Hi there, I am a tea over coffee girl (who thinks coffee is a bit more aesthetically pleasing), a student, a language lover and an obsessive Pedro Pascal fic reader. Pleased to meet y'all!
positively and truly sure nobody's wanted somebody more”
jack abbot x fem! reader
summary: dana has watched you and jack circle each other for too long and devises a secret plan to make sure you end up on a date together without either of you expecting it
tags/warning/tropes: this is pure fluff, the pitt but it’s somewhere between a sitcom and a rom-com, speaking of there are SO many references of rom-coms, jack abbot is down bad, idiots in love, don’t ask why dana robby and jack are all there at once, reader gets wine drunk a few times, jack abbot being down bad pt 2 because it’s honestly embarrassing, reader is also down bad but way cooler about it, no use of y/n, reader has no established race, brief aesthetic description of reader but it’s vague, swf as per usual
wc: 8.3k
a/n: hi bffs!!! back again with a jack abbot fic! i’m currently posting this from my phone because a storm took my power out so if anything’s weird, that’s why :( i wrote this very fluffy fic so of course, now i have to write a very emotional robby fic that’s coming soon. okay please enjoy - i love your reading your comments! thank you all who’ve been reading my fics so far! hugs and kisses!!!!!!
masterlist
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"What would you say to a date?"
You turn to find none other than Dana Evans being the one with the absurd question. You're not even entirely sure where she came from. Suddenly she's propped up, hip against the desk, crashing your peace with that certain gleam in her eye that means trouble.
This wasn't the first time Dana's complained about your singleness. The way your life consisted of the commute to work, the commute home, a cheesy romance movie, and bed. On the occasional wild day maybe you'd take a trip to a coffee shop, or an in-person trip to the grocery store instead of DoorDash. That is if you were feeling really adventurous. Somehow in those times though you've never managed to have some rom-com meet-cute like in all the movies you watched.
"As flattered as I am, I was under the impression you were married!" You dodge not only the question but also her. Turning on your heels, you walk to the leftmost side of the desk, keeping your eyes down.
Sure, a date sounds nice in theory. The same way a leading man chasing you through an airport seems nice in theory. But, if it actually happened you'd most likely pepper spray him.
"Not me." She says dryly. "Maybe in my younger days though."
You give her a sideways glance, which she's already giving you. The thought intrigues you more than you care to say. What you would give to know more about Dana's college days!
"I've got a guy for you."
"Dana, really I'm good. I don't have time to even fantasize about a date right now."
To you, a date was never a fantasy. They just never turned out right. Men would speak over you, or you'd intimidate them and it's a night full of awkward silences and bad company.
However, you find the occasional times to fantasize about Jack Abbot.
Your crush on Abbot started slow and accidental really. A night off work for the first time in months. Which of course you spent doing the one thing you love most: turning off the lights, drinking wine in your pajamas, and watching whatever rom-com popped up first in your recommended tab. This night just happened to be Two Weeks' Notice. You'd seen it a thousand times and could probably quote half of Sandra Bullock's monologues.
But, there was something different about it this time. Something about the way she was falling in love with her charmingly sarcastic boss. It seemed less like something you'd laugh at and instead it started making perfect sense to you.
I mean Sandra Bullock is falling in love with her boss. Why can't you?
Somehow by the second glass of red, Hugh Grant's face somehow started to morph into Jack Abbott's.
But, most of all it was the mistake of falling asleep during the fourth glass and the dreams that followed, guest starring a sexy doctor.
As quick as this crush started, it was anything but quick to leave. No matter how much you willed it away.
Sandra Bullock-esque rom-coms don't happen to people like you. Hot boss or not.
"It won't kill you." Dana's arms thud against the counter as she lays them down with purpose.
"It might." A voice that belongs to Shen interjects into the conversation you already wish you weren't having. "Have you seen how awkward she gets when hot dads bring their kids in?"
"I do not!" You half-yell. "I'm a professional. I don't think about things like that at work."
"Yeah, and that's why you eye fuck Abb-"
"OKAY!" You yell. Prying eyes are on you immediately as your voice cuts through the ED. You give an awkward thin-lipped smile and apologetic wave to the strangers. "Okay. Point received."
Now the only fantasy you're having at work is ripping the Dunkin cup from Shen's hand and drenching him in it.
"Ignore him." Dana shoos Shen away. He slinks off slurping what's left of his melted iced coffee.
You can't miss the small glint in Dana's eye as she bites back a laugh at Shen's accusation. Which is totally false!
"Dinner. That's all I'm asking." Dana pries once again. You shake your head, not even bothering to verbally answer anymore. "An hour, two max."
"Dana when I'm not here I'm sleeping or trying to get all my shit done before I have to be back here. I don't have time."
"You have time." She responds insistently.
It's almost impressive how she hasn't budged.
"Fine. I don't want to make the time then."
"You don't want to go out and just have a free dinner with a handsome guy?" Dana's eyebrows shoot up.
Unfortunately, the idea intrigues you somewhere deep down. That same part of you that smiles and rewinds when the movie finally crescendos with a dramatic declaration of love. But, in reality, the movie would end differently for you. A terrible date with a guy who went to a doctor a few times and now feels confident in his ability to mansplain medicine. No love at first sight for you.
"Sounds like hell."
You can't even remember the last time you looked at a man that wasn't on your TV. Well, I mean besides the ones you're forced to see every day. Abbot… Who apparently you REALLY look at.
Your mind trails off as he moves from room to room in front of you. That quiet confidence radiating off of him like it always does. UGH, and he's wearing those camo pants tonight. OH. You totally are eye-fucking him aren't you?!
You snap your eyes from him back to Dana immediately. "Tell me about this guy."
No part of you really wants this, but you've got to get your mind off Abbott. Fully. You one hundred percent, unequivocally, cannot be crushing on Jack Abbot.
"It's a guy I know. He's been single for too long. Like you." She says pointedly. "I think you'll like him. He's good people."
"You sure you wanna do this?" It's a genuine question, not a threat. Introducing you to someone could be a bad move on her part. You're not exactly revered as a charmer. "Because, if I don't like him, I'll leave."
You we're strong willed and didn't enjoy wasting your time. There was nothing wrong with it, but some men would disagree. Apparently you could be a quote, "a real ball buster" as your college boyfriend so eloquently wrote in the very text message he dumped you with.
As time went on, you came to realize you liked love more in theory or in dreams. You were not cut out to be a rom-com star.
"I know." Dana draws out her words, rolling her eyes at you. "But, I have a good feeling."
"What's his name?" You give a defeated sigh.
Dana's face lights up with that cocky closed-lip smile she gets when she's won something. She's beaten you down enough and she knows it. Success!
"No names." Leaving no room for rebuttal, she claps her hand flat against the counter to make her point. "I don't want you looking him up."
"Come on-"
"No. You and Santos do that cyber stalking thing and you'll try and find him." She's already turned on her heels before you can get another word out.
"It's not stalking!" You yell after her. "It's the way the world works. Get with the times Dana!"
Well, looks like you just got yourself a date you didn't really want to go on in the first place. But if all goes well you'll fall in love and never think of Jack Abbot as anything more than a boss ever again.
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"Jack, c'mere I gotta talk to you."
Dana surveys the floor, making sure you're nowhere in sight. Luckily for her, you're tied up in a trauma room with a very chatty guest who, based on their facial expression is not very happy with you.
His face turns confused for a second, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening before he falls in step.
"You need a date." She says simply.
For once in his whole life he's actually speechless. He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is an offended scoff.
"When's the last time you've been on a date?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
The offended sound comes out once again as he blunders for a second. "I don't know. A year…?"
He tried once, maybe twice after his wife passed. Someone who asked him out both times. He'd never actually pursued anything himself. It wasn't exactly that he was resisting, there was just never anyone who caught his attention first.
Then came you. But to him, that was forbidden.
"That's sad."
"I'm doing just fine for myself-"
She holds up her hand for him to stop before he says anything further. "I didn't ask about that. And, I don't believe I want to know that."
Robby laughs from somewhere behind her. Of course, listening in on the conversation. Somehow his ears seem to be everywhere at once. There's no conversation he misses in this hospital.
"What?" Jack asks him. The tone of his voice would almost sound offended if he wasn't chuckling.
"No, nothing." Robby shakes his head. He clasps a friendly hand on Dana's shoudler. "He's doing fine Dana. Just this morning Myrna offered to flash him."
Alright, now they're just being mean.
"Tell him he needs a date." Dana elbows Robby. Before Jack can interject, Robby's response is immediate.
"Ohhh, you need a date brother."
Jack's outnumbered and somehow they're also beating him at his own game. He has no defenses left. No sarcastic comments that'll stop them
"You know what? Fine." Jack tosses his hands up. "I'll start looking for someone."
His eyes rake across the hospital floor like he's looking for someone and before he's even made any conscious effort, they land on you.
One day you were a thorn in Jack's side, a new resident he had to get acclimated to. But, very, very quickly you became something else. The worst part was it wasn't even because you were attractive - which you absolutely were. No, it was the first time you yelled at him during trauma. You, a resident, yelling across the table at your attending.
He was gone.
Robby and Dana side-eye each other at Jack's obvious stare. He was never a subtle man and even less so when it came to matters of the heart. The number of times Dana's caught him acting like a giddy school boy around you was absurd.
That time you complimented his technique for a chest tube and he walked around like a God for the rest of the night.
Or, even worse, that time he let his beard grow and asked you, Dana, and Ellis for your opinions. They both agreed it was fine. - not that they cared much either way. - But, you weren't a fan. The next day he was shaved.
It was just something about you. Something he had never seen in someone else. You had no angle, you didn't play games or hospital politics. You came in to work every day, yelled at whoever needed yelling at, and fixed whoever needed fixing. No ass-kissing or pride involved.You had no ego; it was refreshing. If you thought he was acting like a dick you'd tell him. If you thought he was right you'd tell him. Though maybe a little awkwardly because nice feelings weren't really your thing.
"No need!" Dana says with a satisfied grin. "I've got someone for you."
Robby howls a laugh at how perfectly Dana manipulated Jack into this.
"Who?" He asks.
"Someone I've been wanting to set you up with."
"Set me up with? Like a date?" He says emphatically. "Like I'm twenty?"
"It'll be fine. You'll like her."
"Well, who is it?"
"You don't know her." Her face gives nothing away but for a fleeting second Jack would almost swear that seemed like a lie.
"She's smart and beautiful, you'll like her."
"Well, I can't say I don't like those two things." A small smirk creeps up his face. Smart and beautiful was great but he knew someone who fit that description already. Doesn't much matter though, Jack can't remember a time he's seen you show interest in him. And, he was the furthest thing from a pushy man.
Plus, if you wanted him surely you would've said something by now.
"She's a little young," Dana trails off. "That okay with you?"
Jack finds himself calculating in his head how old you were. Would that be weird? Wait. First, why would he care? Second, why would it matter?
"I mean how-"
"Okay, great." Dana claps her hands with a loud boom, ending his sentence for him.
She's already exited the conversation before he can ask more of the many pressing questions he has. "What's her name?" He calls out, Robby still beside him, happy to be a non-involved third party to this shitshow.
"Secrets." She hollers back not turning around, her hands doing most of the talking.
"Looks like you just bought yourself an appearance on the Dating Game." Robby claps Jack's shoulder with an overjoyed smile that crinkles the skin around his eyes.
Hopefully she isn't that young because God, they really are old. I mean the Dating Game, really?
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"What are you up to?" Robby asks, narrowing his eyes onto Dana once he's managed to find her alone.
"Just think he needs someone." She shrugs sounding a little tender, strangely.
"Uh huh." Robby clicks his tongue. "And I'd swear I heard you giving that same advice to one of our residents earlier.
Dana gives nothing away, just a shrug.
"Not saying it's a bad idea. Jacks clearly got it bad. It's just ballsy."
"So you'll help me?" Dana asks.
"Whoa, no." Robby lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. "I didn't say that."
"All I'm asking is that you keep them away from each other tonight so they don't find us out."
"There's no us here Dana." He tosses his hands up in surrender. Always the dramatic. "I've got a hospital to run and this is your master plan."
She gives him a look over the rim of his glasses. He knows he's too grown to be scared into submission by Dana but damn if it doesn't always work.
"I'll see what I can do."
"Hey, why don't you ever set me up on dates?" He can't help but ask as he's already halfway leaving.
"Because I've seen you in relationships."
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Somehow as if by miracle, the ER was the Q word you'd never dare utter. So, for now you'll just say slow. It seemed brighter without so many people clogging the place up, not such a terrorizing place to spend your nights. But, on the other side of quiet and peaceful meant all you could think about was this stupid date with some (probably) stupid guy you don't even want to meet.
Even if it was a leisurely night, there was no such thing for Dana. She paced around the giant hospital centerpiece that was the nurses' desk, doing a million jobs that somehow all belonged to her.
You came out of nowhere, suddenly popping up on the other side of the desk. "I don't like mansplainers."
"Okay, and I don't like the Ravens. What're you telling me for?" It always seemed like her accent had a way of getting thicker when she was stressed or angry.
"For the date." You tap your finger to your temple in a duh fashion. "If they start mansplaining anything to me, I'll leave."
Dana doesn't give you a response, just a curt nod. Because she was definitely going around the city looking for the perfect asshole mansplainer to force you into a date with.
"And they need to be politically sound. I can't deal with someone who doesn't care about the issues I do."
As much as you loved Maid in Manhattan, you always found yourself disliking the leading man just a little too much. That was not a rom-com you wanted to star in, alongside a right-leaning politician.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Dana snaps her head up, shutting you up immediately. It's terrifying when she starts cursing in catholic. "He's a non-mansplaining registered democrat. Does that satisfy you?"
"Yes." You answer quietly tucking your lips into a thin line apologetically.
She reaches over the desk, gripping your arm and guiding you somewhat forcefully until you're standing under the track board.
"Work."
Looking down at the iPad in your hand, you said your patient's name to yourself over and over again. You had this terrible habit of knowing everything you needed to know about someone and then coming face to face and forgetting everything, even down to their name. You've done this with friends and patients alike your whole life.
"Janet Lawson." You mutter on a loop, scrolling through to see what the nurses had already done for her.
"Janet Law— Ow."
Your forehead is suddenly rebounding off a black T-shirt; underneath it is a weirdly muscular back that's actually managed to rattle your brain around. Of course. Who else wears a black T-shirt and camo pants to work and has this muscular of a build?
"Doctor Abbot! Sorry." You laugh to mostly yourself, running a few fingers over your forehead. Why'd that come out like a giggle? You laugh. You don't giggle.
"My fault. I should've known better than to stand here when you're running around." He grins.
He's so charming.
You drop your eyes back down to the iPad, looking at him made your chest pinch. Why does it feel like you're cheating on him by going on this date tonight? He's your boss! People don't usually feel like they need to divulge their dating life to their bosses right?
"You off this weekend?" He asks, tilting his head to be able to better to see your downcast eyes.
"Yep. Played my cards right and got two whole days."
