughty that you couldn't stop anymore.
“i want you all raw please... i-i'm on birth control, i want you inside..” you whine sultrily.
you didn't give them a moment to react before you shifted onto your hands and knees in the center of the bed, arching your back, invitingly presenting yourself to him. your ass swayed slightly as you looked over your shoulder and at them with half lidded eyes, your hair falling on one shoulder.
“make me yours tonight, use me like your little toy.”
the words came out confidently with no hint of nervousness, all your shyness and shame gone as you wiggled your hips in an attempt to seduce as if they weren't already. your spread thighs gave them the best view of your cum soaked puffy pussy. you have no idea what you've just unleashed and you're gonna face the consequences of that.
“did you hear that guys? she's already begging to be bred.” namjoon said with a wicked smile.
“that's exactly what we're gonna do.” jimin adds.
they couldn't wait to watch you take every load of cum inside your pussy. they've been pretty lenient with your mouth but they don't think that they'll go any easier on all your holes when you've just given them free rein. hours of pleasure were still to arrive.
yoongi of course was the first one to claim you based on the knowing look from the others who knew that he was going to be first as a primal look took place in his expression. without a word at first, he pulled you onto his lap in reverse cowgirl position making you yelp. your back pressed flush against his chest so that every other man in the room had a perfect view of your body. he gripped your hips firmly before one wrapped up to wrap around your throat making your breath hitch.
“y-yoongi..” you stammered as he bites your earlobe.
“sir. call us sir.” he corrects you, making you swallow, already lifting your hips enough to keep you suspended over his cock.
“sir... ahhh, oh my gosh.”
he rolls his hips, letting the head of his cock drag between your folds teasingly before notching himself right at your entrance and sliding inside you inch by inch while you can't stop writhing.
“nghh.” you let out a mewl when he was fully seated and he didn't waste much time before starting to thrust, the head of his cock dragging inside you with every grind making your walls flutter around him.
“so fucking tight.”
he grunts, his eyes half closing. the feeling was better than any drugs or money could provide, the feeling of your warm tight hole around him. the other men were already feeling jealous and extremely impatient, wanting to get a feel of your pussy too. they started pumping their cock with their hands, all their eyes locked on where yoongi's cock disappeared inside your dripping cunt.
in and out. in and out.
“ahh fuck... you're squeezing me so good like you never want me to leave this pussy.” he growls.
his thrusts remained torturous, sometimes circling his hips in a way to make him go deep and it made you let out the most delicious noises, his lips brushing against your ear as his grip on your throat tightened just a fraction. his free hand slid down to spread your folds wider with two fingers to expose you for the viewing pleasure of others and they could see every intricate detail of how he fucked you. the way his cock filled you and pressed against your inner walls, your body trembled as did your thighs on either side of his legs from their gazes.
you were also shocked at how they were all rock hard again so soon, their cocks hard and heavy as they jerked themselves lazily, enjoying the show yoongi was putting on. your pussy clenched around yoongi's length as he fucked you with measured thrusts that seemed to reach deeper than physically possible. the hand around your throat made your head spin, heightening every sensation until you felt like you might shatter. you were also having a cock inside you after years and he was so big that you couldn't remain still, it felt like you might shatter any moment.
“yoongi… oh god, it's so deep.” you gasped out, hands gripping his thighs for leverage as you tried to meet his thrusts.
he chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back as he picks up the pace just a notch, snapping his hips up.
“too much for you huh?”
“let them know how much you love it shitt.”
he sent you spiraling, your walls fluttering as you felt the orgasm build for the second time tonight, your entire body tensing. the others couldn't take their eyes off you, their chests tightening along with their hands on their cocks. with a final deep thrust and a loud groan, he buried himself fully inside you, his cock twitching as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside you.
“yess yes...”
you babbled as his cock kept moving, some of his cum pushing out with his pumps. it triggered your own climax crashing over you hard making you convulse hard around him, your juices coming out as your back arched against him.
“that's it.”
he encouraged, his hand loosening on your throat to grip both your thighs as he kept going slowly through both your orgasms, ensuring you felt every throb. the others let out groans as well, their strokes pausing momentarily at how you both orgasmed.
“you tired her out already man.” hoseok laughed breathlessly, his cock twitching.
yoongi stayed inside you for a long moment, grinding to push his cum deeper as you rested against him while breathing hard. he didn't wanna leave the feel of you around him so soonbbut he reluctantly eased out with a wet pop, a trail of fluid leaking down your thighs. you made a frustrated little sound at the empty feeling. hoseok gave yoongi a smirk, the energy was practically wafting off him even before he reached you as he patted yoongi on the shoulder.
“you set the bar high didn't you huh?”
yoongi's lips curled, feeling satisfied but already looking forward to his next turn with you.
“take your time with her then.” he whispers to hoseok.
you were already limp, pussy clenching around nothing, eyes glassy as you looked up at hoseok. he flipped you onto all fours, positioning you to face the large mirror on the opposite wall so you could watch yourself while the others got a view too and it already has you panting. he lined up behind you and right on your slit, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. he didn't give you any moment to suck in a breath, it was so abrupt it knocked the air out of your lungs. he slammed home all the way inside with one thrust, stretching you open again amidst yoongi's cum.
“ahhh!” you screamed.
the hard fucking began immediately, his hips snapping forward relentlessly, his balls hitting your clit with every deep plunge. each thrust drove you forward slightly on the bed, your breasts swinging while you watched your face contorted in pleasure in the mirror along with the way his cock drove inside you and it made you even hornier and turned on.
“look at yourself and how good this cunt is taking my cock.” he snarled.
his one hand fisted your hair to keep your head up, forcing you to watch yourself. the others made manly noises enthusiastically, full of dirtiness.
“go harder hobi, she loves it rough.” jungkook urged
“she's absolutely gone.” jimin chuckles darkly, watching you in the mirror, leaning closer for a better view.
“uh… uh… uh…”
you let out with each thrust of his. the position and the angle make hoseok hit that spot inside you over and over and especially that combined with the cum inside you makes everything wetter, sloppier, more obscene. your walls fluttered wildly as you felt another of your orgasms building so fast from the brutal pace.
“s-s-sir, it's so good gahh!” you moaned loudly, pushing back against him desperately.
hoseok had started pounding into you with an intensity, his hands gripping your hips to keep you anchored in one place, your walls fluttering around him as the pressure built higher and higher towards another peak. hoseok's breath came in growls as he chased his own release he was so close to.
“gonna fill this pretty pussy up.” he groans but just as your orgasm hovered right on the brink, it all suddenly stopped.
jungkook moved closer all of a sudden, his hand shooting forward with determination.
“it's my turn now.”
jungkook gruffs out. it was like he was possessed by lust at the sight of your pussy being taken by others and he couldn't control himself, all he wanted was to feel you around him and couldn't even wait for a single moment. he was already pulling hoseok back by the shoulder and he let out a frustrated groan, his cock slipping out of your dripping heat.
“jungkook what the fuck? i was so close, she was right there clenching like she was going to cum any second too.”
hoseok complained, his cock throbbing angrily in the air, glistening as he shot jungkook a half annoyed and half amused glare, wiping sweat from his brow as he stepped aside reluctantly.
“you can have her right after man.” jungkook promised with a smirk at his lips. he scooped you up in a second from the bed as if you were nothing more than a delicate doll made for his pleasure.
“right now i wanna have her like this and fuck her.” he declared smugly, his eyes locked on yours in a way that makes your stomach flip.
it makes you let out a long moan because you loved it and this is what you wanted, wanted them to reduce you to their sexual plaything to pass around and claim as they pleased and it sent a shameful heat to your core. it turned you on more than you care to admit. another gush of wetness trickled down your thighs as jungkook maneuvered you into position. everyone was silent for a beat, a little shocked at the raw power jungkook exerted himself when he lifted you completely off the ground and into a full suspended hold, his strong arms hooked under your knees, folding your legs up and apart and blanching you like that, completely immobilizing you and exposing you. somehow the position made your puffy pussy get even more exposed to everyone. your back pressed against his chest while he stood as if he wasn't just balancing your whole body with just his arms alone.
you yelped sharply at the vulnerability of it all, your body suspended mid air, utterly at his mercy, your heels dangling.
“j-jungkook—”
he cut off your words with a click of his tongue, making a disapproving noise.
“yoongi specified to call us all 'sir' didn't he? you're seeking to get punished hmm?”
your lips part from his words, the position working against you in the nastiest way.
“i'm sorry sir.” you signed.
“now that's more like it.”
“she looks so helpless like that.” namjoon murmurs from the side, watching the way your pussy lips parted invitingly.
“jungkook's showing off his strength again.”
taehyung nods, grabbing a cigarette from the drawer beside him and lighting it with a flick of his lighter, taking a puff of smoke and blowing it out while his other hand strokes his cock.
“stretch that cunt wide for us.” seokjin grins.
“she's probably just soaking even more just from being held like that.”
hoseok adds, watching patiently, waiting to strike as soon as jungkook finishes but enjoying the show as well. jungkook adjusted his grip, his cock nudging insistently against your entrance. he teases you for a bit, rubbing the broad head up and down your slick folds, coating himself in your essence while you whimpered and squirmed in his hold.
“you want this don't you baby? want me to fuck you mid air like the needy slut you are for us?” he growled hotly against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
“ohh yes please sirr... fuck me..”
and as quick as those words left your lips, jungkook slowly buried himself inside you, the sheer force lifting you slightly higher before gravity pulled you back down on his length. you saw stars behind your eyes from his size and the position made you tighter than anything. you cried out when he started moving using his immense strength to bounce you up and down his cock. each upward drive of his hips sent his cock slamming into you, producing loud wet noises as your juices coated him and dropped down onto the floor below.
“aaahh… yes…”
your body jolted, tits jiggling wildly, your head thrown back against his shoulder as moans poured uncontrollably from your lips. he kept his hands tight below your thighs, it kept unable to do anything more than take everything he gave you. his muscles strained from the efforts, veins popping along his arms and neck but he showed no signs of tiring, only pure focus.
“shittt she's creaming all over your cock already.” jimin observed.
“pound that pussy kook.” taehyung whistles, taking in another puff of his cigarette.
“don't forget to save some for me later, you greedy brat.”
hoseok added with a laugh. jungkook was clearly wearing you out quickly and the words from them only seemed to fuel him further. his thrusts are growing faster and harder, your cries escalating. he adjusted the angle slightly, grinding deep on every downstroke so his cock head kissed your cervix repeatedly while your pussy tightly held him, he felt so much bigger than he already was. the pressure built rapidly inside you, the unfinished orgasm from hoseok has left it coming back in full force so that it was almost painful, your clit twitching hard and untouched.
“sirrr gahh fuck i'm gonna—” your voice breaks in a wail.
“cum for me, let everyone watch.”
he commanded through gritted teeth, his own release approaching fast as he felt your pussy spasming. a loud scream that ended in a sob left you as you came harder than you ever had, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. you'd never squirted ever in your life and it was the very first time that your body couldn't keep up with it. clear fluid gushed out around his pistoning cock in squirts, soaking his thighs fully and landing so much of it down to the floor in a puddle. your vision whitened, every inch of your body locking up in ecstasy. jungkook groaned deeply, the feeling of your squirting pussy pushing him over the edge.
“fuckk yes take it all.”
he roared, burying himself as deep as he could, his cock pulsing hard inside you, thick cum flooding your womb in seconds, filling you to the brim. he held you there suspended, both of you panting and trembling, his cum mixing with your squirt.
“damnn she squirted so much...” hoseok grins, already moving closer.
“good job kook. now hand her over, i still need to finish what i started.”
jungkook slowly lowered you down onto the bed and you fell on your stomach from how exhausted you were even though you anticipated the other five of them. hoseok took his second turn hard and rough, he was already so close due to being inside your pussy the first time and the frustration had left him rougher than usual.
“fuckkk.” he snarls as he slides inside you with a loud noise from behind. you let out a wanton noise, murmuring his name.
“oh shit—oh shit—!”
you let out a string of curses when he reached around to rub your neglected clit in circles, feeling how engorged it is since nobody touched it for a while.
“goshhh yes.” you whined at it. your mouth fell open in an 'o' when it took him just a few more hard thrusts to fill you to the brim. there was so much cum from jungkook before as well that it soaked the sheets and made your thighs sticky with the creamy white mess. he pulled away from you with a shaky breath.
they let you have a few minutes of breath, your head buried on the pillow as your lower body quivered.
jin slowly walks forward, his hands settled on your back, caressing your sweaty skin. your hand fisted the sheets as you turned your head, your eyes longingly looking at his pouty lips and he didn't think twice and pressed his lips against yours, giving you a slow kiss. you whimpered when he pulled back, his arms pulling you close to him. his hands settled on your hips as he lay back against the pillows, one arm casually folding behind his head, his half lidded eyes sparkling with playfulness settled on you he guided you to straddle him, his thick cock standing proud and flushed against his abdomen.
“come on baby.” he whispers, stroking your ass.
“ride me. move those hips for me yeah?” he rasps. you felt a heat pool in your belly at his words as you sat on his hard stomach, breasts heaving as he cupped your cheek. your hips pressed against his abs, he helped you right above his cock, your breaths coming out fast.
“slowly…” he encouraged and you nodded jerkily as the head of him pressed against your puffy entrance.
you felt overstimulated in the best way and from cumming twice, it left you feeling floaty. he slowly stretched you open, giving you that burn that made your thighs tremble around his waist as you bore down more with a few gasps and sank down fully, his girth filling you completely until your ass met his hips and you were fully seated around him.
“hahhh!” you mewled as jin's face twisted in pleasure and at the feeling of your creamy cunt from all the loads you'd taken, it had left you warmer and even better inside. his free hand slid up your side before cupping one of your breasts, his thumb brushing over your nipple in tiny flicks that sent jolts through you.
“fuckk that's it.”
he groaned, his head tilting back slightly to expose the column of his throat, his adam's apple bobbing as he savored the tight heat enveloping him.
“move sweetheart. ride my cock like you mean it.”
he didn't push you at all, his hand caressed one of your butt cheeks, holding it spread so the others from behind could stare at the way his cock was inside you while he let you set the pace. your hands braced on his chest for balance as you began to roll your hips, lifting and sinking down in a slow grinding rhythm that dragged his cock along your inner walls with every motion.
“nnn… nnn… ahhh…”
pleasure started to build and he didn't push you so you were able to please yourself on him and he understood that you were a bit overstimulated so this was really helping you as you enjoyed yourself.
he hit the best spots on every downward stroke and your toes curled at the tingling feeling, your breath came out in needy squeals. sweat trickled down your back as the pace gradually quickened, your breasts bouncing with the movement and jin was hypnotized with the motion. his hand tightened on you, his jaw clenching with restraint as he helped you bounce on him, just bucking his hips up a little bit to meet you driving himself deeper. quiet whimpers left you. from the side of the bed, yoongi had been watching his lips parted slightly, lost in his control even though he'd had this turn at the very beginning but he couldn't help it.
“can't just sit here and watch anymore.”
he mutters huskily as he moves closer on the bed, positioning himself right beside seokjin. his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as you continued riding seokjin and then his mouth was on you so suddenly you choked out and gripped his hair in shock.
“w-what—” you gasped when his mouth grabbed onto your clit, sucking onto it making your entire body jerk.
“mmm so sweet..”
he hummed as he circled your clit, flicking at it with his tongue, teasing it before sucking it fully inside his mouth. his tongue technology was everything, he was an expert and so skilled it was so good, he was the best at eating pussy, sometimes lapping along your folds where they stretched around jin's cock.
“nnn… y-yes.”
your eyes closes, your motions faltering on jin's cock from taking both of them. it felt too much with the drag of jin's cock combined with yoongi's expert mouth devouring you. you almost lost yourself in the sensation of yoongi's tongue when a burst of pain from the spank of jin's hand made your eyes pop open with a cry, his hand immediately soothing the spot.
“don't stop moving.” jin commanded, a glare on his face, delivering another slight spank that made your pussy clench hard around him.
“keep riding me while yoongi eats your clit. you can take it yeah?”
the pain pleasure mix made you moan loudly, your movements resuming on their own with urgency, grinding down harder and faster as yoongi's tongue lapped at the mess where you and seokjin were joined, tasting both of you and also the mix of others that leaked out of you without hesitation, letting out groans at the taste. the others eyes gleamed at the pornographic sight.
“look at her go.”
jungkook breathed, biting his lower lip, watching the way yoongi's tongue worked on you while you quivered constantly and drooled from how intense it was for you.
“ride him harder, make him feel it.” jimin calls out. the others laughed lazily at his words.
“don't go easy on her man!”
he didn't go easy on you at all as jin tensed beneath you, his hips snapping up more insistently now to meet your frantic rides, his cock swelling inside you.
“shit i'm gonna cum.” he gasped.
his hand that was behind his head now gripping your waist with both hands to pull you down hard repeatedly as he thrusts up at you.
“milk me baby cum with me.” he encourages roughly.
all this while, yoongi's tongue never stopped sucking on your clit with the perfect pressure.
“don't stop—don't—ahhh!”
“never gonna stop baby.”
jin promises and after a particularly harsh suck from yoongi that even jin could feel on his cock, he finishes with hot spurts of his cum flooding you that pushed you right over the edge. you came even faster and harder than you expected while his cock draws out every drop. you let out a series of gasps as juices mixed with his cum coated yoongi's chin as he continued licking through it to prolong the contractions. the full wet heat and the sting on your ass from the spanks made you feel like you broke as seokjin held you close, still impaled on his cock. yoongi pulled back with a satisfied noise, lips shiny and swollen.
before you could catch a breath, taehyung and jimin came over to you, not one but two and the thrill of what the two of them were going to do made your eyes go round comically. taehyung was the first to grab your waist and pull you firmly against his chest, the smell of tobacco and sex clinging to him, while jimin slid in from the other side, pressing against your back until the both of them sandwiched you, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers traced patterns on your skin.
“we've been waiting to feel this tight body up close.” jimin whispers, and taehyung nibbled at your collarbone.
“i can already tell she's gonna feel so tight around me.”
he adds, earning a smirk from jimin and you shuddered violently at their words. with slowness, taehyung and jimin both together worked to take off your thigh high stockings and your heels, taking off the only set of clothes on your body and now you were fully naked from head to toe. after that taehyung grabbed a silk tie from the drawer.
“put those hands up..” he coos and you gulp but obey shakily.
he bound your wrists above your head to the headboard. he tied it securely but not too tight, just enough to make sure you couldn't get out of it no matter how hard you tried. he leaned down, pressing soft kisses along your arms, lingering on the pulse point at your wrist, smiling at the way it raced.
“is this okay love? not too tight is it?” he asked and you nodded breathlessly, the vulnerability of being tied down made everything heightened for you. jimin watched, his hands already sliding down to pry your thighs wide apart.
“good.” jimin nods as he holds you open.
“damn they've really did a number on her…” jimin husks, watching the copious amount of cum your pussy seemed to leak.
taehyung settled between your thighs, not being able to hold himself back from the lewd sight of your stuffed cunt. his cock nudges against your folds, coating himself in your juices and he grunts at the feeling of hitting the tip of his cock on your clit, making your hips twitch with a whimper but jimin kept you pinned and open, not letting your thighs close. namjoon slowly joins the duo too, his hand cupping your jaw to turn your face toward him for a kiss.
“mnnn…” you let out a muffled noise, kissing him back, both your tongues tangling messily while his hand roamed to your breasts, rolling and pinching your nipples. taehyung's cock finally on the other hand, pushed inside you inch by thick inch and you moaned and cried loudly into namjoon's mouth, who was busy sucking on your tongue, his fingers tugging your nipples until they ached.
“she feels incredible fuckk.”
taehyung groaned deeply as he bottomed out inside you, his hips flush against yours, pelvis grinding against you which stimulated your clit too.
“so tight so hot, this pussy was made for us wasn't it princess mhm?” he grumbles as he feels you pull him in deeper with every little twitch.
“unngh..”
you let out another moan against namjoon's mouth while taehyung pulled back almost completely before sliding in again with that torturous slowness, making his cock drag against your inner walls and it made a loud squelch sound from how wet you are. namjoon kissed you more insistently, his teeth grazing your lower lip before he pulled back to let you breathe as he watched your face contort from ecstasy, his fingers not stopping playing with your nipples, kneading the flesh until they were more swollen than before, it made a slight pain mix with it.
“hnngh… ngh… mmh…” you let out all your desired noises after namjoon pulled away. he sometimes focused on sucking on your nipple too.
“that's it tae fuck her, watch the way her pussy clenches around you hm.. she's loving every second,”
jimin was mesmerized with the way taehyungs cock slides in and out especially from getting a proper close up view now instead of standing away, his hands faltering on holding your thighs open. taehyung lets out an approved grunt at his words while you struggle to keep up with all three of them playing with your body like this, you can't even move or shift due to being tied down, your hands clenching into tight fists, knuckles turning white. tears welled in your eyes as taehyung hits your g-spot, his breathing growing ragged as he grows increasingly close to his release.
“i'm so close..” he groans, pounding into you, making your body shift forward so hard that you had to grip the headboard.
“ahh.”
you and taehyung let out shared groans as he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. ropes of cum painted your inner walls as he stayed inside next for long moments, grinding to push his release deeper and leaning down into you, kissing your neck. taehyung shoots jimin a look before pulling out with a wet dirty sound, his cum already starting to leak from your used hole as jimin took his place seamlessly in the same missionary position. taehyung was the one now holding your thighs apart, spreading you wider so everyone could see the mess as jimin's cock slid between your cum slick pussy with ease from so much fluid making him so slippery that he lets out a breathless chuckle. namjoon shifted impatiently, watching taehyung and jimin take turns with you and he was the only one left so he rubbed his cock against the side of your face, smearing precum across your cheek before tapping it against your lips.
“open up angel, suck me while jimin fucks you.” he pants.
your lips part wetly to take him in as he slides inside and at the same time, jimin slides inside you.
“ugnngh!” you sobbed around namjoon's cock, tears streaming down your face.
“oh goddd she's even sloppier, it feels like heaven.”
you let out muffled groans around namjoon's shaft as he slowly started pumping. taehyung leaned down to kiss wherever he could reach, your neck, your breasts, your stomach while he kept your legs pinned. the others watched everything, the satisfied group did so after they had their chance, stroking themselves and throwing their dirty crude comments and murmuring among themselves about you and it makes you feel wilder. a bit more animalistic. you were completely a crying mess by now, your body trembling from the overstimulation from your cunt being taken again and again while you couldn't moan or breathe properly due to namjoon's cock. jimin's thrusts grew faster while you sucked namjoon. taehyung hadn't let you cum earlier so even before jimin had cum, you started cumming on him while thrashing, your hair falling messily on your face, your pussy clenching and gushing. your body tried to buck but couldn't from your hands being tied and your legs held.
“yesss!”
jimin moans out, letting out some sweet whimpers too at how hard you were clenching on him like you were trying to milk him for all he was worth. namjoon held your head steadily, giving a few thrusts before pulling back slightly from your mouth and you gasped for air loudly.
“she's our girl for sure… keep going jimin.” namjoon snarls.
the feeling of you cumming around his cock so quick made him cum almost soon after as well, some landing on your stomach as namjoon watched, stroking his saliva coated cock. namjoon carefully turned you onto your stomach and then guided your hips up, positioning you on your knees while your upper body remained pressed against the sheets. he spread your ass to press his throbbing cock against your pussy, groaning low in his throat. behind you, jungkook moved in closer, his lip piercing pressing against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade, your stomach flutters at having him close once again.
“we're gonna take you together now baby, me in this tight ass while namjoon takes this pussy, do you understand?”
“i wanna hear you say it...” he rasps.
your mind was hazy with lust, tears of pleasure drying on your cheeks, it's like you existed for it only and you were willing to take whatever they gave you.
“y-yes p-please... i want it please.” you gasped out, needily pushing back against namjoon's cock.
“i want both of you.”
jungkook chuckles against your skin as he reaches for the bottle of lube on the bedside table that taehyung has brought with him while coming upstairs as if he just knew it'd be needed again soon. he poured a generous amount over his cock, stroking himself slowly, mixing his precum with him and making himself so slick while he breathed heavily. he added more lube directly to the right ring of muscle of your ass that was exposed from being held open by namjoon. he did it patiently, coating your outside completely and some of the cum and fluids had also dripped down to your ass so you were already so wet but he didn't wanna hurt you in any way and wanted to make sure that you were comfortable.
“ohh...”
you moaned when one of his fingers penetrated you, lubing your insides too while namjoon continued rubbing his cock head against your pussy, dipping just the tip in and out to keep you on edge making you tense.
“relax i'm gonna make it feel so good for you sweet girl.”
jungkook promised, his free hand keeps your ass cheeks spread more as he worked a second finger in scissoring to prepare you just like yoongi had done downstairs. he crooked his fingers just right, brushing against the special spot making you sputter as your head thrashed side to side, not being able to make much movement from being tied down. namjoon leaned down, his chest pressing against your back.
“you're taking kook's fingers like a champ.” he praised.
when jungkook finally deemed you ready, your ass stopped clenching too tight and had started fluttering instead in anticipation. he pulled his fingers free and lined up his lubed cock at your ass.
“ohhhhh fuck…”
you sobbed when your ass stretched immensely around his cock, your entire body shaking as he sank deeper, his groans mixing with yours at the feel of the tight channel.
“so fucking tight, let me in... yes.” he gritted out, one hand reaching around to rub your clit to distract you from the pain and it definitely did help as you breathed in and out.
when jungkook was halfway in, namjoon thrusted forward, burying his massive cock into your pussy in one stroke from how slick and gaping you were from taking multiple dicks there and jungkook was on the way to doing to the same training for your asshole too. it felt so overwhelmingly good yet so much, both their cock's met each other through the wall separating your holes, creating a pressure that made your eyes roll back so hard that there was only white visible, your legs kicking on the edge of the bed. namjoon's cock hit that perfect spot inside you while jungkook created a deeper fullness. it felt weird to have something inside your ass but it was forbiddenly good and you wanted more of it, your eyes went unseeing when he went all the way inside, pushing and gushing so much. the lube made everything slick and slippery so jungkook slided in and out with ease. they alternated, one pulling out while the other pushed in, thrusts that rocked your entire body upwards as you held onto the headboard desperately.
“hah… hahgh o-oh.”
namjoon growls, his hand fisting in your hair so your head shifts slightly and the others can see your blissed out face. jungkook's hips snapped harder, his balls slapping against your ass as he buried himself to the hilt. you couldn't stop making wanton noises, your stomach coiling from the dual penetration and it seemed to edge you so fast.
“i'm… i'm gonna oh—”
you wailed as you heard the slapping noises of skin meeting skin and the way namjoon and jungkook fucked you. the others around you were jerking their cocks faster so fascinated yet feeling so animal at the scene before the and they were so close to losing all self control.
you came hard around namjoon's cock, your pussy clenching violently around his shaft while your ass fluttered on jungkook's cock. your limbs shook uncontrollably against the ties as your forehead rested on the headboard as you tried to breathe wildly. namjoon followed right after, his thrusts growing erratic as he buried himself deep and came flooding your pussy with cum.
“fucking shitt.”
he lets out a string of curses, grinding deeper against you to push his release deeper while jungkook continues fucking your ass through the orgasm, drawing it out until you are oversensitive, his cock inside your ass makes you forget about the overstimulation of your pussy momentarily. the feeling of namjoon's cum leaking around his cock as he stayed inside you combined with jungkook's pace left your mind fully blank, you couldn't even produce proper words other than helpless moans. the aftershocks making your holes flutter around their cocks as they held you there, not pulling out yet
namjoon and jungkook slowly pulled out of you after a while, there seemed to be a certain shift in the air, like the wait had finally snapped. after seeing your flexibility and impressive energy, capable of being able to take two cocks at a time. they surrounded you on the bed, closing in like you had nowhere to escape.
namjoon and jungkook and taehyung were still beside you, their eyes all holding obsession and need as their eyes traced your flushed trembling form and the way that there was a large wet spot on the sheets. your wrists were freed from the tie by yoongi so you won't be restricted and they could put you in any position they want.
“color?” hoseok asks you with genuine concern.
“if it's too much, tell us.” taehyung adds.
his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your swollen lip. their hands hovering, cocks leaking against your thigh but waiting for your consent before proceeding, knowing you already took a lot. jimin leaned in to press a kiss against your temple.
“you're shaking so much but we won't push you unless you're okay.” hoseok croons while you gasp for breath, your heart pounding and slowing down as minutes pass by.
“green...”
that's the only word you managed to get out as you looked at them with glassy eyes and they all groaned together.
“that's our girl for sure.”
jungkook grumbles and the others made noises of agreement at how perfect you are and how your body opened up and gave itself to them so easily even after everything, you wanted to take more. they knew that you were the one for them.
they closed in fully and before you knew it, hands and mouths were on you all at once and everywhere. kisses went down your neck, shoulders, breasts and stomach, open mouthed kisses. teeth grazed your collarbones while tongues soothed the sting, fingers tangling in your hair and stroking your sides and ass. they teased every sensitive spot on your body. it was sensory overload as the heat of their bodies pressed close.
“haa…”
jimin was the first to claim your pussy, sliding his cock through your slit with a groan. he pushed in slowly at first, feeling your walls trying to pull him in like a magnet from earlier orgasms. namjoon positioned himself behind you, his cock pressing against your asshole. he didn't need to use more lube because there were already residuals of it from earlier and you were so full of fluids.
“gahh!”
you made a throaty noise, hands fisting the bedsheets as he worked his way inside your ass as well. jimin's thrusts rubbed against that spot inside you perfectly while namjoon's cock filled your ass. their hips snapping in sync, both their heavy cocks slapping against you, making pating noises while you sobbed out almost pornographic noises, not even recognizing the noises you made yourself. at the same time jungkook moved closer to your head, his hand wrapped around your cock, guiding your mouth open with the tip of it.
“let me feel that throat baby.” he growls, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he pushes deeper.
you moaned loudly as he immediately hit the back of your throat, tears welling in your eyes anew while jimin and namjoon continued fucking. taehyung on the other hand, slides his heavy cock between your breasts, squeezing them together around his length with a groan which were bouncing automatically from thrusts causing friction on his length.
“these are so soft.” he grunts. he loved the way they felt around his cock, his precum causing his dick to glide easily, his thumbs flicking your nipples with every moment. jin and hoseok claim your hands next, wrapping your fingers around their throbbing cocks. your palms were guided up and down their lengths with their larger hands covering yours, setting a firm pace.
“stroke me good baby.” hoseok says, their hips bucking into your grip, abs flexing.
“gahhsh hahh mmphh.”
you make mindless muffled sobbing noises on jungkook's cock while being stimulated in every way possible. they continued without pause, jimin fucking your pussy with deep strokes while namjoon pounded your ass. jungkook used your mouth like a toy, like it was just a warm wet sleeve for him to use as he alternated between deep throats and quicker thrusts. taehyung's cock slid messily between your breasts, leaving them glistening and he let out grunts. jin's and hoseok's cocks were twitching in your grip.
yoongi was the only one left to join and he was standing close to the bed, watching everything and the chaos with feral eyes, tracking every noise of yours and the slap of skin as the other men claimed you. his hand paused on his cock, his chest rising and falling as he saw you being used so thoroughly. jimin was buried deep inside your pussy already but yoongi could see the way your walls clenched and fluttered, begging for more. the stretch was not yet complete and that alone made his cock twitch. you were his adorable little slut and stretched so wide and still hungry for more. the other men also noticed that yoongi didn't join as they egged him on, turning to look at him.
“yoongi's been holding back.”
hoseok chuckled, guiding your hand along his cock. his other hand kept you steady on jungkook so your mouth kept working on him.
“come on yoongi, join us.”
jimin groaned in agreement, his hips never slowing as he looked at yoongi with a flushed smile, knowing exactly what he wants. they've known each other well enough to understand what the other wants without words and right now yoongi holding back means he wants something different, the way his eyes were fixated on your gaping pussy told him exactly that.
“she's so fucking tight even now… but we can make her take us both. get over here and stretch our girl.”
yoongi finally pushed off the bed, his cock bobbing heavily as he approached, making the men chuckle between groans while you struggled to keep up with their words or even understand what they're saying. he added more lube over his length, adding even more to where jimin was already connected to you. the head of his cock pressed against your already stuffed entrance, teasing over the stretched rim where jimin was inside.
“go for it.” jimin smirks at him and yoongi hums.
“you want this baby? want both our cocks splitting this pussy wide open?” yoongi murmurs, his free hand stroking your bulging tummy gently, feeling the outline of jimin inside you. all you could respond with was a muffled sob around jungkook's cock as tears and snot left you, your mind melting.
“that's a yes.” jungkook replies to yoongi with a grin, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek.
your vision blurs when yoongi finally pushed in alongside jimin causing such a burning stretch like you were going to tear open, forcing two massive cocks all the way in together. inch by inch, yoongi's length slid home, the lube easing the way but not diminishing the intense fullness as your tummy visibly bulges outward even more prominently at the dual intrusion.
“hnnngh... mm...” you sputtered with wide eyes around jungkook's cock.
the men groaned, their hands roaming your body, all focused on watching the way you took three cocks, two cocks inside your pussy and namjoon still pounding your ass. your belly bulged with each thrust until you could feel every bit of the detail and veins of their cock. you've never felt so full and complete in your life. the masochist in you barely registered the pain and only focused on the way you were being claimed so thoroughly. yoongi and jimin found a rhythm together, their cocks rubbing against each other, it sent white hot sparks exploring through their nerves. your pussy was overfilled and cum frothing at your entrance with every plunge, dripping down to where namjoon was hammering your ass in perfect counterpoint. jungkook pulls out from your mouth to let you breathe understanding your need for it.
“ah-ah-ah-ah—fuck!”
they treated you like you were a breeding toy, namjoon's hand pressing down on your lower back to arch you further, deepening the triple penetration.
“we're gonna ruin this cunt for anyone else. gonna pump you so full of cum you'll be leaking for days.” jungkook snarls, spitting inside your mouth as you wail, his hand stroking your tear streaked face as he jerks off right on your cheek.
“our cumdump..”
yoongi groans, giving you a few more pounds. you were spiraling higher and higher, murmuring and screaming nonsense, your brain's functions lost, while they were hitting spots inside you you didn't even know existed, rearranging and jostling your insides. just then namjoon leaned down to pinch your clit hard between his thumbs. you fully lost your mind.