"Got any plans?" He crosses his arms over his chest casually. He always asks about your life. This isn't weird, this is just the only time you've thought about keeping it secret.
"Not much." The lie comes out before you can stop it.
"Me neither."
"Cool."
Jack Abbot could befriend a brick wall and somehow you've just managed to have an awkward interaction with him.
"Jack!" Dana's voice echoes between you too. It's so loud and desperate-sounding that he whips his head around immediately.
"Yeah?"
"I need you in room 3."
He looks to the whiteboard, eyes scanning over it twice. The hospital's calm tonight, what could possibly be this critical?
"No one's in room 3…"
She doesn't even turn to the whiteboard herself to double-check. "Room 4 then."
"Okay…" He agrees. "Catch you later?" He turns back to you with a sympathetic frown, waiting for your confirmation. Once you nod at him, he pulls himself and his lingering eyes away.
Like clockwork, Abbot finds himself in your orbit once again. He's nearly convinced you have some kind of magnetic force he's not aware of because there's no rational reasoning for him to be trailing after you all the time.
Your shift is officially over and if you're not going to fall asleep behind the wheel you're desperately going to need a cup of coffee. As your hand rests flat against the break room door, you feel a much bigger and stronger hand just inches above yours.
"Together again." He laughs. He's so close behind you, you swear you feel the vibrations in your own chest. He pushes the door open, just enough that you have to duck under his arm to step over the threshold.
"How was everything with that patient?" You ask, hoping your voice is even and trying your best to keep your face away from him until the heat in your cheeks die down.
"Fine. Just cut and dry stress hives. Not sure what the big emergency was."
You plop down in the chair around the small table, the one leg that's off kilter shakes it back and forth for a second. "Weird." You stretch your legs up onto the second chair in front of you, resting until he's done making his coffee.
As the coffee maker percolates in the background he considers mentioning the fact that Dana is setting him up on a date. Do attendings and residents ever share that much personal information with each other? Probably not.
What was he even hoping to achieve? That you'd imagine him out with some (probably) hot nurse friend of Dana's and lose your mind with jealousy that he's never once seen you have.
It felt weirdly offensive to share his weekend plans with you. He's wanted to ask you out since the second week you worked at this hospital and never has. He couldn't, as the superior here and the man twice your age he wouldn't even let himself think about you too long if he thought it would be disrespectful. It'd be too weird to sit here and talk about his dating life like this. So, he opts for silence.
You push your chair out once Abbott's done using the coffee maker, groaning from the pain that's popped up in your spine from standing all day.
"Here ya go." He extends a full cup to you just as your feet hit the ground.
You stare at the drink for a second. He made you coffee? Coffee you didn't even ask for. He pushes the cup towards you once more, urging you to take it instead of staring at it.
You wrap both hands around the thin cup, feeling the warmth seep through to your palms. "You know how I take my coffee?" You ask, noting the color difference in your cup compared to his.
"Yeah, milk and two sugars. I've seen you make it enough times." Wow, the world really was never going to let this crush ease up was it? "I didn't give you any vanilla though. Keep taking it like that and you'll end up in a coma." You laugh, noticing the wide smile on your face in the reflection of your coffee.
"Thanks." Your voice loses the harsh edges it usually has.
He shrugs as if this was a small gesture and not something that made your entire body feel like it was on fire. He sips the coffee but never takes his eyes off yours. They have a darker look to them as the cup puts a shadow over his face.
"Heading out?"
"Yep." You toss your bag over your shoulder. "I'm caught up on all my charts from tonight."
"Yeah, I trust you." His words come out smooth.
You know you're so far gone when these upcoming two days off start to feel like punishment more than a much-needed break. Two days without seeing him might be bordering on eternal torture.
This is the last time you'll see him until your date with some stranger. You're being so dramatic but it literally feels like you're some Wild West movie heroine seeing her one true love for the last time before heading to her arranged marriage.
Maybe it's just because your fantasy had to end now. You had to live your life, date (annoyingly so), and you could keep falling asleep at night and having Jack Abbot's face pop up in your dreams. It was a fantasy, that's all it was.
Abbot likes people, not you. He liked to be friendly, wink at nurses, and flirt with the old ladies who were frequent fliers. Even if you weren't his resident, people like you didn't end up with people like him.
Plus, if he wanted you surely he would've said something by now.
"Want me to walk you out?" He asks, always the gentleman.
"Sure."
He reaches over and slides the bag from your arm, throwing it over his own shoulder. His arm stays on the small of your back as you pass through the crowded triage area, only dropping when you make it to your car. A small, beat-up Civic you're embarrassed to tell people the year of.
"Have a nice vacation." He grins, setting your backpack in your backseat for you.
"Yeah, two days is one crazy vacation."
"Well, either way don't miss me too much."
You laugh, your head lulling backwards as the sound reverberates outside in the quiet parking lot. "Might be too hard. Living in a cold, cruel Doctor Abbot-less world."
He leans over, enough that you can tell he's not wearing any cologne as the smell of antiseptic wafts off him. And the worst part is, somehow it works. The click of your car door opening is the only thing that draws your eyes away.
"Be safe." He says, carefully shutting the car door once you're solidly inside. "Come by if you start missing me too much." He speaks a little louder so you hear him through the sealed window.
You give him a thumbs down as your reverse lights come on.
He watches you pull out of the parking lot and imagines what that sight would be like more often. Your taillights pulling out of the driveway of his house every day, waving you away while drinking his morning coffee, knowing you'd be back that night.
Oh yeah He's going on a date with another woman tomorrow.
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This is horrible
You stand in front of the mirror in the third outfit of the night. You pull at the fabric, like a toddler. It clings to everywhere you don't want it to. You've got to have help for this.
Where's your quirky best friend sidekick that everyone in the movies has?
To: Santos
From: You
what do you wear on a date?
To: You
From: Santos
show up naked power move
Unhelpful.
A dress feels like too much, but dress pants make you feel like a politician. The place is way too nice for jeans. As Dana specifically told you. You don't even own anything you'd consider a blouse. And to make matters worse, you're beginning to notice you have very little color in your wardrobe.
This is agonizing.
The outfit you have on will have to suffice, if only because you're running out of room on your floor for discarded clothese.
The long skirt feels less dramatic than a dress but less stiff than pants. This is the nicest shirt you own and the closest thing you'd associate with fancy. All in all, you clean up pretty well. Everything is black like all the other items in your wardrobe. But, Dana requested you wear black since she told your date that's how he'd recognize you. Your mystery man will be in white tonight
Your body collides with your bed as you toss yourself onto it like an angsty teenager. You haven't been on a date in months and the last one you went on lasted an hour before you faked and emergency and left.
Katherine Heigl's voice blares through your apartment as 27 Dresses begins auto-playing after whatever you threw on to begin with.
What the hell is with these movies and falling in love with your boss?
Rolling onto your back, you're fingers start typing Jack Abbot into the Instagram search bar before you even know what you're doing. It only takes the letter J for his account to come up. You've for sure done this too many time. Maybe Dana's right. This is totally stalking.
He has three posts and none of them are his face. He's got a picture of Robby and Dana at some fancy hospital event and two pictures of some scenic locations he visited. He's such an old man. The only thing you can see him in is his profile picture. Much to your dismay, you screenshot and zoom in.
He's so handsome and this is such weirdo behavior.
The more you zoom in, the blurrier the photo gets. Right now, you're essentially looking at pixels that vaguely resemble Jack Abbot and even then he's otherworldly handsome. Some selfie from a terrible angle that he no doubt took the moment Instagram prompted him for a profile picture.
You scream as the name pops up on the top of your screen, tossing the phone on your bed like it burned you. For a second you actually believe he somehow knows your cyber stalking him right now, but there's no way. On your feet now from the scare, you timidly reach over and in one quick motion flip the phone face up.
Abbot:
Have fun on your vacation while the rest of us are working our asses off.
You've got to stop reacting to everything he does like some school girl experiencing their first crush. You're more giddy from this stupid text than you are about this date. This is what you're actively trying to avoid!
You click the side button stuffing the phone into your skirt pocket. Yeah, the skirt has pockets. You give yourself one more look in the mirror, closing your eyes and taking three deep breaths to clear your mind.
No more Jack Abbot tonight.
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This place is nice just like Dana described. An Italian restaurant that you had to take a taxi to reach. The outside has a deep maroon awning where people waiting on tables are congregating. It's not crowded but there's way more people here than you want to experience a first date in front of.
The inside is even nicer. Dark walls and romantic lighting. There's even a band playing from somewhere you cant see, but you recognize the sound of live instruments. The tables are all covered in white cloths. This is far from the restaurants you usually eat at where children color on those paper table runners.
"Hi," You approach the hostess more timid than usual, clearing your throat. "I'm meeting someone…"
Your eyes scan over the many people in the room. Theres way more people seated than you'd hoped. Great, all these people may witness your biggest humiliation tonight. Theres a small, even fancier dining room that's walled in and you wonder if your mystery man is in there.
The maitre d responds but your ears are suddenly filled with nothing but the sound of your own heart beat. Your eye's zero in on someone, someone sitting in front of the giant burgundy curtains that drape from floor to ceiling.
A very familiar face.
No. Fucking. Way.
"Doctor Abbot?" You say standing beside the empty chair at this table for two.
His eyes shoot up so fast you're afraid he's going to hurt himself. He looks like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out of his barely parted lips. You're mirroring the same expression back to him. Shock and horror.
He stands up from his chair so fast, the table rocks and sends ripples through the expensive water glasses. "What are you doing here?" He asks, hands flat on the table like he needs to prop himself up.
"Me?" You say back, clutching the purse strap over your shoulder. "What are you doing here?" You want to dissolve into dust in the huge fancy restaurant that suddenly feels much smaller. This can't be happening.
"Oh fuck."
You both speak at the same time. Your sentiment is much more verbal than Abbot who had the decency to whisper under his breath.
You two go back to staring at each other for another moment. Completely still except for the twitch around Abbots eye. You know your eyes are wider than usual and probably frighteningly so, but you can't make them close. To make matters worse the trumpet crescendos into something romantic from wherever they're playing from. You're a little too busy to look right now.
How could this happen?
"I think Dana uh—" The words die in your throat as soon as they start. You gesture vaguely hoping to fill in the blanks.
"Yeah." He speaks gruffly.
"Yeah." You parrot the same word back, unsure of what else there even is to say. "I could go." You gesture back to the grand entrance of the restaurant.
That's all it took to shake Jack from the shell shocked state he was in. He reaches out before he even thinks much about it. Not a pull, just his palm flat against your forearm making sure you don't bolt.
"No. Were already here." He shrugs like it's simple. "Plus, I need you to stay and help me plan on how to get Dana fired."
You laugh, your shoulders easing finally, dropping from where they were pulled up so tight. The immediate horror of this situation is beginning to dissipate between the two of you. Despite the knot in your stomach, you actually feel a little giddy. I mean, you've dreamed about this for a long, long time. Maybe it wouldn't be awful of you to at least try and enjoy yourself.
"We might as well stay and eat." He picks up his menu and gestures to the chair that's meant to be yours.
"Might as well?" You repeat back with a sarcastically sensual tone. "Well, with an offer that romantic how could I refuse?"
He walks around the table, eyes on you the entire time. He pulls out your chair without even looking at it. When he puts his arm on the small of your back to guide you onto the seat, your actually worried your knees might buckle.
"You know what I meant." The breath from his nose tickles your ear as leans in close to tuck your chair in.
"Can I get you two started with anything?" The waiter appears from the kitchen, dressed just as nicely as half the patrons in here. Jack gives him a polite just a second gesture. You've both been far too distracted to look at the menu.
"You want wine?" He asks, flicking his eyes from the menu to you. "I mean… we are on a date." Theres a small smile in the corner of his mouth when he says it, almost humorous like he's enjoying saying that in the presence of the server.
A date. Officially a date.
"Yeah, I'll do a glass."
"A bottle of the house red." Jack speaks to the waiter. A bottle? Big spender!
The wine the waiter returns with is in expensive glassware. The stems are crystal thin and make you feel like you're back in the OR holding a delicate medical instrument.
Jack makes a polite declining gesture as the waiter goes to fill his glass. "None for me, thanks."
"You're not having any?" You ask, lowering the glass from your lips, suddenly feeling embarrassed of the large sip you've already taken.
"I've got work tonight. Not everyone has the weekend off like you." He laughs. Oh yeah. It was only 5:30 of course he'd be heading to work after this. Always saving lives.
"You didn't need to order all that then." You gesture to the still mostly full bottle the server left behind. "I'm not gonna drink a whole bottle myself." Not in front of him at least!
"Take it home then." He shrugs. Damn that's sexier than it needed to be. He orders one of the nicest bottles of wine, doesn't have any for himself, and then tells you to keep it. "I know how much you like your wine.
"You look nice." He crosses his arms on top of the menu resting on the table so there's nothing that could possibly distract him from you. His words are genuine but a little stiff. He hasn't complimented someone on anything outside of a medical context in a while.
"Thanks " You actually smile. looking down at the fancy outfit you were so hyper critical of in the mirror. "I wouldn't get used to it though."
"You clean up nice yourself." You force out. Not because it wasn't true, it very much was. But, it's always felt awkward to you to compliment someone.
"Feels weird." He tugs at the black tie resting on top of his white dress shirt. It was quite the site. Under the warm lights of the dining room, at certain angles the muscles under his shirt were highlighted perfectly, especially his arms.
Jack however is more caught of guard by your new look than you are of his. Your hair is fixed and resting on your shoulders in waves instead of pulled back and frizzy from a scrub cap. I mean, you looked beautiful the other way, but he didn't know this was an option. And your clothes. It was few and far between that he saw you in anything but scrubs and certainly never anything fancy like this. Your scrubs were loose and unflattering. These clothes were tight and highlighted all your features well. You'd been hiding all this? But, maybe that's for the better because he wouldn't be able to survive this look day to day.
"Would you judge me if I had another glass?" You have a small smile just on the corner of your mouth. Your stemware was getting emptier and emptier as the conversation went on.
"I'm not your boss tonight." He chuckles, filling up the glass for you. He holds your eyes when he says it, like it's important to him that you remember that.
"Alright. Let's be honest with ourselves." You finally laugh out, shaking your head. "This is weird." The wine coursing through you is making it a lot easier to say whatever you're feeling. Plus the small drink you had back home to pre game that you're not going to bring up.
Thankfully, he laughs too. "Yeah. I didn't imagine I'd be sitting in front of you tonight."
"Yeah. I certainly wasn't expecting Doctor Abbot." You gesture widely towards him. "… I should probably drop the "Doctor" on a date right."
"Yeah probably." He nods. "Just Jack is fine."
You're stomach flips. It's silly, something as simple as a name change getting you this worked up.
"Jack." You test it out, turning the name over in your head a few times. It just felt so intimate for some reason. You've known him as Doctor Abbot for so long, now you get to learn Jack.
"So, Jack" You laugh, using the name one more time now that you've been awarded the permission. "I was expecting Dana to set me up with an Orthopedic surgeon I'd hate or something." You laugh. If your relationships with the Ortho team at work was anything to go on, that date certainly wouldn't have gone well.
He laughs loudly in the dining room full of people talking softly below the music. "Yeah, God help us all if she did that. I was expecting a nurse or a lawyer or something. Not my resident."
"But, I'm glad she didn't." He says at a lower register.
"Wait!" You completely skip over the romantic thing he said, your brain already locked onto a minute detail you just thought of. "You texted me before I left the house."
"Yeah? So?"
"So?!" You scoff at him, but you're laughing too much for it to be perceived as upset. "So, you texted me before you thought you we're going on a date with some woman."
He just shrugs. "I was thinking about you."
Your cheeks burn hot and you have to roll your eyes to try and get some of your cool demeanor back. "That's crazy."
"Well, it doesn't matter now does it."
Being on a date with Jack is even nicer than you imagined it could be. You've barely lifted a finger tonight. He pulled out your chair for you, he refills your glass for you.
Yes, you're now a quarter through your third.
From anyone else, you'd probably get a little annoyed with this, but there's something romantic about the way Jack does it. He's not smothering or chauvinistic about it, just someone who wants to care for you.
He really is like a man from a movie.
By the time they drop your food off at the table, you're enjoying yourself more than you ever have on a date. He cuts into the steak while telling you the story of the first patient he ever had, which actually makes you snort.
"My first patient at PTMC bit me." You laugh, nodding emphatically as you do. The third glass of wine has definitelyloosened you up. Enough to even reach across the table and put your hand on his arm when you laugh.
"Oh yeah! The one with the suppository." He points the end of his fork in your direction as he remembers.
You make a sound of dissatisfaction between your teeth, scrunching up your face. "Let's avoid saying suppository on a date."
"Fair enough." He laughs, covering his mouth with his napkin. "Man, I thought you were gonna kill that guy."
"I remember telling Robby when you first started, you we're gonna drop the night crews patient satisfaction scores by half." He shakes his head fondly.
"What?!" You laugh, dropping your mouth open with a jokingly offended expression.
"You have a real mean streak to you." He shrugs truthfully, but he smiles when he does. He loves that about you.
"I do not." You roll your eyes, the mean streak showing through clearly. "And, I could say you're not as charming as you think you are."
He doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah I am."
Yeah he is.
You pretend to care about his accusations some more, but he can see the smile you can't wipe off your face. "I can't believe you talked shit about me to Robby." You shake your head. "And to think I actually liked you when I first started. You were my favorite Attending."
"Yeah?" He quirks his eyebrow up, somehow looking even more handsome with that smug sideways smile.
"Yeah I did."
"Did it wear off?" He asks, leaning back, tilting his head as he looks at you.
"Nope."
The words hangs there a moment too long. You expect him to make a joke, tell you that you have good taste, or that he was the obvious choice, but he doesn't. Instead he just looks at you, his smug grin changing into something much softer.
"Good to know." His voice is maybe as tender as you've ever heard it. Like your statement meant more to him than he's letting on.
Jack's already reaching into his pocket for his wallet before the check hits the table cloth. In fact, he doesn't even let it sit there. He takes it from the waiters hand so there's no argument about who's paying.
"I can cover my half." You offer anyways, hand digging around in your purse under the table. This would not be the first date a man expected you to go dutch on.
"No you can't." He rolls his eyes. He knew you'd offer no matter how obvious he made it that you weren't paying this bill. It was just in your nature to be fiercely independent. But, he was here now. "I don't make a habit of asking women out and making them cover the bill."
"Technically you didn't ask me out… Dana did." You raise your eyebrows in a challenge.
He makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh. "Either way, you're not paying."
Jack opts for cash, pulling out a few bills that you try and count up so you total how much he's spent on you tonight. You can't make out if a few pieces are twenties or fifties, but based on the wad alone it must be a lot.
"Fine. I'll get the next one." You're eyes widen a little as you catch what you said, your words coming way too freely with your tipsy-ness. "I mean… not, or, If- you know." You flubb, your hands moving quickly in front of you.
"No you won't. But, you can offer, again."
He stands first, extending his arm to you like the gentleman he's been all night. The sleeve of your jacket catches the chair as you stand making you wobble on your already slightly uneven footing. "Alright, let's get you out of here before you hurt yourself." He laughs. His reassuring hand stays flat against the small of your back, guiding you through the beautiful dining room and into the cool night air.
Jack stands under the awning with you, shoulder to shoulder as he waits for your ride to arrive. Before he has to drag himself back to work and away from you. Through the window, you can still hear the bands instruments playing, on the high notes it rattles the glass just barely.
"I love this song." You gasp, leaning against the wall and physically feeling the song course through you. Jack listens intently for a second, making out what you're hearing. He jogs his memory and remembers having heard the songs a few times. Something by Louie Armstrong; there was no mistaking that voice. La vie en rose that was it!
Jack stays silent, listening to the song alongside you. He doesn't close his eyes like you do. To be honest, he's far more interested in you than the song. This was what he's thought about so many times. Not this exact scenario, but things like it. You in domestic situations, calm, happy. With your eyes still shut, he roams his eyes over every part of your face without fear of being caught.
The slope of your nose, down to the curve of your lips. You had a prominent cupids bow that made your lips look sharp in a way he could never stop thinking about. Your eyelashes that now fluttered along your under eye. He wasn't sure in this moment if you've ever looked more beautiful.
"You know," He says quietly, making sure you we're still able to hear your song over this words. "all thing's considered I think this was a pretty good date."
You peek one eye open, flickering it over to him with a smile. "So we are calling it a date?"
"Yeah." He grins back at your silly looking one-eyed expression."I mean that's what it was wasn't it?"
"Just making sure." You relax again, back to closing your eyes. You can hide the gleam in your eyes by shutting them, but you can't hide the smile on your face.
"But," Jack starts his sentence quietly, devoid of that usual sarcasm he carries through every word. "I was always under the impression good dates usually end with a kiss."
Both your eyes open now, quickly. You stay leaned against the wall, putting a few fingers over your mouth to try and cover the stupidly giddy grin. You coyly nod, eyes looking back and forth like you're thinking hard. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for whatever response this could possibly lead to.
"That does check out." You laugh, one finger tapping on the side of your mouth in fake thought. "That's usually how all the movies end."
"Yeah?" He mutters close to your mouth, settling his hands on either side of your face. You floss your lip in between your teeth, not even that hiding the grin. "Yeah."
La vie en rose crescendos in the background as Jacks lips finally connect with yours. It's perfect. It's like a movie. Like a really perfect rom-com. He's not careful, but he's not aggressive. You can feel how long he's wanted to do this in the way he swallows every breath that leaves your mouth. Your hands trail up his arms, finally feeling how toned they actually are after wondering what they'd feel like under your fingers every time they flexed in the OR.
You're sure you're getting stares from a few concerned citizens along the sidewalk but you couldn't care less. You feel that same smile grow on his lips as you press a hand to his chest. You're reminded of the scene in The Princess Diaries and swear your leg almost kicks up just the same.
He pulls back for no other reason than breathing which he's almost sure he could live without if he could do that a few more times. But, before he can go too far you chase him for one more peck which he reciprocates with just as much enthusiasm. Your hand is still on his chest and now white knuckle gripped against his tie.
"Yeah pretty good date." You repeat the sentiment, any ability to form new thoughts left your head the moment he kissed you. You smooth down his tie with one hand, straightening out the wrinkles your fist caused. He stops you, enveloping your one hand with both of his, pressing his lips along your knuckles. "I'm glad it was with you."
Once your taxi pulls up, you feel like lying and claiming you never called for it. But you have no choice, Jack's got work and you're under strict doctors orders (Doctor Jack Abbot) to rest and enjoy your one weekend off.
"Text me when you get home." He says, shutting the taxi door with you on the other side, painfully. "And, swing by the hospital if you have any more wine. We may need to get you on a saline drip." You laugh way too loudly in the enclosed space of the cab. You hold the wine bottle by the neck, showing it off.
"Goodnight Jack." You say elbow resting on the sill of the rolled down window, smiling up at him. Jack. Not Doctor, just Jack.
You're phone vibrates in your pocket a few minutes down the road into the silent cab ride. The notification disrupts your staring out the window with a smile that was starting to hurt your cheeks. You figure it must be Jack, way too worried about you commuting home alone and already checking in, but it's not.
What has four paws and ruins not only Joel’s Christmas, but his orgasm, too?
Alternatively, you and your cat stay with your dad’s best friend over Christmas.
Tags - dbf!joel, smut, age gap, unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, JOEL JORKS IT IN THE SHOWER, sexual tension, blow jobs, rough/angry sex, first aid, Joel is all grumpy and the target of all sorts of misadventures including but not limited to cat claws in Joel's balls and his butt cheeks, cats pushing shit off of Joel's counter, destroying Joel's house, etc. Some mentions of blood and injury but it’s not bad, I promise. 6.8k words.
A/N - this fic is based on a true story of real crimes that have been committed by my dear Gizmo. Names have been changed out of respect for the victims. @endlessthxxghts thank you for editing babyyy i'd be lost without ya
My submission for @beefrobeefcal’s festive failure! I hope everyone has a safe holiday!!
December 20
Joel twiddles his fingers as he waits by a row of empty seats at the baggage claim area of the Austin airport, trying not to pace. He got here too early, been waiting a couple hours for your flight to land. He just couldn’t sit still at home. Already twice cleaned the house top to bottom, fluffed the guest room pillows three times each.
You. You’re staying with Joel this Christmas. It was a last minute thing; your family, well…they forgot about you. It wasn’t intentional, all accidental. Your parents offered up every and any extra amount of room they have to extended family and in doing so, gave away your old room. Whoops.
And so Joel got a call from your dad, his best friend. Joel was supposed to spend Christmas with your family anyway, so your dad reached out to Joel to ask if he’d be willing to take you in while you visit Austin for the week. Joel, of course, didn’t hesitate to say yes. He’d do anything for you, the sweet little girl he watched grow up. He’s missed you a lot since you left home.
Finally, there you are. He’d recognize your smile anywhere. You wave excitedly at Joel, doing your little jog to greet him. Joel takes long steps to meet you halfway, in total disbelief at how grown up you are. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that you were barely tall enough to reach Joel’s waist, and that was standing on your toes. He remembers teaching you to ride a bike and cleaning up your scraped knees with hydrogen peroxide, and after he bandaged you up he’d let you punch him in the arm as hard as you could to make it square. Look at you now - a beautiful woman, all grown up.
You set your carry-on on the ground and wrap your arms around Joel, squeezing him so fucking tight it steals the oxygen right from his lungs, not that he minds. But the way you kiss his cheek makes his skin burn and his heart pound harder.
“Joel,” you whisper excitedly, hugging him tighter.
Joel lets out a wheezy chuckle. “Hey, kiddo. I missed ya,” he tells you. “S’been too fuckin’ long.”
“Indeed,” you agree.
Joel notices the suitcases from your flight begin to come out on the conveyor belt and squeezes your side twice to alert you, “Better go grab your suitcase, hm?”
“Oh, yeah. Duh. Here–” you laugh, pulling away from Joel to bend down. You pick up your carry on and put it in Joel’s arms, and he grunts at the surprising weight. “Hold this. Be right back.”
Joel inspects the boxy bag you placed in his hands. He turns it to the side and behind a mesh screen are two big green eyes, all wide and untrusting. “Uhhh…” Joel murmurs, further inspecting as he raises an eyebrow. It’s a cat - black fur all puffed up, growling at Joel as its eyes dart left and right. The cat hisses at Joel, causing him to nearly drop the carrier.
You greet Joel once more, this time with your suitcase rolling behind you. “Uh, hey. Who’s this?” Joel asks, suspicion lacing his tone.
“Gizmo!”
“Huh. Gizmo.” The cat hisses again at Joel, startling him. “You didn’t tell me that Gizmo here would be a guest of mine.”
“Oh, I know. I’m so sorry, Joel. It was all so last minute - I found out I was staying with you and then I called kitty daycare,” you begin explaining, Joel leading the way out of the airport and to his truck. He takes your suitcase and carries both that and the carrier. “And get this - they told me they wouldn’t allow me to board Gizmo because he was too bad the last time. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel mumbles, not so surprised.
“I know. It’s bullshit. But don’t worry about Gizmo, Joel. You won’t even know he’s there.”
“M’not really a cat person, you know,” Joel says. “Pretty sure I’m allergic to the bastards, actually.”
Joel puts your luggage in the backseat of his truck, then opens the door for you to get in the passenger side. “Watch your step,” he warns, giving you his hand as you slide in. Joel closes the door, rounds the front of his truck and joins you, promptly starting the vehicle. The loud engine makes Gizmo cry.
“So…” Joel begins, turning onto the busy highway. “How’s it all going? How’s work and whatnot?”
“Good,” you answer. “I don’t know. You know - work’s work. You?”
“Yeah, I hear that,” Joel replies. “Work’s work and Tommy’s…Tommy.” His joke earns him a little giggle from you. “What else is new? Got a boyfriend?” You give Joel a look, and he shrugs. “What?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man?” you tease, talking over Gizmo’s crying. “No, I do not. What about you, Joel, do you have a boyfriend?”
“Cute. Yeah, I do actually. Your father.” Another giggle. Joel laughs too, and he has to fight himself to keep his eyes on the road. You just look so fucking beautiful.
Gizmo whines some more, and Joel looks both irritated and concerned. “It’s okay, Gizmo,” you coo, reaching back to touch his carrier, though the effort does little to soothe him. Joel’s truck chimes when you unbuckle your seatbelt and throw your torso over the front seat, your ass right next to Joel’s head makes him cough and clear his throat.
“What the f-”
Thump. You land in the backseat and open Gizmo’s carrier to pet him and calm him. “It’s alright, Giz- oh, Gizmo, did you have an accident?” Joel’s mouth drops as his eyes dart frantically between the road ahead and the rearview mirror to watch you in the backseat. He’s got a bad taste in his mouth about this.
Now at home, Joel listens to the awful sounds of Gizmo wailing and your shrieks as you bathe the cat after his accident. He had to clean the backseat of his truck, but he didn’t tell you that. When you’re done washing Gizmo, you wrap him in one of Joel’s nicer towels, the one he set aside for you.
It’s evening when you come downstairs, clutching your soggy cat in his towel. You’re already in your pajamas, and Joel’s at the door paying the delivery person for the pizza he took the liberty of ordering.
“Ooh, is that pizza?”
“Sure is. Plain cheese and pepperoni. Sit down, I’ll serve ya,” Joel says. “What would you like?”
“Cheese. Please and thank you.”
You smile as you sit down on Joel’s couch, scratching Gizmo’s damp little head as he purrs happily in your arms. With hands full with plates and cans of pop, Joel makes a disgusted sort of face as you kiss Gizmo’s nose. “Here,” he says, handing you a plate. Gizmo hops off of your lap.
“Thank you.” You take a can of pop from Joel as well, cracking it open as Joel sits right next to you. He turns the TV on, Die Hard already a quarter through on whatever channel his TV was set to. It’ll do.