“AHHHHHHHH!”
you let out such a loud scream that you were sure others outside the penthouse could hear despite it being soundproof as you gagged repeatedly on jungkook's cock, your breasts beingsqueezed hard by taehyung. you orgasmed hard, pussy cleaning down like a vice, milking yoongi's and jimin's cocks as so much liquid squirted out of you, soaking everyone. your entire lower body was soaked and their thighs were mixing with saliva and precum, your throat constricting around jungkook's. your vision blackened and you fell forward, almost like you lost your senses. yoongi snarled through gritted teeth, his hips rocking faster.
thrust. thrust. thrust.
that was what all of them were doing, jungkook inside your mouth, hoseok and jin fucking your fists, taehyung using your breasts while namjoon fucked your ass and jimin and yoongi fucking your pussy, all their faces contorted, not being able to stop moaning, pushing you to hypersensitivity and every inch of your body felt like it was burning and on fire. they didn't stop continuing to fuck you until they all started cumming, one by one they came all over your body and face and inside all your holes.
all you could smell was sex, sweat, raw masculinity and cigarettes, it all mixed together into something extremely lewd. so much liquid sloshing in your belly, becoming inflated as namjoon, yoongi and jimin dumped it inside you. you all felt less human and more animal like, sex beasts where nothing was enough and the night still wasn't over.
the night went on like that and the hours felt like an endless haze of pleasure as the seven of them continued to use you like their personal fucktoy, rotating through every single one of your holes until no part of you was untouched. groans, moans, cries and the slap of skin against skin were all that could be heard.
creampies after creampies.
“who do you think made her cum the hardest huh? i bet it was me hitting her spot just right.” jungkook chuckled deeply, gripping your ass.
“nahh kook, it was me definitely.” yoongi interrupts.
“y/n baby, tell them, whose dick wrecked you the most?”
but you could barely form words, your mind foggy and from overstimulation so they gave you another round just to prove among themselves actually who was capable of making you cum the hardest as if they all didn't successfully do so several times already. they passed you around with ease, each man claiming a turn while others watched or strokes themselves and joined in to heighten the torment. they also competed about who could make you scream or cry the loudest as they shifted you into several different positions. you were shocked at your body for being so flexible. you didn't even remember your own name at this point as the rotation continued relentlessly.
hours went on with edging and making you cum, sometimes with mating press position or putting both your legs over their shoulders and sometimes they gave it to you in the spoon position so they could take their time with you passionately while they talked among themselves, always discussing who gets to have you next or in which position to put you in.
“y/n are you still with us or did we fuck you dumb already?”
you were far from responding to them, only letting out garbled noises, your body taking them all even now, you felt like you were in heaven and hell together from the pleasure and from the sensitivity. the gangbang went on until you felt like your pussy and ass overflowed with their cum that was constantly pushed back in by insistent fingers and cocks. the sheets were fully ruined, drenched in sweat, saliva and semen, your body was soaked from head to toe too as they made sure not a drop of their cum went to taste. even if they argued among themselves about who made you cum the hardest but at this point your body reacted to even the little brush of fingers because of how hyper used you felt as you babbled incoherently still pushing back against several cocks.
you were also shocked at how much raw energy they had that even after so many orgasms and such exerted force they could still go on, their cocks seeming to get hard within minutes of release but soon you felt them slowly growing exhausted as well after hours of claiming you.
you saw the first hints of morning light through the curtains from half closed eyes, you all didn't even realize that the night had turned to nearly dawn. you felt half conscious yourself, not a single bit of energy left in you, not being able to lift your head as your lower body still convulsed. the bed was a wreck, the sheets half twisted and all wet, some pillows on the floor, pools of cum drying on your body and theirs as well. one pillow was half torn, you'd probably grabbed too hard between your hands but didn't even remember properly. the headboard also had nail scratches and marks from grips.
you lay in the center of it all, voice almost gone from screams and moans, feeling blissfully blank and dreamy, where thoughts dissolved before they could form. your body ached deliciously, bite marks everywhere, handprints reddened your hips and ass, your pussy and ass swollen, still trickling bits of their white seed. they all panted around you, all their cocks softened now, no longer having the power to get hard again as you felt a few sets of arms wrap around your waist, holding you close without crushing you with their weight.
“fuck… baby, are you okay?” jungkook murmurs.
he pressed soothing kisses against your shoulder and you just whimpered, burying your face in taehyung's chest, your body shifting a littl and that made you let out a quiet little cry because it put pressure on your lower body.
“shhh, don't move too much.” taehyung whispers as he places a hand behind your head.
“we've got you.”
“water first, someone get the bottle.”
namjoon says urgently, knowing how thirsty you'd be after everything. jin stands up on shaky legs and goes to grab another bottle of cold water for you, while hands of theirs that gripped and spanked now rubbed slowly over your sore muscles, slightly massaging.
“you did so well baby.”
taehyung nuzzled into your side while yoongi pressed slow apologetic kisses on your stomach and you mewled, melting in the sheets. they made you drink water, making sure you finished the entire bottle to quench your thirst and also for whatever energy you lost. they constantly asked questions about if you were okay, if any specific body part of yours hurt and that they were sorry even if they had no reason to. they constantly made sure that you were comfortable and safe but you had no energy to reply to them to tell them that you enjoyed everything and to not apologize. so you expressed your gratitude through actions, leaning onto them and clutching them as they all enveloped you into cuddles, solid bodies radiating safety until you were cocooned.
your head pillowed on jin's chest, legs tangled with jungkook's and hoseok's, taehyung's arm draped over your waist, jimin's fingers laced with yours, namjoon's hand stroking your hair while yoongi traced up and down your back. they didn’t talk for several minutes, letting you recover, knowing you weren't in the state to reply to them until they felt your breathing regulate more.
“are there any cramps? do you feel dizzy?” jin asks softly and you shake your head weakly.
“good… safe.” you managed to croak out and they all smiled, letting out relieved noises and kissing against each mark and bruise they left on you.
“you worked so hard angel… we're so proud of you.”
they also had scratches and bite marks on their bodies from where you'd grabbed onto them. some nail marks also caused blood to bead a little but all their focus was on you, not caring about themselves. after the blissful recovery they decided it was time for a shower. you also felt a little uncomfortable and sticky everywhere from so many fluids so they carried you to the large bathroom.
during that, the staff had already been notified to clean the sheets and bring fresh food in without a single question or raised eyebrow from them. they knew better than to do that and minded their own place but even shock was evident in their faces because it was the very first time the men had ever brought a woman into their place.
in the shower they treated you like you were something precious and fragile, giving you utmost care as if you were a delicate flower meant to be handled like that. they washed you together, massaging your scalp with shampoo while your head rested on the edge of the tub, warm water making you moan in relief as they cleaned all the fluids from your hair and body.
“lift your leg for me princess.” yoongi instructed affectionately.
then he used a soft towel to clean between your folds and between your thighs slowly as you winced from the pain and soreness but he did that oh so gently, a huge contrast to how he fucked you moments ago as they helped support your legs, massaging between your toes too and it makes you giggle with a tired smile. they didn’t touch any of your sensitive spots or your nipples, noting how swollen and reddened they were, being extremely mindful and checking in with you.
“there we go… nice and clean.” namjoon held you against his chest.
they talked among themselves about what to feed you next or which ointments to apply to your marks in hushed voices so as to not jerk you while they wiped down your body with a dry towel. they wrapped a towel around you and carried you back to the freshly made bed with new sheets and laid you down carefully, making you sigh at the feeling of freshness and no more wetness even though your body ached sweetly. they insisted on feeding you a light snack too despite that you felt so sleepy, not wanting you to fall asleep on an empty stomach and in pain.
“just a few bites… such a good girl yeah?” namjoon coaxed, they were all patient as you managed a few bites. your throat a little sore too from taking so many cocks but the cold fruits helped. after that, they made you have a pain relief tablet before placing extra fluffed pillows behind you.
“we're right here.”
jimin whispered.
“sleep now, we’ve got you.”
you never felt so cared for. it made your heart flutter, your lips curving in a dreamy smile as you buried your nose in the pillow, a kitten like purr leaving you from deep within your chest and it made all the men around you melt into puddles. their bodies forming a protective circle, hands rubbing and massaging your thighs, almost rocking you to a peaceful sleep, their devotion something you'll carry with yourself even in your dreams. they watched you all quietly, you slept so deeply on your stomach, one of your hand squished beneath your cheek making your lips pucker.
“she's out cold... poor thing took everything we gave.”
yoongi said with a rare smile as jungkook pushed a strand of wet hair away from your face. it seemed as if all their heart was being carried in your little palm all alone, like they found what they'd been missing all along.
“she fits doesn’t she?” hoseok murmurs, lost in the haze of watching you too as the others nodded softly.
“she does…”
they knew that they wouldn’t let you go and that they'd keep you, it wasn’t just a contract of one night, it was more that, they didn’t wanna spoil you just for one night but forever.
nothing in the world mattered except you right here in their arms, owned by them, marked by them in every way humanly possible and there was no going back, they knew that even their souls knew that.
“we'll talk to her when she wakes up but she's not leaving, we’ll show her how serious we are.”
you meanwhile, slept unaware that your life had changed for the better and that new beginnings were yet to come with much adoration and sex, yet most importantly, eight hearts connected and meant to beat together.
Thinking about Zeke dating a reader.
You and Zeke are roommates during university, because rent is expensive off campus and you actually like each other's company.
Zeke is sarcastic and strangely clean and kind under the cool guy persona and slowly, you thoroughly fall in love with him.
You have more books than space, stacks everywhere, shelves overflowing and your bag is big enough for you to carry a book with you, along with your other daily necessities.
Zeke brings you books sometimes. He always writes the year he got it and a little 'Z' to sign it off from him.
In your third year of living together, Zeke makes you a book bouquet for your birthday, with books he knows you've mentioned wanting. He wraps it up in ribbon and adds some chocolate and tea to the bundle.
You're fucked.
The first thing you learned about living with Zeke Tyler was that absolutely nothing about him made sense.
Not the motorcycle parked crooked outside your apartment building like it had been abandoned by a delinquent in a teen drama. Not the leather jacket hanging over the back of the kitchen chair. Not the permanent smirk that suggested he either knew something you didn’t or had just gotten away with a crime.
And definitely not the fact that he cleaned.
Not casually. Not in the “wipes down the counter after cooking” kind of way.
No.
Zeke Tyler sanitized surfaces like he was preparing for surgery.
“You alphabetized the spice rack?” you asked the first week you moved in together.
He didn’t even look up from where he was scrubbing a coffee mug with unreasonable concentration. “You’re welcome.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“Says the girl creating structural hazards with paperback towers.”
You looked over at your stacks of books lining the living room wall.
Then at the stack beside the couch.
Then at the stack beside your bed.
Then at the emergency stack on the bathroom floor.
“In my defense,” you said carefully, “they’re organized.”
“They’re breeding.”
“You can’t prove that.”
Zeke snorted softly.
And that was the beginning of it.
You moved in together because university housing was overpriced and awful and because somehow, after the events at Herrington High, you and Zeke had remained… friends.
Or something adjacent to friendship.
At first, you’d expected him to be insufferable.
Everyone else at university certainly did.
Zeke Tyler had a reputation before he even stepped into lecture halls. Campus urban legends followed him around like cigarette smoke.
The guy who stopped an alien invasion.
The burnout genius.
The drug dealer.
The mechanic.
The freakishly smart biochem major with grades that made professors visibly emotional.
He cultivated the image too.
Black shirts. Smug grin. Leaning back in chairs like authority physically bored him.
But then you moved in with him.
And you discovered:
Zeke always rinsed dishes immediately because “dried food is a nightmare.”
He folded blankets.
He replaced empty toilet paper rolls without being asked.
He knew how to sew.
He made coffee for you before your early literature seminars because “you look dead at eight a.m.”
And once, horrifyingly, you caught him watching a documentary about marine ecosystems while eating yogurt directly from the container.
“You like documentaries?” you asked suspiciously.
“I contain multitudes.”
“You contain lies.”
“Probably.”
Then he offered you the yogurt spoon.
You stared at it.
He stared back.
Something strange happened in your chest.
That became a recurring issue.
Your apartment was tiny.
One bathroom. Thin walls. A kitchen barely large enough for both of you at once.
But it worked.
Mostly because you fit together strangely well.
Zeke liked silence.
You liked comfortable silence.
Zeke studied late into the night.
You read late into the night.
Sometimes you’d both end up in the living room at two in the morning, half-dead from coursework.
He’d sit cross-legged on the floor with chemistry notes spread around him.
You’d curl into the couch with a novel balanced on your knees.
Music low.
Lamp warm.
No pressure to talk.
And every now and then, you’d look up and find him already looking at you.
Not even in a dramatic way.
Just… watching.
Like he found you interesting.
The first time it happened, you asked, “What?”
“You make weird faces when you read.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m literally just sitting here.”
“You frowned three times, looked offended twice, and smiled at the page like a psycho.”
“It’s called emotional engagement.”
“It’s called concerning.”
You threw a pillow at him.
He caught it one-handed without looking.
You hated how attractive that was.
The books started in your second semester living together.
You’d mentioned one offhandedly while unpacking groceries.
A battered copy of The Secret History had fallen out of your bag and Zeke picked it up.
“You’ve read this six times.”
“Seven.”
“That’s unhealthy.”
“It’s art.”
“It’s pretentious murder.”
You gasped.
He smirked.
Then, two days later, he tossed something onto the kitchen table while you were making tea.
You looked down.
A book.
Not just any book.
A first edition copy of a novel you’d been searching for since high school.
You stared at it.
Slowly looked up.
“Where did you get this?”
“Used bookstore.”
“Zeke.”
“What?”
“This is expensive.”
“Nah.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m an excellent liar.”
You opened the cover carefully.
Inside, written neatly in black ink:
2024
— Z
Your chest hurt.
“You signed it?”
“You make it sound like I autographed my own body.”
“You kind of did.”
He shrugged, suddenly weirdly casual about it.
“Thought you’d like remembering where it came from.”
You looked at him too long.
He noticed.
His ears turned slightly pink.
That was new.
After that, books started appearing everywhere.
Not constantly.
Not enough to feel overwhelming.
Just enough that every time it happened, your heart betrayed you a little more.
Sometimes he’d leave one beside your coffee mug before class.
Sometimes he’d toss one onto your bed with a muttered, “Found this weird little horror thing you might like.”
Once, during finals week, he handed you a poetry collection and said:
“You get mean when you’re stressed. Maybe this’ll help.”
“I do not get mean.”
“You threatened to kill a professor over comma usage.”
“He deserved fear.”
“You’re terrifying.”
Still, he made you tea that night.
And when you fell asleep reading on the couch, you woke up under a blanket with your book marked carefully halfway through the chapter.
Zeke pretended he hadn’t done it.
You pretended not to notice.
People assumed you were together long before you actually were.
Honestly, you understood why.
There was an intimacy to coexisting with someone for years.
You knew the exact sound of Zeke’s footsteps in the hallway. He knew how you took your coffee. You bought his favourite cereal without thinking about it. He fixed the zipper on your bag while you read aloud to him from your coursework.
You fought like an old married couple too.
Mostly over stupid things.
“Why do you own seven identical black shirts?” you demanded one afternoon while helping with laundry.
“They’re not identical.”
“They are literally the same shirt.”
“One’s charcoal.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You color-code your lab notes.”
“Because I’m intelligent.”
“You’re clinically insane.”
“You cried over fictional lesbians last week.”
“They were in love, Zeke!”
“They weren’t real!”
“They were real to me!”
“You’re impossible.”
“You adore me.”
The words slipped out accidentally.
The room went still.
Your stomach dropped.
Zeke looked at you.
Really looked at you.
Then slowly, slowly—
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I kinda do.”
You stopped breathing for approximately three business days.
Then he ruined it by stealing your fries.
You tried not to fall in love with him.
You really did.
Because Zeke Tyler was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with aliens or drugs or his tendency to get into fights.
He paid attention.
That was the problem.
You’d once mentioned disliking peppermint tea because it reminded you of hospitals.
He never bought peppermint again.
You got overwhelmed in crowded places.
He started walking slightly behind you at parties so no one bumped into you.
You had a habit of reading while cooking.
He silently moved hot pans farther from your elbows.
And God, he listened.
You could ramble about gothic literature for forty straight minutes and he’d lean against the counter pretending not to care while secretly absorbing every word.
“You know,” you said one night, “Frankenstein is actually deeply emotional and misunderstood.”
“Like me.”
“You’re not Frankenstein.”
“You don’t know my life.”
“You literally grow weed in a lab.”
“Science is beautiful.”
“You nearly exploded the microwave yesterday.”
“That was chemistry.”
“That was soup.”
Then came the flu incident.
It happened during your second winter together.
You got sick first.
Horribly sick.
The kind where your bones hurt and moving felt like a personal attack.
You shuffled into the kitchen wrapped in three blankets and nearly walked directly into Zeke.
He took one look at you.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Rude.”
“You look haunted.”
“Thank you.”
“You have a fever?”
“No.”
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m cold aesthetically.”
“Go sit down.”
“I need tea.”
“I’ll make it.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Then, because the universe hated you, Zeke spent the next four days taking care of you with terrifying competence.
Soup.
Medicine.
Cold cloths.
Making sure you drank water.
Threatening to physically restrain you when you tried to do coursework.
At one point you woke up half-delirious to find him sitting beside the couch reading your assigned novel because “you kept mumbling about symbolism in your sleep.”
“You’re reading Austen?” you croaked.
He looked offended.
“I can read.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“This guy sucks,” he said, pointing at the page. “Why doesn’t she just hit him with a chair?”
You laughed so hard you started coughing.
He immediately handed you water.
Your heart genuinely didn’t stand a chance.
Then Zeke got sick.
And discovered he was the worst patient alive.
“You’re being dramatic,” you informed him.
He glared from beneath three blankets.
“I’m dying.”
“You have a cold.”
“My organs are failing.”
“You asked me to bring you toast and then fell asleep before eating it.”
“Tragic.”
“You called me crying because the pharmacy was out of your preferred cough drops.”
“They work better.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Still, you stayed up with him anyway.
Because despite all his complaining, Zeke got strangely soft when he was exhausted.
Loose-limbed.
Sleepy-eyed.
Honest.
At three in the morning, while you sat beside him editing essays, he looked over and muttered:
“You always stay.”
You paused.
“What?”
“You stay.” His voice was rough from sleep. “Most people don’t.”
Something sharp twisted inside your chest.
“Zeke…”
He was already half asleep again.
But before drifting off completely, he reached out blindly toward the couch.
Toward you.
You took his hand.
He fell asleep holding it.
By your third year living together, your apartment no longer looked temporary.
It looked lived in.
His records beside your books. Your mugs mixed with his dishes. His jackets hanging beside yours. Plants you bought together slowly taking over the windowsill because neither of you understood moderation.
People stopped asking if you were roommates.
Instead they asked what your deal was.
You didn’t know either.
Not exactly.
There had been moments.
Too many moments.
Late-night eye contact that lasted too long.
Hands brushing.
Him touching your waist absentmindedly while reaching past you.
You falling asleep against his shoulder during movie nights.
Neither of you moving away afterward.
But nothing happened.
Not really.
Maybe because both of you were afraid ruining this would destroy everything.
And this—whatever it was—meant too much already.
Your birthday arrived during midterms.
You’d honestly forgotten about it.
You stumbled home exhausted after a brutal seminar discussion and nearly walked straight into darkness.
The apartment lights were off.
“Zeke?”
No answer.
Then—
Click.
Warm yellow light flooded the kitchen.
You froze.
Zeke stood there awkwardly, one hand shoved into his pocket.
And in his other arm—
Books.
Not one.
Not two.
An entire bouquet made of books.
Special editions. New editions. Hardcovers, paperbacks, some you mentioned wanting once, new copies of old favourites.
Spines wrapped carefully together with deep green ribbon.
Pages fanned delicately like flowers.
Little wrapped chocolates tucked between them.
Tea packets woven into the arrangement.
You stared.
Actually stared.
Because no one had ever looked at you so specifically before.
Not just lovingly.
Precisely.
Like he’d memorized every small thing that made you happy and built something from it.
Zeke shifted slightly.
“You mentioned wanting these.”
Your throat tightened instantly.
He looked almost nervous.
Which was horrifying because Zeke Tyler didn’t get nervous.
“I know bouquets are kinda cliché,” he continued quickly, “but flowers die and these don’t, so—”
“Zeke.”
“And the ribbon thing looked easier online.”
“Zeke.”
“And I may have burned myself with the glue gun but that’s irrelevant—”
You kissed him.
You didn’t plan to.
God, you absolutely didn’t plan to.
But one second he was standing there rambling anxiously with a book bouquet in his arms and the next your hands were grabbing his jacket and your mouth was on his.
Zeke froze.
Completely froze.
Like his brain had stopped functioning.
Then the bouquet nearly hit the floor because he grabbed your waist with both hands and kissed you back hard enough to make your knees weak.
It was devastating.
Absolutely devastating.
Zeke kissed like he did everything else:
Intensely.
Completely.
Like he was holding himself back until he couldn’t anymore.
You made a soft sound against his mouth.
His grip tightened instinctively.
Then suddenly he pulled back slightly, breathing hard.
“You sure?”
You could barely think.
“Yes.”
His forehead dropped against yours.
“You have no idea,” he muttered, sounding wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
Your heart nearly exploded.
“How long?”
“Honestly?” He laughed breathlessly. “The library incident might’ve done me in.”
You blinked. “The library incident?”
“You climbed a shelf.”
“That narrows nothing down.”
“You were looking for some out-of-print poetry thing and almost broke your neck.”
“Oh my God.”
“You were swearing at the Dewey Decimal System.”
“It deserved it.”
“You looked insane.”
“And that made you want to kiss me?”
“I never claimed mental stability.”
You started laughing helplessly.
Zeke looked at you for a second like the sound itself physically affected him.
Then quieter:
“You really liked the bouquet?”
You stared at him.
“You handmade me a bouquet out of books.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I’m going to marry you someday.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Silence.
Zeke’s eyebrows lifted.
Then slowly, dangerously slowly—
“Yeah?” he murmured.
Heat rushed to your face instantly.
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, no.” His grin spread slowly. “Keep talking.”
“I hate you.”
“You absolutely do not.”
Then he kissed you again.
And this time neither of you held back.
Dating Zeke turned out to be weirdly easy.
Which felt unfair somehow.
You expected some dramatic shift.
Expected things to become awkward or strained.
Instead it was like your lives simply… clicked into place.
Like you’d already been orbiting each other for years and finally stopped pretending otherwise.
Zeke still made your coffee.
Now he kissed your forehead while handing it to you.
You still read on the couch at night.
Now your legs ended up draped over his automatically.
He still brought you books.
Only now sometimes they came with folded notes inside.
This protagonist reminded me of you. Weird little menace.
Or:
Found this and immediately thought “oh this would emotionally destroy her.”
He was impossible.
You adored him.
Which he knew.
Because unfortunately Zeke Tyler became unbearably smug once secure in your affection.
“You’re staring again,” you informed him one afternoon.
He leaned against the kitchen counter unapologetically.
“You’re pretty.”
“You say that like it’s surprising.”
“It is. You look like a librarian who’d poison a husband in 1892.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I know.”
“You’re also distracting me.”
“You love me.”
You sighed deeply.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The ego.”
“My ego is earned.”
“You alphabetize spices.”
“You leave books open face-down.”
“We all have flaws.”
“You’re a monster.”
Then he kissed the top of your head while passing by.
Like he couldn’t help himself.
You nearly melted into the floor.
There were still moments where the reality of him caught you off guard.
Like discovering he kept every note you’d ever left him.
You found them accidentally while searching for batteries in his desk drawer.
Tiny scraps of paper.
Don’t forget dinner in the oven.
Good luck on your exam.
Buy milk.
One of them simply read:
You looked happy today.
You stared at them for a long time.
When Zeke walked into the room, he immediately realized what you found.
“Oh,” he said.
“Why do you have these?”
He shrugged, suddenly awkward.
“I dunno.”
“Zeke.”
His gaze flicked away.
“I like things from you.”
Your chest physically hurt.
“You kept a grocery reminder.”
“You drew a smiley face on it.”
“You are unreal.”
“Yeah, well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You keep every book I give you.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They’re books.”
“They’re from me.”
You looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At this sarcastic, strange, brilliant man who loved you in quiet devastating ways.
Then you crossed the room and kissed him until he forgot what conversation you were having.
Sometimes love looked dramatic.
Sometimes it looked cinematic and obvious and loud.
But loving Zeke mostly looked like:
Him rubbing your feet under the table while you studied.
You reading drafts of his research papers because he trusted your editing more than anyone else’s.
Late-night grocery runs.
Inside jokes.
Arguments over bookshelf organization.
His hand finding yours instinctively in crowded places.
The way he looked at you when you spoke passionately about something. Like your mind itself fascinated him.
One night, near graduation, you found him sitting alone on the apartment floor surrounded by open boxes.
Packing.
You leaned against the doorway quietly.
“You okay?”
Zeke looked up.
For once, he didn’t immediately joke.
“Yeah.”
Lie.
You crossed the room and sat beside him.
The apartment already felt strange half-empty.
Books gone from shelves.
Records packed away.
Three years of life slowly dismantled into cardboard.
“It feels weird,” you admitted softly.
“Yeah.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder.
“What if everything changes after this?”
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then:
“It will.”
Your stomach twisted.
But he turned toward you then, steady and certain.
“And we’ll figure it out.”
“You sound confident.”
“I am.”
“How?”
His hand slid into yours carefully.
“Because every good thing in my life started when you walked into it.”
You stopped breathing.
“Zeke—”
“No, listen.” His thumb brushed your knuckles. “I spent years thinking I was the kind of person people eventually leave behind.” He laughed softly. “Honestly, I kinda earned that reputation.”
“You’re not—”
“But you stayed anyway.”
Emotion clogged your throat instantly.
“You stayed,” he repeated quietly. “Even before this.” His eyes searched yours. “So I’m not scared of the future with you anymore.”
You kissed him before he could say anything else.
Slow this time.
Tender.
Like a promise.
When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“You know what really fucked me up?” he murmured.
“What?”
“The birthday bouquet.”
You laughed softly. “Making it or giving it?”
“Making it.” He grinned a little. “I was standing in the craft store holding ribbon thinking, Jesus Christ, I’m domesticated.”
“You bought ribbon for me.”
“I watched three tutorials.”
“You watched tutorials?”
“Don’t spread that around. I have a reputation.”
You smiled so hard it hurt.
Then quieter:
“I still have it.”
“The bouquet?”
“Mhm.”
“You kept the ribbon?”
“Obviously.”
He stared at you with something unbearably soft in his expression.
“You really love me, huh?”
You touched his face gently.
“Unfortunately.”
“That’s rough.”
“Tragic, honestly.”
“Guess you’re stuck with me.”
You smiled against his mouth when he kissed you again.
YOU’D BE WRITER, IF HE DIDN’T LEAVE ALL HIS HELL FOR YOU
MDNI 18+ - Nikki freeman x fem!reader
Summary: you drive Nikki home after a another platonic cinema date, and after one too many compliments during the drive- Nikki loses her composure
Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, swearing, making out, love confession, mention of violence (one line), slight hair pulling?
—————————
The cinema door swung open and revealed the nights air as you and Nikki stumbled out, clutching each other in laughter as you walked out.
Nikki was almost crying with how hard the hysterics wracked over her, "Oh, my God— that movie was awful."
You caught your breath before you replied, wiping at your eyes, "Im getting abs, Jesus."
You and Nikki walked towards the dimly lit, empty car park, where your truck was waiting for you both, "Who even green-lit that plot? So stupid," you agreed.
Your truck wasn't far, and you reached it in a few minuets, pulling the key from your jean pocket and unlocked it with a click.
"As a writer i'm actually a little offended. But, it gives me hope," smiled Nikki, climbing into the passenger seat. "Even if my writings shit I could probably still get a trilogy deal."
The engine started with a rumble as you turned the key, headlights beaming brightly in the empty lot, "Okay, well- there is a big difference."
You turned to look at her, as you pulled onto the dark stretch of road, feeling as the gravel crunched under the tyres.
She turned and smiled at you. Questioning- before hesitantly asking, "Oh yeah, what's the difference?"
You gave her a pointed look, "Come on, Nikki. You're an amazing writer, any plot you think of is brilliant." Shrugging softly, you added, "I'd love anything you make."
The sheer amount of confidence and honesty in you voice wasn't completely purposeful, it was supposed to be a cool, casual compliment- soemthing chill.
Words that didn't completely show your massive lesbian crush on your best friend.
Nikki laughed then, trying to hide the way her face had dusted pink by looking out the window, at the trees passing by in the dark, "I think you're giving me too much credit." She had become more quiet- thoughtful like something was swirling around her skull.
The usual confidence gone, Nikki was affected by your words— even if she tried to pretend like she wasn't.
There wasn't many times in the years you'd known Nikki that you'd ever seen her forgo snark and sarcasm- seen her settle into something more real, vulnerable.
You'd met in high school- some English class together (she excelled obviously). You were friendly enough, but you'd never talk outside of assignments, then when you ended up applying to the music shop at the same time it changed.
Nikki and you were fast friends while co workers, spending the late shits together -alone- while no customers entered for hours.
That speed also applied to your non-platonic feelings for her. There wasn't an exact moment you can say you fell, but you knew you fell hard.
You looked over at Nikki, watching as she chewed at her nail, deep in thought, "Its true, ive read your work." You said, trying to reassure her.
Nikki just stared at you then, eyes wide as her breathing pick up, she swallows hard and runs her nails through her fringe, "Pull over."
You turn to look at her in surprise and confusion. Both of you were still driving in the middle of nowhere on some long and dark road, atleast half an hour away from either of your houses, "What?"
"Pull over!" Nikki sounded desperate, almost loud enough to be a shout. You'd never heard her sound like this before, part of you was terrified you'd said something wrong.
The car pulled to a stop with a judder as you turned the engine off and flicked on the overhead lights, giving you the barest amount of an orange glow to fight off the darkness.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" you looked at her with worry, but paused when you noticed how dark her eyes looked in this light. The way her lips were lightly parted and she was just staring at you, silent.
"Can I..try something?" whispered Nikki, softer than you'd heard her.
You nodded slowly, releasing the steering wheel and keeping your eyes trained on Nikki's every move.
Nikki unclipped her seatbelt, turning to face you and slowly climbing over the middle console and into your space.
Her knee landing between your thighs as the other slipped over your leg to rest on the space left on the car seat. Your own knee slotted between her thighs and you heard her breath hitch when she put her weight down.
"W-what are you doing?," you whispered, heat blooming in your stomach as you smelt the sweet notes of her perfume. Feeling her settle against you.
Nikki looked afraid, but another part of her, a part that needed, moved her hands to cup your jaw and pull you slowly towards her.
As her lips brushed yours, her gaze flicked up to meet your blown eyes, "Can I?"
Nikki wet her lips, breath brushing yours as she spoke.
You didn't respond with words, instead you cupped the back of Nikki's neck and desperately brought your lips to hers.
For so long, you'd wanted this- replayed similar scenarios over and over in your head at night when, as always, your thoughts drifted to her.
You'd imagined pressing Nikki up against the storage room wall at work, kissing her so hard you'd both lost your breath and counting down the minutes of break you had left before you were caught.
Or maybe at the bar one night, dragging her outside for a smoke and instead tasting the smoke on her tongue as the other threw back shots while wondering where you two had ran off too.
Most often, it was something sweeter, a movie playing on your tv as ate salted popcorn, her favourite, while pressed hip to hip on the sofa.
Maybe it was a horror movie, she'd cling to you when the killer appeared from nowhere and gutted a character with a kitchen knife. Nikki would press her face into your shoulder and clutch at your t-shit, all scrunched eyes and ragged breath.
You'd laugh lowly, remind her it was fake and that she didn't need to be scared. You were there, you would protect her.
She'd slowly peel herself away from you skin, flushed and still breathing hard. So close, inches away from your face as she looked up at you, all doe eyed and so so so so pretty.
The noise of the movie would fade away to nothing, leaving just your heartbeat in your ears as the distance between you seemed to grow smaller.
She'd wet her lips and tell you that she always felt safe with you— protected.
And then it would happen, your lips would meet and your eyes would fall closed at the feel of her. You'd slide a hand into her hair, kiss her harder— pour all of your love and yearning into the touch.
Praying that she felt every last drop of your devotion.
You never expected this, her climbing into your lap after the usual cinema trip.
Smashing her mouth against yours like a desperate, needy puppy.
Panting against your mouth as she kissed you over and over.
You pulled her closer toward you, both your chests met as you felt the press of her curves against your own.
The thin tank top she wore doing nothing to hide the fact she wasn't wearing a bra.
You felt the rapid beat of her heart against your own, matching rhythm and pace like they were designed to match.
She whined into your mouth as you licked into hers, unrelenting and needy.
Nikki tightened her hands in your hair, pulling at strands lightly and making you gasp at the sensation.
"I've wanted this for so long," muttered Nikki, voice high and keening as you began pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along the line of her jaw.
"You're so beautiful," you kissed the words into her neck, leaving deep bruising marks with every word. Emphasising how you shared the feeling.
Nikki whined again, in the back of her throat as you sucked at the sensitive skin.
That's what she did it the first time, a quick jolt of her hips gliding over your thigh. So fleeting you nearly missed it.
But nothing could remove the memory of the heat of her pressing against you.
Your hand latched onto her hip then, stabalisng her a little as you pulled her forward, encouraging her to roll along the length of your thigh.
She gave no reluctance, pushing her face into your shoulder as her hips picked up speed, riding your thigh with reckless abandon.
"Ah..Fuck," she moaned softly, so close to your ear you felt each vibration. Her lips dragged across your skin just below, "Feels so good."
Your placed your other hand in the dip of her waist, lifting your knee a little higher and adding more pressure with each new pass.
Gasping softly when she bucked against you and bit into your neck, trying to keep herself quiet.
"Look at me," you pleaded, your own breath ragged and stuttering, stomach clenching as you watched her, "I wanna see you."