You and Joel eat pizza together, talking here and there until the conversation fades away and only pizza crust remains on your plates, which are haphazardly set on the coffee table in front of you. At some point, you’ve slid closer to Joel, now pressed against his side with your head resting on his shoulder, dozing off to sleep. He smiles warmly, you poor thing. All worn out after a long day of travel. He doesn’t mind being your pillow.
Scrrraatchk, skrecht. Joel hears the odd, rhythmic noise of…something. “Hey, hon–” Joel wiggles his shoulder. “What’s that noise?”
“Mm?”
“That sound, it’s–”
Out of the corner of his eye, Joel catches Gizmo scratching on his leather recliner - his favorite recliner ever. La-Z-Boy just doesn't make them like they used to. “Oh, god bless it. The fuckin’ cat’s scratchin’ on my chair.”
“Oh, shit. Psst,” you whisper, patting the couch to get Gizmo’s attention, who gives you and Joel that deer in the headlights look. “Knock it off. You know better than that, baby,” you scold in the sweetest, most indulgent tone. Joel rolls his eyes. This is getting old already. “Sorry, Joel. He’s just nervous, trying to make himself feel at home.”
“Mm,” Joel grumbles. “You know, this is exactly why people get their cats declawed. You never considered that for Heathcliff there?”
“No,” you deadpan. “It’s inhumane.”
Joel raises his hands in surrender, then eyes Gizmo as he walks around the perimeter of the living room, stopping to sniff and bat at Joel’s Christmas tree. “Watch him,” he warns, voice dripping with irritation.
You smack his arm. “Oh, relax, old man. He’s not gonna do anything. Pretty tree, though.”
“Thanks. Decorated it myself.”
“I can tell. It’s missing ornaments in the back,” you tease. Joel rolls his eyes, though unoffended. “Still. It’s nice to be around a Christmas tree. I don’t have one this year.”
“You don’t?”
“Mm-mm. Gizmo’s too naughty.”
Joel turns to look at you, baffled by your cognitive dissonance. He just shakes his head, and you go right back to almost-snuggling him.
Gizmo loses interest in Joel’s Christmas tree and continues making his rounds, checking out the window and pawing at the blinds, which makes Joel cringe. Before Joel can say anything you shiver, tucking yourself closer into his side. “You cold, kiddo?”
“A little. But I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” Joel nudges you away from him so he can get up, then pulls a blanket from a basket on the floor. It’s one of those fleece tie blankets, with the repeated logo of the Dallas Cowboys patterned on one side, plain navy on the other. You made this blanket for him, actually. Years and years ago. It’s his favorite - used to be soft at one point, but it’s all scratchy and worn now, well-loved by Joel. He drapes it over his lap and holds one end up, inviting you to get cozy underneath it. But before you do, Gizmo jumps on Joel’s lap. “Awwwh,” you murmur, smiling warmly at your cat. “He stole the blanket.”
“Yeah, but s’alright. We’ll jus’ move him,” Joel says, reaching for Gizmo.
“No, no, he’s fine,” you insist, petting Gizmo’s back. “I think he likes you.”
“Oh, great,” Joel says sarcastically. Gizmo curls up happily on Joel’s lap, kneading the blanket right over Joel’s crotch, which is an uncomfortable sensation. Joel winces and grunts when Gizmo paws his balls. “Watch it, you little shit.”
“Be nice,” you scold, swatting Joel in the arm.
“Uh-huh.”
You and Joel finish the movie and start another, all with Gizmo sleeping happily on Joel’s lap. At some point, you’ve curled yourself up and are now sleeping on your side, feet pressed against Joel’s thigh. “Alright. Time for you to fuck off.” Joel pushes Gizmo off his lap, earning a disgruntled meow from the cat. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, shooing him away before pulling the fleece blanket over your sleeping form. “If it were up to me, you’d be sleepin’ in the garage. So don’t you wake her,” he warns, wagging a finger in Gizmo’s direction. “Asshole.”
December 21
A bit of golden light peeks through Joel’s curtain, gently waking him up. He yawns and checks his digital alarm clock, though he can barely make out the time. Meh. It’s sunrise, whenever that is.
You’re probably still sleeping, Joel guesses, so he’ll grab the first shower. If you’re anything like when you were younger - and you are - if Joel doesn’t shower first, he’ll never get any hot water. He doesn't understand your unique inability to ever shower under 45 minutes, but he can work around it.
Groaning, springs squeaking with his shifting weight, Joel gets out of bed. He takes lazy, heavy steps toward the bathroom, hair sticking up in six different directions with bags under his deep brown eyes. He turns on the water and lets it warm up for a moment, grunting as he tugs his boxers down his thighs, erection slapping against his tummy. He’s hard as a fucking rock - morning wood.
You. You shouldn’t be in his head, but you are. Joel dreamed of you all last night, doing all sorts of filthy things with you, to you. It’s probably nothing - you’re a pretty girl, and Joel’s not gotten laid in however long. Biology. Inappropriate. Wrong. But biology, nonetheless.
Joel steps into the tub, facing the showerhead. He wets his hair, water trickling down his broad, freckled shoulders. He first scrubs his hair using some 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, tangling his fingers in the sudsy strands, then rinses and finger-combs his hair back. Next, he grabs a bar of soap and lathers it in a rag, washing over the broad planes of his chest, his soft tummy, all down his legs, then rinses and wrings out the rag.
His left hand on the wall, right hand palms his cock. Joel wraps his fingers around himself, sliding his hand all the way down, squeezing the base of his shaft. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, dragging his hand back up.
Joel fucks his fist with abandon, and in his head, he’s picturing you. “Oh goddamn, kiddo,” he moans, eyes squeezed shut. Your eyes are all big and wide with your mouth full of his cock, drooling down his shaft and onto his balls. Or you’re on top of him, hands on his chest as you fuck yourself on his cock. He’s behind you, big hands gripping your waist as he pounds against your ass, leaning over you to lick and taste the skin between your shoulder blades.
With his eyes closed as he pumps his cock, what Joel doesn’t see is Gizmo. Gizmo, wedged between the shower curtain and the liner, sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, tail swinging wildly back and forth. His pupils are big as droplets of water roll down the clear liner.
Joel’s dick is red and throbbing, his cheeks are flushed pink as he approaches orgasm. “Fu- oh,” he pants, quickly reaching for his damp washrag. He bites the fabric to quiet his noises of pleasure. His brow knits together, the wrinkles on his face handsomely defined as he grimaces when his cock begins to throb. He’s about to fall over the edge when it’s all ruined - a sharp pain in his ass cheek, dragging down his flesh. “AHHH!” Joel screams in both shock and agony, looking for the source of his pain.
Of fucking course - Gizmo. Gizmo, with his little, fuzzy arm raised high, claws poking through the shower liner and right into Joel’s ass. He’s squirming, stuck like that of course, go figure. “Get the fuck out of here you fuck-” Joel yells, violently shaking the shower curtain. Gizmo sprints out of the shower and around the bathroom in circles, anxiously pawing for any way out. “God fuckin’ - SHIT,” he rages, stomping out of the tub sopping wet and inadvertently kicking Gizmo with every step he takes. Joel frantically opens the bathroom door, wet hands slipping on the handle. “Scram, you fuckin’ asshole,” he spits, watching Gizmo slip out of the bathroom.
“JOEL?!”
Gizmo jumps right into your arms, and Joel gawks at you.
“What did you fucking do to my cat?”
“What did I do?” Joel seethes. “He clawed my fuckin’ ass cheek!”
Joel can’t believe his eyes. You’re shooting him dirty looks as you kiss Gizmo’s little head, and Gizmo’s headbutting your face in return. He rubs his cheeks on your nose and curls his furry little body into yours, and you pout as you soothe him. “Yeah, sure. Worry about the cat. I’m fuckin’ fine, I guess,” Joel bites, catching a glimpse of a small amount of blood running down his thigh from his ass.
Joel shuts the door then, and gets back into the shower. He washes the scratch with soap and water, wincing at the sting. When he’s done with his shower - and only his shower, as it’s now too late for him to make himself come, Joel apologizes to you for losing his temper.
“Well, don’t apologize to me, Joel. Apologize to him.”
Joel pauses, jaw twitching, balling his hands into fists as he glares at Gizmo purring contentedly in your lap. “Sorry.” It’s the most painful, undeserved apology he’s ever had to make.
Between the holidays and your cat, Joel can already tell it’s gonna be a long fucking week.
December 22
Joel’s current job site isn’t too far from home, so instead of eating a packed sandwich in his truck, he decides to come home one afternoon to make himself something for lunch.
He enters his house through the garage and sees you napping peacefully on his couch, snoring ever so quietly. Your lips are pouting, drooling a little onto his leather couch as the TV plays at a low volume. Joel chuckles quietly, shaking his head. It makes Joel happy to see you comfortable like that, so at home at his house.
He strolls into the kitchen and opens his refrigerator, grabbing some lunch meat and cheese. He tosses them onto the counter, then grabs a jar of mayonnaise and a loaf of bread sitting on top of the refrigerator, sets those down too. Joel grabs a plate, and when he turns back around, Gizmo’s on the counter.
“Get down from there,” Joel hisses, shooing away the cat. “Go on, git.”
Gizmo blinks at him nonchalantly, which pisses Joel off. He knows that fucking cat speaks English. So Joel takes the liberty to shove Gizmo off of the counter, Gizmo landing on all fours with a thump and a discontent meow. “Yeah, shut up. Overgrown fuckin’ rodent.”
Joel pulls two slices of bread from the loaf and opens the jar of mayonnaise, spreading a thin layer on each piece. He moves the jar out of the way and begins assembling his sandwich, and Gizmo hops right back onto his spot on the counter to stare at Joel.
“Oh, you little…” Joel whispers, trailing off and shaking his head. Joel cuts his sandwich on the diagonal, then begins making another - for you, of course. You always told Joel sandwiches taste better when he makes them. You’re a master fucking manipulator, with Joel wrapped tightly around your finger.
Gizmo reaches for the cheese. “Don’t even think about it, shithead,” Joel gruffs, swatting his paw away. “The sandwich is for her. Not. You.”
Joel puts your sandwich in a little baggy and places it in the refrigerator before writing a note for you on a post-it. When he returns to the counter, Gizmo’s surreptitiously dipping his paw into the mayonnaise. “Hey!” Joel snaps, “Get yer filthy goddamn mitts outta there.”
December 23
It’s late at night when Joel wakes up to a horrible suffocation. His eyes fly open and his heart pounds with the heavy weight on his chest, and in his hypnagogic state, he begins to panic. Fuck, he’s having a heart attack. Confused and scared, he tosses his body with the little strength he has, and that’s when he feels it - two paws rhythmically pressing into his chest, a low purr.
Gizmo.
“Get the fuck off of me,” Joel whispers, pushing Gizmo off his chest.
Gizmo makes a little mrrp noise on the floor, then leaves. Joel rolls his eyes and tosses onto his stomach, then tries to drift off to sleep.
But he can’t. Joel’s up now, as there’s nothing like a middle of the night panic to jolt the nervous system wide awake. So Joel groans softly as he sits up in bed, yanking the blankets off his body. He takes slow, sleepy steps out of his room and down the stairs, grabbing himself a glass from the cabinet above the sink. “Fuckin’ cat,” he mumbles quietly as he fills the glass with some water. Joel takes a few sips, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his house. In his living room, he can see some ornaments are strewn across the floor, lights pulled off the branches of his Christmas tree. As if on cue, Gizmo brushes up against Joel’s leg. “I know what you did, you motherfucker,” Joel grumbles, gently pushing Gizmo away with his foot. Joel sets the glass of water down, then makes his way to the living room.
He first puts the lights back on the tree, and then he gathers the ornaments and places them back on the branches.
Skrrrch.
Joel looks back to see Gizmo on the counter, nudging Joel’s glass along the surface with a gentle bat of his paw, inching it closer and closer to the edge. “HEY,” Joel whisper-yells, warning the cat, “I fuckin’ dare ya, cat. Jus’ watch what happens.”
Gizmo makes direct eye contact with Joel as he pushes it off, and it lands with that signature, awful sound of broken glass.
“God bless it.”
Joel stomps over to Gizmo, who frantically jumps down off the counter and skitters off into another room. Joel chases him down and turns on a light, then corners him and grabs his little body. He cradles the squirming, whining cat and inspects all four paws to make sure he didn’t step on any glass, then tosses him back onto the floor, where Gizmo then runs up the stairs and into Joel’s guest room to join you in a peaceful slumber.
Joel sweeps up the broken glass, defeated.
December 24
Joel’s off work for both Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so finally, he gets to spend some time with you. He’s in his pajamas making eggs and toast for you at the stove, and you’re at the kitchen table, sipping on the orange juice Joel poured for you. “Vitamin C,” he’d said. “S’good for ya.”
Joel plates your eggs, done just how you like them, and butters your toast. “Here ya are, darlin’,” he murmurs, setting down both yours and his plates at the table.
“Thank you, Joel,” you smile. Gizmo’s weaving in and out between your feet on the ground. With the side of your fork, you cut off a small bite of your eggs and drop it on the ground, smiling at the way Gizmo darts out to eat it. Joel just watches, completely dumbfounded.
“You and that cat,” he sighs. “You know, he’s been causin’ me all sorts ‘a trouble all week.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that,” you argue, leaning down to scratch Gizmo between his ears.
“Well, you should, ‘cause he’s the fuckin’ devil. Broke a glass last night.”
“Did not.”
“Did too. An’ he’s been fuckin’ with my tree,” Joel adds.
You roll your eyes. “It’s just a little cat, Joel. Are you being bullied by a tiny little cat?”
“As a matter ‘a fact, yes. I am.”
You and Joel spend the rest of the day relaxing and watching Christmas episodes of sitcoms together. Joel has you wrap his presents, claiming it’s what you owe him for allowing you and your devil cat to stay.
In the late afternoon, you and Joel get ready to go to your parents’ house for Christmas Eve dinner. Joel wears a dark green flannel and runs a comb through his hair, and you put on a nice dress, one that hugs your curves beautifully.
You knock twice on his bedroom door. “Joel?”
“Yeah, kiddo. C’mon in.”
“Just wondering if you can zip me,” you ask quietly, spinning around for Joel to pull the zipper up your dress.
“Can do,” he answers. He puts a hand on your waist and tugs the zipper all the way up, then smoothes out the fabric. “Y’look beautiful,” he tells you. “Know that?”
“Joooel,” you murmur bashfully, elongating his name.
“I mean it,” Joel says, spinning you around and pushing a bit of hair out of your eyes with his pinky finger and smiling at you, which makes you all flustered. Joel clears his throat then, ushering you out of his room and down the stairs. “M’nervous about leavin’ that cat of yours all alone, you know. If we get home from this and that asshole destroyed my fuckin’–”
You squeeze Joel’s arm. “Relax,” you tell him, but your words do little to soothe the man. The whole time at dinner, all Joel can talk with your parents about is how awful Gizmo is. All the trouble he’s caused, and how you think the little bastard can do no wrong. “Your daughter feeds him,” Joel tells your dad, watching your reaction. You scoff and roll your eyes. “Right from her plate.”