Nikki pulled away from your neck, sitting up for you, while keeping the same pace against you.
By now, you could feel the material of your jeans become slightly damp, part of you wanted to never wash them again.
You watched as Nikki's lips parted and her jaw fell open a little- head tilting back just the slightest amount. She held onto your shoulders, nails digging in as pleasure poured over her in thick and hot waves.
Each new glide over the hard and bumped material of your jeans made her pace stutter, you could tell she was close by now.
"So pretty, baby," you almost moaned the words, hands still guiding Nikki over your thigh, "So fucking pretty for me."
Nikki fell forward into you and grabbed onto your jaw with one hand, ragged breaths fanning over your lips as she moaned harder, every roll dragging a noise out of her with how close she was to cumming.
"Please," Nikki gasped into your mouth, eyes screwed shut and eyebrows drawn up in ecstasy.
"I know baby, it's okay."
For a final time, Nikki whined, high and pleasure filled, forehead lolling onto your shoulder, where she panted against the skin, trying not to pass out as her orgasm hit.
You helped her roll against you a few more times as the aftershocks made her twitch against you.
Her sharp nails dug hard into the muscle of your shoulder, her nails leaving permanent marks that would remind you of this moment.
Nikki's arms moved to fully wrap around you neck as she started pressed against you, still catching her breath. One hand pushed fingers through your hair and held the back of your neck.
Your thumb rubbed circles on her hip and the other to stroke up and down at her back, fingers running under the material of her shirt.
"You okay?" It had been a few minuets by now, and she still hadn't moved or spoken. You began to worry she had passed out or something.
But as the thoughts filled your mind, she pulled away from you and met your gaze, as a small smile played on her lips.
She shifted legs into she was sitting in your lap, no longer being slotted between your thighs. You moved an arm to cup her legs, holding her up so she wouldn't slip.
She leaned forward, pressing her lips against yours in a short and sweet kiss, before pulling back and stoking the apple of your cheek, "I'm okay."
Your gaze flickering with anxiety, taking a deep breath, you spoke, "I really like you Nikki, like really fucking like you. And I'm not expecting anything becuase we did that, but I just- wanted to tell you."
Nikki was quiet for a moment, and you looked down at your lap, hiding away from her and the rejection you thought was inevitably incoming.
"I've liked you for so long it's embarrassing," mumbled Nikki, biting her lip slightly.
You looked up at her in shock and watched as she laughed a little because of your expression, "I thought you knew, at least a little."
Something warm bloomed throughout your chest, you cupped her cheek and pulled her in again, smashing your lips together and trying to fight of the smile that grew over them, ruining the kiss until you were both just smiling against eachother.
"I had no idea," you rushed, "I thought you just saw me as a friend."
"I did," hummed Nikki, nodding her head slightly, "And then one day, something just sorta shifted."
Nikki looked bashful, but more confident now that she heard just how much yoh liked her, "And then you were complementing me and… I just couldn't hold it in anymore." She looked up into your eyes, face still a little flushed from earlier happenings, "I didn't mean to jump your bones like that though, my bad."
"You can jump my bones whenever you please," the words were a little desperate, but they made her laugh- so it was worth it.
"I'll hold you to that, just so you know," Nikki put on her most serious tone, "So be prepared."
"Oh, I assure you— I'm more than prepared."
She just laughed and slapped your shoulder lightly, "Loser."
"Wow," you sounded, fingers pinching at Nikki's thigh as she laughed, "like you didn't just force me to pull over because you were so desperate to touch me."
"Whatever," laugh sighed Nikki, slowly quieting to look at you again, reaching forward and brushing some hair out of your face and behind your ear.
"Can we go home? To your place, I mean," asked Nikki, sleep slowly beginning to take over after the adrenaline faded.
"Yeah, of course. I have some of that chocolate you love at mine," you inform, watching as Nikki slid back into the passenger seat, knees tucked under her as she leans to face you.
"Wait really?" The excitement in her voice made the expensive cost of the chocolate worth it.
"Mm-hm, I picked some up before we went out. I was supposed to give it to you before the movie, but I sorta left it at home. So I never got the chance."
"You're so sweet," mumbled Nikki, leaning her head against the seat and letting sleep take the wheel a little.
"You can go to sleep. I'll wake you up once we're home."
"Okay," she yawned, hand pressing against her mouth, "But I'm repaying the favour after chocolate, okay?"
“Fine by me," you smirked, turning the key so the engine rumbled back to life.
Beginning the drive towards home, heart warm and still erratic.
“The universe is kind enough to give us only what we can carry. So what happens when Nikki wants something bigger than she can actually handle?”
warnings - No freaky!nikki ig, but she's just as obsessed with reader as Bear is with her. possessiveness? and everything you'd expect from the "Obsession" universe. defo oc!nikki i have too, at least a little :/
now playing - Step On Me, by The Cardigans
"You're free to have everything you can see. All that you want from me"
The bar was bustling as usual. The tables were too sticky to rest your hands on, and some of the people walking by always seemed to make a point of bumping into the table where Nikki was sitting. Ian was arguing about something silly with Sarah, talking too loudly for them to hear each other. Ever since he arrived, Bear hadn’t taken his eyes off Nikki. And Nikki—from the moment she saw that you hadn’t arrived with the rest of the group—hadn’t taken her eyes off the bar’s entrance.
Bear was fighting with himself; I mean, he had to say something, he HAD to say something now—this was his chance. Anything—just strike up a conversation. Talk about her hair. Talk about her eyes. Talk about her outfit. Talk about anything. His brain was screaming for something, and the moment he finally opened his mouth, a loud, shrill scream burst from Nikki’s lips.
Bear just blinked. Nikki had already stood up from her chair, spreading her arms wide as you approached the table. Ian rolled his eyes; Sarah smiled slightly at the interaction. Bear just lowered his head and mentally berated himself excessively.
“Damn it, why are you late?” Nikki’s voice came out slightly muffled, since her head was now buried in your chest.
“Yeah, why were you late?” Ian’s voice made you roll your eyes, flashing him the middle finger as you pulled away from Nikki’s arms.
You missed the way she looked at you, or the way her throat rose up and down quickly. But Bear noticed. Clearing her throat casually, Nikki smiled again, as if she hadn’t been slightly hurt by you pulling away from the hug too quickly, or as if she wasn’t curious about why you’d been late to quiz night in the first place.
“Fuck you, you asshole!" You gave Ian a light shove, your eyes darted quickly over the remaining seats, rolling your eyes at the realization that you’d have no choice but to sit next to Ian, but that you could still choose between Sarah and Nikki.
Your eyes quickly drifted to the woman who had been arguing with Ian just seconds ago. Her eyes sparkled slightly—it wasn’t noticeable to others, but it was noticeable to you. The small, shy smile playing at the corner of her mouth made her look kind of cute. Before you could even make a final decision, Freeman’s hand beside you grabbed your wrist, guiding you to the empty seat next to her and Ian.
“It’s okay, I forgive you for being late. As long as we win the quiz night.” Her smile made you smile. Nikki had a beautiful smile; you knew that.
Unlike the others, you didn’t meet Freeman in high school; elementary school was where the two of you really got to know each other. You got into a fight with some idiot who thought it was a good idea to knock over Nikki’s lunch during break time, and ever since then she’s clung to you like she clung to her crystals. You grew up together, building a little world just for the two of you before the rest of them came into your lives.
You don’t know how it happened, but you’d stayed around just because of Nikki. I mean, you weren’t really that close to the others, but you’d let them think they were close to you. Ian was a dick, period. Sarah was never a bitch or annoying to you—she was cool. You remember thinking it was nice to have another girl around besides Nikki—not because you didn’t like her, but you remember a strange feeling every time she was around. And Bear… my God, Bear was a creep. You remember when you got close to him; it was more out of pity than any real friendship. Over time, you started to find everyone a little disconnected—weird, to be more precise.
You were never really close friends with any of them besides Nikki, but after your school years flew by, it seemed that the more time you spent together, the more the strange aura surrounding Bear spread through the group, until it took you all in, one by one.
You were kind of tired of it all, but you still put up with everything for Nikki’s sake.
Your little sister, Nikki Freeman.
You knew it would be painful for both of you when you finally took that first step out of that town, but you knew Nikki’s dreams—you knew she’d understand you just as you understand her. You were going to tell her—you swore you would. But not tonight. At least not yet.
“I’m going to get some shots!” The fog of thoughts cleared when Nikki’s voice came back; she leaned in close to you as she spoke again. “Can you help me?”
“I…” You didn’t even have time.
“I’ll help you!” You didn’t exactly like the way Bear was looking at Nikki, so no matter how tired you were, you’d get up right then even if your legs wouldn’t work, just so you wouldn’t leave Nikki alone with that weirdo.
“Let’s go, the three of us.” Your voice sounded flat, almost as if you were challenging someone to say something.
Bear lowered his head and stood up without saying a word, following right behind Nikki while you stayed a little further back.
The night was a bit of a blur to you after that—laughter, replies, loud conversations. Everything seemed like one big nothing. Your head filled up too quickly, and maybe you were getting too old for this.
Your head seemed to empty completely when you and the others finally left the bar. The air you didn’t even know you were holding in was pouring out of your lungs the moment the night breeze hit your face. You didn’t even think twice before pulling the pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of your jeans—only to have it snatched from your hand by the very same girl who’d spent her whole life telling you that smoking was bad.
“Hey!” Nikki didn’t even give you a chance to try.
“No. Come on, you know I don’t like it when you smoke.” She turned, looking at you while the others watched the exchange. “Besides, I don’t want to walk the whole way home with you smelling like cigarettes.”
“But I’m not going home!” Your eyebrows furrowed quickly, your feet took an unconscious step back, as you stood between Sarah and Bear. “I want to go to karaoke!”
“Wow, you’ve definitely had too much to drink.” Nikki rolled her eyes. “Can you please drop me off at home? Please, I’m so tired!”
“Nikki...” You tried, oblivious to the glances Ian, Sarah, and Bear were exchanging.
“Please!” she insisted again.
“I’ll take you!” When Bear’s voice cut through your little argument, it was as if all the alcohol in your body had vanished into thin air.
You could have sworn your pupils returned to normal, and you felt a chill run down your spine at the mere thought of leaving Nikki alone with Bear. It was terrifying to you, and even though you never knew for sure why, Nikki always told you not to ignore your gut feelings—whether they were good or bad.
“No.” The silence that followed was almost excruciating. But you didn’t back down, at least not when you saw a faint smile appear on Nikki’s face. “I’ll take her. Fine, you win, okay!”
Nikki gave you a sarcastic smile, muttering a “Thank you” that made you roll your eyes playfully.
You saw her turn to quickly thank Bear. You twirled the keys between your fingers, glancing at the two of them out of the corner of your eye—only for your attention to be drawn to Sarah when you felt her hand on your bicep.
“You’re really not going?” Her voice was low, and you sighed softly.
You’d already promised her you would go; you remember exactly her asking you to stay longer than just quiz night when you left work together. You hated having to do this.
“I can’t leave her alone,” you muttered, impatient with the whole situation.
“She wouldn’t be alone, and you know it.” Sarah’s tone made you lower your guard a little.
“Come on, Sarah. I promise I’ll go next time,” you tried, only for her to shake her head slightly.
“Forget it,” she said, looking away from you. “You always do this when it comes to Nikki.”
Sighing—for what felt like the umpteenth time that night—you glanced quickly toward where the Freeman girl was standing, only to see Bear handing her a small red box. Shaking your head, you looked back at Sarah, who was still standing there with her arms crossed.
“Hey, how about this…” Your hands moved toward her arms, making her uncross them and look at you. “I’ll drop her off at home and meet you and Ian there—is that okay?” Your words were like a sea of roses to the woman in front of you.
Sarah smiled, looking at you again before hugging you tightly. Your hands wrapped around her waist, guided there as if you’d known the way for a long time.
“All right, let’s go, Yn.” Nikki’s voice made you two pull apart. And soon car doors were slamming, tires were rolling, and before you knew it, you were already in the middle of the road with Nikki by your side.
The radio was playing some slow song from the late-night lineup, and you drove in silence while listening to Nikki talk about whatever came to mind. You scolded her so she’d buckle her seatbelt and told her three times to take her foot off the glove compartment, making her roll her eyes at you and call you a buzzkill. And then, amid all the chaos she always seemed to create when she was around you, she stopped. She stared at her fingernails as if gathering the courage to tell you something.
“I… wanted to tell you something,” she murmured.
“I know,” you replied.
“You know?” The surprise in her voice made you laugh softly, leaning forward gently while trying not to take your eyes off the road.
Nikki loved your smile; she hated being like this around you—so vulnerable—but she couldn’t help it, especially when you were this close to her. It was almost as if you were a character she’d written, someone she’d dreamed of having her whole life. She hated loving that feeling; she knew she was going too far. Her characters looked like you; she imagined your smile, your eyes, your features, and it was simply ridiculous how she never let you read anything she wrote because she was so afraid you’d notice.
She could never get very far with the story she was trying to create for them.
“I mean, you’ve been standing there for over five minutes without saying a word. Either you’re having a stroke or you’re just trying to soften the blow of the bombshell you’re about to drop on me.” The playful tone in your voice made her laugh softly, though she didn’t completely forget the weight on her chest. “So, what is it?”
“I’m thinking about quitting. Quitting my job once and for all, you know.” Her voice was low, and as the words came out of her mouth, her eyes remained fixed on you.
You didn’t say anything, finally pulling up in front of Nikki’s house and parking the car. Your hands reached for the key, turning it and shutting off the engine with a smooth, gentle motion. Leaning back in your seat, you finally looked at her, and for the first time in her life, Nikki didn’t know what that look meant.
“Damn." That’s all you said. “Do you want to keep writing? Like, officially this time?” You’d supported Nikki’s passion from the start, and you were happy to hear her say that.
“That’s the plan.” She nodded affirmatively, looking away from you and staring awkwardly straight ahead.
Furrowing your brow for a moment, you tried to figure out why she seemed so strange right now. As if your reaction wasn’t exactly what she’d expected.
“Hey, I think that’s really cool, Nikki.” Your hand reached for hers—which was resting on her thigh—grasping it firmly, seeking to offer her comfort.
Freeman’s eyes sparkled, and she felt a shiver run down her spine the moment you touched her. Your hand easily covered hers; it was warm and slightly calloused. Even so, she felt that they fit together perfectly.
“You know I’ll always have your back, right?!” Your voice was softer, as if you wanted her to feel safe. “I mean, I’ll always be by your side, no matter where you go!”
Smiling slightly, Nikki looked up from your lap, gazing at you with tenderness and confidence. You had a way of making her feel that way—it was almost like some silly spell she always seemed to fall for.
“I love you.” The words came out of her mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Never, ever, not even in a million years, would Nikki Freeman have dreamed of saying that to anyone. But with you, everything was easier; it was poetic; it was unconditional. With you, love felt more real; it felt like it could exist; it felt like it could finally be written into her story.
You smiled, and it was as if time had stopped for Nikki. The way you looked at her with such pride was like an arrow piercing her chest—in the most insanely good way possible. She smiled back, tears beginning to well up in her eyes; it felt as though everything around them was working together to make this the perfect moment—the beginning of a real story.
“I love you too, Nikki.” For a split second, her heart stopped. Her smile widened, and she almost lunged toward you. “You’re my little sister! I’ll always support you.”
And then, Nikki swore the universe had smashed your car window and started banging her head against the glove compartment. Little sister? Hell no.
“Sure…” Her smile faltered slightly, though not enough to be noticeable. “Thanks.”
Pulling her hand out from under yours, the Freeman girl grabbed her purse and yanked the car door handle so fast that you almost asked if she was okay again.
“Thanks for the ride.” The car door slammed, and she turned quickly, walking toward the door as if you’d just told her she had some contagious disease. “See you tomorrow!” she shouted from a distance, slamming the door shut right after and leaving you utterly confused.
You didn’t know what you’d done to make her act that way, you didn’t know if you’d said something wrong—something she didn’t want to hear. You didn’t know that Nikki, the girl you’d called your sister just minutes ago, was starting to slide down the front door of her house in the most dramatic and melancholic way possible.
She covered her face with her hands the moment she finally sat down on the floor. Her legs felt like jelly, and her whole heart was beginning to shatter silently. She hoped you’d support her; in a perfect world, she even hoped you’d ask where she was going and offer to follow her wherever she was headed.
She was crazy. She knew it; she’d shake her head as she repeated to herself that she was losing her mind—all because of you. Nikki had never been that kind of girl—for anyone—except for you. It was as if you’d poured poison from head to toe; her heart would fill with hope the moment you walked into the room and drain away again when you left.
She was a lost cause.
Nikki ran her hands through her hair, brushing the messy strands away from her face. Without even getting up off the floor, she slipped her jacket over her shoulders, when suddenly she felt as if she were sitting there, partially suffocated by everything that touched her skin. She was ready to sink back into a pool of melancholy and drama, but the sound of the little red box that Bear had given her before you left fell out of her jacket pocket, making its presence known as if the universe were mocking her.
“You can make a wish. . . at least that’s what it says on the box. . .” She recalled Bear’s words, remembering also how he’d seemed nervous and far too embarrassed for his own good.
She laughed sarcastically, mentally cursing Bear for being such an idiot that he didn’t even know how to buy a gift for the girl he had a crush on. My God, she thought he was pathetic sometimes, but he still seemed like a nice guy to her, despite all his weirdness. To tell the truth, Nikki even tried to stay closer to him than necessary at times, because she loved seeing how protective you became when he was acting really strange around her.
It made her smile.
“What a stupid toy, Baron!” she muttered, picking up the box and twirling it between her fingers to read the instructions.
She opened the box carelessly—quickly and without any delicacy, to be more precise. The sound the box made when she pulled the stick out made her roll her eyes, before she glared at the stick as if it were her personal enemy.
It might have just been her imagination, but the air seemed heavier now, a weight settling on Nikki’s chest as if everything she’d been keeping to herself all this time were about to burst out of her like a demon being scolded and burned with holy water. It felt as if something inside her was screaming for her to say the words out loud, just screaming for her to ask for help, and then, whatever it was that the universe was putting inside her would help her.
“Fuck it.” Gripping the stick tighter, Nikki sighed before staring at it one last time. “I wanted Yn to love me the same way I love her!”
The stick snapped with a low click, and the room remained unchanged. Nothing happened, and the crickets chirping outside seemed to be laughing at her in the cruelest way possible.
But the weight was gone.
“FUCK!” Nikki’s scream was followed by a quick leap away from the door.
Someone was outside, pounding on it as if they were about to die if they didn’t get in soon. The Freeman girl scrambled quickly away from the doorway as the pounding began to intensify. Should she call the police? What the hell is this? It was way too late for anyone to be pounding on someone’s door like this.
“Nikki? Come on, I know you’re in there.” And then she stopped.
Recognizing the voice immediately, the black-haired girl got up off the floor for the first time since she’d walked through the door, walking toward the pounding before flinging the door open.
You were standing there, fist in the air, ready to knock again. You were wearing the same clothes you’d had on at the bar, your hair slightly damp from the rain that was starting to wet the asphalt outside. Nikki hadn’t even noticed it was raining.
“Yn? What are you doing here?” Her question was enough to make you smile, before your face took on a sad expression—which was clearly feigned.
“Don’t leave, please,” you whispered, and it was as if everything had come to a standstill around Nikki. “At least not without me.”
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was uncertain, and you quickly stepped inside the house without even waiting for an invitation.
Your hands grabbed hers, pulling her into her own home as you closed the door as if nothing was out of the ordinary. You were strong enough to put Nikki wherever you wanted, but you weren’t exactly using force, since she’d been practically orbiting around you from the moment she noticed the look on your face.
You made her sit on the couch while you knelt in front of her. Your hands were still clasped around hers as you let them rest on Nikki’s thighs.
“I’m saying I’m tired of acting like everything you do doesn’t affect me, Nikki!” Your voice was practically a prayer to her, as if you were praying to a deity to bless you with all her love. “Nikki, I’ve loved you forever. I knew it the day I saw you, the day you stood up for me in the school cafeteria.”
The words that came out of your mouth made the woman sitting across from you frown. The weight on her chest was gone, but a thread still seemed to hang from her chest, connecting to someone else’s chest.
“Yn, you stood up for me in the cafeteria!” Nikki retorted, letting go of your hands to place hers on your face. “Are you okay?”
“Nikki, you know what I meant. Come on, I’m freaking out here!” Your hands reached for hers, taking her hands in yours again before bringing them to your chest. “Can’t you see how hard I’m struggling to tell you what I’ve always wanted to get off my chest?
“You told me not to leave...”
“Don’t go! And if you do, don’t leave me alone. Take me with you, Nikki.” Even though the rain was pelting your body, you were still hot—too hot for someone who had been almost shaking just a few seconds ago.
“I still don’t get it...”
“Nikki, you’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this shitty town all this time! I want more! I want more with you, Nikki. I love you!” Freeman’s eyes were fixed on you. How was it possible that you were feeling everything she’d been feeling all this time? “I’ve lived all this time with a weight on my chest, and I just want it to go away. No matter how!”
Your words echoed in Nikki’s mind as if they were on repeat all the time. The feelings you were expressing were everything she’d been feeling inside for years. It couldn’t be that similar, right? Her eyes drifted slightly toward the red box lying on the floor; the stick was still broken, and the evidence of a stupid desire was still there.
That didn’t work.
It didn’t stand a chance.
It was just a damn toy!
“No! Look at me, Nikki. Because I’m pouring out everything I’ve spent years writing about you right now! Tell me I’m not the only one! Tell me—do you love me the way I love you?!”
You were there, more vulnerable than ever, on your knees before Nikki, hoping she felt the same way you did. That wasn’t the result of some stupid desire for a useless toy. That was years and years of connection and hidden love. You both felt the same way, and Nikki would never give credit to a fucking stupid toy.
You loved her, just as she loved you.
“Of course I love you. I feel exactly the same way.” Her hands gently cupped both sides of your face. The kind of tenderness Nikki would never share with anyone but you.
Your eyes sparkled as if they held stars within them; you’d finally done it. Nikki had done it. The two of you were on the same page, having fooled yourselves all this time when you could have been together.
“Nikki...” You moved closer.
“Hmm.” Her eyes wandered between your eyes and your lips.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Do you want to kiss me?” Her fingernails traced the nape of your neck, and she laughed softly as she felt you shiver at her touch.
“More than anything in the world!” Your tongue swept across your lips, moistening them as the two of you got closer and closer to breaking that barrier.
“Go ahead, pretty girl.”
You didn’t wait for her to say it again, breaking down the barriers you’d both been longing to break. You’re not sure exactly how long this feeling had been in your heart, or how long your subconscious had hidden it from you. But Nikki’s lips were just as soft as you’d imagined. Her tongue explored your mouth as if she wanted to memorize every detail, and every movement made you melt.
Your hands gripped her waist like a lifeline, and your brain felt like it was about to short-circuit. You’d always wanted to kiss Nikki, hadn’t you? You were doing it now. Kissing Nikki, your best friend, Nikki. Had you always wanted to kiss Nikki this badly? Why had you never kissed her before? Her hands seemed to be everywhere.
You wanted to kiss her more.
Did you want to kiss her?
You’re already kissing her.
Why are you kissing her?
WHY ARE YOU KISSING NIKKI?
“FUCK! ” Your lips pulled away from Nikki’s as if she’d just shot you in the chest.
Your hands slid off her waist faster than when you’d put them there, and the woman you’d been kissing just a moment ago was now cowering in fear on the couch, staring at you with the most genuine look of fear and confusion in the world.
“What the fuck, Nikki?” Your breathing was ragged, and your hands were trembling slightly.
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was high-pitched, and you were clearly scaring her.
Stop scaring her, you idiot!
“I… I don’t know.” You stammered. Kneeling down again as you tried to approach her slowly once more. “I thought I saw something behind you.”
Getting up from the floor, you finally allowed yourself to sit on the couch, letting yourself sit next to Nikki.
“Damn, I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry.” You wrapped your arms around Nikki’s body, letting the shorter woman snuggle into your chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that again.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”
Her words struck something inside you, as hard as an anvil hitting your head. You stared straight ahead as a small chuckle escaped your lips involuntarily. Because you would never regret loving her. You would never let that pain in your chest slip away. You would never let the thread connecting the two of you snap. Because if that happened, everything would come back to her.
And that weight in your chest—it wasn’t hers anymore. Now, it belonged to you.
“I would never regret loving you, Nikki.” Your fingers reached for her chin, lifting her head up so you could look at her properly. “I only ask that you love me the way I love you.”
I was listening to “My Way” by Olivia Rodrigo while writing this, and I thought about how this song would fit into a sequel with Nikki, the reader, and Sarah in a weird love triangle BYEEEE
synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.
w/c: 5k+
warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
guilt is a strange thing. it doesn’t hit you all at once. instead, it lingers, creeping in slowly until it’s everywhere — woven into the fabric of your thoughts.
for the last few days, you’ve done everything you can to not think about what happened; convinced yourself that if you kept your head down, stuck to your routine and ignored the teasing from your friends, it would eventually fade into the background, becoming nothing more than a weird, blurry memory.
but today — wednesday — the weight of it all finally crashes down on you like a tidal wave.
and the reality of the situation…the one you’ve been desperately trying to ignore, finally catches up to you when you see them together; much closer in person.
karina is standing at the edge of the field, her arms folded as she watches jaewook jog towards her, sweat-drenched but still grinning. she doesn’t move as he reaches her, only tilting her head up, that same unreadable expression on her face.
but then he’s slipping an arm around her waist, pulling her in, and she smiles: soft, familiar, like this is second nature.
you tell yourself to look away; you don’t.
instead, you watch as he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips, one that she doesn’t hesitate to return with the kind of ease that comes from loving someone — from knowing them.
and why wouldn’t it be easy?
she’s his. watching it, you feel like something inside you splinters.
it isn’t jealousy, at least not in the way people usually mean. it’s not that you want what he has.
it’s more the fact that you shouldn’t have been anywhere near this situation to begin with. this isn’t you. you don’t do messy. you don’t even do relationships.
the last one you had was in high school with a girl named yeji, and even that had been doomed from the start. she had wanted more: more time, more emotions, more of you…but you had never been able to give her that. you were distant, unwilling to let yourself get swept up in anything that required vulnerability and eventually, she stopped asking.
the breakup had been mutual, clean, painless.
“you’re hard to love, aren’t you?” was the last thing she said before closing your chapter together.
that’s the kind of person you are. you keep things simple. controlled. you don’t let emotions dictate your choices.
but somehow, you’ve ended up here, tangled in something so far from simple that it makes your skin itch.
“y/n, please get giselle,” ryujin’s whine pulls you out of your trance, her head hanging out of the passenger window. “we don’t have all day!”
“we do have all day,” yunjin corrects from the backseat, stretching her arms. “but we’d rather waste it inside the house, not out here.”
you roll your eyes, arms crossed as you lean against the door. “yes, yes, i’ll go get her.”
giselle, god bless her soul, has never had a sense of urgency. she does everything at her own pace, stretching time like it exists solely for her convenience.
you’ve lost count of how many times she’s been the last one ready, the last one out the door, or the last one to finish a meal when everyone else is already standing.
and today, as you stand there watching her casually chatting away, you really don’t have the patience for it.
“giselle,” you call out, striding toward them with a scowl. “hurry the fuck up or i’m leaving you behind — the girls are getting pissy.”
“relax,” giselle sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “i was just about to —”
“looking good today,” minjeong interrupts smoothly and your brain short-circuits. “who for?”
for a second, you don’t even register the words, too caught off guard by the fact that she of all people is saying them.
warmth crawls up your neck and you internally curse yourself for it. you should not be flustered, but you are. “uh…thanks, sure as hell for nobody.”
“aw,” ningning teases, grinning. “you blushing?”
“shut up,” you mutter, glaring at her.
she only laughs, clearly enjoying this. “so, excited for dinner?”
you groan, rubbing your temples. “ningning —”
“what?” she smirks while pushing your buttons more. “it’s a date —”
“it is not a date,” you cut her off sharply. “karina literally has a boyfriend — who, by the way, is kissing her in front of everyone right now.” you motion toward the field where, sure enough, jaewook and karina are still wrapped up in each other.
ningning barely spares them a glance before shrugging. “huh. yeah, i guess that does complicate things.”
“you guess?” you grumble at her. “it’s very much complicated. so no, i am not excited for dinner.”
giselle sighs dramatically, finally pulling herself away from the conversation. “alright, alright, we’ll go before y/n here kills you both.”
“thank you,” you mutter, head low. “yunjin and ryujin are getting hangry and if we don’t leave now, they’ll probably kill us both.”
before you can even turn on your heel to leave, giselle is already yelling out for karina’s name. you whip around in horror, eyes widening as you watch karina and her boyfriend turn toward the sound, surprise flickering across her face when she sees you standing there.
fuck.
she waves at giselle first, but then her gaze locks onto you. and when you look at jaewook, your heart skips a beat because he nods at you before facing forward again; a slight acknowledgment.
“he knows,” you point out. “deadass.”
you don’t wave back at her, too caught up in the way she’s looking at you, like she’s actually embarrassed to see you there.
ningning, the instigator, steps on your foot. “wave,” she hisses under her breath.
“i hate you,” you whisper back, but you force yourself to lift a hand in the most awkward, half-hearted wave of your life.
karina’s lips twitch, amusement flickering across her face. you immediately turn away.
“what is your deal?” you growl at ningning, dragging your feet toward the car.
“act normal,” minjeong chuckles, shaking her head. “it’s weird when you don’t.”
giselle starts hugging them goodbyes like she isn’t seeing them tonight at their dorm — to probably make an entertainment out of your suffering.
as you reach the car, yunjin and ryujin immediately start yelling in relief. “fucking finally!”
“sorry babies,” giselle puckers her lips when she clicks her seatbelts on, settling into the car. “ready.”
the drive back to the dorm is quiet, which is unusual, because when yunjin and ryujin are in a car together, silence is normally impossible.
but this isn’t the usual car ride filled with dumb arguments about what to eat or what song to play next. they all know.
you’re lost in your own head, spiralling in thoughts you can’t put into words — stuck in a loop of guilt and confusion that’s been building up since saturday night.
keeping your eyes on the road, the buildings blur past, feeling the weight of something heavy settle in your chest. you don’t want to talk about it, but at the same time, it’s suffocating, pressing against your ribs, demanding to be let out.
giselle must notice, because after a few minutes, she reaches over from the passenger seat, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“it’s gonna be okay,” she says softly.
for the first time in days, there’s no teasing in her voice, no amusement in her expression. just quiet reassurance.
you exhale slowly, gripping the fabric of your jeans, fingers tightening around the material as you finally let it out. “i feel guilty.”
yunjin turns in her seat, looking at you through the rearview mirror. “guilty?”
“because karina cheated on jaewook with me,” you mumble out, the words tasting wrong on your tongue. “and now we’re all acting like he’s not in the picture.”
there’s a beat of silence, before ryujin sighs. “y/n, that’s not on you.”
“but —”
“you were both drunk,” yunjin cuts in, voice firm but gentle. “whatever happened, you weren’t thinking straight. and you definitely weren’t the one in a relationship.”
“yeah,” ryujin adds. “karina’s a big girl. she made her own decisions. that’s not something you should be carrying.”
you shake your head, looking down at your hands. “but i let it happen.”
“you let what happen?” giselle frowns. “existing in the same bed as her while being borderline blackout drunk?”
you let out a dry laugh, but it dies quickly. “it’s not just that.”
“then what is it?” yunjin asks, watching you closely.
you hesitate. you don’t know how to explain it —not in a way that makes sense. but the guilt isn’t just about the sex, or the fact that it happened at all.
it’s merely the fact that now, karina is acting like she wants to be in your life. like she’s fine with it; like this is normal.
and the worst part?
a small, selfish part of you wants to believe her. because if she’s okay with it, then maybe — maybe — you don’t have to carry all of this weight on your own.
“i don’t know,” you admit finally, running a hand over your face. “it just feels…wrong. like i should stop this before it gets worse.”
giselle hums, tilting her head. “but do you want to stop it?”
you should.
you say nothing.
“look,” ryujin says, shifting in her seat. “you don’t have to overthink this. you don’t even know what she wants from you yet. maybe she just wants to be your friend.”
you let out a sharp laugh. “right. because friends take each other to dinner and personally pick them up like after they’ve slept together like it’s some rom-com date.”
“maybe that’s just how she is,” yunjin offers. “she’s rich, isn’t she? rich people love doing unnecessary, dramatic shit.”
“of course,” ryujin nods as you glance at her from the mirror. “maybe this is just a regular weekday for her. maybe she does this for everyone.”
“oh, for sure,” giselle snickers. “karina probably has a roster of people she picks up for dinner every week. y/n’s just the wednesday slot.”
you glare at her. “you’re not helping.”
“sorry, sorry,” she says, holding up her hands with a grin. “but seriously. what if this isn’t a big deal for her? you’re the only one making it into one.”
“she has a boyfriend,” you remind them, voice tight. “even if i didn’t mean for this to happen, she’s the one pretending like it’s normal.”
“so let her,” yunjin shrugs. “if she wants to pretend, let her pretend. that’s her problem. but you can’t keep torturing yourself over something that wasn’t even your fault.”
“just…go to dinner,” ryujin sighs. “hear her out. see what she actually wants from you. if it’s weird, if it feels wrong, then end it.”
“but give her a chance,” giselle adds, nudging you. “just as a friend. nothing more.”
you stay quiet, rolling their words over in your mind. they’re right. you should just hear her out. it doesn’t have to be complicated.
and yet — you know it will be.
“fine,” you mumble, sinking deeper into your seat. “but if this goes south, i’m blaming all of you.”
“noted,” ryujin chuckles. “but let’s be real. it’s already gone south. you just need to figure out where it lands.”
you groan, shoving your face into your hands as the car finally pulls up to your dorm.
this is so not going to be okay.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
when you get back to the dorm, the weight of everything is still pressing against your chest, heavy and suffocating. you can barely think straight as you shut your bedroom door close, let alone process the fact that in an hour or two, karina will be outside, waiting to take you to dinner.
wrapping a cardigan around your shoulders, you head downstairs where everyone else is waiting.
you barely make it two steps into the lounge room before giselle speaks up, voice far too casual. “oh, by the way, she just texted me. she’s picking you up in like five minutes. she said to let her know when you’re ready.”
you stare at her. “she said five minutes?”
“yep,” she confirms, throwing herself onto the couch like this isn’t sending you into full-blown crisis mode. “plenty of time for you to overthink every life decision that led you here.”
“too late for that,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. you feel sick. “what the fuck am i even supposed to talk about with her? i don’t know anything about her besides the fact that she has a boyfriend.”
“that’s a good start,” yunjin says, scrolling through her phone. “you can lead with, ‘so, how’s your very committed, very public relationship going?’”
“great icebreaker,” ryujin nods, feigning approval with that shit-eating grin of hers. “really set the tone.”
you glare at them both before collapsing onto the couch beside giselle. “i’m serious. what if it’s awkward? what if we just sit there in silence for hours? what if she realises i’m the most boring person alive?”
the last question is unnecessary — you definitely don’t care if she thinks you’re dull.
“oh please,” giselle waves you off. “karina’s the most interesting person on campus. she could talk to a brick wall and make it seem engaging.”
“that’s not reassuring,” you groan.
“okay, okay,” she hums, thinking. “here’s a fun fact: her real name isn’t even karina. it’s yu jimin.”
you blink, turning towards her. “what?”
“yeah,” she grins, raising her eyebrows. “yu jimin.”
“why the name change?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“branding,” ryujin shrugs. “karina sounds cooler. more mysterious.”
“rich people love reinventing themselves,” yunjin chimes in with a chuckle. “‘oh, i was just a humble girl named jimin, but now i am karina, goddess of yonsei university.’”
“makes sense,” you mutter. “i should’ve known she was born for this level of campus mythology.”
“what else do you wanna know?” giselle smirks, stretching her arms behind her head. “we’re basically a walking biography.”
“does she have any siblings?”
“an older sister,” ryujin answers immediately. “which doesn’t make sense because she has only child energy.”
“big ‘i don’t share my toys’ energy,” yunjin nods, bouncing her leg so fast the sight of it made you anxious. “actually, it makes this whole situation very interesting, don’t you think?”
“i hate all of you,” you mumble, shoving your face into a pillow. “also, can you not bounce your leg at that speed? jesus.”
“y/n, you can be such an ass —“
“we love you too,” ryujin says cheerfully before sitting up suddenly, giving you a once-over. “by the way, your outfit? kind of great. where’d you get that cardigan?”
you glance down at the grey cardigan draped over your shoulders. “uh…i don’t remember?”
“damn,” she sighs. “i was gonna ask if i could steal it, but i already have too many clothes as it is.”
“you really do,” yunjin rolls her eyes, still bouncing her leg. “your wardrobe is basically a department store.”
“a very cool department store,” she corrects, grinning. “but yeah, you look nice, y/n. karina’s gonna lose her mind.”
“shut up,” you groan, but your ears burn anyway. before you can even process any more of this, there’s a knock at the door.
the room falls silent.
“oh my god,” yunjin whispers, eyes wide. “she’s here.”
you panic, not ready at all.
but giselle is already pulling you off the couch and pushing you toward the door, grinning like she’s sending you off to your doom. “go on, y/n. your princess awaits.”
“shut up,” you groan, swatting her arm before grabbing the doorknob. taking a deep breath, you brace yourself, then open the door. and you forget how to breathe.
karina stands there, leaning slightly against the doorframe, wearing an oversized leather jacket over a fitted top, her hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. she looks ridiculously good, like she walked straight out of a magazine shoot and landed at your doorstep.
you open your mouth to say something, anything, but your brain completely malfunctions.
“hey,” she says smoothly, offering a small smile. “you look good.”
you…
your words are gone.
she blinks, tilting her head slightly, clearly amused by your sudden inability to function. “y/n?”
“hi,” you finally manage, your voice embarrassingly weak.
“wow,” ryujin mutters behind you. “strong start.”
“shut the fuck up,” you whisper violently before stepping outside, closing the door behind you before your friends can make this even worse.
she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, just tucks her hands into her jacket pockets. “ready to go?”
you nod.
because words?
yeah, they’re not happening today.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
the car ride is so awkward you feel like you might actually combust.
her mercedes is too sleek, too quiet and too expensive. the kind of car that makes you painfully aware of every tiny movement you make. even just sitting in the passenger seat, you feel wrong — like you’re tainting the luxury with your presence.
your own little hyundai could never compare. it rattles when the engine starts, the air-conditioning works half the time and there are at least three green stains from ryujin’s grimace shakes on the seats that you refuse to talk about.
but this car?
this car smells like leather and something lavish — probably her perfume, that same ridiculous scent that’s been haunting you since that night. it clings to the air, faint but noticeable and the second it hits you, your brain malfunctions.
you sneak a glance at her, because how could you not?
her side profile is insane.
sharp jawline, high cheekbones, perfectly curled hair that falls effortlessly over her shoulders. the glow of the streetlights flickers across her face, highlighting the curve of her nose, the shape of her lips, the way her fingers tap idly against the steering wheel.
how is she even real?
and how the fuck did you end up here?
yu jimin — yonsei university’s most untouchable person, the one every person on campus either wants to be or be with — is sitting next to you, taking you to dinner, like this is something that happens in your life everyday.
it’s so stupid.
“you okay?” she asks, glancing at you briefly before focusing back on the road.
you physically jolt. “yeah!”
too loud, too fast.
her lips twitch, eyebrows furrowing, but she doesn’t comment on it. “you’re quiet.”
“just…processing,” you mutter, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “this whole thing is just…yeah.”
she hums. “what, nobody’s ever taken you to dinner before?”
meaning, you have never slept with anybody then take them to dinner afterwards. in fact, you haven’t even done it with anyone at all in over two years.
“not like this,” you say before you can stop yourself.
her eyebrow lifts slightly. “like this? meaning?”
you internally groan at how much of an idiot you’re being. “i mean…you know, with the — car and the…uh, just — you know.”
she’s fully smirking now and you want to throw yourself out of the moving vehicle. “are you always this articulate?”
“shut up,” you mutter, looking out the window, willing the universe to strike you down.
there’s a pause and then she says, “you don’t have to be nervous, you know.”
sinking deeper into the seat, you want to scream; not expecting her to call it out. you thought she would let you suffer in peace, allow you to pretend that this is totally normal and you’re completely fine.
“i’m not —” you start, but she cuts you off with a knowing look.
“y/n,” her voice is calm, gentle in a way you weren’t prepared for. “it’s just dinner.”
you swallow. “with you.”
“yes,” she nods, smiling. “with me.”
you grip your hands together, trying to keep your voice steady. “do you — do you take a lot of people out to dinner?”
karina raises an eyebrow. “would it make you feel better if i said yes?”
“no,” you say quickly, then blink. “i mean — wait, yes? actually, i don’t know.”
she laughs, properly this time, shaking her head. “you’re cute when you overthink, but seriously, i owe you one for the weekend.”
you short-circuit, the rest of her words not registering with you at all as warmth rushes to your cheeks.
“i —” you choke up, shaking your head. “shut up, no compliments.”
she still looks too amused for your liking, but she lets it go, switching lanes with ease. “so, how have the past few days been for you?”
she’s enjoying this. and you hate it.
you exhale, grateful for the change of topic. “same old. classes, work, dodging my roommates’ nonsense. nothing new.”
“dodging?” she raises an eyebrow. “i thought you were close with them.”
“i am,” you say. “which is exactly why i have to dodge them.”
she chuckles, the corners of her lips twitching like she understands exactly what you mean. “fair enough. how’s law treating you?”
“slow death by legal theory,” you mutter, making her laugh again. “what about you? what have you been up to?”
“hectic week,” she sighs. “midterms are coming up, so professors are losing their minds.”
“midterms,” you groan, shaking your head. “right. because life isn’t hard enough already.”
“tell me about it,” she muses. “and being an econ major means i get to spend my nights staring at graphs and pretending to care about financial models.”
you purse your lips. “wait, you’re an econ major?”
“why do you sound shocked?”
“i don’t know,” you shrug. “i just assumed….something else. business? art?”
“art?” she glances at you. “what about me says i’m an artist?”
“your whole ‘i don’t care about anything but i’m effortlessly cool’ vibe,” you say, making air quotes. “feels very tortured artist.”
“i’ll take that as a compliment,” she smiles at you.
before you can spiral any further, the car slows to a stop. you frown, glancing out the window, and then your stomach drops.
“karina,” you say slowly, staring at the dimly lit, ridiculously expensive-looking japanese restaurant in front of you. “this place is, well, looks like it’s going to cost…a car payment.”
“good thing i already have a car then,” she says smoothly, undoing her seatbelt.
“you could’ve taken me to, like, a normal restaurant place,” you argue, still stuck on how outrageously fancy this place is.
the way you just sounded so fucking stupid makes you cringe.
“this is a normal restaurant place,” she smirks, stepping out of the car. “for me.”
“that’s insane, yu jimin,” you grumble under your breath, following her inside.
she laughs at that, leading you through the entrance, where the inside is just as obnoxious as the exterior — dim ambient lighting, minimalist decor, waiters who look like they judge your financial status the second you walk in.
the kind of place that doesn’t bother listing prices on the menu because if you have to ask, you shouldn’t be here.
“you’re paying for this,” you whisper as you both are led a seat deeper into the restaurant; your stomach twisting into knots.
private rooms weren’t for casual dinners. they were for business deals, for secret meetings, for people who didn’t want to be seen.
and suddenly, this dinner — this whole situation…felt heavier.
“obviously,” she nods, completely unbothered as she looks back at you. “i invited you.”
this wasn’t just a meal between acquaintances.
there was so much more to this than she was letting on.
you hesitate for half a second before stepping inside, feeling like you were crossing some invisible line, stepping into something you couldn’t back out of.
the room is small, intimate, with soft lighting casting a warm glow over the wooden table. the air is thick with the scent of grilled fish and soy sauce, but it does nothing to calm your nerves.
karina moves with ease, like this is just another normal night for her. she shrugs off her leather jacket, draping it neatly over the chair beside her before settling in. she’s completely comfortable, unfazed by the weight in the air.
meanwhile, you feel like you can’t sit still.
“relax,” she says, smirking as she watches you hesitate by the door. “you’re acting like i brought you here to commit a crime.”
“didn’t you?” you mutter, finally sinking into your seat.
“if i did, you’d already be an accomplice,” she muses, casually picking up the menu.
you scoff, rolling your eyes, but it’s fake, a weak attempt to mask the very real panic thrumming under your skin.
this is out of your depth. you shake your head, still processing the fact that you’re here, sitting across from her, in a place where a single sushi roll probably costs the same as your entire grocery budget for the week.
“this is ridiculous,” you mutter, picking up the menu. “this entire restaurant is ridiculous.”
“what?” she tilts her head, watching you carefully. “you don’t like it?”
“i didn’t say that,” you huff. “i just think i could feed my entire dorm for the price of one dish here.”
she grins, resting her chin on her hand. “then i guess it’s a good thing i only brought you.”
your stomach flips.
the way she says it — casual, like it’s nothing, like she isn’t looking at you with that same unreadable expression that makes your pulse skyrocket — it’s too much.
you clear your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the menu. “so, what’s good here?”
she laughs once more, like she knows exactly what she just did to you. “i’ll order for us.”
you narrow your eyes. “is this an ‘i have impeccable taste’ thing again?”
“yes,” she says simply, not even trying to deny it.
you sigh, but you let her do it, leaning back against the plush booth as she orders effortlessly, she’s done this a million times before.
as the server leaves, she turns back to you, gaze steady. “so, y/n…tell me more about yourself.”
you blink, caught off guard. “what do you want to know?”
“everything,” she says easily, leaning forward slightly. “start talking.”
you hesitate, caught off guard by the genuine interest in her voice. you’re not used to people asking about you — not like this.
but for some reason, with karina sitting across from you, watching you closely, waiting…you kind of want to answer.
“how about you start first?”
and surprisingly, the conversation flows. despite the initial tension, talking to her is easy.
she’s quick-witted, sharp and knows how to keep a conversation moving. she talks about her family, her older sister — the golden child, already married, already working under their father. she talks about how her dad owns several businesses, how she’s expected to follow in their footsteps even though she has no idea if that’s what she actually wants.
“business was never my thing,” she admits, swirling her white wine idly. “but my dad doesn’t really care about that.”
“so what is your thing?” you ask before you can stop yourself.
she exhales, lowering her head slightly. “that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”
you hum, nodding. “must be nice, though. having all these options, being able to choose what you want to do.”
she looks at you carefully, like she’s studying the way you said that. “and you don’t?”
you hesitate before shrugging. “i mean, i guess i could change paths, but law is what i’ve always known. it’s what makes sense.”
“but do you want it?”
you falter. “i think so.”
she doesn’t push, but something flickers in her gaze, like she’s filing that information away for later.
this is a date.
and the closest thing you’ve ever had to one was that awkward high school relationship, where you would sit in the same café after school, pretending to be interested in whatever yeji was talking about while secretly wishing you were at home reading instead.
but…this is different.
because no one has ever gone out of their way for you like this before. no one has ever picked you up in an expensive car, taken you to a restaurant that probably requires a bank loan just to order a side dish and actually wanted to know you.
and that’s what makes this worse.
because she is sitting across from you, watching you closely, her expression unreadable but undeniably focused, like she’s trying to understand you.
and you don’t know what to do with that.
she had a way of making even the most casual topics sound interesting, like she could take something as mundane as a daily routine and make it feel like a secret worth knowing.
somewhere between the first round of appetizers and her casual, smug decision to order for the both of you, you started to let your guard down.
“so you really just don’t go out, huh?” karina asks, leaning back slightly, her fingers playing idly with the rim of her glass.
“i go out,” you say, defensive. “just not to places like this.”
“where do you go then?”
you shrug. “work. classes. home.”
karina raises an eyebrow. “that’s it?”
“sometimes the convenience store,” you add. “for essentials.”
she snorts at that. “right. because instant ramen and energy drinks are essential.”
“they are when you’re studying law,” you say, pointing your chopsticks at her. “you wouldn’t get it, econ major.”
she hums, tilting her head. “actually, i do get it. i survive off caffeine and overpriced sandwiches.”
“the rich struggle too,” you deadpan. “who would’ve thought?”
“we all have our burdens,” she sighs dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. “mine just happen to involve foie gras and a trust fund.”
you let out a quiet laugh before taking a sip of your drink. “must be tough.”
“you have no idea,” she smirks, then rests her chin on her hand. “but really — why don’t you go out?”
you hesitate.
you don’t know how to explain it without making it sound like some kind of tragic backstory, because it’s not. you just…never saw the point.
you were never the type to crave social outings, never had the urge to throw yourself into clubs or attend every party like your life depended on it. even in high school, while other people were busy forming friendships and getting into messy relationships, you were just existing — watching from the sidelines, never feeling the need to participate.
and for the most part, you were fine with that.
until now.
until you’re sitting across from someone who had every reason to never notice you, and yet here she is, looking at you like she actually wants to know.
“i guess i just never saw the point,” you admit finally. “going out, meeting people — it’s never been my thing.”
karina watches you intensely for a moment before nodding slowly. “i get that.”
you raise an eyebrow. “do you?”
“yeah,” she hums. “contrary to popular belief, i’m not actually that social.”
“you’re literally the most popular person on campus.”
“popularity doesn’t mean i like people,” she muses, lips curling slightly. “it just means i tolerate them well.”
you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “so, you’re saying you tolerate me?”
she smirks. “i think i can handle you.” your stomach flips. before you can even respond to that, karina leans forward slightly. “so, no dating history then?”
you nearly choke on your drink. “what?”
“you said you don’t go out much,” she shrugs. “so i’m assuming you haven’t dated much either.”
you scowl. “that’s a bold assumption.”
“am i wrong?”
you glare at her, but the way she’s looking at you— so smug, so sure of herself — makes you sigh. “no. not since high school.”
karina chuckles. “i knew it.”
you roll your eyes. “what, is that funny to you?”
“a little,” she admits, still wearing the smirk of hers. “just didn’t expect it.”
“why?” you challenge. “because you thought i was some kind of romance expert?”
“no,” she says, biting her lip. “i just thought someone would’ve tried harder to keep you.”
your heart stumbles over itself, your fingers tightening slightly around your chopsticks — you don’t know how to respond to that.
luckily…or unluckily, she shifts gears before you have to because suddenly, the warmth in the conversation diverts.
“you know, it’s kind of weird we’ve never crossed paths before,” she muses, setting her drink down. “giselle’s been my friend for years, and yet you and i? nothing. like we existed in separate universes.”
you chuckle. “maybe i was actively avoiding you.”
“probably,” she smirks. “but still. two years, same campus, same social circles. and yet this is the first time we’ve properly spoken to each other.”
you shrug, trying to ignore the weird tension creeping back in. “maybe the universe was trying to keep us apart.”
“and yet,” she begins, resting her chin in her palms. “here we are.”
you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and you hate that she makes you feel comfortable.
but then —
there’s a pause. a long, drawn-out silence where she just looks at you, her gaze steady, unreadable.
the warmth of the conversation dims slightly, something unspoken settling between you. and you know. you know what’s coming before she even says it.
“about that night,” she begins, carefully, like she’s testing the weight of each word. “do you remember?”
you knew this conversation was inevitable, but hearing it out loud sends a rush of panic through you.
and with fingers tightening slightly around your drinks, you admit: “bits and pieces.”
she nods slowly, her gaze dropping for a second, like she’s trying to figure out how to phrase what she wants to say next. “same.”
you don’t speak. you can’t.
“i don’t know what came over me,” she continues, voice quieter now. “but i remember looking at you, and your lips, and your stupidly attractive smile, and it just…happened.”
there it is.
the confirmation.
the final piece of proof that what happened between you wasn’t just a drunken mistake — it was a choice.
your breath catches in your throat, the world suddenly slowing down and shrinking right before your eyes.
karina leans back slightly, exhaling deeply. “i don’t regret it,” she confesses honestly. “but i know it was wrong.”
the words settle between you, thick and heavy. and suddenly, it all clicks. the private room. the secrecy.
“you took me to dinner so you could make sure i keep my mouth shut,” you start off, forcing a dry chuckle, trying to make it lighter than it feels. “i get it. don’t worry. the only people who know are our trusted friends and that’s where it’ll stay. he will never find out.”
“what?” she frowns, seemingly confused, then frowns more. “that’s not why you’re here.”
your stomach tightens. “then why am i here?”
she lets out a sigh; watching you closely, like she’s waiting for you to catch up. “because i don’t want that to be the end of it,” she answers, voice quieter, steadier.
your heart stops.
she leans closer, elbows resting on the table, fingers barely grazing the edge of her glass. “i don’t know what this is, but i know i don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
your brain races, trying to process what she’s saying, trying to understand why she’s saying it.
“karina —”
“jimin,” she corrects softly.”
you swallow, your pulse pounding as you nod gently. “jimin.”
she smiles slightly at that, but her expression stays serious. “let’s continue this. whatever this is.”
your stomach twists. “but you —”
“i know,” she says, cutting you off gently. “i know…but i still want this.”
the weight of the conversation lingers between you, heavy and inescapable. you stare at her, speechless because deep down, for whatever reason, you do too.
you don’t know how to sit still; your fingers trace the edge of your drink absentmindedly, your mind is running at a pace you can’t keep up with. the air in the private room feels thick, charged with something you’re not ready to name, something you don’t know how to handle.
and across from you, she watches you with a gaze that’s too steady, too knowing, like she’s picking apart every hesitation, every moment of doubt playing out in your head.
you have spent your whole life avoiding this exact situation. you don’t do complicated. you keep your world small and your life structured.
and yet, here you are, sitting across from the girl who has single-handedly destroyed every rule you’ve set for yourself.
it terrifies you, but what terrifies you more is that you don’t want to leave.
“we barely know each other,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you mean for it to be, like you’re trying to convince yourself more than her. “this is ridiculous.”
she doesn’t react right away. she takes a slow sip of her drink, her lips pressing together briefly before she sets it down with a soft clink. she tilts her head slightly, considering you, her eyes dark and unreadable.
“that’s the point,” she says finally, leaning forward slightly. “i want to know you, only if you’ll let me.”
your breath catches in your throat.
there’s something about the way she says it — so simple, so assured, like the most obvious thing in the world has already been decided.
your heart beats unsteadily, an uneven rhythm that makes your chest feel tight. “why?”
she exhales, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on her glass. “because whatever i felt that night, i want more of it.”
you can’t look away from her.
“for the first time in a long time,” jimin continues, voice softer now, “i felt…seen. understood.”
the words settle between you, heavy with something unsaid. you know that feeling all too well, understand what it’s like to exist in a space where people only see the version of you they want to see — what it’s like to be looked at but never really known.
but you don’t let yourself dwell on it.
instead, you force yourself to focus on the one thing that keeps clawing at your brain, the one thing that refuses to let you ignore it. “what about jaewook?”
she sighs, leaning back against the booth, running a hand through her hair. “jaewook is…safe. stable.”
you frown slightly. “what do you mean?”
she nods, her gaze flickering to the side briefly before returning to you. “he pursued me for months before i finally said yes. he really tried. so i thought, why not?”
you don’t say anything.
“he’s stable,” she continues, her voice steady, but there’s something underneath it — something detached, like she’s explaining a business decision rather than a relationship. “he’s nice. he’s everything that should make sense.”
“but?” you prompt, even though you already know the answer.
“but it’s not what i expected,” she admits, breathing the words out slowly. “our relationship is all surface level. we look good together, people like seeing us together, but that’s it. there’s nothing deeper. nothing really…real about us.”
you hesitate before asking, “does he love you?”
jimin lets out a quiet, humourless laugh, almost like she’s too hurt to admit it. “i think he likes having me. i think i’m just…another thing that fits into his life. another box he gets to check off. perhaps, it’s his way of showing he loves me.”
you don’t know what to say to that.
“he’s only been to my dorm once,” she continues, her tone almost absent, like she’s only realising it as she says it out loud. “he doesn’t try to know my family, my friends. all he wants is to play football and have a pretty girlfriend.”
you frown, something about that making your chest ache in a way you weren’t expecting. “he doesn’t ask about your life?”
she shakes her head. “if you asked him right now what my major is, he’d probably say law. or communications.”
your eyebrows knit together. “but you’ve been together for over a year.”
“and he still doesn’t know me,” she says simply. “because he doesn’t want to.”
you can hear the quiet frustration in her voice, the resignation.
“so when you asked me all those questions at the party,” she adds, watching you closely, “it was the first time in a long time that i felt like someone actually wanted to know me.”
you inhale sharply, the weight of her words pressing against you.
because you remember now.
-
you hadn’t even wanted to be there.
ryujin and yunjin had thrown yet another one of their weekend parties and because you unfortunately lived with them, you had no choice but to exist in the middle of it. the plan was to just lock yourself in your room, maybe throw in some noise-cancelling headphones and wait it out, but that plan had gone to shit the second ryujin shoved a tequila shot in your hand and dared you to leave.
so you stayed. you drank. and somehow, somehow, you found yourself on the balcony, away from the suffocating crowd, just trying to catch your breath.
and that’s when she showed up.
you had never spoken to her before. you’ve seen her in passing, of course, because who hadn’t?
she was the kind of person people gravitated toward, even when she wasn’t doing anything.
but that night, when she stepped onto the balcony, she looked…different.
tired, almost.
“escaping too?” she had asked, leaning against the railing beside you.
you had hesitated before nodding, head spinning. “not really a party person.”
she hummed, taking a slow sip of whatever was in her cup. “me neither.”
“yeah, right,” you scoffed, glancing at her. “you’re karina.”
“and?”
“and people like you thrive in places like this.”
she turned to you then, eyes sharp, curious. “people like me?”
you shrugged. “popular people. you know, social butterflies. the kind that make parties their personality.”
she let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “see, that’s where you’re wrong. i hate parties. but people expect me to be here, so here i am.”
you frowned slightly, stumbling upon your words. “so you…i mean…do things just because people expect them from you?”
“sometimes,” she admitted, tilting her head. “don’t you?”
you opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
because, well.
you did.
your whole life had been about following a path, about making the right choices, about doing what was expected of you.
she studied you for a second before leaning in slightly, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel intimate. “so what do you actually want, then?”
you had paused. blinked.
then, you looked at her — really looked at her.
at the way her dark eyes flickered in the dim light, the way her lips curled slightly when she was genuinely interested, the way she was leaning in closer than necessary.
“i don’t know,” you had admitted. “maybe more tequila?”
and she had smiled.
“me neither, but i agree with you on that one.”
-
you exhale as your thoughts finally gather, trying to push past the feeling creeping up your spine. “but like i said, we barely know each other.”
“then let me,” she argues, putting a hand over hand — the contact sending jolts throughout your body. “i want to.”
you glance up, meeting her gaze, and fuck, she’s so pretty.
“i feel bad,” you admit, your voice tight. “this goes against everything i believe in.”
jimin tilts her head, studying you. “why?”
“i don’t date,” you say. “i don’t sneak around. i don’t…do this.”
“but you want to,” she prompts and it’s not a question. your pulse stutters. “tell me why you don’t date.”
you exhale, rubbing your temples. “i had one relationship in high school. yeji.”
she raises an eyebrow, arms crossing. “and?”
“and i was terrible at it,” you admit, groaning. “she wanted me to be affectionate, and i just wasn’t. i didn’t know how to be. i was emotionally unavailable and probably the worst girlfriend ever.”
she chuckles, shaking her head. “poor yeji.”
“yeah,” you snort, running your fingers through your hair. “we lasted six months before she realised i was a lost cause.”
“so you think you’re incapable of dating?”
“i think i’m bad at it,” you say honestly. “and i think this…us…is dangerous.”
she nods, letting your words settle before she speaks again. “then let me know when you’re ready.”
you blink, caught off guard. “what?”
“i’ll wait,” she says simply. “if you need time, i’ll give it to you.”
you stare at her, searching her face for any sign of dishonesty, any hint of a game, but there’s nothing.
she means it. you don’t know what to do with that. so you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “okay.”
and as she leans back, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips, you feel it — the inevitable pull, the thing dragging you toward her, despite everything.
because even though you should run, even though you should shut this down completely —
you already know. you’re going to fall into this…you never stood a chance.
the rest of dinner feels easier. somehow, after everything that had been said, after every unspoken tension that had settled between you, the weight of it all lifted.
you still didn’t know what this was.
but you knew, without a doubt, that you wanted to be sitting across from jimin.
for the first time in years, maybe ever, you weren’t rushing to leave, looking for an exit, counting the seconds until you could be alone again.
she told you more about her family, about the expectations placed on her shoulders from the moment she was old enough to understand what it meant to be a yu.
you told her about your life — about how your world had always been contained, structured. how you had never been the kind of person who sought things like this out, who chased after feelings you didn’t understand.
she listened and you listened back.
and by the time you were both walking toward her car, stepping back into the night, something inside you settled. you still weren’t sure what you were getting yourself into…but it shed some light.
there was no more overthinking. no more agonising over whether you should be here.
you were just here. with her.
the drive back to your dorm is quiet, but it’s not awkward. it’s a kind of shared silence that feels warm, comfortable, it doesn’t need to be filled.
the radio hums softly in the background, playing something slow and easy. you watch the city lights blur past through the window, the occasional streetlamp casting a glow over the dashboard, the soft hum of the car’s engine settling into the silence.
but then, jimin moves.
at first, it’s subtle. a shift, a slight adjustment.
and then you feel it.
her fingers brush against yours where your hand rests between you on the centre console. it’s not a mistake. it’s deliberate.
your breath stutters.
you barely have time to process the rush of warmth that spreads through your chest before she stays there, her fingertips resting lightly against your skin.
your pulse spikes, but you don’t pull away. instead, slowly, carefully, you turn your palm upward, letting your fingers graze hers — an invitation.
she takes it.
her hand finds yours, warm and certain, fingers intertwining with yours like they were always meant to.
you’ve never felt this way before — never felt something as simple as holding someone’s hand feel like a shift in your entire world.
not knowing what to do with it, you don’t say anything. you just squeeze her hand slightly and she squeezes it back.
“your fingers are so soft,” she mumbles out.
when you glance at her, her lips are pulled into a small, knowing smile, eyes still focused on the road, but there’s a softness to her expression, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.
fuck. you swallow hard, your skin burning where she touches you and you don’t know what to do with any of it.
all you know is that you don’t want her to let go.
as your dorm comes into view, jimin sighs out, fingers tightening briefly around yours before she pulls into the driveway and turns off the engine.
“thank you for tonight,” she begins, her voice quieter now, softer. “i had a really good time with you, y/n.”
you glance at her, lips twitching as you rub circles on her skin. “the food was actually good despite the price tag.”
she scoffs. “you were expecting it to be bad?”
“i was expecting to resent how good it was,” you admit. “but i’ll never talk about the price again.”
“bold claim,” she smirks. “we’ll see how long that lasts.”
the teasing makes you grin, but then she speaks again, her tone shifting, turning serious. “really, y/n, thank you.”
you blink at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. “for what?”
jimin hesitates for just a second before exhaling. “for this. for giving me a chance.”
something in your chest tightens.
“if it makes you feel better,” she continues, her eyes flickering between yours, “i haven’t done this before either.”
your lips part slightly, surprised by the confession. “you haven’t?”
she shakes her head. “not like this.”
the words sit between you, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. you just look at each other.
it was all happening so fast.
the dim glow from the streetlights outside casts a soft, golden hue over her face, highlighting the curve of her jaw, the slope of her nose, the way her lips part slightly as she watches you.
she’s so pretty.
so ridiculously, unfairly beautiful, like she was carved from light itself, only made to be looked at.
your stomach clenches.
and then —
“can i kiss you?” her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but it hits you like a strike of lightning.
all you can do is nod because you can’t even form words. your brain is not functioning.
the second your head moves, she’s already leaning in, already closing the space between you.
her lips press against yours, soft, warm and suddenly, it’s like every single nerve in your body lights up at once.
you inhale sharply, tilting your head gently, and she follows, deepening the kiss with a slow, unhurried ease, like she’s taking her time memorising you.
her hand lifts, fingers grazing your jaw and you swear you dissolve into her.
she tastes like the remnants of her drink, the faintest hint of citrus and something undeniably her, something that makes your head spin.
you have never been kissed like this before. it’s not rushed, not careless. it’s intentional.
it’s like she’s trying to tell you something without saying a word.
and when she pulls away — just slightly, just enough for you to breathe — you don’t even think before you whisper, “do you want to come in?”
she freezes; you watch as her eyes flicker between yours, widening just slightly because she wasn’t expecting you to ask, thrown off for the first time tonight.
you don’t know where the boldness came from. maybe it was the way she kissed you, the way her fingers felt against your skin, the way her lips still tingle against yours. but you don’t regret asking.
she swallows, her gaze flickering toward the dorm, then back at you.
she nods — the beginning of a dangerous game.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
part 3 — i wanna feel guilty, i wanna feel that it’s wrong (coming soon)
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ when a hunt goes wrong and you take the hit meant for dean, your brothers have to hold you together in every way that matters.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ sam + dean winchester x little-sister!reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 4872 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ hurt / comfort with soft ending
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ canon-typical violence, graphic injury, blood loss, stitches, near-death experience, protective older brothers, post-hunt patch-up, soft ending.
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ i'll confess to one thing... i usually don't enjoy writing sibling!winchester. i don't know why. maybe i just don't see the appeal. maybe i just want dean to look at reader ( aka me ) with heart eyes!! 😳 but this request honestly changed it so much for me. it took me a while to get to the final result, but god damn, it might my favorite piece this month. so thank you for requesting, my lovely v. i appreciate you sm 🩷
˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ request your fanfic ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
dean says it twice before you even get out of the car. “you stay where we can see you.”
the first time, you roll your eyes and pretend to check the magazine in your gun even though you already checked it three times in the motel room and once more in the backseat because sam kept doing that quiet, worried thing with his mouth.
the second time, you look up from the silver blade tucked inside your jacket and give dean the most unimpressed stare you can manage. “yeah, dean, i was actually planning to wander off alone into the creepy abandoned textile mill with the blood-drinking monster. thanks for catching that.”
sam shuts the trunk with a low metallic thud, glancing between you and dean as if he’s already exhausted by the argument that hasn’t even formed. “he’s saying it because last time you said you were ‘just checking something’, you ended up in a crawlspace with a ghost.”
“that ghost had answers.”
“that ghost threw a wrench at your head,” dean snaps.
“and missed,” you glare, because you’re a winchester, unfortunately, and sometimes survival has less to do with sense and more to do with being unbearable at the right moment.
dean points at you, the gesture sharp in the cold spill of the impala’s trunk light. “not the point.”
but even as he growls it, there’s something different in the way he looks at you tonight. not less protective. dean’s protectiveness sits under his skin, more part of his personality than sarcasm. still, tonight, he’s letting you stand between him and sam with a gun in your hand, a knife under your jacket, and the case file zipped inside your bag because this is your case. the thought warms you in a small, stupid place you try not to show.
you’d been the one who noticed the missing-person reports clustered around old factory roads, the one who caught that everybody found had been drained but not torn apart, the one who connected the witness statements about the pale man in the mechanic’s jacket. dean called it a vampire at first. sam leaned toward rougarou. you found the old lore entry in bobby’s scanned journal pages, the one about a vetala variant that fed slower, cleaner, almost surgical, usually solitary and territorial.
sam double-checked every source. dean grumbled for two hours about ‘off-brand bloodsuckers’. but they listened. they followed your lead. and now you’re here, boots crunching over gravel wet from an afternoon storm, the air cold enough to bite at your knuckles.
you don’t say how much it matters. that would make it too easy for them to take apart.
“all right,” sam says, pulling the flashlight from his jacket pocket. “we clear the main floor first. victim was last seen near the loading bay. if your theory’s right, it’ll have a nest somewhere dry and dark.”
“my theory is right,” you say.
dean gives you a sideways look. “that confidence better come with a return policy.”
“you’re literally confident with no evidence every day of your life.”