The night comes and goes, much like it always does. Christmas comes so much faster than it ever used to, and it doesn’t last as long. Joel drives you both home and to Joel’s surprise, his house is in one piece. But not the present he got you.
“Goddamn it,” Joel grumbles, seeing the gift bag he left under his tree for you in shreds. He picked out a little black cat ornament for you, and thought you’d like it. He put some cat treats in the bag too. Go fucking figure that Gizmo ruins it.
You help Joel clean up the mess of shredded paper and plastic, all the cat treats are, of course, eaten. “Fuckin’ cat’s probably pukin’ in my bed,” Joel gruffs.
You put your ornament on Joel’s tree and squeeze his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re thoughtful,” you tell him.
Joel smiles with his lips pressed together. He’s so ready for this week to be over. He’ll miss you - god, will he miss you when you’re gone, but he will not miss your asshole fucking cat. “How ‘bout another Christmas movie, hm?”
“Yeah,” you agree, smiling.
“M’takin’ requests. Got any?” Joel opens his entertainment center cabinet to show you his array of DVD’s, the Christmas movies all already set out.
“This one.” You tap the Bad Santa DVD case. “‘Cause he’s hot.”
“Who is? Billy Bob Thornton?”
“Mhm,” you nod, smirking.
Joel makes a disgusted face and gives you a look, but puts the movie in the DVD player anyway. Some of the vulgar jokes make Joel blush, which is uncomfortable for him and entertaining for you.
When the movie’s over, it’s time to go to bed. For real, too. You and Joel have to be at your parents’ house again in the morning and will likely spend the entire day there, getting no alone time or space from anyone. Joel bids you goodnight and kisses you on the cheek, then heads to the bathroom for a night time shower. He doesn’t wanna fight you for it in the morning.
Joel keeps only the night light on in the bathroom. He’s exhausted, eyes are dry and stinging with tiredness. He pulls off his t-shirt, unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans and boxers down his legs together, then toes off his socks, yawning as he scratches his balls. In a sleepy haze, Joel gets into the tub and turns on the shower.
He’s met with that sharp, awful, excruciating pain of claws in his skin, only it’s not in his thighs. Not in his ass.
His fucking balls. Your cat’s claws are in Joel’s balls, and dragging down his sack. Joel feels like puking as it happens, and at the same time he’s being blasted with cold water as Gizmo panics and scratches his body further. It’s like a cartoon, when two characters fight and it’s just pure chaos - a cloud of screaming and other concerning noises, concerning noises that startle you awake.
“FUUUUUUCK!!” Joel yells, scrambling to get out of the tub. He clutches his scrotum and wraps a towel haphazardly around his waist, feeling dizzy as he bleeds into his palm. “Fuck - y–”
You fly out of bed and sprint to the bathroom, where Gizmo is clawing at the bottom of the door. “Joel?” you knock frantically. “Joel!”
Joel unlocks the door and Gizmo sprints out, soaking wet and leaving a path of water droplets in his wake. Joel’s white as a fucking ghost. “Joel?”
“H- he-” Joel can’t even get the words out. Still holding his towel in place, Joel checks the palm of his hand and sees a mess of crimson. “Oh my god,” he says with a weakened voice.
“Joel, what the fuck? What happened?!”
Joel shakes his head, vision going spotty as he waddles to his bedroom and sits on the bed. You follow him, shutting the door behind you and turning the light on in his room. “Joel.”
Joel says nothing, only peeks slightly at his crotch. He does his best to protect his modesty with you there but fuck, he’s gonna faint. And unfortunately, you might see more than you should, should that happen.
“Did he scratch you?” Joel only nods, swallowing thickly. “Okay, alright. Where’s your first aid stuff?”
“Bathroom vanity,” Joel chokes out.
You hurry to the bathroom and grab Joel’s first aid kit, then return quickly to him.
Joel has a strong stomach, however, the sight of his mangled scrotum is too much for his heart to take. If he looks, he might puke and faint and that’ll make everything worse. “You gotta do it,” he tells you, urgency in his voice. “I can’t look. Cat fuckin’ butchered me. I’m a eunuch.”
“Okay, okay,” you whisper, sitting beside Joel. You take his hand in yours, the one that’s clutching his towel shut. He’s shaking, trembling, and you move it to the side so you can open his towel.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Joel says.
“You’re fine,” you reply calmly, though in all honesty you’re pretty nervous too. “I’m gonna open up your towel, okay?”
“Yeah, go ‘head and do it. M’so sorry, kid. Jesus christ,” Joel groans. He leans back so that he’s laying flat on the bed, palms pressed into his eyes as his tummy rises and falls with panicked breaths.
You open the towel and asses the injuries.
It’s not bad.
Really.
It’s not. But you still wouldn’t trade places with Joel, right now. There’s quite a few scratches here and there, some deeper and longer than others. Nothing a little cleanup and some antibiotic ointment can’t fix. “Okay, Joel. I’m gonna be right back, I need to get a soapy rag.” Joel gives you a weak thumbs up.
You run the water on warm and lather a clean rag with some soap, then return to Joel to wash the scratches. “Might sting,” you tell him, dragging the rag gently over his sack. You do your best to remain professional or something of the sort, to ignore how Joel’s cock thickens at your touch. His thick thatch of hair spattered around the base of his dick, gray, wiry hairs sprinkled amongst the brown. He’s thicker than you would have guessed, longer too, curved so beautifully. And his thighs - gorgeous, toned. Belly is soft, arms are strong. He’s gorgeous, all laid out like this.
Joel’s…Joel is feeling every emotion. Embarrassment, because his best friend’s daughter is between his thighs and carefully tending to his lacerated balls. Rage, because her fucking shithead cat is the reason he’s in this predicament. Aroused, because he’s only a man, and you’re too fucking pretty for him to not get hard from your touch.
“Are you doing okay, Joel?” you whisper.
“Ask me later.” Joel wipes some sweat from his brow. “Sorry about the…my…uh…”
“It’s fine,” you assure him. “Didn’t know you were hung like that, Joel.”
“Jesus Christ, kid, don’t say shit like that.”
You stifle your laughter as you toss the rag to the side, the bleeding now stopped. You unscrew the cap of some Neosporin, then squeeze a generous amount onto your fingertip.
“I’m gonna touch you,” you warn. “Just some Neosporin. Okay?”
Joel nods. “Go for it.” He clears his throat when you touch his shaft, moving it slightly out of the way so you can dab the ointment on his scratches. Fuck, he’s struggling to conceal his moans and his stuttered breathing.
Gizmo hops on the couch then, and headbutts Joel’s bicep.
“Get that goddamn cat away from me before I put him through the fuckin’ wall,” Joel seethes.
You don’t push. You know Joel means business, and Gizmo really did fuck up this time. “Psst, Gizmo. Get down. Leave Joel alone,” you whisper, swatting Gizmo onto the floor. “Gizmo’s really sorry,” you murmur, still rubbing ointment onto Joel’s balls. “He didn’t mean to, Joel. He must’ve thought—”
Joel holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t. Jus’ don’t.”
“Okay,” you whisper. You lift Joel’s ballsack to see if you missed any scratches, but you didn’t. “You’re all done, Joel.”
Joel scoffs, and you stroke his thigh soothingly to calm him. He says nothing, only collects his breathing. His cock is still achingly hard, a pearly, pretty bead of precum at the tip.
It’s a risk, but you take it anyway. You lean down and press a kiss right against his ballsack, conscious to avoid any scratches inflicted by Gizmo.
“Woah, woah, woah-”
“Shhh,” you whisper. “Do you want this?”
“Yeah, but-”
“But nothing.” You kiss Joel’s sack all over as much as you can, and once you’ve exhausted that, you kiss up his hard shaft. “I’m kissing it better.”
You lick up the length of Joel’s shaft, then circle your tongue a few times around the tip. With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, you rest the other on his tummy.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, voice dripping with relief as his hips thrust up, almost as if to chase your mouth. He sits up and reaches for your head, softly dragging his nails over your scalp rhythmically. “You’re a good girl.”
You take his tip into your mouth, working your way down his cock to take him fully inside. Joel tastes salty, sweaty, heady and so masculine, just like you always imagined, and it makes you wet. And you, with your warm and wet and inviting mouth, Joel’s imagination didn’t come close to mimicking this. You bob your head up and down his shaft, bouncing your nose into his pubic hair.
“Jus’ like that,” Joel grunts. “Attagirl.”
His words only worsen your growing arousal, and you can feel yourself making a mess of your panties. You fuck Joel’s cock with your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and spitting down his shaft and your knuckles.
Joel pulls your head away from his cock. “Wait a second,” he tells you. “Wanna look at the mess you’re makin’,” he mumbles, admiring the slick, wet mess of your saliva on his cock. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs, then pushes you back down onto his cock.
Joel thrusts into your mouth a bit harshly, though maintaining a certain gentleness to it. He ruts into your mouth, grunting your name as you drool on him, just as he pictured before.
You reach into your skirt and pull your panties to the side, the cotton is all but soaked with your wetness. Dragging a finger up and down your folds, you moan onto Joel’s cock, sending vibrations down his shaft.
“Whatcha doin’ there, kiddo?” he rasps.
“Nothing,” you murmur, pressing kisses against his dick.
“Sure don’t look like nothin’. C’mere.” Joel pulls you close to him and tugs the zipper of your back down your dress, then helps you out of it. He unclasps your bra and pulls your soaked panties down your legs, clutching them in his fist before shoving them behind his pillow.
In a swift motion that has you yelping excitedly, Joel flips you on your back, the bed beneath you warm with his body heat. Joel settles between your thighs and pushes your knees back toward your chest. “Yeah, s’it. This what you wanted, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, settling into his pillows. Joel’s hot breath fans over your hot, pulsing sex as he places his large, meaty hands on the backs of your thighs. Fuck, the way you smell has Joel’s head spinning, dizzy with lust. He presses kisses against your inner thighs first, working his way toward your center where he kisses sloppily over your clit.
“Makin’ a mess of my sheets, y’know that, kid?” Joel teases, admiring the puddle of arousal you’re dripping onto his bed. He feels the heat of your cunt radiating against his face, inviting him in. He squeezes the meat of your thighs as he licks one long stripe up your pussy, then rubs your skin in circles with his thumbs.
With a flattened tongue, Joel continues licking, rounding your clit before repeating the motion. He memorizes your folds, your taste, your scent. You moan his name and clutch his head against your cunt, your wordless plea for more.
“I’ll give ya more, sweetheart. I know what you want,” he says, tongue now circling your entrance before dipping inside to taste you. He drags his tongue back up and flicks it up and down over your clit. Urgently, you tug on his graying, dark curls, pleasure blooming in your gut. You’re soaking his face as your climax approaches, thighs twitching beneath his palms. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant.
“Let go, darlin’.”
You’re about to come when -
CRASH
It’s a loud, thundering crash, the sound of broken glass and heavy objects hitting the floor. Joel growls against your pussy and violently punches the bed on either side of you before tearing himself away from your cunt and stomping downstairs with a renewed anger for your cat.
“I swear to fuckin’ Christ,” he fumes, seeing the mess Gizmo, of course, made. You’re right behind Joel, your jaw dropped in shock.
Ornaments all over the floor, some shattered and others still in one piece. The Christmas tree is somehow in two pieces - god only knows how gizmo managed to do that. The Christmas lights are strewn all over the place and there’s your precious cat, tangled up in the mess. Joel seethes as he makes his way toward Gizmo to free him of the lights, “You get the fuck outta here,” he hisses.
“It was an accident!”
Joel turns around, chest heaving with his angry breaths. “Not another fuckin’ word,” he says, grabbing you by the arm and forcing you over the leather recliner. Joel laughs without humor when he sees that it’s been further scratched by Gizmo.
He parts your legs with his foot, then lines up with your slick hole and enters you in one swift thrust, the action both mind-splittingly painful and pleasurable.
“Joel,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to grab at his thigh as he sets a quick, brutal pace.
“You are…” he starts, “Never…bringing…that fucking cat…here…ever again,” Joel pants, fucking you with anger. “Do you fuckin’ understand me?”
“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice muffled with your face pressed into the chair.
Joel draws out of you all the way, admiring your milky arousal glistening on his cock underneath the glow of the ruined Christmas lights. He plunges back in, then fucks you harshly. He draws in and out of you so quickly and steadily, the head of his cock brushing over your g-spot with each of his thrusts. “Fuck,” he grunts, pulling you by your hips onto his cock repeatedly.
He breathes loudly through his nose, fucking fuming with rage as he uses your cunt to relieve himself of the stress you - yes, you caused him. That cat may be Satan’s spawn but he’s still yours. You are responsible for this.
Pleasure builds quickly in you, and Joel can tell. He leans over you to press his fingers against your clit; he doesn’t even have to move them to make you come. Just the pressure and the motion of his rough fucking is enough to send you over the edge, pussy pulsing and gushing on Joel’s stiff cock, making a mess of him.
Joel pulls you against his chest and bites your ear as he pounds into you, chasing his own orgasm. His balls tighten and his body tenses before release, and then he’s spilling into you, spurting milky white ropes of his hot come inside you. “Fuck, goddamn,” he grunts, fucking himself through his climax. When he’s finished, he pulls out of you unceremoniously, your combined arousal spilling onto the ground. What’s another fucking mess to clean up.
Joel rounds the chair and plops onto the couch, pulling you down with him. You yelp as you fall but he catches you in his strong arms and hugs you close against his body, kissing your forehead and cheeks. “I fuckin’ hate that cat,” he tells you, panting.
Gizmo mrrps then and jumps onto Joel’s lap with you, walking over both of your bodies to greet Joel specifically, bunting Joel’s face as he purrs.
“He’s really sorry,” you giggle.
“Yeah, m’sure.” Joel surprises you both and brings a hand to Gizmo’s face, gently petting his head. “I mean it,” Joel warns. “Never. Again.”
IF YOU ENJOYED!!! Please leave me a comment or say something nice in your reblog, or send me an ask ♡ i love when you make this blog feel like a community ily. ty so much <3 <3 <3
Hahahah I am Gizmo, it’s me clawing at Joel Miller’s ass 😏😂
What’s funny is I have my own version of Gizmo at home and I’m definitely more Joel than reader with him, but gdi if this hasn’t made me love the chaos goblin that is Gizmo 😂
I loved this! Just the right amount of funny and some hot smut 👀
Robby has never been a fan of birthdays. This year, loneliness drives him to download Tinder on an impulse, only to come across the last person he expected to find there: his favorite resident.
warning/tags: minors DNI, p0rn with little plot, masturbating, sexting, pet names (sweetheart and good girl) robby loves talking you through it, unprotected piv, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, body hair, fingering, creampie, handjob, kinda softdom!robby, age gap (I imagined reader being in her 20s or 30s but could be in her 40s too, tried to keep it broad)
For those of you who read it the first or second time I uploaded it: during the days the fic was down, I expanded some scenes, added a bit more dialogue, and made it a little kinkier along the way. You might want to read it again for some extra content
He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.
Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.
It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.
But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.
He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.
So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.
He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe.
Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.
He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?
As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?
He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”
He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought.
Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.
But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now.
At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.
He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.
Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”
Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.
He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.
It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.
He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.
The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body.
Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.
But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation.
It’s a Match!
On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.
You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.
How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”
Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.
Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.
You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away.
How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.
You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.
You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.
His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.
His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically.
You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before.
It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”
It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”
Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.
Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.
Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:
It’s a Match!
Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.
“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.
He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think.
A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”
Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match.
Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.
It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.
His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.
Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.
You: hii :)
Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.
You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.
He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.
Another message came through a minute later.
You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha
Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.
Robby: hey
yeah, I saw it
listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident
sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird
He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work.
You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.
Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.
Robby: Sorry about the confusion
i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this.
You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.
but hey, we all have our moments i guess
Robby: i’m not the type
this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.
You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder
Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.
Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?
You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious
He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?
Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?
You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know, you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though
Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity
or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that
You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise
Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.
But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.
Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.
You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice
He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.
Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight
You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be
but still finding you here is a nice change :)
Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down
You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is
Robby: fair enough.
your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up
fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?
You: haha yeah well
i like older men
Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?
No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.
Robby: It’s okay to have preferences
everyone does.
You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better
He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.
Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.
Robby: makes sense
i usually go for women closer to my stage of life
we have more in common that way
You: do age gaps bother you?
Robby: in what way?
You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?
Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want
as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.
You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?
Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me
but usually around my age
He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.
He typed before he could second-guess himself.
Robby: how much older are we talking anyway?
the men you usually like i mean.
Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.
You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)
Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.
He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.
Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?
or is it mostly the older crowd?
You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.
Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.
You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)
Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.
He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.
Robby: Nothing to apologize for
honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected
You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance
Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either
there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you
You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest
Robby: Really? that can’t be right
you’re selling yourself short.
You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot
The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.
All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.
Robby: thanks i guess
you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl
The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.
You: good girl? 😏
Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird
just a figure of speech i suppose.
You: should i call you daddy then? ;)
Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.
The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.
He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.
You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol
Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.
Robby: Don’t worry about it
i know it was a joke, no harm done
You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke
He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.
Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.
You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight
Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep
early shift tomorrow and all
You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something
The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.
Robby: that would be very inappropriate
i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross
You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now
You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting.
Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that
we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow
You: nah i’m pretty sure i can
Robby: No.
You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.
He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying.
Robby: what do you mean?
You: sexting, duh
He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.
Robby: that’s basically the same thing.
You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.
Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.
This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.
But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.
Robby: what do you want me to say?
You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot
He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought
Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?
The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.
You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?
Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch.
Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed
You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(
He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.
You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do
You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.
Robby: i feel stupid doing this.
You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself
Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.
Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?
You: yessss that was so much better. keep going
If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.
Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?
You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver.
You: yes. they’re open
Robby: Perfect
i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could
run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are
As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.
You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.
Robby: that’s my girl
now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me
You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.
You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.
Robby: fuck i knew you would be
i want you to circle your clit for me now
Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need
i’d take my time, taste every inch of you
Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.
Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me
You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please
Robby: Good
now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep
curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake
i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening
When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles.
Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open
i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this
imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit
Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.
You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please
Robby: you were the one who told me to do this
You: i know i did. but it’s not enough
send me your address
He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.
Robby: what for?
you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?
You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.
Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.
Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride.
You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.
You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there
You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.
Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.
You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.
But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.
Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.
He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you.
Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.
You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”
Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach.
As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively.
The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress.
The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.
“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”
He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts.
From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.
The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.
The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.
Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.
You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”
His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.
“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”
You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”
You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.
“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub.
He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”
Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.
Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”
“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”
He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”
You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.
The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit.
His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth.
He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”
“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”
“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips.
Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed.
Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”
You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher.
Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher.
“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”
The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”
You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.
“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”
The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.
You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.
Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”
You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants.
“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”
Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust.
You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”
He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”
Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.
“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”
He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”
You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”
Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.
“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.
Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”
He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.
“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”
He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”
The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.
You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.
A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.
You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”
Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”
Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.
Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.
After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”
You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.
A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”
You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”
You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.
The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”
He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.
The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.
As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”
You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.
“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”
You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.
Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”
You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.
“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.
Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.
And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.
His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.
With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.
“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.
“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”
You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.
“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.
“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”
You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.
The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.
“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”
You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.
“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”
By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”
He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”
You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.
“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”
Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”
Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.
Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”
Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.
God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.
You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”
At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you.
The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.
“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”
You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.
“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”
“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”
With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.
You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.
There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”
He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”
The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.
“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”
He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”
You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.
A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.
If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it
Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.
I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.
Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷
Summary: When Jack pushes himself too hard, you’re there for him to lean on. <3
Warnings: Mentions of blood, age-gap relationship, explicit language, medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 4k+
Author’s Note: different universe than my ‘Night Shift Love’ series. Jack & reader are pre-relationship.
Jack Abbot was good at noticing things. Picking up things others—except maybe Robby—wouldn’t. His hazel eyes stared across the ED observing more often than not. He knew things that people probably wanted to keep a secret or to themselves, and he made sure they stayed that way unless it involved danger in any way.
He picked up when people were in an off mood that wasn’t their usual self, he’d always make his voice a little softer—a brief grounding touch on the shoulder—send them for a break if needed. He knew when the coffee machine needed cleaned or new beans just by the smell alone. Never mind the taste that was somehow worse than it usually tasted. He could sense when a trauma was incoming or a person was behind him he’d feel the air shift around him, or the hair on the back of his neck and arms standing up. He knew when it was going to rain, another thing he could smell. He noticed when people were struggling, had a rough shift or simply just needed a breather.
But above all; he noticed you.
From the day you first stepped into that noisy ER he was silently clocking you—watching like he did with all newbies—but something about you made his chest twist in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
He noticed when you got new scrubs in a different color, all the different ways you did your hair each day. He looked forward to seeing what it would be every shift. He noticed which water bottle was yours, how you liked your coffee. The way you bit your bottom lip and furrowed your brows when you were thinking really hard. How gentle and soothing you were with patients, always calm and thorough. He noticed the way you’d snort quietly if you laughed hard enough. The way you painted your nails or added a small pin or accessory to your scrubs for each holiday.
He noticed your hovering hand when you’d squeeze past him, the small rub to his arm as a wordless ‘thank you.’ When his own arm was barely an inch from yours as you both leaned against the counter of the hub, talking to Dana. He could feel the heat of your skin, and he wondered if you could feel his too. He noticed if you had a ride to and from work every shift, he’d pay for your Uber or offer to drive you home if you didn’t.
So what if he hovered a little longer than usual to make sure you got in your Uber safely? Or memorized the license plate, make of the car and what driver looked like, just in case? So what if he ordered takeout from your favorite diner during a long and tiring shift? He was just looking out for you, right? He wanted all his coworkers to be safe. He’d do those things for anyone, wouldn’t he? He told himself that even when Dana suddenly spawned next to him, smirk on her lips and that look in her eye.
“Her car’s been gone for five minutes, how long are you gonna stand there and stare at the parking lot?”
“What?”, Jack’s head swiveled around way too fast; “I wasn’t-“
Dana hums; “Sure.”
“I was just taking a minute, waiting for Robby”, He tried.
Dana only laughed; “Robby’s been waiting for you at the hub for ten minutes.”
Shit. Were his ears as pink as they felt?
“Uh-yeah, right. Ok. Be right there.”
Dana mumbled something along the lines of “Stupid men worse than a teenager…” as she disappeared from his side and out of sight.
Even though Jack noticed things about you, the one thing he didn’t notice was how much you had noticed him too.
It was pretty much the same things; his mood, his coffee preference, things like that. But you also noticed the way his jaw clenched and ticked when he didn’t like something, the way his shoulders tensed, and pulled closer in on him when he was stressed. The way he scratched his stubble in deep thought. How he always stood with his bow legs apart, or how his hair always looked tousled like he’d run his fingers through it a million times that day. The soft smile and huff of a laugh that only a few people—like Robby and Dana—could get out of him. But then you started to notice you could bring it out of him too.
Most of all, you noticed when something was off about him. When he was trying to cover something up or hide something from everyone around him; like he had to in order to keep going.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
You first noticed how tired he looked when he walked in through the ED doors at the beginning of your shared shift. The way his eyes were slightly more sunken and heavy, his shoulders stiff and jaw tight. The way his feet seemed to drag below him. The way he looked like he hadn’t slept at all on his day off. His stubble was slightly thicker and darker, only adding to his disheveled appearance as he got closer to you.
“Geez Jack, you look like hell, brother”, Robby’s voice comes from behind you.
Jack pauses for a second, so quick you almost missed it, and then keeps moving towards the staff room. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile, only a small flick of his eyes at Robby.
“Thanks man”, It comes out low and gruff, like it physically hurts to talk.
When he’s out of earshot you turn back towards Dana and Robby, preparing for handoffs.
“What’s going on with him?”, You ask, low enough for only them to hear, careful not to overstep.
Robby lets out a deep sigh, hands in his hoodie pockets as he shrugs his shoulders, raising his eyebrows to his hairline; “Don’t know. Not exactly the easiest person to get to open up.”
You hear Dana scoff next to you; “You’re one to talk.”
Robby shoots her a brief glare, and a “Thank you, Dana”, before sipping on the last of his—now probably cold—coffee. One of his hands claps your shoulder as he moves past, bending down close to your ear.
“I already talked to Lena but, keep an eye on him, ok? He seems to trust you, maybe you can get him to talk.”
You don’t have time to respond as Jack appears beside the hub again, rolling his neck like it’s stiff before turning to Robby to do handoffs. You feel Dana’s hand on your lower back before you see her, turning you gently to come with her until you’re both out of earshot. She knew about your crush on him, hell she encouraged it. Not that she didn’t take any opportunity she could to tease you about it. But this wasn’t one of those times; she was serious.
“I caught him asleep in an on call room during his last shift”, Her voice is low, brow pinched together.
You look over at Jack briefly, then back at Dana; “Really?”
She hums in response; “I’ve never seen him like this. Usually I have to force him to take a break.”
Jack was stubborn. Headstrong. Everyone knew that. He rarely ever let his guard down—and when he did—it wasn’t for just anyone. As you looked him over, you couldn’t help but think how tired he looked. Already more prominent than when he’d walked in a few minutes prior.
You huffed softly; “I’ll see what I can get out of him”, you pat Dana’s shoulder; “If not, you’re up mom.”
Dana laughed; “That’s right, and don’t you forget it either.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The shift starts how it usually does, a quick influx of patients has you and everyone else working on autopilot, practically speed walking everywhere, Dana had previously threatened to poke anyone she saw running between the eyes. Robby and Dana had long gone home, leaving the night shift to take over.
You don’t see Jack other than in quick passing until almost two hours into the shift. He’s walking up beside you as you both head for the ambulance bay, shoulders almost brushing together.
“Hey, you ok today?”, You ask softly.
It takes him off guard, his head whipping around to look at you so fast you don’t know how it didn’t hurt.
“Peachy, why?”, His voice is still gruff, not mean, just short and blunt. Like he doesn’t want to put too much thought into a coherent sentence.
You shrug; “Just seem tired today, wanted to make sure you’re ok.”
He forces a smile at that, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“M’fine, sweetheart. Just take care of you.”
You open your mouth to argue, but the arrival of the ambulance in front of you makes your words die before they reach your lips. You can’t help your eyes watching him as you roll the gurney through the ED and into a trauma room; watching him work. How his hands are just a little unsteady, not quite shaking but just slightly unsure of themselves. Still he moves with precision, but anyone who looked at him close enough would be able to tell something was off.
When you help him pull off his gown, Ellis is pulling you away to another patient before you can speak to him. But not without you seeing the hesitance in his step, his gait slightly wobbly, like he has to think about it before taking a step.
The moment you step into another patient’s room the thought is at the back of your mind. You can’t help your thoughts wandering to him each free second you get. You had shot Dana a text not long ago, filling her in on whatever you’d picked up on. The conversation did little to calm the apprehension crawling through your bones.
Somewhere across the ED, Jack steps out of another trauma, forcing himself around the corner before leaning up against a wall, forehead pressed to the cool paint as he inhales deeply. A shaky breath leaves his nose when he squeezes his eyes shut. It’s only for a minute—not long enough for anyone to catch—before he’s on the move again, gritting his teeth as he goes.
Later, you find him at the hub as you stop to check in with Lena. Your eyes drop to his feet where he has one foot—the prosthetic one—completely lifted off the ground, balancing all his weight on his good leg. Your heart hammers in your chest. Oh. He’s hurt.
You want to speak up, but not here. Instead you settle yourself at a computer to work on charting when his voice rings out, calling your name. You meet his gaze just in time to catch the sandwich he’d thrown at you.
“Eat.” It’s all he says before going on his way, not even fully stopping to talk.
Your chest pinches, even in pain Jack was still looking out for you. That’s just who Jack was. Everyone else before himself, no matter how much he might need something. Sleep, food, a moment of quiet? Not until everyone else had it.
“Jesus he’s stubborn”, Lena muses from behind you.
“Yeah”, You say, not fully paying attention, looking at the sandwich in your hands; “That he is.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Six hours into shift there’s a lull, you let yourself sit in the break room, refill your coffee, breathe for a moment. As soon as you look through the windows out into the hall that peace is shattered. Jack’s leaning against the furthest wall from you, back turned your direction, head down like he’s trying really hard to compose himself. You see his hesitation as he keeps one hand along the wall for balance as he goes to move, the furrow in his brow. You flick your eyes back down before he catches you looking.
A half an hour later, his prosthetic stutters beneath him, he grabs a nearby cart to steady himself; knuckles white as he grips it. All eyes turn to him, a quick “I’m fine”, tumbling from his lips before anyone can say anything.
It only gets worse from there. Walls and counters become his lifeline, hand pressed against the cool surfaces to keep himself upright with each step. He winces when he stands from the roller chairs in a patient’s room. A small sheen of sweat lingers above his brows. If his scrubs weren’t black it would probably be visible there too.
His jaw stays almost permanently clenched. Frustration settling inside him. Fake smiles with patients and other doctors. Quick two or three word answers, sometimes just a huff or a grumble in response. You find yourself steadying him with a hand hovering at his back during a few procedures; he thankfully wasn’t leading them. Ellis shoots you a look, you can only return one that says ‘I’m working on it.’
The idea of Jack making himself suffer didn’t sit right with you. Your eyes lingered on him longer, clocked him more quickly. Followed his movements or lack there of. How he favored one foot, how he winced each time his prosthetic touched the ground. You’d spent the last hour or so internally fighting yourself about confronting him. But the next time he rounds the corner cements your decision.
You stand without hesitation, moving quickly to be by his side, a hand reaching up to his shoulder.
“Dr Abbot-“
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“It’s just a long shift, I’m fi-“
“Jack”, You say sternly, and he finally looks at you; “Your leg. You’re bleeding.”