“yeah, but i’m charming.”
sam’s mouth twitches.
you hate that it makes you happy. you hate that being trusted by them feels less like being handed a weapon and more like being handed a place at the table. your brothers love you. you know that. they love you so hard it has bruised every corner of your life. but love and trust aren’t the same thing, and winchester love has a way of locking doors from the inside. tonight, for once, they let you pick the lock.
inside, the mill is a long-boned corpse of a building, all rusted railings, broken windows, and old machinery huddled beneath plastic tarps. rainwater drips through holes in the roof, steady and uneven, tapping against metal beams and puddles in the concrete. your flashlight catches strips of old safety tape, faded signs, a smashed vending machine with warped candy wrappers still trapped behind cloudy glass.
“cozy,” dean mutters.
“you say that about every murder building.”
“because murder buildings keep having terrible decor.”
you bite back a smile and move carefully along the wall, watching the dust, the drag marks, the faint wet smear that isn’t water near the base of a staircase. sam sees it at the same time you do. he crouches, touches two fingers close to it without actually dipping into the blood, then looks up at you.
you nod toward the hall on the left. “loading bay.”
dean’s face changes. not much, just that slight tightening in his jaw, that older-brother switch flipping from banter to business. he steps ahead by instinct. you step with him from sheer stubbornness. for a second, his eyes cut to you. you know that look. it means don’t. you stare back. it means try me.
sam exhales behind you. “both of you, focus.”
the thing is in the loading bay, just where you thought it would be. it drops from the upper beams with a wet, ugly hiss, pale limbs bending wrong, mouth peeling open too wide around teeth stained dark at the edges.
dean fires first. the shot cracks through the hollow space and sends a flock of pigeons bursting from the rafters. sam moves left, clean and fast, silver flashing in his hand. you take right, heart kicking hard enough to make your ribs feel crowded, and for one bright second, everything works exactly the way it should.
you’re scared. obviously, you’re scared. fear’s not the opposite of courage; dean taught you that by accident every time he gripped the steering wheel too tight and still drove toward the thing everyone else ran from. your hands shake once, then steady. you remember the lore. you remember the weak point. you remember the pattern of its attacks.
the monster lunges for sam.
“sam!” you shout, firing into its shoulder.
it shrieks, twists, and dean’s already there. his knife buries under its ribs, one hard upward shove, and the creature spasms against him. its nails scrape down his jacket. he grimaces, drives the blade deeper, and it drops—ugly, knees folding, body hitting the concrete with a sound that turns your stomach.
silence crashes down after it. for a few seconds, nobody moves.
then dean looks at you, breath coming hard, blood speckled across one cheek. “your theory was right.”
you grin before you can stop yourself. “say it again.”
“don’t push it.”
“no, no, i need the full sentence. maybe with eye contact.”
sam straightens, still watching the body. “it was a clean ID. good work.”
that lands softer than you expect. heavier, too. you look at sam and feel your teasing loosen into something awkward and warm. “thanks.”
dean wipes his knife on the creature’s jacket. “yeah, yeah. gold star. everybody happy? let’s torch ugly here and get gone before this place collapses on us.”
you should’ve left then.
that’s the part you’ll think about later, again and again, when the pain has teeth and sleep comes in broken pieces. you should’ve left. the hunt’s done. the monster’s dead. the three of you are alive, damp, tired, and okay.
sam turns toward the exit first. dean bends to grab the duffel with the lighter fluid and salt. you take one step back, looking over the body, already building the story in your head: how dean will pretend he solved the case by ‘superior instinct’, how sam will argue for research credit, how you’ll demand diner pie as tribute for being correct.
then something moves behind dean. not the dead thing. above him. your brain catches pieces, not the whole. the scrape of claws on metal. the shift of shadow along the beam. sam’s flashlight swinging up too late. another pale shape unfolding from the dark with a mouth already open and one arm drawn back.
dean doesn’t see it.
you do.
there’s no time to say his name properly. no time to think through angles or weapons or whether you’re being brave or stupid. your body makes the choice before your mind catches up, and maybe that’s the most winchester thing about you.
you slam into dean’s side with both hands. he stumbles hard, swearing, the duffel dropping from his grip.
the second creature comes down where he was standing.
the pain is immediate, bright, wrong. at first, you don’t understand it. there’s impact, then heat, then a tearing pressure across your side that knocks the breath clean out of you. the floor jumps up. your knees hit concrete. something inside you seems to tilt out of place.
sam yells your name.
dean yells it louder.
you look down because some dumb, childish part of you needs proof, and proof is there under your hand, slick and dark, spreading too fast through torn fabric. the creature’s claw has opened you from the lower ribs down toward your hip, deep enough that your fingers come away red before you can decide whether to press or pull away.
oh. that’s all you can think.
the monster screams again, but it sounds far off now, dragged underwater. sam moves past you in a blur of long limbs and fury, not calm anymore, not careful. dean’s suddenly in front of you, then beside you, then on his knees, his hands catching your shoulders before you can fold all the way down.
“hey, hey, hey. look at me. look at me.”
you try. his face refuses to stay still. the world flickers around the edges, gray chewing at the lights.
“dean—” you say, but your voice is thin and surprised, which scares you more than the pain.
“nope. don’t do that.” he rips his overshirt open so hard one button snaps and skitters across the floor. “don’t use that little voice on me. you’re fine.”
you want to point out that this is a very obvious lie. you want to say something clever because that’s what you do when dean gets scared. you make him mad so he has somewhere to put it. but the words don’t line up. your thoughts have turned slippery. every breath pulls fire through your side, and there’s so much blood.
dean wads the shirt and presses it hard to the wound.
the sound you make is ugly.
“i know,” he says instantly, face twisting. “i know, baby. i’m sorry. i gotta, okay? i gotta stop the bleeding.”
baby. he only calls you that when he forgets you aren’t six anymore.
behind him, there’s a crash, a snarl cut short, sam’s grunt of pain, then the wet punch of a blade sinking. the second monster hits the ground. for one strange second, you feel guilty that you can’t turn your head to check if sam’s okay.
sam appears anyway, breath ragged, hair falling into his face, knife dripping black-red onto the concrete. “how bad?”
dean doesn’t answer fast enough.
sam sees the blood and goes pale in a way you’ve never seen on a hunt. his hand hovers over you, useless for half a heartbeat, then he drops beside dean and starts pulling supplies from the duffel with shaking efficiency. gauze. bandage roll. tape.
“we need to move,” sam says. his voice cracks insignificantly on the last word, but you hear it. “dean, we can’t fix this here.”
“i know that,” dean snaps.
you blink up at the ceiling. one of the lights is broken. it hums and flickers and makes everything look chopped into pieces. “did we get both?”
sam looks at you as if the question hurts him personally. “yeah. we got both.”
“good.” you swallow, but your mouth is dry. “my case.”
dean lets out something that isn’t a laugh, not even close. “yeah, congratulations. your prize is me kicking your ass when you stop bleeding.”
“mean,” your brain orders your lips to smile, but all you actually manage is a crooked twitch.
“you haven’t seen mean.” his hand presses harder. “stay with me and i’ll show you.”
sam’s jacket goes over you. then his hands are under your knees and behind your shoulders, and dean shifts to keep pressure while they lift.
the world breaks open.
you do scream then, or maybe you only think you do. the sound tears your throat raw either way. dean curses, sam says sorry over and over, and you hate them a little for moving you, then love them for not stopping, because stopping means dying on a dirty factory floor beside a dead thing with too many teeth, and you’ve always privately hoped your death would be more dramatic than that. more meaningful. less damp.
your boots drag once. dean barks at sam to watch the door. sam barks back that he has it. their voices keep knocking against each other above you, familiar and frantic, and you hold onto the rhythm because the rest of you feels unstitched.
outside, the cold hits your face so sharply that you gasp.
“there she is,” dean says. “keep those eyes open.”
you do. for maybe two seconds.
the path to the car stretches forever. gravel crunches. rain starts again, light and mean, spotting sam’s jacket across your chest. you can see the impala ahead, black and shining under the thin moon, and for some ridiculous reason you think about how dean’s going to be pissed if you bleed all over the backseat.
“sorry,” you mumble.
“for what?” sam asks, breathless.
“car.”
dean makes a sound near your ear. “are you apologizing to the car right now?”
he opens the back door with one hand while sam lowers you in. it’s clumsy. awful. dean slides in after you without hesitation, dragging you half across his lap, one hand jammed against your side. sam takes the driver’s seat. even through the fog, you understand what that means. dean lets sam drive when the world’s ending or when he’s too broken to pretend his hands belong on the wheel.
the engine roars to life. gravel spits under the tires. your head lolls against dean’s shoulder, and he catches your chin with two fingers, forcing your face up. “nuh-uh. you don’t sleep.”
words tumble from your lips that don’t sound like anything at all. bossy, is what you wanted to muster out.
“you think you get to throw yourself in front of me and then take a nap? that’s rude as hell.”
sam’s eyes flash in the rearview mirror. “dean.”
“what? she likes it when i’m mean.”
you’d smile again, now. the muscles don’t move.
the road sways. streetlights smear gold through the rain-streaked windows. dean keeps talking, each sentence sharper than the last, rough enough that someone else might think he’s angry at you. you know better. dean’s fear has always worn anger as a jacket because anger has pockets. anger can carry a knife. fear just stands there empty-handed.
“you still owe me twenty bucks from that pool game in omaha,” he says. “and don’t think i forgot. you die on me, i’m collecting from your stash.”
sam takes a corner too fast. your stomach rolls. pain flares white, and for a second there’s no car, no rain, no dean. only your body begging to stop.
“sam,” dean barks, suddenly not mean at all.
“i’m going as fast as i can.”
“go faster.”
“i am!”
the motel is only eight minutes away. maybe ten. it feels longer than every year you’ve been alive.
you listen to dean’s heartbeat because your ear is against his chest now. it pounds too fast. too human. too scared. his hand is warm and wet where it holds you together, and you wonder if he can feel you slipping under his palm.
“dean,” you manage.
“yeah, i’m here.”
“you okay?”
his breath catches.
then his face comes down close to yours, his cheek rough against your temple for one second, and his voice turns wrecked and furious. “you don’t ask me that right now. you hear me? you do not get to ask me that.”
you want to say you pushed him because he’s your brother. because he would’ve done it for you. because sam would’ve done it for either of you. because this family is a series of bodies stepping in front of other bodies, and you learned the choreography before you were old enough to know there was another way to love someone. instead, your eyes close.
dean says your name. sam says it too.
then everything goes quiet.
when you wake, the first thing you notice is the ceiling. not the pain. not at first. just the ceiling with its ugly popcorn texture and the brown water stain shaped vaguely, stupidly. the motel room is dark except for the blue-gray light leaking around the curtains and the dim yellow lamp near the bathroom. rain taps the window in thin little clicks. your mouth tastes awful. copper and stale air. your body feels too heavy. then the pain arrives.
it comes slowly, not the bright slash from before, but a deep, pulsing misery that wraps around your side and digs in with every breath. your fingers twitch against the blanket. the movement is tiny, but it’s enough. dean wakes instantly.
he’s on the floor beside the bed, back against the mattress, one knee bent, gun loose in his hand. his head snaps up so fast you wonder if he ever really slept. his face is rough with exhaustion, eyes red, hair flattened on one side. there’s blood under his fingernails. your blood.
“hey,” he says, and the word falls apart in the middle.
you try to answer. nothing comes out.
he reaches for the glass on the nightstand, then hesitates as if terrified moving too fast will break you. “water. small sip.”
he helps lift your head. the water is warm and tastes faintly of paper cup, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever had. you swallow twice before he pulls it away.
“don’t chug it,” he mutters. “you’ll puke, and i’m not ready for that.”
your mouth moves before sound shows up. “coward.”
dean freezes. then his face crumples for half a second, so quick you might miss it if you weren’t looking right at him. he laughs once under his breath, no joy in it yet. just relief. “there she is.”
across the room, sam’s asleep in a crooked wooden chair, his long body folded badly, head hanging forward at an angle that guarantees a brutal neck ache. one hand still rests on an open first-aid kit on the table. the other is curled around his phone, screen dark. he looks younger in sleep, but not peaceful. never peaceful. his brows are drawn together, his mouth tight, as if worry followed him under.
dean follows your gaze and softens despite himself. “he’s okay. got clipped, nothing bad. he passed out about forty minutes ago. wouldn’t lie down because he’s an idiot.”
“family trait.”
“yeah, apparently.”
you shift again, trying to understand your body, and pain flashes hot enough to make your vision spot. dean’s on his knees in a second, hand hovering over your shoulder, not touching until he knows where it will hurt less.
“don’t move.”
“what happened?”
his jaw flexes. he looks toward your bandaged side, and you follow the glance despite the dread.
your shirt is gone, replaced with one of dean’s old black tees cut open along the side. thick bandages wrap your middle, bulky and clean now, though rusty red has already started to bloom through one layer. beneath that, you can feel the pull of stitches, tight and ugly.
“we patched you up,” dean says.
“hospital?”
“too far. too many questions. wound missed the worst stuff by a miracle.” his voice goes flat at the edges. “sam cleaned it. i stitched.”
you blink at him. “you?”
his eyes don’t quite meet yours. “yeah.”
your throat tightens in a way that has nothing to do with thirst. “dean…”
“don’t start.”
“is it bad?”
“the stitching? yeah. objectively terrible.” he swallows. “scar’s gonna be nasty.”
sam wakes with a sharp inhale before you can say anything. the chair creaks violently under him, and he looks around with wild eyes until he sees you awake. then he’s up too fast, nearly knocking the first-aid kit off the table.
“hey. hey, don’t—” dean starts.
sam ignores him, coming to the other side of the bed and crouching so he can see your face. “how do you feel?”
“amazing,” you whisper. “thinking of taking up jogging.”
sam’s mouth trembles. he presses it into a line, nods as if accepting this medical information with great seriousness. “okay. terrible, then.”
“neck?”
“what?”
“your neck. the chair looks mean.”
for some reason, that breaks him worse than anything else. his eyes go bright, and he looks down, one hand covering his mouth for a second. when he looks back up, he is holding himself together with visible effort. “you almost died,” he manages.
the room goes still. dean looks away. you know it already. you felt it in the car, in the way the dark came for you, soft and patient. but hearing sam say it makes the truth land in the room with all three of you. not as a possibility. as a fact with wet hair and bloody hands.
“but i didn’t,” you say.
“that’s not the point,” dean snaps, too fast.
your eyes move to him. there’s the lecture. the anger he’s been sharpening because terror is too blunt to use. dean gets to his feet, then seems to realize pacing will make him look frantic, so he stops beside the bed and crosses his arms instead.
“what the hell were you thinking?”
sam exhales. “dean—”
“no, don’t dean me. she shoved me out of the way.”
“because there was a monster above you,” you say, voice thin.
“yeah, i got that part.”
“then maybe say thank you.”
his eyes flash. “thank you? you want a thank you? fine. thank you for taking a claw to the gut. thank you for bleeding out in the back of my car. thank you for scaring ten years off my life. that work for you?”
you flinch. dean’s loud all the time. but you flinch because underneath it, he sounds young. not your older brother. not cocky, leather-jacket, classic-rock pain in your ass. child young. the kind of young he must’ve been the first time your dad handed him a gun and told him you and sam were his job.
your eyes burn.
dean sees it and looks immediately miserable, which almost makes it worse. “i’m sorry,” he says, voice dropping. “i’m not—i don’t mean…”
“you mean it,” you say quietly.
he rubs a hand over his mouth. “yeah. i mean it. i mean… what the hell, kid?”
sam sits carefully on the edge of the other bed, facing you, hands clasped between his knees. “you saved dean’s life.”
dean makes a sharp sound.
“you did,” sam says, not looking away from you. “and we know why you did it. nobody’s saying you should’ve stood there and watched him get hurt.”
“i’m saying,” dean cuts in, “that i’m supposed to be the one taking hits for you.”
“that’s not a rule.”
“yes, it is.”
the answer is so immediate, so certain, that it knocks the breath out of you.
sam’s expression folds with pain. he reaches for your hand, fingers closing around yours, warm and careful. “you’re our little sister.”
“i’m a hunter too.”
“i know,” sam says. “we know. tonight proved that.”
“then don’t say it like i’m not allowed to choose.”
“you are,” he says, and that gentleness hurts because he means it. “but we’re allowed to hate that choice. we’re allowed to be scared.”
dean lets out a bitter laugh. “scared doesn’t cover it.”
your eyes fill before you can stop them. you’re too tired to swallow it back, too sore to turn your face away with any dignity. the tears slip hot into your hairline, and dean’s anger vanishes so fast it leaves him looking hollow.
“hey,” he says, softer. “no, don’t. you’ll pull something.”
sam squeezes your hand.
“i didn’t want him to die,” you say, and it’s the stupidest, smallest explanation, barely anything, but it’s all you have. “i just saw it and moved. i didn’t think.”
dean sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle you. his shoulders slump. “i know.”
“i’m not sorry.”
his eyes close.
“i’m sorry you got scared,” you add, voice shaking now. “i’m sorry about the blood and the car and the crappy scar. i’m sorry sam had to drive because that means we’re all traumatized forever.”
sam huffs out a laugh that sounds dangerously close to a sob.
“but i’m not sorry i pushed you.”
dean opens his eyes. for once, he has no fast answer. no insult. no joke with teeth. just that look he usually buries under bad attitude.
the tears keep coming, quiet and embarrassing. you aren’t even crying neatly. your chin wobbles, your breathing stutters, and every shaky inhale pulls at the stitches until pain glows beneath the bandages. sam reaches up to wipe your cheek with his thumb, and that makes it worse for some reason. dean looks at you for one more second before his face breaks open with helpless affection and fear.
“come here,” you whisper.
both of them freeze.
“what?”
“hug,” you say, because you might die of humiliation if they deny it. “teary hug. now.”
they move slowly. sam climbs onto the bed first, careful around the wounded side, one arm sliding behind your shoulders with the lightest pressure possible. dean takes the other side, awkward as hell, one knee on the mattress, one hand braced near your hip so he doesn’t lean on you.
it’s barely a hug at first. then sam presses his face into your hair. dean’s hand curls around the back of your head. and suddenly it’s real.
you cry harder, silently, because making noise hurts too much. sam murmurs nonsense into your hair, low and broken, telling you you’re okay, you’re here, they’ve got you. dean says nothing for a while. he just holds on, his thumb moving once against your temple as if checking that you’re still warm.
“you ever do that again,” he says eventually, voice rough, “i’m grounding you.”
you sniff. “i’m an adult.”
“don’t care.”
“can’t ground a hunter.”
“watch me.”
you close your eyes, tucked between them, pain and relief tangled so tightly you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. you’re still scared. you thought waking up would end it, but your body remembers the floor, the blood, dean’s hands pressing hard enough to hurt, sam’s voice cracking when he said your name… you’re safe now, or as safe as a winchester gets.
later, there are fresh bandages. painkillers from a bottle with someone else’s name on it. sam reheats soup in the motel microwave and pretends not to hover while you take four whole bites under threat of dean ‘airplaning the spoon’ like the world’s worst nurse. dean changes his shirt but not before you catch him scrubbing your blood off his hands in the sink for too long.
for the next few hours, they become unbearable in opposite directions. sam keeps track of your fever, your pulse, your pain level, and the timing of every pill with the grim focus of a medical student. dean pretends he isn’t fussing while absolutely fussing, adjusting the blanket with a scowl, cutting your food into smaller pieces, putting a trash can near the bed in case you get sick, then acting offended when you call him sweet.
“i’m not sweet.”
“you tucked me in.”
“you were shivering.”
“sweet.”
“drugged. you’re drugged and confused.”
“sweetheart, even.”
sam makes a strangled noise into his coffee.
dean points at him. “laugh and you’re the one getting stabbed next.”
but he does not leave the bed for long. neither of them does. sam eventually stretches out on the other mattress, one arm flung over his eyes, but his hand stays near the space between the beds. dean returns to the floor because apparently that’s where he has decided he lives now, back against your mattress, head tilted just enough that you can see the exhaustion pulling at him.
the rain lets up near dawn.
you drift in and out, carried by painkillers and the soft scrape of sam turning pages in a book he isn’t really reading. every time you wake, one of them notices. every time you shift, one of them tells you not to. it makes something tender ache under your ribs, somewhere away from the wound. because being loved by them is heavy. too heavy sometimes. it pins you down, wraps you up, steals the room from your lungs. but it’s also dean sleeping on the floor because he wants to be the first thing danger has to climb over. it’s sam ruining his neck in a motel chair because looking away feels worse than pain. it’s mean jokes in the backseat, shaking stitches, soup from a microwave, and two brothers pretending they aren’t hovering while hovering severely.
you let them fuss. just this once.
outside, morning settles over the motel in thin gold strips, and for a while, nobody asks you to be brave.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
When you told Clark Kent that you made online content when signing the lease. He seemed more curious than anything else but didn’t seem to mind.
Afterall, the world has come a long way, and women can do whatever they want with their bodies…right?
So you carried on making your content, not thinking much about it. What you didn’t seem to know was that he was well acquainted with your content. He, in fact, paid 34.99 dollars to get to know you better.
His hand were sticky between his legs while watching you play with yourself on camera every night after work.
He would never dare admit it, won’t even stay in the same room as you for longer than necessary.
His hand was stroking his cock up and down, his sweatpants and boxers almost down his knees, damp curls sticking to his forehead, he was going insane.
Good God...
Clark knows you’ll be home soon. He should be quieter, but he couldn't help the soft whimpers slipping despite it all.
He’s seen this video more times than he could count, a favorite from his shamefully long collection.
Clark looked at the screen on top of his lap; slender fingers insisting thrusting like you needed more. Breathless sounds and soft moans spilling as you brought yourself to heaven over and over again, the satin sheets under you soaked.
It was a surprise to him hearing the same sounds he’d heard over old headphones when he stepped through the door of his room.
You were usually done with your work by the time he came back. Could you have discovered his secret? No. No, he was way too careful to be discovered.
He looks up at the ceiling of his dark room, his cock flushed red with overstimulation. “Oh fuck…” his hand tightened just imagining you on top of his riding him.
He could see it, you need something more.
Someone more.
And in that moment, Clark came hard, cum dripping down and staining his computer.
How could he look her in the eyes after tonight? His cock was still pulsing, his muscles tight and aching from the pressure of his own grip.
He groaned and with his free hand he hit play, letting the video to start from the beginning.
You are assigned to evaluate the most dangerous patient in a private asylum: a beautiful, unsettling man whose diagnosis keeps changing and whose room seems to have its own rules. But late at night, you discover he is not alone. His brother is there too — silent, watchful, impossible to explain — and the deeper you step into Room 7, the more you realize you are not treating one patient. You are entering a world built for three.
Pairing: AsylumPatient!Jungkook x Psychiatrist!Reader x AsylumPatient!Taehyung
Word Count: 15k? 20k? I just started it, so who knows? I am fascinated by the idea of having both of them together in a room. I was watching a video on a haunted asylum and of course I got the urge to write about it. I am getting towards a busy month so please enjoy the teaser for now ❤️have fun guessing who is the one talking to the psychiatrist 💕
Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, explicit sexual content, psychiatrist/patient relationship, unethical professional relationship, major power imbalance, forbidden romance, gothic asylum setting, institutional horror, psychological manipulation, mind games, obsession, possessive behaviour, jealousy, co-dependency, toxic sibling bond, emotionally intense brother dynamic, unreliable reality, hallucination/delusion themes, paranoia, nightmares, confinement, locked-room atmosphere, medication/restraint mentions, corruption inside a psychiatric institution, past trauma, moral ambiguity, religious/ritual undertones, blood imagery, violence, threats, stalking/watching, voyeuristic tension, “I should not want this” guilt, dirty talk, rough kissing, marking/biting, praise/degradation undertones, D/s undertones, restraint/bondage, sensory deprivation, overstimulation, oral (hope everyone receives), orgasm control/denial, threesome, double penetration, jealousy-fuelled intimacy, possessive intimacy, aftercare.
⤷﹒Love You to Death: The Obsession Files - masterlist
You should have recorded the session.
That was the first rule.
Every private consultation inside Saint Verity had to be logged, witnessed by camera, transcribed by the institution’s internal system, and attached to the relevant patient file before midnight. There were no exceptions. Not for sedated patients. Not for violent patients. Not for patients whose diagnoses had been rewritten so many times the ink seemed more reliable than the truth.
But he had no file.
That was the problem.
The man sitting across from you in Room 7 did not exist in any official capacity.
No intake form. No admission date. No next of kin. No medication chart. No incident history. No diagnosis. No discharge status.
Only a photograph tucked inside his brother’s file with half the page burned away.
And one handwritten note beneath it:
Do not separate them.
You sat with your knees together, notebook balanced on your lap, pen held too tightly between your fingers. The room smelled of antiseptic, rain, old linen, and something warmer beneath it, something almost impossible inside a psychiatric ward. Amber. Skin. Smoke that had never touched fire.
He sat on the patient’s bed, one bare foot resting against the floor, the other leg bent lazily beneath him. His white institutional shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. His dark hair fell slightly over his eyes, not enough to hide them. Nothing about him looked restrained, though the room had been built for containment.
Padded walls. Bolted bed. Reinforced glass. No loose furniture except your chair.
And him.
He watched you like he knew you were the dangerous object in the room.
“You understand this cannot be a formal session,” you said.
His mouth curved slightly. “Then why bring the notebook?”
“Habit.”
“No.” His eyes dropped to your hands. “Armour.”
You did not look down.
He smiled as if that pleased him. As if stillness confirmed more than movement ever could.
“You do that well,” he said.
“What?”
“Stay beautiful under pressure.”
The pen paused.
A careful psychiatrist would have corrected him. A colder one would have ended the session. A wiser woman would have stood, walked to the door, and told security there was an unregistered man inside Room 7 who knew too much about where to aim his voice.
You did none of those things.
Instead, you wrote one sentence in your notebook.
Subject displays inappropriate familiarity.
His eyes flicked to the page.
“You spelled afraid wrong.”
Your stomach tightened.
“You cannot read that from there.”
“No,” he said softly. “But I can read you.”
The rain pressed against the barred window, soft and constant. Somewhere beyond the room, an orderly’s shoes squeaked against polished floor. The asylum breathed around you in old pipes and locked doors.
You shifted your posture by an inch.
His gaze followed.
“You are not my patient,” you said.
“No.”
“You are not on the schedule.”
“No.”
“You are not supposed to be in this room.”
His smile faded then, not into anger, but into something more intimate.
“Neither are you.”
The words landed too quietly.
You looked up from the notebook.
“I am his psychiatrist.”
“My brother has had thirteen psychiatrists.”
“Four,” you corrected.
“That you know of.”
You said nothing.
He tilted his head. “They all came in with pens. Questions. Soft voices. Shoes that made them sound braver in the corridor than they were in the room.” His eyes moved over your face with insolent patience. “You are the first one he has not tried to frighten away.”
“Should that concern me?”
“It concerns me.”
That was the first honest thing he had said.
You felt it because the room felt it. The air changed around those three words, drawing closer, tightening the space between the chair and the bed until the distance seemed less clinical and more invented.
“Why?” you asked.
His gaze lowered to your mouth for one second.
Then returned to your eyes.
“Because he likes pretty broken things.”
You inhaled slowly.
“I am not broken.”
“No?” His voice softened. “Then why did you choose a profession where people open their wounds for you and thank you for not flinching?”
The question was too precise.
You closed the notebook.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“Careful, Doctor,” he murmured. “That looked like a feeling.”
“Do not analyse me.”
“Why? You came here to analyse me.”
“You invited me.”
“I did.” He leaned back on his hands, shirt pulling open slightly at the throat. There were scars near his collarbone. Pale ones. Old ones. One curved like a crescent bitten into the skin. “And you came without telling anyone.”
Your silence was answer enough.
His expression warmed with something that should not have felt like praise.
“Good girl.”
The words moved through you before you could stop them.
Not visibly. You were too trained for that. Your face stayed calm, your spine straight, your knees together, your hands composed over the closed notebook.
But he saw it anyway.
His smile returned, slow and dangerous.
“Oh,” he said. “That one lives under the skin.”
You stood.
Mistake.
His gaze followed the movement with such quiet satisfaction that you knew he had wanted to see what it took to make you abandon the chair.
“This session is over.”
“It was never a session.”
You walked to the door and pressed the call button.
Nothing happened.
You pressed again.
The light above the panel stayed dead.
Behind you, the bed creaked.
“Do not do that,” you said.
He stopped moving.
That should have relieved you.
It did not.
Because obedience from him felt more dangerous than defiance.
Slowly, you turned.
He was still seated on the bed, exactly where he had been before, hands resting loosely on the mattress, head tilted as he watched you with maddening calm.
“I did not touch the door,” he said.
“Then who did?”
His eyes lifted toward the camera in the corner.
The red light was off.
Your pulse changed.
He saw that too.
“Saint Verity likes privacy when it wants something to happen,” he said.
The rain grew louder.
You should have been afraid.
You were.
But fear was not the only thing moving beneath your ribs.
There was anger too. Curiosity. The dark, humiliating thrill of being inside a room where all your language had stopped working. You knew the names for this. Countertransference. Boundary erosion. Eroticised danger. Trauma projection. Institutional manipulation. A dozen clean clinical phrases for the fact that your skin had become too aware of a man you had no right to be alone with.
Knowing the name of the trap did not make the trap less beautiful.
“You and your brother,” you said carefully, “use different methods.”
That interested him.
“How so?”
“He seduces with confession.”
“And I?”
You looked at him for a moment too long.
“You seduce with threat.”
His expression changed.
Not a smile this time.
Something hungrier.
“And yet,” he said, voice lower, “you are still in the room.”
“The door is locked.”
“You were still in the room before the door locked.”
Your throat moved.
He stood then.
Slowly.
Not because he needed to. Because he wanted you to have time to tell him not to.
You did not.
He crossed only half the room before stopping. Close enough now that the asylum light made his eyes look almost black. Far enough that the space between you still pretended to be professional.
“You should leave us alone,” he said.
“Us?”
“My brother and I.”
“That sounds like a warning.”
“It is.”
“Why?”
His jaw flexed once.
“You will try to save him.”
“That is my job.”
“No.” He stepped closer. “Your job is to treat him. There is a difference.”
“And what will I try to save him from?”
His eyes moved over your face with something almost cruel in its tenderness.
“Me.”
That should have been the moment you understood him.
Instead, it became the moment you wanted to.
You looked at the scar near his throat again. The unbuttoned shirt. The bare feet. The stillness. The way every dangerous thing about him seemed arranged around one private ache he would rather turn into a weapon than show you openly.
“You love him,” you said.
He laughed once. No humour in it.
“Love is too small a word for what we survived.”
“Then what word would you use?”
He looked toward the bed.
You followed his gaze.
For the first time, you noticed the faint groove worn into the floorboards beside it, as if someone had paced there for years. Back and forth. Bed to window. Window to bed. Door to bed. Brother to brother. A lifetime made of the same few steps.
“When we were children,” he said, “he used to sleep with his hand under the bed.”
You looked back at him.
His face was unreadable now.
“He said if the monster came, he would hold its hand before it could climb out.”
Your chest tightened.
“And did it?”
His eyes returned to yours.
“Yes.”
The word was almost gentle.
You should not have asked the next question.
You did anyway.
“Were you the monster?”
He stepped closer.
This time, you stepped back.
Your shoulders touched the door.
He noticed. He stopped immediately. That restraint was worse than being cornered. It made him look less like a threat and more like a man choosing, second by second, not to become one.
“I was the thing under the bed,” he said. “He was the only one who ever reached for me.”
The confession entered you softly.
That was how he did it, you realized.
Not with his brother’s polished cruelty. Not with pretty words and carefully placed wounds.
He gave you a knife by the handle and watched whether you would cut him with it.
“Then why are you warning me away from him?” you asked.
His gaze dropped again. Mouth. Throat. Hands. Notebook. Back to your eyes.
“Because he is starting to reach for you.”
Silence.
Your body betrayed you with one shallow breath.
His eyes darkened.
“And because,” he continued, softer now, “I am starting to understand why.”
You could hear rain. Pipes. Your own pulse. Somewhere outside Room 7, a lock clicked open, then shut again, as if the asylum itself had changed its mind.
“You should not say that to me.”
“No.”
“I am a doctor here.”
“Yes.”
“You are—”
“What?” he asked.
A patient.
A ghost.
A man with no file.
A brother.
A warning.
A monster beneath a bed who had learned how to look human in the dark.
You did not say any of it.
His face softened as if he had heard you anyway.
“You are very quiet when you are afraid of wanting something.”
Heat moved up your throat.
You hated him for noticing.
You hated more that he was right.
“I am not afraid of you,” you said.
His mouth curved, barely.
“Liar.”
He lifted one hand slowly. Not touching you. Not yet. His fingers hovered near the collar of your blouse, close enough for you to feel the warmth of him without contact.
“Tell me to move away,” he said.
You looked at his hand.
Then at his face.
The words were there. Simple. Ethical. Necessary.
Move away.
You did not say them.
His fingers touched the edge of your collar with devastating softness.
Not skin.
Fabric.
That somehow made it worse.
The smallest contact. The most careful trespass.
You closed your eyes for half a second.
He inhaled like the sight cost him something.
When you opened them, his hand was gone.
He had stepped back.
The distance returned so suddenly you almost swayed toward the absence.
He saw that too.
His expression flickered.
Not triumph.
Pain.
“Go,” he said.
The call button lit beside your shoulder.
The door unlocked.
You stared at him.
He turned away first, returning to the bed with the same barefoot silence, the same terrible grace. By the time you opened the door, he was sitting where you had found him, one foot on the floor, one leg bent beneath him, beautiful and unreal beneath the asylum light.
You stepped into the corridor.
The camera above Room 7 blinked red again.
Behind you, his voice followed, quiet enough that no one else would have heard.
“Doctor?”
You stopped.
You should not have turned.
You turned.
He looked at you through the narrow opening of the door.
“Next time,” he said, “record the session.”
Your hand tightened around the notebook.
“Why?”
His smile came slowly.
“Because I want you to hear the moment you stopped lying to yourself.”
The door closed between you.
For a long time, you stood in the corridor with your pulse in your throat and his words beneath your skin.
Then you opened your notebook.
Beneath the first clinical note, in handwriting less steady than before, you wrote:
After a week of endless late-night texting, Nikki finally shows up to your gig. Playing her favorite song from the stage is enough to capture her attention, but running away from a crowd of screaming fans turns a simple backstage reunion into something much tighter, darker, and desperate.