He follows your gaze to his foot where a small puddle of blood has dripped onto the floor. He looks back to see a trail of droplets from where he’d just come from. A deep sigh leaves his lips, a frown settling on his face as he shuts his eyes.
“Fucking shit.”
You don’t let him argue any further, grabbing his wrist and pulling him with you; “You need a bed. Now.”
You call it out to Lena before Jack can argue. You know he’s strong enough to get out of your grip if he really wanted to, but he doesn’t even try. Practically forcing him onto the exam bed after shutting the privacy curtain, you wheel yourself over to him on one of the chairs; slipping a pair of gloves on. A shaky hand hovers over his knee, your eyes meeting his to ask for permission.
“Can I?”, You ask softly.
He hesitates before nodding.
You carefully roll up his pantleg, removing his prosthetic and setting it next to the bed. You meet his eyes before you reach for the sleeve, gently tugging it down to reveal the slip that keeps it in place. A tear sits at the bottom of it, crimson seeping through. You remove it with gentle hands, setting it aside to clean up later. He winces slightly, hand inching closer to yours. You feel your breath catch in your throat when his skin is exposed.
His residual limb is bright red, angry, chaffed and swollen. An open sore or laceration at the bottom, no doubt the cause of his bleeding.
“Oh, Jack…”, Your voice comes out barely a whisper.
He doesn’t answer, only the sound of a breath leaving his nose hits your ears. The laceration on his leg a few inches long, but deep. Like it’s been slowly getting worse with each step he took.
“You’re gonna need a few stitches for this.”
He only shrugs, watching through tired eyes as you move around the room, getting everything for the sutures. He winces once when you numb him, either from the shot or the feeling of contact with his angry leg. You start the first suture in silence, psyching yourself up to speak.
“Dana said you fell asleep in an on call room last shift”, you say it as more of a statement than a question.
He shrugs; “Yeah, what about it?”
“Don’t you go home after shift?”
He’s silent for a moment, watching you work; and then:
“Been sleeping here between shifts. No point in going home if i’m just gonna come back in a few hours. Figured it would be easier, shower here too.”
You can feel your face drop.
“Jack, you need real rest.”
He doesn’t answer, just has that blank look on his face. You add the second suture before speaking again.
“When was the last time you took care of your leg?”
You watch him fold his arms, can see the hesitation before he speaks.
“Don’t know. A week? I take it off for the five minutes I get to shower.”
“A week? Jack that’s not-“
You stop yourself with a deep inhale; “…Have you been sleeping with it on?”
He nods; “Easier to get up if i’m needed. Faster.”
You clench your own jaw at that, heart aching as heavy silence filling the air as you put in the last suture before bandaging him up. As you wrap his leg you can feel his eyes on you, watching you work, maybe thinking something more.
“You don’t have to overwork yourself to the point of injury”, You finally say.
You know he won’t answer, but needs to hear it anyways. When you finish with his bandage you stand and remove your gloves.
“No prosthetic for a week, at least. I’ll talk to Robby about your shifts.”
“No, I’m fine really-“
“You’re not. You need rest to heal. You’re done for tonight too, I’ll take you home.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but stops when he sees the look on your face. Stern, not wavering, beyond serious.
“I’ll get my spare bag from the locker room and your crutches. Call Shen in. You’re going home.”
You disappear behind the curtain, sighing once to push back the tears that pricked your eyes. Disbelief and desperation to help him feel better ache in your chest. The realization of how much pain he was causing himself just to keep pushing through settles heavy over you. How someone so beautiful could reduce themselves to so little, to think they didn’t matter enough to take care of themselves. Lena clocks it immediately, pulling you in for a hug.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
You explain everything to her. She listens with an intensity only she and Dana posses. Her face stern. Nobody knew it was that bad. Then she calls Shen for you, fills Ellis in. Before you know it you’ve got your extra bag slung over your shoulder, and Jack’s crutches in hand.
When you pull back the curtain, Jack’s sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. You hand him his crutches, stepping to help him when he stops you.
“I got it, please, let me do this.”
You step back and follow him out of the room; “Come on, we’ll take the back exit.”
He leads you to his truck, stopping to fish in his pockets when your voice cuts through again.
“Give me your keys.”
“What?”, His asks, his eyebrows raised.
“You’re not driving. Give me your keys.”
The look of amusement he gives you doesn’t get him very far, and next thing you know he’s tossing you his keys with a huff, letting you hold his crutches as he pulls himself up into the truck.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
You pull into his driveway, letting his truck run for a moment before you switch it off. Looking over, you see his body slumped, head against the window, eyes shut and soft breaths leaving his mouth. Safely asleep in the passenger seat. So you let him sleep, pulling out your phone to occupy yourself until he stirs.
“Shit”, He says, voice groggy; “M’sorry.”
You shake your head; “Don’t be. You needed it.”
He stares at you, his jaw working like he’s thinking. Whatever it is he’s thinking about, he lets it go.
“How long was I out?”
You shrug; “Forty minutes, maybe.”
He doesn’t answer, just shifts in his seat before pushing his door open, looking back at you as he uses his crutches to lower himself out of the truck. A small hint of a smile on the corners of his lips.
“Cmon, it’s warmer inside.”
Jack’s apartment—or rather condo—is nicer than yours. Of course it should be with his attending salary. The outside is nice, each unit looking fairly similar. Inside is just as you’d expect his place to be, furnished but too clean to be super lived in. Barely decorated other than a few pictures here and there, a key bowl by the door. A row of his shoes by the welcome mat.
You’re immediately struck by how much his place smells like him. Musky and warm. Something sweet lingering underneath. He drops his own bag down by the front door, making his way further into the living room.
“I’m gonna go shower”, He says, then stops, scratching the back of his head; “You’re welcome to use it after. Just uh—make yourself at home.”
You mumble a soft ‘thank you’ as he disappears down the hallway. You flop down on his couch, realizing it’s way comfier than yours. You order a pizza for the two of you, and by the time it arrives, Jack is reemerging from the hallway; hair still damp and fluffy.
You can’t help but think how domestic he looks like this. Pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His freckled arms and face more prominent. His face slightly more vibrant and awake, like the shower fixed everything for him.
“I ordered a pizza for us, I hope that’s ok”, You tell him.
He offers you a small smile as sits down on the other end of the couch, already reaching for a slice.
“That’s actually perfect, thank you.”
You eat in silence, the hum of his tv in the background. It’s not charged or awkward, but rather…comfortable in a way you’d only ever get with him. You clean up after, despite Jack insisting on helping, you force him to take it easy.
“I’m gonna take you up on that shower now, if that’s ok.”
He nods, telling you where everything is. That the handle to the hot water sometimes sticks so you have to wiggle it. But he lets you go, eyes lingering on where your frame previously stood for a beat too long.
His shower is warm, spacious, inviting. You let the hot water run over you, washing extra diligently to get rid of any remaining traces of the hospital. The butterflies in your stomach and chest flutter to life as it finally hits you where you are. Jack’s apartment. Alone. With Jack. The attending you’ve had a crush on since you started at PTMC all that time ago.
There’s a fresh fluffy towel waiting for you when you exit the shower, shaky hands wiping the condensation off the mirror. You look at yourself for a moment; tired, bags under your eyes. Normal after a long shift. But you can’t help but think of Jack, how tired he looked today, how much it still shows on his face. You decide tonight’s mission is about making him comfortable and well rested. Making sure he’s ok.
You move to get dressed, realizing with a defeated sigh that there’s only a pair of shorts left in your bag. The shirt being tossed in your hamper a few weeks prior after your scrubs got stained during your shift. You never put one back in to replace it.
Sighing, towel wrapped up around your torso you peek out through the bathroom door.
“Jack?”, You call.
There’s a grunt and the click of his crutches against the floor before he peers in the doorway.
“Is everything ok? What’s wrong?”, Always too quick to worry.
“I um—I only had extra shorts in my bag…”
A look of realization flashes across his face as he nods, moving to dig through one of his drawers.
“Oh, that’s ok. You can borrow one of mine”, He fishes out an old grey shirt, the words ‘ARMY’ written across the front.
You hesitate, but he shakes his hand once, offering the shirt again, a laugh leaving his lips; “Cmon, I won’t bite.”
You finally take the shirt from him, smiling sheepishly as you disappear back into the bathroom. You slip the shirt—that smells ridiculously like him—over your head, brushing out your damp hair before pulling it up. When you open the door, Jack’s in his bed, already under the covers with his tv on.
You don’t see how Jack stops breathing for a moment at the sight of you in his shirt, heart beating against his ribcage as he searches for words, anything at all to say.
You stuff your scrubs back into your back before tossing it to the floor, hovering next to the bed awkwardly before clearing your throat.
“Well, I guess I’ll let you sleep. I’ll be on the couch if you need me”, You go to leave the room when his hand on your wrist stops you.
“Wait”, He says, looking up at you with those puppy dog hazel eyes, “Stay.”
You open your mouth but no words come out, so you force them; “I don’t want to intrude.”
Jack chuckles; “Don’t be silly. It’s a queen bed, plenty of room…Cmon, please?”
You sigh; “Ok.”
His bed is comfier than yours, feeling your body sink down into the mattress as soon as your back hits it. Jack’s scent surrounding you as he gently pulls the covers up to your waist. You leave enough room for another person between the two of you, fiddling with your hands under the comforter as he watches tv.
It stays like that for a while, just comfortable silence and his presence next to you. An occasional soft laugh rumbling from his chest. As the sun starts to rise he clicks the tv off, wiggling around a little to get himself comfortable. Then he inches closer to you—his head finding its way to rest against your torso—arms around your waist.
Your breath hitches at the sudden contact, the feeling of his calloused hands against your skin burning like fire in the best possible way. You tense under him for just a second, before letting go of the breath you were holding.
“Is this—is this ok?”, His question comes softly, voice quiet as you feel him move, scruff scratching against your—well his—shirt.
“Yeah”, you say, cause damn he was warm. Inviting and safe.
You let your fingers find his salt and pepper curls, raking through them softly. You feel his lashes flutter shut, a deep sigh leaving his nose as his muscles relax. Just one soft touch, and the grumpy attending was relaxing into you.
“I’m sorry”, He finally says into the darkness; “About earlier.”
You force him to look at you, guiding him by his chin.
“I just want you to be safe, Jack”, You tell him, pushing a curl from his forehead; “You’re burning yourself out for everyone else. You need to take care of yourself too.”
He nods, another breath leaving through his nose.
“I hate the idea of you making yourself hurt just to meet expectations you think are there. I hate that you think so little of yourself that your own wellbeing doesn’t matter. I hate that I can’t fix it or-“
You don’t realize you’re crying until he brushes his thumbs across your cheeks, wiping the stray tears away.
“Shh, hey…”, His voice soothes you, a brief hesitation before he pressed his forehead to yours, just for a moment. Silence in the air except for your breaths intertwining, eyes closed before you look at him again.
“You matter so much. Let me take care of you”, Your voice hits his ears suddenly, making him freeze.
He looks up at you again, eyes wide and chest heaving with each breath.
“I mean it, Jack”, You add, “Been wanting to since day one.”
You feel his body move on the mattress, his body hovering next to you now. He reaches a hand up to cup the side of your face, calloused thumb rubbing against your soft skin again. You remind yourself to breathe as he gets closer, stopping just before your noses touch.
“Can I?”, He asks softly, eyes searching your face like you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.
“Please”, and the next thing you know his lips are on yours.
It’s soft, tentative, not rushed. Just two people finally connecting in a way their hearts knew they needed to long before their brains caught up. All the longing and glances across the ED, the coffees and sandwiches from the break room, the lingering touches, all lead to this.
You almost want to protest when he pulls away, but the way he looks into your eyes would have your knees buckling if you were standing.
“Ok”, He says softly, breath hitting your face as he answers your earlier question.
Then he’s lying down again, head against your stomach and freckled arms around your waist. Pulling you in closer than before. You let your fingers find his curls again, feeling another sigh against your shirt as he lifts it up just an inch or two—before pressing his lips softly to your skin, almost a ghosting—but still enough to send shivers down your spine. You listen to his breathing even out, fingers not leaving his hair until you’re sure he’s out. Every fiber of your being screaming how much you want to take care of him and keep him safe. You knew then you were absolutely fucked, and so did he.
With a soft brush of a finger against his temple you knew he was asleep, letting your hand settle softly against his skin. Then quietly, into the darkness of his room;
→ When your fridge breaks down in the middle of the day, you don’t really have a choice but to ask your grumpy old neighbour.
In the car, in the car in the backseat, i’m your baby*
→ it’s summer break at your house and your daddys best friend is also there. The one you wanted to fuck for so long and finally you got the chance.
Behind the tree*
→ after Joel and you got interrupted in the morning, he takes care of it on patrol.
Under his mercy
→ you think it‘s time to let go, you suffered enough and as you find peace and close your eyes, you hear footsteps. Joel miller takes you and saves you, but at what cost?
Millers wood carvings*
→ You want a wood carved present for your dad. Luckily Mr. Miller from Millers Wood Carvings shop is there to help.
First touch*
→ you’re unexperienced and Joel takes your virginity. Some very soft, caring and sweet sex!
What daddy wants, he gets*
→ Joel is insatiable when it comes to you. He has to have you, every damn hour and day. And you are always, desperately ready for him whenever that‘s the case.
Cherry pie*
→ After countless dates with a boy, you know that next time you’re going to sleep with him. But you’re way too inexperienced. So what better way is there than showing up at Joel Miller’s door with cherry pie in hand, and asking if he’s willing to help you out?
Sugar for Repairs*
→ Your car breaks down on a scorching Texas day, and Joel Miller—a sleazy, perverted mechanic—offers to fix it. You can’t afford the price, but Joel’s got other ways to settle debts. You agree once…then come back, heartbroken. This time, he says it’s free. But you? You’re not done wanting.
His to keep* (dark!joel)
→ Since the day Joel found you bleeding on his doorstep, he’s kept you…fed, warm, quiet. All he asks in return is obedience: to him, his rules, and the chart. But when you sneak out—when you break the one rule that really matters—you’re not just wondering how he’ll punish you. You’re wondering if he’ll make you beg for it.
Big mouth*
→ you’re trouble in red lipstick and skimpy dresses. He’s restraint wrapped in flannel and grumpiness. One patrol, one dare, and a tension that hums beneath every glance, every silence, every step through the woods. You always push. He always resists. But even restraint has its limits—especially when temptation bends over rocks, leaves kisses on paper, and asks to be taken while they’re forced to sit in silence in a small room.
Like a Stray Cat* pt. 1 / pt. 2
→ you tiptoe into Joel Miller’s home like a stray cat, always giving him a heart attack, always flashing those doe eyes, tear-spilled and aching, and making his heart twist. So he protects you—cares for you, cooks for you, calls you pet names. But that night feels different. Heavy. There’s an ache crawling through your body, one you don’t understand and can’t quiet. You try. You fail. And when you get caught—by the same man who just called you “kiddo”—you can’t help but ask him for help.