Warnings: NSFW, explicit content, smut, heavy petting, unprotected semi-public encounters (utility room), rough kissing, chasing/running from fans, intersex!reader (g!p), language.
A/n: I hope the user who requested the second part of this story gets what they were hoping for, and if you want more stories, I'm available. Enjoy!
A whole week had dragged by, filled with nothing but the constant hum of a phone vibrating and late-night text messages that left Nikki staring at her bedroom ceiling with a stupid, helpless smile. Talking to you through a screen was nice, but it was nothing compared to the electric feeling of actually being near you in that music shop. She had been counting down the days, checking the calendar more times than she cared to admit, all leading up to tonight.
When she finally arrived at the venue, the bass from the opening act was already thumping against her chest, making the floorboards shake. Nikki squeezed through the crowded room, her stomach doing absolute flips as she clutched the ticket you had saved for her. The atmosphere was loud, sweaty, and overwhelming, but the moment she made it closer to the front and the stage lights began to shift, everything else faded into background noise. She caught her breath, her eyes locked on the empty microphone stand, desperately waiting for you to walk out.
The heat under the stage lights is intense, but the adrenaline rushing through your veins completely drowns it out. You adjust the strap of your guitar, looking out at the sea of blurred faces in the crowd as the final chords of the intro song ring through the speakers. The venue is packed and the noise is deafening, but your eyes are only scanning for one specific person. You have been thinking about this moment all week, wondering if those frantic text messages would actually translate into her showing up.
Then, right near the edge of the barricade under a flash of blue light, you see her. Nikki is standing there, looking slightly out of place in the middle of the chaotic crowd but completely mesmerizing all the same. The second your eyes lock, that familiar, knowing smirk plays on your lips. You step right up to the microphone, gripping it tight as you look straight at her, letting her know without a single word that she officially has your full attention tonight.
You step up to the mic, the roaring crowd blurring into a haze of noise as you strum the first few chords of "Supersonic" by Oasis. It’s a direct nod to your first conversation in the music shop, a subtle inside joke meant entirely for her.
As your voice carries through the venue, you don't break eye contact. You can see Nikki's shoulders drop slightly, her initial nervousness melting away as a surprised, genuine smile breaks across her face. She recognizes the song instantly. Throughout the entire set, it feels like the stage lights are only framing the two of you, the energy between the front row and the microphone tightening with every lyric you sing.
By the time the final song ends and the lights fade, your heart is pounding from more than just the stage adrenaline. You hand off your guitar to a tech and head straight for the backstage exit, bypassing the usual post-show chaos because you know exactly who is waiting for you by the side door.
Nikki is leaning against the brick wall in the cooler alleyway just outside the green room, the muffled bass from the venue's speakers still vibrating through the brick. When the door heavy-clicks open and you step out, still breathing a little hard with sweat dampening your collar, she looks up.
She doesn't even let you speak first. She takes two fast steps forward, a playful but intense heat in her eyes.
"So," Nikki starts, her voice a little breathless but carrying that sharp, teasing edge you've been thinking about all week. She stops just inches away from you, crossing her arms as she looks you up and down. "You write an entire setlist just to show off, or do you always stare down your guests like you're trying to read their minds through a microphone?"
A low, quiet laugh escapes your throat as you look down at her, the teasing words she just spat out doing absolutely nothing to hide the way her eyes are locked onto your lips. You don't bother giving her a clever comeback. Instead, you close the tiny gap between you, your hand sliding firmly around the back of her neck to pull her into a deep, heavy kiss.
Nikki lets out a soft, surprised gasp against your mouth, but she doesn't hesitate for a single second. Her arms immediately wrap around your shoulders, her fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt as she pulls you closer, matching your intensity. The taste of her is intoxicating, and the fact that you've been waiting an entire week for this makes the kiss feel desperate, clumsy with heat, and completely overwhelming. Her back hits the cold brick wall behind her with a dull thud, but neither of you care. Her lips part easily, letting the kiss deepen into something much hungrier as her tongue sweeps against yours, completely throwing away any lingering shyness.
When you finally pull back just an inch to breathe, your foreheads are resting together, both of your chests heaving in the cool night air. Nikki's eyes are dark, completely blown out with desire, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Her hands slowly slide down from your shoulders, her palms slipping underneath the hem of your damp shirt, her warm fingers pressing directly against the bare skin of your waist.
"God, you're driving me crazy," she whispers, her voice dropping into a ragged, breathless purr as she looks up at you through her eyelashes. She gives your skin a firm, possessive squeeze, leaning her hips forward until she's pressed completely flush against you. "Screw waiting until we get to the car. Touch me properly right now."
Your hand slides down from her neck, your fingers hooking under the hem of her denim jacket to pull it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the dusty concrete floor of the alleyway without a care. You press your knee between her thighs, anchoring her against the brick wall as your hands slide down to the waistband of her pants. Nikki lets out a shaky, needy whine, her head tilting back against the brick to give you full access to her neck as your lips follow the line of her jaw, leaving wet, biting kisses down to her collarbone while your fingers work open her belt.
She doesn't just stand there and let you do all the work, though. Her own hands move with a sudden, desperate urgency, tugging your shirt completely out of the way so her warm palms can press against your bare skin. Nikki slides her hands down to your waist, her fingers quickly unbuckling your belt and undoing the button of your pants with a breathless, impatient tug, eager to feel you closer.
She pushes the denim down your hips just enough to clear a path, her thighs squeezing around your knee as the friction between you hits a boiling point, your fingers are just slipping past the lace of her underwear when a sudden, piercing screech echoes from the main entrance of the alleyway.
"Oh my god, I think she went this way! I swear I saw her walk back here!"
The frantic shouting of a dozen fans shatters the silence, and your blood runs cold when you hear them screaming your exact name, followed by the heavy, chaotic stomping of boots running in your direction. They aren't looking for the rest of the band. In fact, they don't even know Nikki is there because they are hunting exclusively you.
Nikki’s eyes snap open, her breath catching in her throat as she looks toward the alley opening, a flash of pure surprise crossing her face before the mood shatters into instant panic. You don't even have time to think. You quickly button your pants, grab her dropped denim jacket in one swift motion, and wrap your fingers tightly around her hand.
"Run," you whisper fiercely.
You pull her along, sprinting down the twisting, poorly lit maze of the backstage corridors while the echoes of fans shouting your name chase close behind. Nikki’s boots click loudly against the pavement, her laughter cutting through her ragged breaths as the sheer adrenaline of the escape takes over. You turn a sharp corner, pushing open a heavy metal door that leads into a secluded, dimly lit utility room near the back parking lot. You pull her inside, slamming the door shut and sliding the deadbolt into place with a heavy click.
The room is dead silent, save for the sound of your frantic, overlapping breathing.
Nikki drops her back against the locked door, her hair completely wild and her chest heaving violently. She looks at you, her eyes dark, completely blown out with a mixture of the running adrenaline and the sudden realization of just how badly everyone out there wants a piece of you. But right now, you're locked in the dark with her. A heavy, possessive heat flares in her gaze, and she doesn't even care about the dusty floor or the cramped space. She reaches out, grabbing the collar of your shirt and pulling you down to her level with a fierce, demanding tug.
"They're gone," she pants, her voice thick and dripping with frustration as she wraps her legs around your waist, locking you against her. Her hands slide into your hair, tilting your face down to hers. "You got me this rewound, completely losing my mind all week, and now I have to share you with a stadium? Absolutely not. You are not leaving me like this. Make me yours right now."
Summary: You cause the family secret to be exposed to the Lang-Cushing family.
Pairing: Sarah Cushing x Kent!Reader
Requested: by this anon. Hope you like it.
Word Count: 872
Warnings: None!
The drive to the Kent farm was quiet. Not the quiet that made the ride faster or longer, more like the inbetween. Sarah felt her skin tingle every time she saw her mother’s head look back at her. The last two hours kept jumping around her head.
You're an alien.
Clark Kent, the dorky best friend of her mother, was. No, is Superman.
You have powers and you saved her.
Sarah saw her cheeks go a light pink in the window reflection. You didn’t even hesitate when you saw the alien, you immediately risked your identity to save her. Sarah could still see the mirrored look of shock when you realised what had happened. Especially when Clark had shown up as Superman and figured out what had happened.
That’s why the minute you had flown her home, her family was getting ready to go over to the Kents. She hadn’t mentioned anything since her parents saw you fly away.
“Sarah, we’re here” Lana smiled at her eldest daughter. Sarah gulped as she exited the car, hearing your loud protests towards Lois, who was just as loud as you. Sophie clung to her side as they walked up to the front door. By the way Kyle had knocked, Sarah knew her father’s ego had been buried deep down and for good reason.
Jonathan opened the door, flinching at a curse that you shouted. “Sorry about (Y/N), she’s fighting with Mom and Dad for a reason that is somehow involved with your visit” He muttered, moving to the side of the door to let them in.
Sarah begged that she hadn’t caused you to argue with Lois and Clark. Lana gave him a reassuring smile. Jordan was seated at the table, stuck between you and your parents.
Your gaze was on Clark, eyes tinted red as you spoke a completely different language. Clark had a stern gaze but it had no indicator of red. Lois sighed once you noticed the Cushing-Langs in the room. “(Y/N), calm down, now” Lois warned you. Sarah never heard the reporter’s voice so stoic.
You quickly registered the heartbeat of your crush and in an act of teenage rebellion at its finest, you rolled your eyes, huffed and flopped down on a chair without breaking it. Jonathan had taken a seat next to you, a quick pat on the shoulder. “Let me just get a chair for Sophie” Lois smiled, the tension in the room becoming suffocating even for her.
Sarah took the spare seat next to you. “You okay?” Sarah asked you. You shrugged at the question. You’d be lucky if your other father didn’t show his face. You felt a hand slither into your own. You let out a soft smile before your father cleared his throat.
“There is something that we… I have been hiding from you guys for a long time” Clark started before taking off his glasses. You let out a small scoff. ‘The glasses thing? Really’ You rolled your eyes. “Okay Kent, you’re not blind?” Kyle stated thinking that was the big secret.
Clark deadpanned before shooting an ocular ray of energy just past Kyle’s head to hit a metal pan. “Holy Shit!” Kyle exclaimed. Lana looked from the pan to Clark for a good two minutes. Sarah just looked at the man in awe. She always thought he was Mr ‘alway late and barely shows up but when he does is awkward and clumsy’ Clark Kent. Now she knows it’s all an act because he’s Superman. Sophie was jumping up and down, hoping that Mr. Kent would do more tricks.
“You’re… Superman?” Lana asked, the disbelief on her face ever so clear. Clark nodded before giving you a look. “And I’m the new Supergirl. I was created using Lois’ and Clark’s DNA mixed with Lex Luthor to replace him but Lex didn’t know that Clark was Superman so when I tried to fuck up Metropolis it didn’t work out” You explained plainly as if you wanted to take over the world.
You got the ‘bitch seriously? now?’ look from your brothers. You gave them a scoff before getting up from your chair. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag,I’m leaving” You smiled evilly before walking out the closet door.
Sarah walked into the Kent Barn. It had been an hour or so since you left and Clark had to explain everything. Thankfully Jordan told her where she could find you. “Your heart’s beating faster than usual” You said from behind her.
Sarah jumped before turning around to see you closing a cellar door. “Where did you just…?” Sarah asked you. “We hide my Dad’s pod down in the old cellar and I hide the whiskey from them” You smiled at her. Sarah just let out a laugh, “ So… you were made to take over the world huh?” She asked you coming closer.
You shrugged, “Well I’m pretty sure I already have” . Sarah gave you a puzzled look before your hands met her cheeks as you pulled her in for a kiss. It only lasted a few seconds, not giving Sarah anytime to kiss back. The latina was taken back by your bold move.
Jungkook is the studio’s most desired male star, arrogant enough to believe no one can direct him better than himself. But when a calm assistant director in training starts seeing through his performances, he becomes obsessed with the woman behind the monitor — never knowing she is also his top anonymous contributor behind the black screen.
Pairing: Pornstar!Jungkook x Assistant Director!Reader
Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, explicit sexual content, adult film industry setting, performer/director dynamics, workplace romance, workplace tension, professional power dynamics, private VIP/video call, masturbation on call, adult performer work with co-stars, crude sexual language, dirty talk, rough sex, unprotected sex/raw sex, creampie , fingering, semi-public sex, sex on the floor, sex on furniture/desks, vanity sex, possessive behaviour, jealousy, D/s undertones, praise/degradation, overstimulation, aftercare, sexual harassment comment from a side character, and dangerous levels of banana milk propaganda.
⤷﹒Love You to Death: The Obsession Files: jjk - pout for the picture
The first time you cut Jungkook mid-scene, the whole studio went quiet. Not because no one had ever stopped a scene before. Scenes stopped all the time. Lights failed. Cameras needed changing. Someone missed a mark. Someone forgot a cue. Someone needed water, air, a minute to remember their body belonged to them after all. The studio was built on interruption. But people rarely stopped Jungkook. Not when he looked the way he looked beneath the lights. Not when the camera loved him with embarrassing devotion. Not when his body knew exactly where to stand, where to turn, how to catch the glow along his shoulders and the ink on his arms. Not when he could take something flat on paper and make it dangerous by lowering his chin, letting his mouth curve, and looking like he knew something filthy about the world that he had decided not to share yet. Jungkook was beautiful in the way that made people forgive laziness, and that was the problem.
You had been watching him for weeks before you said anything. That was the part nobody understood. They thought correction arrived the moment a mistake appeared, sharp and immediate, like a blade striking bone. They did not see the quiet work before it. The watching. The pattern. The difference between one tired take and a habit. The difference between a performer protecting himself and a performer hiding behind the fact that nobody in the room wanted to ask more of him. As assistant director, your job was not only to keep the day moving. It was not only call sheets, timing, notes, performer safety, angles, blocking, and keeping the room from slipping into chaos. Your job was to notice what the camera caught and what everyone else pretended it did not.
Jungkook knew how to fill a frame. He knew how to make people lean closer to a monitor without realizing they had moved. He knew how to hold still in ways that felt like threat. He knew exactly how much of his mouth to show when he smiled, exactly when to look down, exactly when to look back up through his lashes like he had already ruined someone and was only waiting for them to admit it. He knew bodies. He knew angles. He knew the language of being watched. But his eyes kept leaving, and that was what bothered you. Not because it ruined the fantasy. You did not care about fantasy in the way other people did. You cared about truth, even inside the machinery of desire. Especially there. A scene could be staged, lit, blocked, sold, watched, and still carry a living pulse if the people inside it were present. If their reactions were alive. If their silence meant something. If their eyes did not go empty the moment their bodies did what everyone expected. Jungkook’s body was flawless, but his eyes were waiting for the day to end.
“Cut,” you said.
The word left your mouth before Namjoon could say it. One of the camera assistants looked at you. The boom operator shifted. The performer opposite Jungkook blinked, relief and irritation passing over her face so quickly you almost missed it. Namjoon, sitting just behind you, lifted his eyes from the monitor. Jungkook stopped moving. Slowly. He turned his head toward you with the controlled disbelief of a man deciding whether to laugh at someone or ruin their day. You kept your eyes on the monitor for one second longer, because the monitor never lied. People did. Bodies did. Beautiful faces did. A performer could fill a room with heat and still show nothing real in the eyes. Jungkook’s eyes had been empty. Again.
“Problem?” he asked.
His voice carried across the set, rough and bored and already half-amused. He stood beneath the warm studio lights in black, skin gleaming faintly under the heat, hair pushed back from his face, mouth swollen into something obscene even at rest. He looked like exactly what everyone expected him to look like. That was not enough for you.
“You are not really here,” you said.
The room went even quieter.
Jungkook’s brows lifted. “Sorry?”
“You heard me.”
Namjoon’s hand hovered near the talkback like he was deciding whether to save you from yourself. You did not look at him. Jungkook’s stare sharpened.
“You want to say that again?”
“You moved correctly,” you said, still looking at the monitor. “Your body hit every mark. The angle works. The lighting works. Technically, everything is there.”
His mouth curled. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment.”
“It was not.”
A few people forgot how to breathe. You finally looked at him.
“Your eyes are not in the scene.”
Something changed in his face. Not much. Nothing dramatic. A tightening around the mouth. A flicker of annoyance behind the eyes. Not because you had insulted him, you thought, but because you had found the right place to press.
Jungkook leaned back slightly. “My eyes?”
“Yes.”
“You are directing my eyes now?”
“I am correcting the thing that makes the scene false.”
The silence that followed was loud. Jungkook stared at you for another second, then laughed once. It was humourless and low.
“Brave.”
“No,” you said. “Observant.”
Namjoon made a small sound behind you. Warning, maybe. Amusement, maybe. You were not sure. Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the monitor, then back to you.
“And what do my eyes need to do, boss?”
The word boss landed like a threat dressed as a joke. You did not flinch.
“Follow your body.”
His expression went still.
“Right now, your body is doing the work and your eyes are waiting for the scene to be over. You look bored.”
His jaw flexed.
“You look like you know everyone will accept it because you are pretty enough to make them forget you are not present.”
The entire set disappeared for half a second. There was only Jungkook looking at you, and you looking back, and something sharp passing between you that neither of you had language for yet. Then he smiled. It was not nice.
“Pretty enough?” he repeated.
You held his stare. “Was that the only part you heard?”
The performer beside him covered a laugh badly with a cough. Jungkook did not look away from you.
“Run it again,” Namjoon said finally, his voice careful. “From the last mark.”
Jungkook turned back to his position. His shoulders were loose, but the back of his neck had gone tight. You watched the monitor. This time, when the scene began, his body moved the same way. Perfectly. But his eyes were different. Angry, yes. Irritated, absolutely. Slightly murderous, probably. But present. There was a pulse behind them now, a dangerous attention that had not been there before. He looked into the scene like he was looking at something he wanted to fight. Or someone.
You leaned forward slightly.
“There,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself.
Jungkook’s gaze flicked toward the monitor for the smallest second. He had heard you. That was the first mistake.
The second mistake was that you praised him again two days later. Not warmly. Not generously. You were not foolish enough to feed a man like Jungkook praise with your hands open. You gave it sparingly, professionally, like medicine measured in drops.
“You were present today,” you said after a difficult take.
He had been waiting near the monitors as if he was only passing by. He did that often now. Drifted close enough to hear your notes, far enough to pretend he did not care whether you gave them. Jungkook looked at you.
“You say that like I was previously dead.”
“You were professionally absent.”
“Professionally absent,” he repeated. “That sounds like an expensive insult.”
“It is free.”
His mouth twitched. You looked down at your notes.
“Your eyes followed your body today. The scene worked because you let the reaction arrive before the movement.”
“You always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you are diagnosing ghosts.”
You glanced up. “Only when I see one.”
For once, Jungkook did not have an immediate answer.
That was when it started. Not love. Not even desire, not exactly. Desire had been there from the beginning, inconvenient and irritating, coiled beneath every argument and correction and look across the monitor. Desire was easy. Boring, almost. The studio ran on desire the way cities ran on electricity. What started then was worse. Jungkook began asking for you.
Not directly at first. Men like him rarely handed over evidence that cleanly. He asked Namjoon whether you were covering a scene. He complained if someone else gave him notes. He pretended your corrections annoyed him and then did them exactly. He fought harder when you were watching and listened more carefully when you were the one speaking. He became addicted to being caught. You knew because his laziness changed shape. Before, it had been beautiful and casual, the laziness of someone who knew the room would forgive him. After, when he missed something, it felt deliberate. Like a dare. Like he wanted you to notice. So you noticed.
“Again,” you said one afternoon.
Jungkook looked at you from the set, sweat at his temple, mouth parted around a breath that would have looked convincing to anyone who did not know better.
“You have got to be joking.”
“Again.”
Namjoon glanced between you both, then lifted his hands in surrender. “Again from the top.”
Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “What was wrong this time?”
“You anticipated the reaction.”
“I anticipated the reaction,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words and finding them stupid. “God forbid I understand timing.”
“You did not understand it. You jumped it.”
“I jumped it?”
“Yes.”
He stepped off his mark with a laugh that did not reach his eyes. “You want to come here and do it better?”
“No. I want you to do it better.”
That shut him up. The room felt it. The little shift. The difference between criticism and belief. Jungkook felt it too, though he would rather have choked than admit it. He did the scene again. Better. Afterward, he came to stand near the monitors, too close to be casual, too far to be honest.
“You enjoy this?” he asked.
“Doing my job?”
“Making me repeat myself.”
“When it improves the work, yes.”
His mouth curved. “That sounded like a yes to me.”
“Then your hearing is selective.”
“It has to be. You talk too much.”
“You listen more than you pretend to.”
His smile thinned. There it was again. That pressure point. The quiet place where all his performance thinned into something real. You should have been more careful with it.
Jungkook was not a cruel man, not in the simple way people liked to call men cruel when they wanted to avoid understanding them. He was defensive. Proud. Vain in the places he had been taught to survive through. He had a mouth that reached for blood before it reached for truth. He was used to being wanted and unused to being known, which made knowing him feel like trespassing even when he had invited you to the door. For months, you built something strange with him through the monitor. You corrected his hands, his pauses, his false notes. He corrected your patience by testing it every chance he got. You watched him become sharper, more present, more difficult in interesting ways. He watched you watch him and hated how much it mattered.
Then one afternoon, in front of everyone, he used the wrong weapon.
It had been a long day. Too many takes. Too much heat. A scene that refused to settle no matter how many times you shaped it. Jungkook was already irritated, his body restless, jaw hard, eyes bright with the kind of anger that meant he felt exposed. He had given you a good take fifteen minutes ago, and then he had lost it. Slipped back into the old ease, the old surface, the old beautiful emptiness that made your teeth clench. You cut again.
“Your reaction is late,” you said.
“It is not late.”
“It is.”
“It is a scene, not a fucking court hearing.”
“You are missing the emotional turn.”
Jungkook laughed, sharp and ugly. “The emotional turn.”
The crew went quiet in that way people did when they sensed entertainment becoming danger. You kept your voice calm.
“Yes.”
“Maybe if you stopped staring at my face like you are waiting for divine revelation, you would see the scene is fine.”
Namjoon said his name once. Low. Jungkook ignored him. You stood by the monitors, clipboard pressed to your chest, every eye in the room suddenly aware of you as a body and not a professional. That was his gift in that moment, and he knew it. He knew exactly where to strike.
“You want me present?” he asked, mouth curling. “Or do you just like telling yourself you are the only one in the room who can see me properly?”
The words hit harder than they should have. Not because they were true. Because they touched the private place your job lived inside you. The place that needed to be taken seriously. The place that had worked too hard to sit at those monitors and have a man in front of everyone reduce your attention to some embarrassing personal hunger. The silence after was worse than the sentence. You could feel everyone pretending not to have heard. You could feel the performer on set looking away. The camera assistant lowering his eyes to a piece of equipment that did not need adjusting. Namjoon going very, very still behind you. The studio lights burned Jungkook’s skin gold, but he was not the exposed one anymore. You were.
And for one second, you saw the exact moment he realized it. His mouth remained shaped around the cruelty, but his eyes changed. Regret arrived late and useless, like a man running toward a door after it had already locked. You stared at him. Then you set the clipboard down carefully. If your hands shook, nobody saw.
“That is enough for today,” you said.
Your voice did not shake. That was what saved you. You walked out before anyone could see what his words had done.
Outside, the air felt too cold against your face. You found the side alley behind the studio where people went to smoke, cry, argue on the phone, or become human again between scenes. You stood with your back to the brick wall and pressed the heel of your hand against your sternum once, hard, as if your body had become something that needed holding in place. You were not angry. You wished you were. Anger would have been cleaner. Anger would have given you something useful to do with your hands. Hurt was worse because it asked for honesty. You took out a cigarette from the emergency pack you kept in your bag and lit it with fingers that were steady only because you forced them to be. The first drag hurt your throat. Good. Pain with an obvious source felt kinder than the other kind.
The back door opened behind you. You did not turn. The door shut. Silence. Then Jungkook’s voice, lower than usual.
“You smoke?”
You stared at the wall opposite you. “Sometimes.”
He stepped closer. Not too close. For once.
“I did not know that.”
“There are many things you do not know.”
He said nothing. You took another drag, then lowered the cigarette. Your throat burned. You stared at the ash trembling at the tip because looking at him felt too much like giving him the privilege of seeing where he had hit. Jungkook stood beside you, close enough that you could see his black shirt from the corner of your eye, the silver of his rings, the tension in his hand. He smelled like studio heat and soap and something sharp beneath it.
“You were out of line,” you said.
His jaw moved. “I know.”
You looked at him then. He looked like the words had cost him something. Good.
“You did not just insult me,” you said. “You made my work look like a joke in front of everyone.”
His eyes flicked down.
“You made it seem like my direction was personal. Like my attention was something embarrassing. Like I was not doing my job.”
“I know,” he said again, rougher.
“You do not get to do that because you feel cornered.”
“I said I know.”
“No,” you said. “You heard me. That is not the same thing.”
Jungkook looked at you then. Really looked. His mouth opened, but no apology came out. You could see it fighting somewhere behind his teeth, too unfamiliar to arrive cleanly. He had probably learned how to say sorry in the worst possible places. After being caught. After being forced. After being made to mean it for someone else’s comfort rather than his own remorse. He looked furious with himself.
You almost looked away.
Then his gaze dropped to the cigarette between your fingers.
“Can I?”
You frowned slightly. “Can you what?”
He nodded toward the cigarette. “Have some.”
For some reason, that almost made you laugh. Not because it was funny. Because it was ridiculous, standing there with all that hurt between you, and Jungkook still somehow asking for a piece of the thing in your hand like it might give him something to do besides fail at apologising.
You held it out.
His fingers brushed yours when he took it. Less than a second, but your whole body registered it like a bad decision. He drew from the cigarette, eyes not leaving yours, then looked at the faint stain your mouth had left on the filter.
“This was an indirect kiss, you know,” he said.
You stared at him.
“You asked for my cigarette.”
“I did.”
“So technically, you kissed me first.”
His mouth curved, softer this time. Still wrong. Still him.
“Fine,” he said, handing it back. “Then I kissed you back.”
You should not have wanted to laugh. You almost did. Instead, you looked away because the wall was safer than his face.
“Do not make this charming,” you said.
“I am not doing it on purpose.”
“That is worse.”
“I know.”
You took the cigarette back and held it between your fingers without smoking. The filter was warm from his mouth now. You hated that you noticed.
“You hurt me,” you said.
The words changed him more than anger had. Jungkook’s face went still.
“I know,” he said.
This time, it sounded different. Nothing was fixed that day. But something changed.
After that, Jungkook began apologising in the only language he trusted: action. Coffee appeared near your monitor one morning, exactly how you drank it. He said nothing about it. You said nothing either. Another day, he followed a note without arguing. The day after that, when a camera assistant spoke over you twice, Jungkook looked at him and said, “She is talking,” in a tone mild enough to be professional and sharp enough to make the man shut up immediately. You did not thank him. He did not ask you to. But you noticed. He noticed that you noticed.
For a while, that was the language. He behaved better. You gave less. Not because you were punishing him, exactly. Because hurt made you precise. Before, your corrections had carried heat, investment, a private edge of belief. After, they became clean and professional. You gave him what the work required and nothing extra. Jungkook hated it. You could tell by the way he lingered. By the way he waited for notes that did not come. By the way he made one almost lazy choice in an otherwise perfect take, glanced toward the monitors, and looked furious when you only said, “Reset from mark three.”
Two weeks later, after a clean scene, he came to stand near you while the crew began moving equipment.
“That is all?” he asked.
You looked down at your notes. “Yes.”
“You got nothing else?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened. “You always have something else.”
“I gave you the note during the scene.”
“That was technical.”
“It was the note.”
He leaned closer, voice lowered because the crew was still around. “Why are you being like that?”
You looked at him then. He looked irritated, but his eyes were not. His eyes looked almost lost.
“Like what?”
“Like I am a stranger you are being paid to tolerate.”
You breathed in slowly. “I am doing my job.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No,” you said quietly. “It is what I can answer here.”
For once, he followed the line you drew.
Later, by the monitors when most of the crew had cleared, he came back. He did not swagger this time. Did not grin. Did not put his hands in his pockets like he was pretending nothing mattered.
“I fucked up,” he said.
The words landed awkwardly between you. You looked at him. He swallowed.
“I know you are not angry.”
Your heart gave a small, painful twist. “That took you two weeks?”
His mouth twitched, then fell. “I know you are hurt.”
You did not answer. Jungkook looked down at the monitor. It reflected the overhead lights in black glass.
“I know the difference now,” he said.
That did something to you. Something you did not let show.
“You cannot fix hurt by trying to make me fight you,” you said.
His mouth pressed tight.
“You cannot bait me back into caring.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“I did care,” you said. “That is why it hurt.”
The room fell very quiet around him. Jungkook nodded once. It looked like it cost him more than any apology.
After that, his trying changed. He stopped making mistakes to get your attention. He started working like he wanted your respect more than your reaction. He still complained, of course. Jungkook without complaint would have been a medical emergency. But the complaints shifted from defence into habit. Noise around effort. After one scene, he came to the monitor and asked, low, almost awkward, “Was everything okay today?” You looked up. There was no smugness in him. No “was that good for you?” No filthy little tilt to his mouth. Just a man trying not to look like he cared.
“Yes,” you said. “You were present today.”
His face went still.
“Your eyes followed your body.”
For a second, he looked almost young. Then he ruined it by nodding at the monitor.
“About time my eyes got their shit together.”
You smiled before you could stop yourself. He saw it. That was the beginning of the next problem.
Jungkook did not know what to do with warmth except turn it into heat.
There was another thing you had never said out loud.
Before you worked directly with him, before you sat behind the monitor with a headset and a clipboard and the authority to call cut, you had known Jungkook through a screen. Not in the way you knew him now. Not as a man who went quiet when a note hit too close, or smiled badly when praised, or hid exhaustion behind arrogance. Back then, he had been safer because he had been distant. A fantasy with a payment button. A beautiful mouth, a cruel voice, a body that knew how to be wanted.
You had been one of his top contributors under a username he had no reason to connect to your face.
It had not felt complicated at first. You never treated him like he owed you anything. You never filled his chat with demands or tried to buy pieces of him that were not on offer. You watched quietly, gave generously, and left before the illusion could ask anything from you. He was a fantasy, and fantasy was easiest when it stayed where it belonged: behind glass.
Then the studio put him in front of you.
The first time you corrected him, the fantasy cracked. The first time you saw his eyes go empty while his body kept performing, something in you stopped being a viewer and became a witness. After that, contributing felt wrong. He was no longer only the man on your screen. He was someone you worked with. Someone whose false notes bothered you. Someone you could hurt if you forgot the difference between wanting and consuming.
So you stopped.
Jungkook noticed.
Of course he did. A man like him survived by noticing who wanted him and what shape that want took. He noticed the generous account that went quiet. He noticed the absence more than the money. Later, he noticed the way you watched him from behind the monitor — not hungry in the usual way, not careless, not impressed by the parts of him everyone else forgave. You watched like you were trying to find the person underneath the performance.
He did not confront you.
At first, because he did not know for certain. A username was not a face. A pattern was not proof. And later, when suspicion began to feel less like coincidence, he still said nothing because naming it would have made it real. It would have exposed your private wanting and his own awareness of it. It would have forced him to ask why you had stopped watching him that way, why you could look at him through a monitor now and seem more interested in the truth than the fantasy he knew how to sell.
Jungkook did not know what to do with that.
So when the private message came through that night, sent to the username you had abandoned, you understood exactly what he was offering. Not only a call. Not only heat. He was reaching for the safest version of himself, the one you had paid to watch before you knew enough to ask for more.
Live. Private. If you want it.
You stared at the message for a long time.
It should have been simple. Once, it would have been. Once, the distance would have made it easy to press accept and let the fantasy stay a fantasy.
But now you knew the difference between his camera voice and his real one.
Now you knew what his eyes looked like when they left the room.
Now you wanted the one thing he did not know how to sell.
The screen glowed in your dark room. He looked at you like distance was an insult.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“Should I be worried?”
“Always.”
There was that smile. That terrible little curve. The one that had made hundreds of people mistake confidence for intimacy. But then he looked at you too closely. Not at the screen. At you. And something in the room shifted. The call was seductive. Of course it was. Jungkook knew how to be wanted. He knew how to create a private room out of light and voice and attention. He knew how to make the person watching feel chosen, singled out, dragged closer through glass. He spoke like sin was a language he had learned young and perfected out of spite. But underneath it, you saw the ache. That was what hurt. He thought this was what you wanted from him. He thought the hunger in your eyes meant he needed to offer the performance harder, closer, more directly. He thought he could bridge the distance between you by becoming the fantasy before you had the chance to ask for the man.
You watched him and felt your chest ache with want and sadness at once. Not because you did not desire him. God help you, you did. Your body reacted before your pride could negotiate. But your heart kept reaching past the performance and finding him hidden behind it, watching you watch him, waiting to see if this was enough. At some point, his voice dropped lower.
“You are quiet.”
“I am watching.”
“That all?”
No. It was never all.
His mouth curved like he knew exactly what watching meant, but his eyes gave him away before his body did. Jungkook leaned back against the pillows, phone angled carelessly in one hand, the other sliding down his stomach with a slowness that felt practised at first. Too practised. Too camera-aware. He watched your face on the screen as his hand disappeared lower, his breath changing before he let the sound reach you. When his fingers wrapped around his hard cock, his jaw tightened, the smugness in his mouth flickering under the first rough pull. He tried to make it look easy. He tried to make it look like another performance, another private show, another thing he knew how to sell without giving anything real away. But then your name left his mouth, low and almost unwilling, and the rhythm of his hand faltered. Once. Twice. Like imagining you there had ruined the timing he usually controlled. His thumb dragged over the sensitive head with a sharp inhale, his hips lifting into his own fist before he caught himself and laughed under his breath, rough and embarrassed by how quickly you had gotten under his skin.
“See?” he murmured, voice lower now, less polished around the edges. “This is what you do. You sit there looking at me like you are not eating me alive through the screen, and I am supposed to act normal?”
"I need you to see what you do to me."
He tightened his hand around his hard cock, worked himself slower, rougher, letting you see the way his body reacted even when his mouth kept trying to turn it into arrogance. His eyes stayed on yours. That was the dangerous part. Not the movement, not the exposed heat of him, not the filth of his voice when he told you he had thought about your hands on him more than once. It was the fact that, for a second, he forgot to perform. His face shifted open with need before he could hide it, brows drawing together, breath catching hard in his throat as his hand moved faster. He looked beautiful, yes. Obscene, yes. But beneath that, he looked almost angry with himself for wanting you in a way the camera could not make clean.
“You wanted to watch me, honey?” he said, but the words shook at the end. “Then watch properly.”
You looked at him through the screen, at the beautiful face, the vulgar mouth, the eyes that kept searching yours for proof.
“You are good at this,” you said softly.
His smile flickered.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Something about the answer disappointed him. Or maybe it disappointed you. Because good at this was not what you wanted to say. You wanted to say: I see you trying to offer me the thing everyone else wants because you do not know what else you are allowed to give. You wanted to say: I want the part of you that does not know what to do when I praise your eyes. You wanted to say: stop performing for me and come here. But you did not.
You pulled back without meaning to. Jungkook noticed. He misunderstood. The next week, he became worse. More jokes. More innuendos. More accidental glances. More filthy comments dropped under his breath when he walked past the monitors. He performed harder because he thought the performance was what had worked before. You wanted to shake him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to stop offering you the mask when all you wanted was the man.
Then Jimin arrived.
Jimin was beautiful in a way that looked manufactured. Smooth where Jungkook was rough. Polished where Jungkook was instinct. He had the sort of face that had learned early how much attention it could earn and never developed anything interesting enough to keep it. He lowered his voice when he spoke to you, as if roughness could be borrowed by dropping an octave. The first time he did it, Jungkook looked up from across the set. You caught the look. Jimin did too. That was the beginning of his mistake.
Jimin asked for your notes too often. Not because he wanted the work better. Because he wanted the thing Jungkook had. Your attention.
“What do you think?” Jimin asked after a take, coming to stand too close to the monitors.
“You hit the marks,” you said. “The reaction is clean. Keep your left shoulder open on the turn.”
He smiled. “That is it?”
“That is it.”
His eyes moved briefly to Jungkook, who stood near the edge of the set with a towel around his neck and murder in his eyes.
“You give him more.”
You looked at Jimin. “He needs more.”
Jungkook laughed once from across the room. Jimin’s jaw flexed. Another day, Jimin stayed after his own scene to watch Jungkook work. He leaned beside the door, arms folded, gaze moving over Jungkook with too much calculation. Jungkook noticed immediately. He always did. Jungkook’s next take was brutal in its precision. Not louder. Not showier. Better. Present. Every movement threaded to reaction. Every pause alive. His eyes found the camera and then, through the monitor, found you. You stopped breathing for half a second. Jimin saw that too.
After the take, Jimin approached you while Jungkook was still on set.
“So that is what you like,” he said.
You did not look up from the notes. “I like performers who understand the scene.”
He lowered his voice. “Maybe you should teach me like that.”
Jungkook’s head turned. You looked at Jimin then.
“I am teaching you.”
His smile sharpened. “Feels different.”
“That is because you are not listening.”
Jungkook made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.
Jimin looked over. “Something funny?”
“You,” Jungkook said. “Standing there begging for notes like a dog that learned one trick and wants a biscuit.”
“Jungkook,” you said.
He looked at you. You gave him one warning glance. He shut his mouth. That, more than the insult, made Jimin’s face change.
Later, you heard Jungkook in Namjoon’s office.
“Move him to someone else.”
Namjoon sounded tired. “No.”
“She does not need to deal with him.”
“She is being trained for more responsibility. That includes performers who annoy you.”
“He does not annoy me.”
Namjoon laughed. Jungkook did not.
“He is trying to get under her skin,” Jungkook said.
“And you think storming in here proves what exactly?”
Silence. Then Jungkook, low and furious, “He looks at her wrong.”
“You used to look at everyone wrong.”
“Not like that.”
Namjoon’s voice softened by a fraction. “Then trust her to handle it.”
Jungkook came out of the office a minute later, saw you standing by the hallway with a stack of schedules in your hand, and stopped. You lifted a brow.
He looked away. “Do not.”
“I did not say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is very professional.”
“Your face is a menace.”
You almost smiled. He saw that too.
Jimin’s first real mistake happened at the studio dinner. Namjoon had arranged it as a crew-bonding thing, which meant too many people in one room pretending not to be exhausted. The table was long, the lighting too warm, the conversation too loud. You sat with your back straight and your drink untouched, feeling the weight of people around you in that quiet way you hated. You were good at rooms when you had a role in them. Give you a monitor, a schedule, a crisis, a performer missing a mark, and you could stand in the centre of chaos with a steady voice and a pen in your hand. But social dinners were worse. No clear purpose. No clean edges. Too much noise and too many eyes. Too many people letting professionalism loosen around alcohol and pretending the loosening did not still have consequences.
Jungkook sat beside you. He did not ask. He just took the seat, leaned back like he owned the air, and placed his hand on your thigh beneath the table. You went still. Not because you wanted him to move. Because you did not. His palm was warm through the edge of your stockings, fingers heavy but careful. He did not squeeze. Did not make it a show. He simply kept his hand there as if he had noticed something in your shoulders that you had been trying to hide from everyone else. Your breathing settled before your pride could object.
Jungkook looked ahead, bored expression firmly in place, as if he was not currently holding you together under a table full of people. You turned your glass a little with your fingertips. His thumb moved once against your thigh. Barely there. A question. You did not move away. His hand stayed. Jimin sat across from you. Haeun, another performer with a sharp mouth and sharper eyeliner, was beside him, swirling wine in her glass. The conversation wandered through work, schedules, shoots, complaints, gossip. Jungkook contributed mostly insults. Haeun laughed too loudly at half of them, either because she found him funny or because she wanted you to notice she found him funny. You did not give her the satisfaction of checking. Jimin watched the hand you were not supposed to know he could not see. Then he smiled at you. It was too smooth.
“So,” he said, “with all the scenes you watch, I have to ask. What would your favourite toy be?”
The table shifted. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But enough. Jungkook’s hand went still on your thigh. You held Jimin’s gaze.
“Excuse me?”
He lifted both hands. “Relax. We are all adults here. It is just a question.”
“She does not need to answer that,” Jungkook said.
His voice was not loud. It did not have to be.
Jimin’s eyes flicked to him. “I was not asking you.”
“I did not ask if you were.”
Haeun gave a small laugh. “It is not exactly shocking dinner conversation in this industry.”
Jungkook looked at her. “There is a difference between work and being a rude prick over pasta.”
Her mouth closed.
Jimin smiled wider. “I thought we were getting to know each other as a crew.”
“Then ask her what music she likes,” Jungkook said. “Not what she would use in private.”
Your heart hit your ribs once. Jungkook’s hand remained on your thigh. Steady. Grounding. You placed your hand over his under the table and drew a small circle with your thumb. He went very still. You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear. His inhale broke halfway through, only you would have noticed.
“If I were to use a toy,” you whispered, “it would be your hands.”
Jungkook’s fingers tightened once on your thigh. A warning to himself, not to you. You pulled back and reached for your glass as if nothing had happened. But everything had happened. You could feel it in the way Jungkook stopped breathing properly for three full seconds. In the way his face remained bored through sheer violence of will. In the way his hand became warmer against your skin.
Jimin saw enough. Of course he did.
“What was that?” he asked.
You looked at him. “Private.”
“Oh?” His smile sharpened. “Are we not allowed to know what you two are discussing? I thought this was a crew conversation.”
Jungkook’s head turned slowly.
Jimin leaned back. “Come on. I am curious now. What is your favourite toy?”
You looked at him for a long second. Then you smiled. Not kindly.
“Do you often repeat yourself when women do not answer you the first time?”
The table went silent. Jimin’s smile twitched. You stood before Jungkook could. Everyone looked at you. Your voice came out calm.
“I prefer to keep my personal life separate from professional conversation.”
Jimin opened his mouth. You did not let him have it.
“And I also prefer not to confuse invasive questions with maturity.”
You took your bag from the back of your chair.
“Enjoy dinner.”
You walked out with your spine straight. You made it to the hallway before the restaurant noise dropped behind you. Then the door opened again almost immediately. Jungkook. Of course. He did not touch you at first. That was what almost broke you. He stood close enough that you knew he was there, far enough that the choice remained yours.
“I told him to keep your name out of his mouth,” he said.
You closed your eyes briefly. “Did you?”
“And told Haeun to shut up.”
Despite everything, a laugh tried to rise in your throat.
Jungkook stepped closer. “He crossed a line.”
“I know.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I know.”
He was quiet. When you opened your eyes, he was watching you like he wanted to do violence and did not trust himself to speak around it. You reached for his hand. He gave it to you immediately. His fingers closed around yours, warm and careful. For a while, neither of you said anything. The hallway was dim and empty, the restaurant noise muffled behind the door. Jungkook’s shoulders were still tense, but his hand in yours was patient. He did not demand that you talk. Did not ask you to reassure him that his anger was justified. Did not turn your discomfort into his performance. He stood there with you and let the silence belong to you.
That was the first time you thought Jungkook might be safe. Not harmless. Never harmless. Safe.
Jimin made the mistake of thinking Jungkook’s silence had been restraint without consequence. The set was busy that morning. Too busy. People moving equipment. Namjoon answering questions. You by the monitors, clipboard in hand, already tired despite the day barely starting. Jimin’s scene was simple. Too simple to justify how much attention he kept trying to draw. He missed a mark twice. Lowered his voice unnecessarily. Smirked in your direction after a line that was not written to land that way. You corrected him once.
He smiled. “Anything else?”
“No.”
It should have been a normal shoot. It should have been another scene with too much lighting adjustment and not enough coffee, another day of Namjoon pretending he had control over performers with egos bigger than the set. Jungkook and Jimin were both present for a scenario that required rougher tension, and Jimin had spent the entire morning trying to outdo Jungkook. It was painful to watch. He made his voice too low. His movements too sharp. His dirty talk too rehearsed. Everything he did felt like a copy of a copy, all shadow and no heat.
You corrected him twice.
“Find your own rhythm.”
Then again, more firmly, “You are performing intensity instead of feeling it.”
Jungkook heard. Jungkook enjoyed it. Jungkook did not hide that he enjoyed it. Jimin did not take it well. The scene paused for a lighting reset. You were by the monitors, checking playback, when Jimin looked toward you with a smile that made your skin tighten before he even spoke.
“Maybe your assistant director should come show me how she wants it done,” he said. “I bet she gives better notes with her mouth full.”
The set froze. Not loudly. Not dramatically. It was worse than that. It went still in the way rooms do when everyone hears something cross a line and waits to see who will pretend it did not. Jungkook stepped away from his mark. His face changed completely. Not rage first. Control. That was somehow scarier.
“We are done,” he said.
Jimin laughed once. “Come on, mate. It was improv.”
Jungkook turned his head slowly. “No. It was sexual harassment dressed up as improv because you are too stupid to know the difference.”
Nobody moved.
Then Namjoon stood from behind the monitors, his expression flat in a way that made the whole room feel colder.
“Call legal.”
Jimin’s face changed.
That was when the joke left him. That was when he understood this was not Jungkook being dramatic, or jealous, or difficult, or possessive over something that did not belong to him. This was official. This was witnessed. This was a line being named by the room instead of swallowed by it.
Namjoon looked at Jungkook. “Jungkook—”
“No.” Jungkook did not raise his voice. “Handle him.”
Jimin’s expression hardened. “You are serious?”
Jungkook took one step toward him. “You treat work like a playground because you think being explicit means there are no lines. There are lines. There is professionalism. There are people here doing jobs. She is not a prop for you to aim your little ego at because you cannot make a scene work.”
Your hands tightened around the clipboard. Jimin’s face reddened. Jungkook’s voice dropped.
“And do not ever imply you are going to fuck her because she gave you a note. You are not that interesting, and she is not available for your insecurity.”
Namjoon said Jungkook’s name again, quieter this time. Jungkook looked at him.
“You want the scene done today? Get someone else. I am not working with him.”
Jimin scoffed. Jungkook smiled without humour.
“I am whatever she lets me be. You are nothing.”
Nobody spoke. Then Jungkook turned and walked off set. Not toward you. Not dragging you into it. Not making your humiliation part of his performance. He left you standing upright, professional, protected without being handled.
That was what broke you. Not the jealousy. Not the dirty talk. Not the way he looked at you like he wanted to devour every calm thought in your head. It was that he protected your dignity without making you smaller.
You found him fourty minutes later in the back corridor near his dressing room, freshly showered and still angry. He had changed into black sweats and a plain shirt, his hair damp, his expression hard enough to cut glass.
“Are you okay?” he asked before you could speak.
“I am fine.”
His eyes narrowed. “Not that answer.”
You exhaled. “I am angry.”
“Good.”
“And embarrassed.”
His jaw flexed. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He watched your face. You stepped closer.
“Thank you.”
His expression closed. “Do not.”
“Jungkook.”
“I did not do it for thanks.”
“I know.”
The silence stretched. Then you said the thing you had been trying not to say all day.
“I need you.”
He went very still. You saw him understand. Not the words. The meaning beneath them. Last night had been restraint. His hand on your thigh under the dinner table. His voice in the hallway. The way he had stood close enough to protect you without turning your discomfort into his claim. Today was different because you chose it to be.
“No,” he said first.
Your heart dropped. Then he stepped closer, eyes dark.
“Not if this is because of him. Not if you are angry. Not if you feel grateful. Not if you want to prove something.”
Your throat tightened. “It is not.”
“I need you clear on that.”
“I am.”
His hand flexed at his side. “You want me because you want me?”
“Yes.”
His eyes moved over your face like he was looking for the lie and hating that he could not find one. “Say it without thanking me.”
“I want you, Jungkook.”
He inhaled through his nose. “Fuck.”
The kiss was rough enough to erase the corridor. He caught your face in both hands and kissed you like something in him had finally snapped clean in half. Not polished. Not practised. Not a kiss designed for a camera or a co-star or a fantasy package. His mouth was hot, impatient, almost clumsy with need, and that made it better than anything you had watched him do. He walked you backward into the empty set because the corridor was too exposed, because the dressing room was too far, because neither of you had any patience left.
The set bed stood beneath the warm lights, dressed and useless. Jungkook looked at it. Then his face hardened.
“Not that bed.”
Your breath shook. He looked back at you.
“Not where I fuck for everyone else.”
That should not have made your eyes burn. He lowered his mouth to your ear.
“The floor will do for you and me.”
You kissed him first this time. He made a rough sound against your mouth, and then you were on the studio floor near the monitors, not graceful, not staged, not pretty enough for a scene. The floor was hard beneath your back. The lights were half-dead above you. The monitor desk sat nearby like a witness to every version of you that had pretended to be professional.
Jungkook touched you like he had been starving badly and hiding it worse. He was crude, filthy, impatient. His mouth moved against your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, muttering things that would have sounded obscene from anyone else and somehow sounded like confession from him. He called you his clever little menace, his nightmare behind the monitor, the woman who had ruined his scenes because now he knew what real attention felt like. His hands were everywhere and still careful where they needed to be, tugging fabric aside, checking your face, following the way your body opened for him. You needed him biblically. You needed him in a way that was concerning to feminism.
When he realised you were bare enough for him and he was bare enough for you, he stopped so suddenly you almost cursed at him.
“I do not have protection.”
You stared up at him, breathless. “I know.”
His jaw clenched. “I am tested. Clean. I had the panel last week. But I do not have anything here.”
“I know.”
His eyes went blacker. “Do not say it like that if you have not thought it through.”
“I have thought it through.”
“I will pull out if you want.”
“No.”
Jungkook’s breath left him. “No?”
“No..”
His forehead lowered briefly against yours. “You are going to kill me.”
“I want you raw.”
His hand gripped the floor beside your head. “I am giving you one last chance to change that sentence.”
“I want you raw,” you repeated, softer, clearer. “No barrier. No camera version. No performance. You. I want to feel you.”
Something animalistic moved through his face. Then he kissed you like he hated how much he loved hearing it, one hand catching the side of your face while the other dragged down your body with desperate purpose, over your ribs, your waist, your hip, like he needed to feel every part of you before he believed this was real. His mouth was not polished now. It was hot, impatient, a little unsteady, his teeth catching your lower lip before he soothed it with his tongue, his breath rough against your mouth when your hands slid under his shirt and found warm skin. He made a sound into the kiss that did not belong to any performance you had ever seen from him. It was too low. Too real. Too close to need. He did not rush the first push. That almost made it worse. He held himself above you, one forearm braced near your head, the other hand gripping your thigh to open you for him, jaw tight, eyes fixed on yours as he guided himself in slowly enough for both of you to feel every second of it. The first stretch made your whole body go still, and Jungkook stopped immediately, forehead dropping to yours, every muscle in his body trembling with restraint.
“Talk to me,” he said, voice wrecked already.
“Too much?”
You shook your head, nails digging into his shoulders.
“No.” His eyes sharpened.
“No is not enough.”
Your legs tightened around his hips before your mouth found the words.
“Keep going.”
The words broke something in him. His mouth covered yours again as he pushed deeper, controlled but only barely, his body shaking with the effort not to take the moment too fast. He was hot, heavy, real in a way the screen had never prepared you for, and when your thighs wrapped higher around his waist to keep him close, his composure cracked into a curse against your mouth. He gave you another slow inch, then another, his hand sliding beneath your lower back to tilt you up into him, to make the angle easier, to make sure he was not only taking what you offered but meeting your body exactly where it needed him.
“You feel—” He stopped, teeth clenched, his eyes shutting for half a second like he had to survive you before he could speak again.
“Fuck. No camera in the world deserves this.”
You laughed breathlessly, and the sound turned into a moan when he moved. Not a full rhythm yet. Just one slow drag out, one careful push back in, deep enough to make your spine lift from the floor and your hands clutch at his shirt like you were trying to keep him from ever pulling away. Jungkook lost his timing the second he heard you. His hips stuttered, and the hand on your thigh tightened as if your sound had gone through him harder than touch.
“That is the sound I wanted,” he muttered, rough and almost angry with himself. “Fuck, make it again.”
He moved again, deeper this time, and your legs locked around him properly, heels pressing into his back to pull him closer. The motion dragged a broken groan out of him. His mouth dropped to your throat, kissing, biting, then kissing again like he could not decide whether to ruin you or worship you. His hands were everywhere but careless: one beneath your back, one on your thigh, one moment gripping your hip to keep you steady, the next spreading wide over your ribs like he needed to feel you breathe under him. He found a rhythm that was not performance. It was messy, hungry, too intimate for a room built to manufacture intimacy. His mouth stayed close to yours, catching every sound before it could fill the empty set. His hard cock drove into you with growing desperation, but every time your face changed too sharply, his gaze caught it. Not stopping unless you asked. Not softening into someone else. Just seeing you. Adjusting. Learning you in real time with his body shaking above yours.
“Good?” he rasped.
“Yes.”
“More?”
“Yes.” His eyes darkened.
“Baby..” Your breath broke.
“Rougher.”
Jungkook went still for a fraction of a second, his face changing like the word had done something violent to him.
“Do not say that unless you mean it.”
“I mean it.” His mouth brushed yours, not quite a kiss, more like restraint dying between you.
“How rough?” You pulled him closer with your legs, your hands sliding from his shoulders to the back of his neck.
“Enough that I feel you tomorrow.” A laugh broke out of him, ruined and filthy.
“Jesus Christ. You are going to kill me.”
“Jungkook..”
“I know.” He kissed you hard.
Then he gave you what you asked for. Not careless. Never careless. He shifted your thigh higher against his side, opened the angle until the next thrust hit deeper, and the sound that tore out of you made him lose his rhythm completely. His hips faltered once, twice, his mouth falling open against your cheek as if your pleasure had reached into his body and pulled him apart from the inside.
“There,” he said, voice rough with satisfaction and disbelief.
“That is where it is, is it?”
You could not answer properly. Your nails dragged down his back, and he cursed like that hurt him in exactly the right way. He drove into you again, deeper, rougher, then stopped himself just enough to look at your face.
“Say it,” he demanded, breath ragged.
“Tell me.”
“Right there.” His control cracked wider.
“Fuck.”
He kept that angle, one hand braced by your head, the other gripping your thigh as he pushed into you with a desperation that made the whole room feel too small. The floor was hard beneath your back, the lights too bright above you, the set bed standing useless beside you, but none of it felt staged. None of it felt like something that could be watched. His body covered yours too completely for that. His hands kept finding you, holding you, lifting you into him, making the rawness feel less like recklessness and more like dangerous trust.
You wrapped both legs tighter around his waist, refusing to let him retreat even an inch. Jungkook noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes dropped to where you held him, then lifted back to your face with something feral and almost tender in them.
“You keeping me there?” he asked, voice low and dirty.
“You want me deeper than this?”
Your answer came out as a moan when he moved again. His jaw clenched.
“Deeper.” That did it.
Jungkook’s mouth crashed into yours, and the next thrust shoved the breath out of you so completely he had to catch the back of your head in his palm, cradling you even while his body went rough. He kissed the sound out of your mouth, then dragged his lips to your jaw, your throat, the sensitive place beneath your ear.
“Like that?” he asked.
“That deep?”
“Yes.. Please..”
The please ruined him. You felt it in the way his rhythm broke, in the way his hand slid under your back and pulled you up harder against him, in the way his mouth went slack against your skin for one breath before he buried a curse there. He was not smooth anymore. He was not controlled in the pretty way people paid for. He was desperate, breathing hard, trying to keep enough of himself intact to watch you while the rest of him wanted to take, take, take.
“Do you have any idea what you sound like?” he muttered against your throat.
“Do you have any fuckin’ idea what you do to me when you moan like that?”
You turned your face toward his, mouth brushing his cheek.
“Show me.” His whole body shuddered.
“You are dangerous,” he said.
“You like it.”
“I fuckin’ love it.”
Then he moved harder, the rhythm rougher now, less careful in shape but still careful in instinct. His hand stayed between your head and the floor when your body slid back. His palm protected your hip from the ground when he changed the angle. His mouth kept returning to yours, not because it was soft, but because he seemed to need the kiss as much as the sex, like he could not stand being inside you without being close enough to breathe the same air.
“Look at the desk,” he rasped. Your eyes opened. The monitor desk blurred at the edge of your vision.
“That is where you sit and ruin my life.”
You laughed, broken. He thrust deeper. “I am serious,” he said, voice rough against your lips.
“All calm, all notes, all that pretty little face while I am out there working. Do you know what it does to a man?”
“You seem to be managing.”
He gave you a look so filthy it should have been illegal.
“Badly.”
He moved you after that, because Jungkook was never going to be satisfied with only one angle of anything. He pulled out with a groan that sounded almost furious, caught your hips before you could feel the loss too sharply, and lifted you like your weight was nothing but the consequence of his own bad choices. Your legs locked around him instinctively. His hands tightened under your thighs, and he kissed you as he carried you the few steps to the monitor desk, messy and blind and breathing hard against your mouth. The symbolism of it nearly undid you before his body did. The desk where you had watched him. Corrected him. Controlled him. The desk where his eyes had found you over and over again. Now he had you perched on the edge of it, your back lowering toward the surface while he shoved papers and a headset aside with one impatient hand. Even half gone with hunger, he was careful. He checked the edge with his palm before your spine touched it. He slid his hand behind your head so you did not hit the desk too hard. He kept one hand braced near your hip and the other at the side of your face, making sure the hard wood did not hurt you even while his body looked ready to ruin you.
“This desk is fucked,” he said. You were too breathless to laugh properly.
“Jungkook.”
“No, I mean it. Ruined.” He pushed back inside you in one slow, devastating stroke, watching your face fall open as you took him again.
“Every time you sit here, you are going to remember this.” You gripped his shirt. “So will you.” His eyes flared. “I remember everything with you.”
Then he stopped talking because the rhythm turned too deep for language. The desk shifted under you with each thrust, the monitors trembling slightly beside your shoulder, cables pulling taut somewhere beneath the surface. Jungkook braced one hand flat beside your head and used the other to hold your hip, not letting you slide too far back, not letting the edge bite into you. He fucked you harder now, rougher than he had let himself be on the floor, because you were holding him tighter and your hips meeting him like you wanted every careful piece of restraint to snap.
“Still okay?” he forced out. Your answer came out as a moan. His hand tightened on your hip.
“Yes. Jungkook, yes.”
“Fuck, honey,” he breathed, and the praise sounded like it hurt him.
“Fuck, you are so good for me like this. So good taking me like you were made to make me lose my mind.”
The words went through you. So did the next thrust. You arched into him, and he caught you immediately, arm sliding behind your back to hold you up against him. For a few frantic seconds, you were not lying back anymore. You were pressed chest to chest, seated on the desk with him buried deep inside you and his mouth at your throat, both of you moving in short, desperate motions because there was not enough room and too much need. The lack of space made it worse. Better. Your legs locked around his waist again, heels digging into him, refusing to let him pull back too far. Jungkook groaned into your throat.
“You keep doing that.”
“What?”
“Pulling me back in.”
“I need you close.”
His rhythm faltered again. Completely. One moan from you, one confession, and the man who made a living out of control forgot how to move. He dropped his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his cock buried deep inside you and still as if he needed one second not to come apart too soon.
“You cannot say things like that when I am inside you,” he said, voice nearly ruined.
“Why?” His laugh was breathless and obscene.
“Because I am trying very hard not to embarrass myself.”
You kissed him, slow and filthy, then whispered against his mouth, “Then stop trying.”
The sound he made was not human.
After that, he gave up on pretending he could be composed. He fucked you like the room had disappeared, like the desk beneath you was not a work surface but a confession, like every note you had ever given him had led to this exact moment. His mouth kept finding yours, then your neck, then your shoulder. His hands kept shifting, one gripping your hip, one holding your back, one sliding to your thigh to keep you open for him. He cursed when your pussy tightened around him. He cursed when you moaned his name. He cursed when your nails dragged into his hair and pulled his mouth back to yours.
“This is what you wanted?” he muttered.
“Me like this? No camera. No distance. No pretty version you can pause when it gets too real?”
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“I want you like this.”
“Fuck.” His hips stuttered.
You pulled his face back to yours.
“I want you to cum inside me.”
Jungkook went still for half a second like his body had forgotten how to survive the sentence. Then his face changed.
“Do not say that because it sounds hot.”
“I want it.” His throat worked.
“Look at me when you choose it.” You did.
His control died in pieces after that. He fucked you harder, still watching you, still careful with the edge of the desk, gone and almost furious with the pleasure of being allowed.
“I am going to fill you because you asked me to,” he said against your mouth, voice ruined and filthy. “Because you wanted me this deep. Because my calm little menace behind the monitors is not so calm now, is she? Look at you. Wrapping your legs around me like you are scared I will pull away. I am not pulling away, baby. Not when you are taking me like this. Not when you are looking at me like you want every inch of my cock inside you. You want it? You want my cum that deep? Then keep your eyes on me and take it.”
Your climax hit hard enough to tear sound from your throat. Jungkook lost his rhythm the second he felt it, his hips stuttering rough and uneven, his mouth falling open against yours as if your pleasure had dragged him with it before he was ready.
“That is it,” he rasped against your lips. “That is it, baby. Let me feel it. Fuck, you feel too good. You feel too good when you cum for me.”
His followed almost immediately. His mouth opened against your shoulder, body shuddering hard as he came inside you with a curse that sounded like it had been dragged from somewhere private. He held you so tightly through it that you could feel the tremor in his arms, the loss of rhythm, the final helpless push of his hips as he buried himself deep and stayed there.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Jungkook stayed there, forehead pressed to your shoulder, one hand still cupping the back of your head, the other spread wide over your hip like he was afraid the desk might take something from you if he stopped paying attention. His breathing was ruined. So was yours. Then Jungkook lifted his head. His eyes went to your face first.
“You okay?”
You nodded, too dazed to speak. His brows pulled together.
“Say it for me.”
“I am okay.”
He exhaled, then looked down at the monitor desk. “Desk is still fucked.”
You laughed weakly, and that seemed to settle something in him. He helped you down carefully, muttering about your legs like the problem was gravity and not him. When your knees trembled, he caught your waist immediately.
“Yeah, no. You are not walking out looking like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I just fucked you on the monitor desk.”
“You did.”
“Exactly. That is the issue.”
In his dressing room, he cleaned you up with a level of focus that made your chest ache. He gave you water. His hoodie. Space when your hands shook. His mouth stayed crude because he was Jungkook, but his hands were careful enough to hurt.
“Put this on,” he said, pushing the hoodie toward you. “I am preventing a crime scene.”
“A crime scene?”
“You walking out with my cum between your thighs and that face.”
Your face burned. He looked proud for half a second, then serious.
“Still okay with it?”
You looked at him. “With what?”
“All of it. Raw. The desk. Me finishing inside. Do not pretend with me if that changes.”
Your throat tightened. “I am still okay.”
His shoulders loosened. “Good.”
For a few minutes, the room held the quiet of something that had been split open and survived. Jungkook stood close, not touching too much, not crowding, but staying near enough that you knew he was there. He kept pretending to be busy with water, tissues, your clothes, the hoodie, anything that allowed him to care for you without standing still under the weight of it. You watched him because you could not help it. He moved like a man who had just crossed a line and was checking every inch of the ground behind him to make sure he had not hurt you on the way.
When he finally looked at you properly, the crude mask came back crooked and late.
“What?” he asked.
“You are hovering.”
“I am supervising the aftermath of your terrible choices.”
“My choices?”
“You asked to be fucked hard and raw on a monitor desk.”
“You agreed.”
“I am a weak man.”
“You are many things.”
He huffed, but his eyes were soft. You reached for his hand, and he gave it to you immediately, like the motion had become instinct. Your thumb moved over his knuckles once. He watched it, breathing a little easier with every circle.
“What are we doing?” he asked eventually.
The question sat between you, heavier than the heat had been.
You brushed damp hair back from his forehead. “What do you want us to be?”
Jungkook looked like he hated you for asking so gently.
“I do not know how to say it without sounding like an idiot.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
His mouth twitched. Then fell.
“I want it named,” he said.
Your heart softened.
“I want you to be mine in a way people understand when I stand next to you. I want to be yours in a way that does not make me sound like a fucking teenager with a playlist and a personality disorder.”
You bit back a smile.
He glared. “Do not.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am listening.”
His throat moved. “I want to be your boyfriend.”
The last word came out like he was waiting for it to be mocked. You did not mock it. You touched his face.
“Then be my boyfriend,” you said.
Jungkook went quiet. Too quiet. For a moment, the crude man, the performer, the menace, the man who could make a whole room bend around his mouth, simply stared at you. You let the yes settle there, let him understand he had asked for something soft and had been allowed to keep it.
“You are more than a pretty face,” you said. “I will help you understand that.”
Panic crossed his face in the form of a terrible smile.
“Is my dick game so good you are muttering nonsense?”
You looked at him. He looked back. The smile faltered.
“You are more than a pretty face,” you repeated.
His eyes changed.
“I mean it.”
He swallowed.
“I know,” he said, so softly you almost did not hear it.
By the end of the week, Jimin was removed from the schedule entirely. No reassignment. No polite reshuffle. He was gone from the set, and nobody said his name again unless they had to.
A few days later, it rained all day, and the studio heating had become temperamental enough that everyone complained. Jungkook had finished a late shoot, showered in his dressing room, and told you he would take you home after he changed. You were cold, tired, and wearing his hoodie because he had thrown it at you earlier with a grunt and no explanation. You waited on his vanity because the chair had clothes on it, the sofa had towels on it, and the vanity was closest to the heater.
Jungkook came out of the bathroom with damp hair, black joggers low on his hips, towel in his hand. Then he stopped. You looked up from your phone.
“What?”
His eyes moved over you. His hoodie. His vanity. Your bare legs tucked carefully to the side. Your tired face soft in the dressing room lights. The domestic wrongness of it. The fact that you looked like you belonged there, waiting for him after work as if this ugly little room had become part of your life together. His mouth parted.
“Jungkook?”
“I feel a sin coming on,” he said.
Your lips parted around a smile. “Hmm?”
“The hoodie stays on.”
“Come again?”
His mouth curved. “Oh, I will. Trust me.”
Then he dropped the towel. That was the only warning. He crossed the room and kissed you so hard you had to grip the edge of the vanity. His hands went to your thighs, pushing them apart as he stepped between them, breathing already ruined.
“My hoodie,” he muttered against your mouth. “My vanity. My girl sitting here like this and expecting me to drive safely.”
You made a small sound. He pulled back just enough to look at you.
“You are cold?”
“A little.”
“Keep it on.”
His hand moved to the drawer where you knew he kept condoms now, because Jungkook had become practical in the least romantic way possible. But before he could open it, you caught his wrist. He looked at you.
“Can I have you raw again?”
For one full second, Jungkook stopped functioning. Then he shut the drawer without taking anything out.
“Baby,” he said, and this time the word was a warning to himself.
You touched his stomach. “I want it.”
“You cannot sit on my vanity in my hoodie and ask me that like you want me sane.”
“I do not need you sane.”
His eyes went almost black.
“No, baby. After, I am going to be perfect. Water. Cleaning you up. Driving you home. All of it.” His hands tightened on your thighs. “Right now, hold onto me.”
The dressing room was different from the floor. The floor had been desperate and symbolic, chosen because it was not the set bed, not a scene, not something anyone else could watch. The vanity was private in a way that felt almost worse. His name on the door. His clothes in the corner. His shower steam still on the mirror. His hoodie on your body. The room smelled like soap, clean skin, and Jungkook losing the last of his common sense.
He kept the hoodie on you.
Of course he did.
The second his hands found the hem and dragged it higher, he made a sound like the sight had personally wronged him. Not because he wanted it off. Because he wanted it ruined by the fact that it was his. His hoodie bunched around your waist, soft fabric pushed up beneath his hands while his mouth found your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, kissing you too hard to be gentle and too carefully to be careless.
“My hoodie,” he muttered against your skin. “My vanity. My girl asking for me raw like she wants me to stay normal.”
You laughed, but it broke into a moan when he hooked one hand under your thigh and pulled you closer to the edge of the vanity. The mirror was cold behind you, and Jungkook noticed before you could. His palm slid behind your back immediately, fingers spreading wide between your spine and the glass, keeping the hard surface from pressing too sharply into you even while his mouth stayed filthy at your neck.
“I am not going to be normal about you tonight,” he said.
“You ever are?”
He bit your shoulder lightly through the hoodie, just enough to make you gasp. “Smart mouth.”
His other hand gripped your hip, rough and possessive, but the roughness never went blind. He kept adjusting you in small, careful movements: your thigh higher against his waist, your back angled away from the mirror, your hand guided to his shoulder when your balance shifted. He looked half feral, hair damp, eyes dark, mouth swollen from kissing you, but every instinct in him still knew where the edge of the vanity was. Where your body needed support. Where the mirror might bruise. Where his hand had to go before the rest of him lost control.
“Hold onto me,” he said, voice low.
“I am.”
“No.” His hand tightened on your thigh. “Properly. If your legs go, I catch you, but I want your hands on me.”
So you put your arms around his shoulders, fingers sliding into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, and the way his eyes changed almost made you feel powerful enough to be cruel. Jungkook kissed you again, messy and open-mouthed, his hands gripping you like he was trying to keep the whole room from stealing the moment. When he pushed inside you, it was not slow the way the floor had been. It was desperate, a little rougher, his body remembering what it felt like to be wanted by you and losing patience with the memory. Still, he watched your face. Still, he stopped halfway with a curse trapped behind his teeth.
“Okay?”
Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Yes.”
His jaw flexed. “Do not give me the polite answer.”
“I want you.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I am okay,” you said, softer. “And I want you.”
That did something to him. His forehead dropped to yours for one breath, like he needed to gather the last thread of himself, and then he pushed deeper, filling the space between you with a rough sound that made your stomach twist. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, heels pressing into his back to keep him close, and Jungkook lost the rhythm before he even found it properly.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You keep doing that.”
“What?”
“Pulling me in like you cannot stand me leaving.” His mouth brushed yours, almost angry with tenderness. “You are going to make me useless.”
“You already said that once.”
“I am worse now.”
He moved then, and the vanity became something else. Not furniture. Not a place where he checked his face before stepping back into the version of himself everyone watched. It became yours. His hands, your thighs, the hoodie caught between you, the mirror fogged behind your shoulder, the little bottles on the surface trembling every time his hips drove into yours. He fucked you with the hoodie bunched around your waist and his mouth pressed against your throat, filthy and half out of his mind, saying things that sounded like complaints and devotion at the same time.
“Look at you,” he muttered. “Sitting on my vanity in my clothes, asking for me like this. Do you know what you do to me?”
You moaned instead of answering.
His rhythm faltered.
There it was again. That break in him. That proof that your pleasure did not flatter him; it undid him. His hand slammed down beside your hip to steady himself, not you, and he laughed once, rough and breathless, like he hated that you had caught him losing control.
“No,” he said, eyes lifting to yours. “Make that sound again.”
“Jungkook.”
“Do it.” His mouth dragged over your jaw. “Let me hear what my girl sounds like when she stops pretending she is calm.”
The words went through you. So did the next thrust. Your head tipped back against the mirror, but his hand was already there, cushioning you before glass could meet bone. He was feral, but not gone from you. Never gone where it mattered. One hand behind your back. One glance at your face every time he moved deeper. One low command to hold his shoulders when your balance slipped. His care stayed hidden in the roughness like a secret he did not know how to say nicely.
“More,” you whispered.
His eyes darkened. “More what?”
“Deeper.”
Jungkook’s mouth parted. For a second, he looked ruined by the word. Then he gripped your thigh higher, opened the angle, and gave you exactly what you asked for. The next push made the vanity knock softly against the wall, and he caught your mouth with his, his cock pushing deeper with every thrust.
“Like that?”
“Yes.”
“Say it properly.”
“Like that. Please..”
The please nearly ended him again. You felt it in the way his rhythm stumbled, in the rough exhale against your mouth, in the hand that gripped your hip harder before immediately easing like he had remembered to be careful. He kissed you again, slower for half a second, almost helpless, then buried his face in your neck and started moving with a hunger that made your pussy clench around his cock with want.
“This is what you wanted?” he said against your throat. “Me in my dressing room, my hoodie on you, my hands all over you, no one watching, no one calling cut?”
“Yes.”
“You wanted me to fuck you here?”
“Yes.”
“Raw again?”
Your legs tightened around him. “Yes.”
He groaned like the answer had hurt him. “Jesus Christ. You say yes like that and expect me to survive?”
“You are doing fine.”
“I am absolutely not doing fine.” He dragged his mouth back to yours. “I am going to think about this every time I walk in here. Every time I see that mirror. Every time I put that hoodie on and remember you wearing it while taking me like you were trying to ruin my career.”
“You are dramatic.”
“I am fucking you on my vanity. I am allowed to be dramatic.”
You laughed, and the laugh broke apart when he changed the angle again, deeper and rougher, his hand sliding between you to find your clit. The mirror fogged more behind you. His breathing turned ragged. Yours was worse. He kept his eyes on your face like he could not bear to miss a second of what he was doing to you, and every time you moaned, every time your fingers tightened in his hair or your legs pulled him closer, his rhythm went uneven.
“That is it,” he rasped. “That is what I wanted. Fuck, baby, you have no idea how pretty you look like this.”
“Jungkook..”
“I know.” His voice broke around the words. “I know. I have you.”
He did. That was the dangerous part. He had you against the vanity, in his hoodie, wrapped around him like you were trying to keep him there, and still he was the one checking the mirror behind you, the edge beneath you, the placement of your hands. Still he was the one catching you every time pleasure made your body slip. Still he was the one kissing your temple between filthy words, as if the tenderness had nowhere else to go.
When you came, it hit you hard enough that your hands tightened in his hair and your legs locked around his waist. Jungkook lost his rhythm completely. His hips stuttered, mouth falling open against your shoulder, the rough confidence breaking into something almost helpless.
“That is it,” he said, voice wrecked. “Let me feel it. Fuck, let me feel what I do to you.”
He followed you over the edge almost immediately, burying his face against your neck and swearing like the pleasure had offended him. His body shuddered hard against yours, one hand still behind your back, the other gripping your thigh, holding you close as he finished inside you with a final broken sound he could not turn into a joke.
Afterward, he did not move right away. He stayed pressed to you, breathing hard into your neck, the hoodie still bunched between you, his hand still protecting your spine from the mirror. Then, slowly, he lifted his head and looked at your face first.
“Okay?”
You nodded, still trying to remember how language worked.
His eyes narrowed. “Words, menace.”
“I am okay.”
“Still okay with raw?”
“Yes.”
“Still okay with me finishing inside?”
Your face warmed. “Yes.”
His expression softened in a way he would probably deny under oath. “Good.”
Afterward, he was exactly what he had promised. Perfect, in the worst Jungkook way. He cleaned you up. Gave you water. Made you sit until your legs settled. Fixed the hoodie over your thighs and glared at the door as if anyone might dare enter his dressing room and see you soft.
“You are going home fed, warm, and full of me,” he said. “That is the plan now.”
You looked at him, dazed and warm and still sitting on his vanity like your body had forgotten how to belong to gravity. Jungkook looked back at you. His face shifted then, hunger giving way to panic, panic giving way to something almost tender.
“What?” you asked.
He looked away first.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “We need to go on a date.”
That was how Jungkook asked you properly. Not with flowers. Not with poetry. With rain against the window, his hoodie on your body, and his panic badly disguised as a practical decision.
The date was arranged for the next evening. Jungkook arrived dressed like a threat who had been forced into elegance under protest. Dark suit. Black shirt. Rings. Earrings. Tattoos disappearing beneath expensive fabric. Hair styled but still touchable, which felt unfair to everyone with a pulse. When he saw you, he stopped dead on the pavement. You were in black too, legs in sheer tights, coat soft over your shoulders, silver bag catching the light. You watched his mouth part slightly.
“Jesus Christ, baby,” he said. “Are you the dinner itself?”
You choked on a laugh. “Thank you, I guess?”
He looked offended. “That was a compliment.”
“That was a medical emergency.”
“You look good enough to make a man religious.”
“You?”
“I said a man. I am a separate problem.”
The restaurant was quiet and expensive enough to make Jungkook look suspicious of the cutlery. He pulled your chair out with the stiff concentration of someone trying very hard not to mess up a normal thing. All through dinner, he looked at you with a question he refused to say out loud. Am I doing it right? You answered by staying. By laughing when his commentary got too strange. By touching his hand when he started doubting himself. By rubbing circles with your thumb across his knuckles the way he once had on your thigh under that terrible studio dinner table. His gaze dropped to your thumb. Then softened.
“You do that on purpose,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Manipulative.”
“Grounding.”
“Same thing if you are good at it.”
You smiled. “You do not need to keep asking if I like it.”
“I have not asked in at least seven minutes.”
“Jungkook.”
He looked up.
“If something is wrong, I will tell you. You do not need to search my face every few minutes like I am about to hand you a performance review.”
“You love performance reviews.”
“I love communication.”
“Filthy word.”
“If this is going to work,” you said, “we need it.”
His expression sobered. You kept your thumb moving over his hand.
“I do not need you to be the perfect boyfriend.”
He looked away first.
“I need you to be there.”
For a while, Jungkook said nothing. Then he cleared his throat and ruined the feeling badly enough to save himself.
“I can be there. I am very hard to miss.”
You laughed. He looked relieved. The rest of dinner became easier. He told you about food he loved, food he hated, the gym equipment in his place, the fact that he exercised at home because public gyms made people too confident with their eyes. He talked about music, about vinyl, about the way certain songs sounded better in the rain. He admitted he owned more books than people expected and glared when you looked too pleased. But he asked about you too. Not all at once. Not smoothly. Jungkook asked questions like he was trying to break into a house without leaving fingerprints.
“What do you do when you are alone?” he asked eventually.
You looked up from your plate. “That sounds ominous.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Read. Sometimes. Watch terrible shows when my brain is dead. Clean when I am stressed.”
His eyes narrowed. “You clean when stressed?”
“Yes.”
“Terrifying.”
“I also rearrange bookshelves.”
“You are worse than me.”
“You have an emotional support fridge full of food.”
His mouth parted. “You do not know that yet.”
“I know enough.”
He looked almost pleased that you had guessed there was something ridiculous waiting in his private life.
“I bought this book ages ago,” he told you later, “and I have not had the chance to read. If it is good, I will give it to you so we can share thoughts.”
You blinked. “You can read?”
“Oh, fuck you, that is not funny.”
He looked down, suddenly shy, and smiled. Not his usual smile. Not the crooked one, not the dangerous one, not the one he used to make people feel chosen and stupid. A real one. Warm. Bright. Almost boyish. Your heart skipped so hard it felt embarrassing. He noticed you staring and immediately scowled.
“Do not.”
“I did not say anything.”
“Your face is loud.”
“You have a beautiful smile.”
Jungkook stared at you like you had slapped him with kindness. Then he reached for his drink.
“That was unnecessary.”
“It was true.”
“Worse.”
After dinner, he asked you back to his place like he was asking whether you wanted to step into a weather system.
“You can say no,” he said immediately.
“I know.”
“I am not asking only because I want you in my bed.”
“I know.”
“I just—” He stopped, jaw working. “I want you to see it.”
His home. His real life. The place with no cameras, no monitors, no crew, no Namjoon calling for another take. The place Jungkook existed when no one was being paid to watch him. You said yes.
His apartment was private in a way that felt intentional. Stylish, clean, controlled. Dark furniture. Warm lighting. A security system so expensive-looking you stopped in the entryway and stared. Jungkook followed your gaze.
“Super fans,” he said.
Your expression changed.
He shrugged too casually. “People are weird.”
“People tried to get in?”
“Once.”
“Jungkook.”
“Twice if you count the one who sent locksmith tools in a gift box.”
Your stomach turned. He looked away.
“It is fine. The system works.”
You understood then that his privacy was not decoration. It was armour. But then he kept talking. That was the surprising part. Jungkook, who guarded softness like state secrets, began showing you pieces of himself as if he had been waiting for someone to ask without making him feel foolish. Pictures came first, though he pretended they were nothing. Best friends in frames near the shelf, all of them younger and louder in frozen moments. He rolled his eyes as he explained one photo, but his voice softened at the edges. Then books with worn spines. CDs stacked with more care than he wanted to admit. Vinyls arranged in a way that looked casual until he corrected the angle of one sleeve with two fingers. He showed you the record player and touched the lid like it mattered. The gym equipment was in another room, neat and disciplined, not vanity exactly. Routine. Control. A place to put the restlessness people assumed was arrogance. Then the kitchen. A huge fridge that looked like it belonged to a family of six or a man with a deeply emotional relationship to food.
He showed you things too quickly at first. Almost nervously. Like he was laying cards on a table and hoping one of them made sense to you.
“This is stupid,” he muttered after explaining the order of his vinyls.
“No.”
“You look like you are taking notes.”
“I am.”
“On my apartment?”
“On you.”
That shut him up. His face changed, just a little. Then he opened the fridge like the appliance could save him. You stared.
“Banana milk?” you asked. “Really?”
Jungkook looked offended. “Would whiskey be more mature? It fuckin’ tastes great.”
“I believe you.”
“No, no.” He reached in and pulled one out. “You will drink one now. Do not underestimate the power of banana milk.”
“I did not know you felt so strongly about it. My apologies.”
“I can take criticism about my performance skills but not about banana milk.”
“Oh, is this where you draw the line?”
“Yes, it is.”
He shoved the banana milk toward your face. You took it, laughing, and looked into the fridge again. Banana milk. Soju. Beer. More banana milk.
“I hope to God you never mixed those to figure out if they taste good together.”
Jungkook’s eyes went bigger. Your mouth fell open.
“Jungkook. I cannot believe you.”
“I do not care,” he said. “It tasted good.”
“You are a menace.”
“You are drinking it.”
You drank it. It was good. You refused to say so immediately because he looked far too ready to be unbearable. The banana milk broke something open in the apartment. Not dramatically. Softly. Suddenly the guarded place felt lived-in. Warm. Ridiculous. His.
He showed you the vinyls next.
“I like listening to music to relax,” he said.
“With a nice banana milk in one hand?”
His eyes narrowed. “That is low even for you, you little demon.”
You smiled. He played a record. The room changed around it. Sound filled the corners gently. Rain had started somewhere beyond the glass, tapping faintly against the windows. Jungkook stood near the window, arms folded, looking out.
“When it is raining,” he said, “I sit by the window and look at the street. It is calming.”
You stepped beside him.
“So do I.”
He looked at you then. Not surprised exactly. Relieved. The two of you stood there while rain moved down the glass and the music turned his apartment into something softer than either of you knew what to do with. Later, you sat close on the sofa. Then closer. Talking quietly about nothing and everything until tiredness settled over the room. Jungkook became awkwardly careful the longer the night stretched on, as if touching you was easier than asking whether you wanted to sleep there.
You saved him eventually by leaning into him. His arm came around you immediately. The rain continued. The music lowered. At some point, without ceremony, without hunger needing to prove itself, without either of you making a grand decision, you fell asleep in his arms, in his bed. It was the first time you slept beside each other. Not the way the world would have meant it. The real way. Safe. Held. Unperformed.
When Jungkook woke, he did not move. You were still in his arms, warm and heavy with sleep, one hand curled near his chest. Morning light softened the room. The rain had stopped. The city beyond his window looked washed clean. He stared at you with the softest look his face had ever carried. He had woken beside people before. One-night stands. Mistakes. Bodies he wanted out of his bed before the air became awkward. He knew the morning-after impatience, the silence, the need for distance. This was different. You were not someone to rush out. You were his lover. His girlfriend. The person he wanted closest in the rawest, most truthful way he knew how to survive.
You shifted slightly. Jungkook stayed still. His thumb moved carefully over your hand, barely there. Like he was testing the reality of you without disturbing it. Your eyes opened slowly. For a moment, you simply looked at him. Then your mouth curved.
“Good morning, sugar.”
Jungkook’s expression panicked around the edges.
“Do not call me that if you want me to function.”
“You were staring.”
“I was monitoring a situation.”
“What situation?”
“You in my bed looking stupidly pretty. It is annoying.”
Your heart turned soft. “That was almost sweet.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“I will take it.”
He looked pleased, then annoyed that he looked pleased, and pulled you closer like he was not ready for morning to take you from him.
Later, in the kitchen, he made breakfast badly. Eggs too dry. Toast too dark. Coffee too strong. He presented everything with the pride of a man who had built a cathedral.
“You cooked,” you said.
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“No. For the wall. You can have some.”
You smiled into your coffee. He watched you eat like it mattered. That morning changed him. You could see it happening. Jungkook kept looking around his own apartment as if it had become unfamiliar because you were in it. Your cup near his sink. Your bare feet on his kitchen floor. His shirt on your body. Your hair still marked by sleep. His home no longer looked only private. It looked shared.
“Can you please stay with me?” he asked.
The words came out soft. Exposed. Not possessive. Not teasing. Not disguised as filth. Please. You crossed the kitchen and kissed him softly.
“Just one day?”
“As long as you wish.”
His face changed. Before he could drown in it, you tilted your head.
“Is banana milk going to be involved?”
He stared. “I told you about all of my favourite things and this is all you remember?”
You grinned. Jungkook tried to look offended and failed. That was how your first ordinary day together began.
“We can go to the library,” he offered later, as if listing options from a boyfriend manual he had found in a panic. “Have a walk. Go to the movies. Anything you want.”
“The library and a walk,” you said.
His brows lifted. “You are letting me into a library?”
“You offered.”
“I am regretting it already.”
He was fascinated in the library. He tried very hard to behave. That was obvious. He kept his voice low, hands in his pockets, following you between shelves with the quiet concentration of a dangerous man trying not to offend books. You picked up a novel and read the back. Jungkook watched you like the act of choosing a book was somehow intimate.
Then you glanced at him and asked, very softly, “Have you ever had sex in a library?”
Jungkook froze. His head turned slowly.
“Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?”
You pressed your lips together. He looked delighted. Horrified, but delighted.
“You are a lot worse than you pretend.”
“You are a bad influence.”
“I am a public service.”
After the library, you walked until the afternoon turned gold. His hand found yours naturally. No dramatic gesture. No announcement. Just fingers threading together as if your bodies had learned the rhythm before either of you did. He kept stealing looks at you.
“What?” you asked eventually.
“Nothing.”
“You have a face.”
“Everyone has a face.”
“Yours is doing something.”
“It is resting.”
“It is not.”
He squeezed your hand once. “I am thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“About another book. Another walk. Maybe a movie.”
Your chest warmed.
“Maybe cooking,” you said.
He gave you a look. “Ambitious, considering breakfast.”
“You need practice.”
“I need supervision.”
“You respond well to direction.”
His mouth curved. “Only from very annoying women.”
That day taught Jungkook something quietly devastating. Love could be calm. It did not always have to be hunger, jealousy, protection, or intensity. It could be books. Walking. A stupid joke in a library. Your hand in his. Plans that did not need to be dramatic to feel important. Being a boyfriend was something he could learn. Not by being perfect. By showing up. Jungkook had never been good in the clean, polished way people liked to praise. He was not gentle by nature. He was not sweet in public. He was not easy. But walking beside you, hand warm around yours, he started to understand there was another kind of good. Being good to someone. Trying. Returning. Staying.
You learned something too. The ordinary Jungkook was dangerous in a different way. The rough version had made you want. The protective version had made you trust. The vulnerable version had made your heart ache. But the ordinary version — the man buying banana milk, smiling shyly over books, holding your hand on a walk, asking whether you wanted movies or music or another day — that version made love feel irreversible. Falling for him was like falling from grace. Not into ruin. Into truth.
That night, you went back to his place. It no longer felt like crossing a threshold. It felt like returning. The softness of the day followed you inside: the library, the walk, the handholding, the jokes, the little future-shaped plans. It settled around the room with the low light and the sound of Jungkook moving behind you, quieter than usual. In the bedroom, he kissed you like he still wanted you desperately, but something in him had changed. He did not rush as quickly. Did not reach first for the version of himself he knew how to offer.
You touched his face. He looked at you, and for once, he stayed.
“Let me love you,” you said.
Jungkook went quiet.
The line hit him harder than any filthy thing you could have said. You watched him struggle with it. Watched the crude comeback rise and die behind his eyes. Watched him realize that being loved without performing was more exposing than being wanted. Then he nodded. Barely. But he nodded.
So you loved him carefully. Not coldly. Not timidly. Carefully. You kissed him until his shoulders lowered. Until the hard, defensive line of his mouth softened against yours. Until the hands that had grabbed and steadied and protected you all day began to tremble because there was nothing left for them to fight. He tried to rush when the softness became too much. You felt it. The old instinct. The need to make intensity cover vulnerability. The moment his body wanted to turn tenderness into something he knew how to survive.
You slowed him with a hand on his chest.
“Slow down,” you whispered. “Breathe, baby.”
His breath shook.
“I am breathing.”
“No, you are arguing with oxygen.”
A startled laugh broke out of him. There. You smiled against his mouth. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, something in him had given way. You guided his hands.
“Touch me here.”
His eyes darkened, but he listened. Not performatively. Not like he was following a cue. Like he trusted you to bring him somewhere he had never been. When he looked away, overwhelmed by how gentle it felt, you caught his jaw softly.
“Keep your eyes on me, please.”
Jungkook closed his eyes for half a second, then opened them. You could see him clearly now. Not the performance. Not the fantasy. Not the man everyone watched and praised for knowing how to look like he belonged in desire. Him. Exposed. Safe. Loved.
He had never made love before. Not like this. He had been close to bodies. He had been wanted, watched, used as a fantasy, praised for intimacy performed beneath lights. But he had never felt this close to someone. Never felt softness hold so much want. Never felt care move through desire without making either smaller.
“Come closer,” he said.
His voice was rough. The words were not only physical. You understood. You came closer. Something in him broke open with relief. The bedroom became slower than the studio had ever allowed. No one telling him when to start. No one asking him to look good. No one waiting for a finished scene. He did not have to angle his face or make his body beautiful. He did not have to become the fantasy. Every time he tried, you brought him back with your hands, your mouth, his name. Jungkook. Not the performer. Not the body. Not the bad boy people watched and wanted and misunderstood. Jungkook.
He let himself need you then. Not desperately. Honestly. He stopped trying to impress you. Stopped proving. Let your touch, your voice, your patience teach him that love could be felt in the body as warmth, calm, safety, being held. He loved how it felt. It was hypnotic. He pressed closer, breathing your name like it was the only clean thing left in him. His mouth was still vulgar when he lost control of it, still broken around curses and praise and helpless little sounds he seemed embarrassed by until you kissed them out of him. But the filth was different here. It did not hide him. It revealed him.
“You are doing so well,” you whispered, holding him close. “My baby. My sweet Kookie.”
Jungkook stilled.
The name moved through him like light hitting a locked room. Kookie. No one had ever made him sound that soft before. His face changed in a way that made your own chest hurt. Exposed, cherished, embarrassed, loved. Like you had found the softest version of him and decided to keep it. He pulled you into a kiss. Not because he had words. Because he did not. The kiss was his answer to the tenderness. Instinctive. Overwhelmed. Full of something he had never felt before and did not know how to hold except by bringing you closer.
Afterward, he was quiet for a long time. Not asleep. Not gone. Just full. His arms held you with a care that made silence feel like speech. Love had reached a place performance never could, and he seemed almost afraid to disturb it with his mouth. When words finally came back, they came rough.
“You are unreal,” he said.
You smiled faintly. “That sounds like performance praise.”
His eyes sharpened. “No.”
The single word stopped you. He touched your cheek with the backs of his fingers.
“Not that.”
You looked at him. He swallowed.
“I mean I do not understand how anyone ever got near you and did not see it.”
Your throat tightened. He looked almost angry at the thought. Softly angry. Protective.
“You have been sitting there seeing everything in me,” he said. “Dragging truth out of me like it owed you money. And I—” He stopped, frustrated with the size of feeling. “I do not think anyone has looked at you properly.”
You let yourself receive it. That was important too. You did not dismiss him. Did not joke too quickly. You touched his hair, pressed your lips to his temple, and let his softness stay in the room with you.
“I hear you,” you said.
His eyes closed.
“You are safe with me like this too.”
Jungkook forgot how to breathe. He hid his face against your shoulder.
“Dangerous thing to say to a man in recovery from emotional stability,” he muttered.
You laughed softly. There he was again. Yours.
That night changed the shape of his filth. It did not make him cleaner, gentler, or less impossible. If anything, it made him worse, because now every crude thing he said came with the knowledge that he would hold you afterward, feed you afterward, kiss your temple afterward like tenderness was no longer something he needed to hide.
After that, love followed you back into work. Not loudly at first. Jungkook was still vulgar, rude, allergic to behaving like a normal man, and deeply committed to saying things that made you want to throw office supplies at him. But the rhythm changed. He stood closer. Looked softer when he thought no one useful was watching. Respected your notes without turning them into combat. When you were serious, your word became final.
The work did not magically become easy just because you loved each other. Jungkook was still a performer. Bodies still moved under lights. Scenes still needed blocking, notes, resets, professionalism. The difference was that he no longer used the work to hide from you, and you no longer confused the performance with the man who came home to you afterward.
On set, you watched with a director’s eye. You corrected angles, rhythm, eyelines, false notes. You did not mistake choreography for intimacy, and Jungkook never made you pay for understanding the difference. He did not look at you to provoke jealousy. He did not turn co-stars into weapons. When you were serious, he listened. When the cameras rolled, he worked. When they stopped, his eyes found yours with a quietness that belonged to no one else.
One afternoon, after his scene wrapped and he had showered, he came up behind you near the monitors and wrapped both arms around your waist without thinking. The room went quiet. Jungkook looked up. Three crew members were staring.
“The fuck are you looking at?” he snapped. “Like you lot did not figure it out a month ago.”
The room immediately found other business.
You turned in his arms, laughing. “You are impossible.”
“I am efficient.”
“You just announced us by insulting the crew.”
“They looked nosy.”
“They were nosy because you hugged me at work.”
“You looked huggable at work.”
You stared at him. He frowned.
“Do not make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that means you think I am cute.”
“You are cute.”
“I am going to walk into traffic.”
But he kissed your forehead before letting go. The private jokes became worse after that. One day, while he stood too close to you by the monitors, you tilted your head.
“Does anyone here know about your banana milk obsession?”
Jungkook’s face changed immediately.
“Don’t,” he said softly.
Your eyes widened. “Oh. So nobody knows.”
His mouth lowered to your ear. “Say anything and the desk will be my martyr.”
You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. He narrowed his eyes.
“You are a lot more like me than you would like to admit.”
“Well, nobody is perfect.”
“That is harsh.”
“Enough flirting from you today, honey.”
“Absolutely not.”
He still flirted. Still teased. Still found ways to be inappropriate in a room with expensive equipment. But he no longer undermined you. Never again. The thing he had once challenged in you — your authority, your professionalism, your standards — became something he protected. And he learned when to stop. That mattered most. A hand at your waist when the room was light. A dirty whisper when no one could hear. A look across set that promised too much and gave away nothing. But when you were directing, when your voice shifted, when your attention went back to the work, Jungkook let you go. Not emotionally. Never that. But physically. Publicly. Professionally. He gave you space because he loved you, not because he wanted credit for respecting you.
Then, gradually and all at once, you became the director.
It happened through work first. A schedule changed and Namjoon asked what you thought before approving it. A performer requested you specifically because your notes made scenes easier to understand. A difficult shoot almost collapsed under tension, and you fixed it with three calm instructions and a look that made the room remember who was in charge. Your name started appearing higher on documents. Then at the top. Then people stopped asking whether Namjoon approved before they listened to you.
One afternoon, a performer tried to argue around your note instead of with it. Not rudely enough for a confrontation. Just enough to test whether your authority had weight when Namjoon was not standing close. You let him finish. Then you stepped to the monitor, rewound the take, and showed him exactly where the scene broke.
“Here,” you said. “You are trying to look dominant instead of being present. The line does not need more force. It needs control. Do less with your face. Let the silence do the work.”
The performer blinked. Namjoon, behind you, did not add anything. He did not need to. The performer went back to his mark and did exactly what you said. The scene worked. Across the room, Jungkook watched you with a stillness that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with pride. The title caught up with the work.
Jungkook was unbearable about it. Not at work. At work, he respected you. That was the thing people never understood about him. Jungkook was allergic to behaving like a normal man, but when it mattered, he knew where the line was. On set, you were the director. His boss. The person whose call shaped the room. He argued when the work needed argument. He listened when the note was right. He did not undermine you. He did not turn your relationship into a joke for the crew.
If anyone tried to talk over you, he did not take your voice. He cleared space for it.
“She is directing,” he said once, mild enough that nobody could call it possessive and cold enough that nobody tested it again.
Across the set, you met his eyes. He looked proud. No joke. No performance for a second. Just quiet pride that you had become who you were always becoming. Then, when the scene wrapped and you walked past him, he leaned close enough to murmur, “Director looks good on you.”
You did not look at him. “Behave.”
“Absolutely not.”
At home, however, he complained like it was his civic duty.
“If I had known making you director would get me overworked and underfucked,” he said one night, watching you collapse face-first onto his sofa, “I would have filed a formal complaint.”
You groaned into the cushion. “You did not make me director.”
“I contributed morally.”
“You contributed stress.”
“And inspiration.”
“You are a disease.”
He came over and sat on the edge of the sofa. You were too tired to move. His hand touched your back, warm and careful.
“Too tired?”
You turned your face enough to look at him. “Yes.”
Something softened in him immediately.
“Bath, then.”
“Jungkook—”
“No sex. Bath.”
Your heart squeezed. He stood, already heading toward the bathroom.
“You get to be boss at work. I get to be boss of making sure you do not die on my sofa.”
“That is not sexy.”
“I am very sexy when I am preventing collapse.”
He ran the bath. Lit candles badly and too many of them. Made dinner that was only slightly better than his early attempts. Fed you on the sofa because you were too tired to sit at the table. Put you in his shirt. Got you into bed. Did not touch you for anything more than warmth. Jungkook wanted your desire, not your obligation. That was how you knew he had changed.
Not because he became good in the way people meant when they said good. Jungkook would never be clean enough for that word. He was still crude. Still jealous sometimes. Still complained when you scheduled him for early call times. Still told you the new male performers needed “less hair gel and more personality.” Still kissed you in corridors when he thought no one useful was watching. But he came home. He stayed. He learned the shape of care and wore it badly but sincerely. And when you did want him, he still loved you with the same rude mouth and careful hands, sometimes soft enough to make you cry, sometimes rough enough to leave you breathless and laughing into his shoulder afterward. The difference was that nothing felt performed anymore. Not with him. Not at home. Not in the bed that had become yours as much as his.
The almost-confession happened three times before the real one. Once in the kitchen, when you were wearing his shirt and trying to fix his coffee because his version tasted like punishment. He looked at you, hair messy, face soft, and said, “I love—” before turning it into, “I love when you act like my coffee is a human rights violation.”
“It is.”
“You wound me.”
“You need wounding.”
Once at work, after you corrected a difficult scene so perfectly that the whole room shifted around your direction, he stared at you afterward and said, “I love—” then panicked and added, “I love when Namjoon pretends he understands camera language.”
Namjoon, from across the room, said, “I heard that.”
“Good,” Jungkook said. “Grow from it.”
And once during a quiet film night, when you wore a ridiculous shirt you had bought as a joke. It said:
DON’T GET HORNY AROUND ME. I’M AN EMPATH.
Jungkook stared at it for ten full seconds.
“I hate that.”
“You love it.”
“I hate that I love it.”
You curled into his side on the sofa. Halfway through the film, he looked down at you with that same overwhelmed irritation he got whenever softness ambushed him.
“I love—”
You went still. He froze. Then his eyes dropped to your shirt.
“Your stupid shirt.”
You slowly turned your face up to him. Jungkook looked away.
“Do not look at me like you heard the first draft.”
Your chest ached. “Jungkook.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Fine.”
You sat up. He looked physically pained.
“I love you,” he said. “I am saying it badly because I do not know how to say it nicely without sounding like a man I would bully. But I do. I love you.”
Your eyes burned. He looked horrified by what he had done. You rescued him with a smile.
“That was terrible.”
His head snapped toward you. “Excuse me?”
“Awful delivery.”
“I just confessed my feelings, and you are giving me notes?”
“You usually respond well to direction.”
His mouth parted, then closed. Then he laughed once, helplessly. You touched his face.
“I understood you.”
His expression shifted. “And?”
“I love you too.”
Jungkook froze. Completely. You watched the words hit him harder than his own had. Saying it had cost him pride. Hearing it back cost him the last defensive thing he had. He swallowed.
“Well,” he said, voice rough. “That is inconvenient.”
You laughed through the emotion in your throat. He looked at your mouth. Then the joke left him. He kissed you softly. No audience. No set. No filth to hide behind. Just Jungkook giving in to being loved.
One late night, after a long week of directing, you stood in his kitchen wearing one of his shirts while he leaned against the counter and watched you drink water like it was somehow the most important thing happening in the city.
“You are staring again,” you said.
“I live here.”
“That does not explain your eyes.”
“My eyes can do what they want in my kitchen.”
You smiled. He looked at you with that familiar mix of hunger, annoyance, and love he still did not know how to carry elegantly. You set the glass down.
“You ruined me for anyone else — and you know it.”
Jungkook’s mouth curved. “Good. I worked hard.”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could answer, his expression softened. He reached for you and pulled you close.
“You ruined me too.”
Your throat tightened. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs moving slowly over the fabric of his shirt on your body.
Jungkook had never been a good boy. He had been vulgar, impossible, filthy, arrogant, and too proud of the damage his mouth could do. He had made a career out of being watched, desired, used as fantasy, and praised for the performance of intimacy. But you had found the man behind the performance. You had seen his false notes, corrected his lazy ones, dragged truth out of his body through a monitor before he ever knew your name in daylight. You had watched him become real. He had watched you stop hiding. Somewhere between the monitor glow, the empty set floor, the vanity, the real bed, and the quiet kitchen light, he had become more than the bad boy who brought heaven to other people.
He became yours.
Your impossible standard.
Your rude-mouthed caretaker.
Your bad decision with careful hands.
Your little piece of paradise.
Jungkook embodied the saying perfectly: good boys go to heaven, but bad boys bring heaven to you — and somehow, that unholy perfection was yours for the rest of your life.