Daddy, i'm sorry*
→ Joel sits downstairs, reading by the stove, trying to pretend he doesn’t hear the footsteps of his son’s girlfriend. Trying to pretend he doesn’t remember what the two of you have done and feel. But when you appear in the dark—barefoot, wide-eyed, floaty-headed and call him Daddy like you still mean something by it, he knows you’re about to break the rules again.
His little Wife*
→ Joel Miller comes home to the one thing he’ll always admit he needs—his little wife, waiting with warm pie and that soft, obedient sweetness that belongs only to him.
The laundry Load*
→ Joel catches himself always staring as you walk over in that flimsy sundress, smile sweet as pie tugging at his restraint. Those pink panties you 'forget' on his bathroom floor? They shouldn’t make his pulse race, or have thoughts he shouldn’t entertain. It’s only laundry, but each visit leaves him harder, hungrier, and his restraint cracking further.
Little Fawn*
→ In a camp where survival depends on silence and obedience, you hide in the supplies tent, trying to outrun the shadow of the man who once pulled you out of the woods and claimed you as his own. But when a cruel voice cuts too deep and old wounds split open, you retreat to the only place you can fall apart unseen—only to find Joel stepping into the dark after you, his presence a reminder of the bond you shouldn’t want, and the one you can’t seem to break.
Easy fix*
→ It was just supposed to be an easy fix. On the stuffed animal, thighs gripping it and in your mind your daddy's best friend. Surely, you hadn't planned for him to catch you. Or to bend you over his knee. Or to be balls deep into you the next moment, right?
Strawberry Field*
→ Daddy Joel knows how much your period hurts you. So he takes you to the strawberry field he found. He carries you when your legs give out, feeds you berries one by one, wipes the juice from your chin with his thumb. All he wants is to make you feel better, to remind you that you're his sweet, whiney girl.
Series ♥︎
How to Disappear*
→ after the passing of your mom, you and your dads best friend get close. He understands you because he also once lost something. But Joel is an old man, guilt and the fear of losing you too, overwhelms him. So he leaves you.
@/coffeguitar*
→ After the loss of your father—your best friend—you create an account on the Message Heaven: Lonely Hearts Group forum, hoping to find someone to talk to. Joel Miller, a middle-aged man who lost his daughter and happens to be obsessed with coffee, writes to you. From the very first message, it feels like something just clicks between you.
Ache Beneath the Sleaze*
→ Joel Miller lives out in his beat up van, smells like smoke and sweat, and talks filth like it’s his second language. You’re supposed to be just fuck buddies—no strings, no feelings, just pleasure and orgasms in the backseat. He’s sleazy, shameless, and always has a cigarette hanging from his mouth, he fucks so good you keep coming back. But somewhere between highs and thrusts—it’s starting to feel like more. And neither of you are ready to admit it.
Joel Miller x Jack Abbott collection:
Sex Pollen*
→ It wasn’t supposed to happen. One wrong turn past the perimeter, one breath of unknown, drifting pollen, and suddenly Joel is pounding on Jack Abbott’s door with you burning up in his arms. Now it’s the middle of the night, the town's asleep, and the only medic who won’t report the two of you is the one staring at you down like he already knows this is going to get real bad.
Blurbs ♥︎
Softdom!Joel*
→ What happens if reader is bratty all day long? Joel takes care of it.
Needy*
→ You and Joel are fuck buddies…that‘s it!
sweet, stuffed mess*
→ Joel repeatedly fucking and breeding his girl.
sweat, soup and stubborness
→ Joel is sick, but he just won’t accept it.
happy birthday, old man
→ it’s Joel Miller’s 62th birthday
Deep*
→ Throat fucking special for my birthday!
Drabbels ♥︎
Joel survives
Little belly bulge thought*
Pregnancy reveal drabble
Random dbf!drabble*
Horny thought about cockwarming*
Random thought about old man Joel*
Thoughts about pussy spanking*
Cockwarming*
Somnophilia*
Requests ♥︎
throat fucking -> Joel fucks your throat as a punishment.
Bubble bath -> after a long day of work, Joel helps you relax.
Jealous? -> you’re drunk, and Joel is jealous.
Makin‘ you a Mama* -> Joel discovers how much he would like to see you pregnant.
My Old Man -> Joel battles with the thought that he is way too old for you.
Sweet evening -> Joel takes care of his girl, whenever they are at an event.
It’s okey. -> Joel’s girl has anxiety. And he knows exactly how to help her.
Over his knee* -> Joel punishes his girl.
Safe word* -> a Punishment gone wrong.
cruel* -> Joel punishes you, but he is very mean
You forget, he reminds* -> Pregnancy makes you forget how beautiful you are—Joel reminds.
Let him hear* -> to make Joel jealous, you fuck his brother Tommy.
Daddy takes care the best -> Joel’s girl is sick, and he takes care of her.
Back of the bar* -> a relationship meant to be a secret, gets revealed when Joel can’t help himself.
Forth times the charm* /pt. 2* -> every time you meet up with your ex-husband Joel, you end up pregnant.
Break me* -> Dom Joel fucking reader very rough for her anxious mind.
Sorting you out* -> Joel sorting ovulating reader out.
Description: You and your new boyfriend haven't had sex yet. Though, getting drunk for the first time — and seeing your gorgeous boyfriend take care of you — awakens that dormant part. Or, you being a drunk mess trying to get him to fuck you, and him fighting his self-control.
Tags/warnings: Established rlsp, Drinking, r is drunk, lots of flirting, highly suggesting themes, lots of mentions of sex, huge age-gap (reader in 20's, abbott is 50), size difference, horniness lol, slight allusions to dom!jack, use of pet names: sweetheart, baby, honey (would u guys like "kid" lol?) (sorry, i have issues. i think.)
Note: This is my first fic, and i wrote it in one go. While I tried to make the reader very neutral in terms of characteristics — the fic is highly self-indulgent (i, too, am horny for abbott), and you may see some mentions of reading having hair, reader being in heels.
“I kind of want to get shitfaced.”
Jack did not turn to look at you. He just huffed into his cup of black coffee, held closely to his lips. The kind of black coffee that made you wrinkle your nose. You proudly liked yours with a bit of milk in it. Okay, a lot of milk. To the point, Jack called it a milkshake.
His eyes remained fixated at the screen of his phone, straining even with his reading glasses, to read the daily news on a bulletin app you downloaded on his phone.
“What about your policy against having fun, and letting yourself go for more than two minutes in a row?” Jack asks in his low voice, scratchy from the coffee. His eyes finally find yours, as he takes a slow sip from his cup. His eyebrows raise at you questioningly, holding your gaze.
Damn him and his gaze. Even after 6 weeks of dating — and pining for a lot longer than that — he sure could still make you feel like a puddle.
You're only able to speak once he turns to his phone again. “Uh, excuse you, I'm a very fun person, thank you very much. Yesterday, I put a fake ‘your computer is down’ screen on Shen's laptop,” you tell proudly.
“Dear god. He did not go into a cardiac arrest from your…prank?” Jack's voice caught on the word “prank” as if it deeply amused him.
You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend (still hard to say that), shifting close enough to him on his couch that your knee knocked against his thigh. Your entire body faced him, while his faced the front — a tiny whine left your lips.
Jack turned his attention back to you as you spoke again. “You know it's the loss of control I hate. Don't you think I also feel like getting all loose-lipped and dancing on top of tables and flirting with strangers?”
His eyes softened a fraction when he saw the small frown on your lips. He sets his phone face-down on the arm of the couch, before shifting so his upper half faced you too. “Okay, what brings this on? You know I just like teasing, I don't think there's anything wrong with being an alcohol virgin.”
You rolled your eyes at his choice of words. “I want to know what it's like. It makes everyone so…” your hands do a weird dance in front of your chest, trying to find a proper word. Your attending swiftly moves his cup a bit to the left, so your hands wouldn't knock it all over yourself.
“Joyful,” you finished.
“Okay, but let's not dance on table tops and flirt with strangers,” he takes off his reading glasses and perches them next to his phone. When his eyes find you again, they're equal parts amused, and that softness that only seems to show up when you're in the room.
“I would never, I'd feel bad for giving you stress at your age.”
He lightly smacks your hip that's not smushed against the couch, “Brat.”
You grin widely, “You'll be there, right?”
“With a camera and a mic. My beautiful, sensible, nurse, looking like an absolute fool,” he tugged at a loose strand of your hair, his eyes shining with endearment.
Your little baby blue sling looks absolutely ridiculous hung over his shoulder. “What did I tell you before leaving?” His voice strains with the effort of all the workout he got in today. He's struggling with unlocking the door, because your purse keeps slipping down his arms.
You were a disaster. While your favourite doctor made sure you only stuck to fruity drinks that gave you a pleasant buzz and not regrets — you still managed to outdo yourself in terms of being a mess.
You challenged a man twice your size in an arm wrestle. You advised 3 different women to break up with their boyfriends, “Mine's handsome and kind. You guys stay safe, though.” And, finally, broke the heel of your left boot making you even more unbalanced than you already were.
“That Dr. Robby is a little shit with no self-preservation inst-”
“The other one, honey.”
You went silent for a moment, searching your hazy brain as the door opened in front of you. Jack gently guided you in, before locking the door with a sharp click. His rough hands sneak up your arms, tugging the jacket at your shoulders, and shrug it off you to safely hang it on his coat rack.
“That I shouldn't carry my bag if I couldn't keep it safe?” you say, looking down at him, as he sets his knee on the floor. His hands that cut and heal skin with such precision, are deftly working the zipper of your boots. He gently helps your feet out of the pair, patting your calf, before rising to his full height again with a groan.
Without your size boosters, your head was once again leveled with his chest. Jack nodded, leaning his head down so you didn't have to crane your neck as much.
“But I had my ID and pepper spray in there,” you justified, your lower lip jutting out in a pout.
Jack's hand pats the right-side pocket of his hands, “ID,” his voice rumbling as if coming straight from his chest. “And you don't need pepper spray. You have me.”
But you're not registering a word he says, not when he looks like this. His salt and pepper curls are all ruffled from your bar visit. His simple black tee is pulled taut across his biceps, making them look just as delicious as they do in his SWAT uniform.
His fingers snap in front of you, “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You look in his honeyed eyes again. God, why haven't you guys had sex already? You seriously can't remember why.
“Why haven't we fucked?” You blurt out. Oh, the alcohol doesn’t make you Joyful. It makes you blunt.
Your boyfriend freezes for a second, before letting out a deep, throaty laugh. His hands settle on your shoulders. With a slight bend of his knees, he manages to stare completely and directly into your eyes. “Wow, thought we went to the bar, not to a seminar for clear communication.”
You capture both his hands and slide them down, so they're firmly on your hips. After humming in satisfaction, you take a step closer to him, your chest brushing his. “Answer me.”
As if suddenly realizing you both are still standing in the entryway, Jack starts walking you backwards, swiftly maneuvering you so you don't hit the kitchen counter. “I'm your attending, honey, I don't answer to you,”
You furrow your brows, staring up at him with irritation. You press yourself even closer to him, your palms settling on his hard stomach. “Like hell you don't. I want to know why me and my gorgeous boyfriend haven't made good use of every room in this too-big-for-you house.”
Jack sighs deeply, his fingers unconsciously tightening around your hips. He takes a seat on one of the low kitchen counter stools, so he doesn't have to keep looking down at you. His arms completely wrap around your waist, pulling you in until you're standing between the hard muscle of his thighs.
“Because we work at a hospital, we're either busy or tired. And…it's hard to find a footing with sex. You tense up whenever my hand slips under your shirt, you've talked about how insecure you get. And me…well, I'm not what I used to be.”
Your eyes soften, “But do you want me?” Your lips graze his jaw, your hands palming the hard plane of his chest.
Jack shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath, “What do you think, baby?” his right hand moves an inch lower with exaggerated slowness, settling on the top curve of your ass, his thumb stroking the curve.
You let out an entirely pathetic whimper at his breathy voice, his lips brushing your temple. You move back your face, so you can watch him again. His eyes look darker than they actually are.
“I see this as a good opportunity that we should seize, doctor.” His throat catches at the ‘doctor’. Oh, you are not a fair player.
“Well, I don't like my medical staff being inhibited. Perhaps, sometimes when you're horny and sober, we can continue the procedure.” His breaths are coming in shallow, his hard thighs squeezing around you to completely lock you in. His hands have not stopped moving, the one on your waist has moved north to tangle in your hair at the nape of your neck.
A petulant whine leaves your lips as you bury your mouth in the crook of his neck. “But-”
“No buts. I have no intention of being between your legs in a state you won't even remember anything in.” The rasp in his voice so close to your ear directly travels to the your belly, already coiling tight with tension.
The imagery makes you groan: His mouth working between your legs, his jaw shining under the dim lights, stopping for a moment to say, “Louder, baby. Your doctor can't hear you.”
Your lips slip from his neck, replaced by your forehead. His lips brush against your hair, the gentleness so different from what his body is suggesting.
“Kids and their hormones,” he teasingly says. That makes you pull yourself back. Because that's rich coming from a man whose pants are getting visibly tighter.
“Is that so, grandpa?” Your eyes are entirely fixated on his lips. Your own bottom lip has caught between your teeth.
His thumb comes up to free your lip so you don't hurt it, “Careful, brat.” His hand stays on your face, and you lean heavily into his palm, blinking at him. The strap of your top has conveniently fallen off from its place, and Jack is staring like a man who's just discovered shoulders, tracking the soft curve of it, following the slope of your neck, where your pulse thrums rapidly.
Leave it to him to have a gaze that weights at least a 300 pounds.
Your palms drop from his chest to his waist, brushing your fingers against the waistband of his pants. A soft “uh-uh” leaves his mouth as he slowly shakes his head, though he makes no move with his hands to push you away.
“You're palming at me like you're a little girl, and I'm your favorite barbie doll.”
“You are my favorite barbie doll, Dr. Abbott,” it leaves your mouth in a soft, needy, whine.
His shoulder shake slightly from laughter, the comforting rumble filling the room, subsequently reaching every tensed part of your body, and taking its place there too, perfectly fitting every crook and corner.
“I am a 50-year old man with a military background, who spends his nights managing an entire floor of medical staff. My day hobbies include being a buddy to SWAT and getting shot at.”
You look at him, as if to say “so?” and hearing the adoration — despite the choice of words — in your voice completely decentres him. “Glad to be your favourite barbie doll, honey.”
He finally freezes when your wandering palm brushes against the hard ridge in his pants, practically begging to be freed. You let out a little gasp as you feel his size, even with a barrier of rough fabric.
A low groan leaves him, his hand sharply capturing your bold wrist against his own chest, heaving up and down. For someone just talking about being 50, the man's heart is sure beating with a fast thump-thump-thump, like a teenage boy catching his crush in a 2-feet vicinity. Your name leaves his mouth, dirty and like a prayer at the same time.
“Let me help you, doctor. Please” you say sweetly, voice coated in silk and need and whatever poison this man mixed in your drinks.
A pause.
He gets off the stool in a sudden motion, his hands grip your forearms, and starts walking you backwards in the general direction of the bathroom.
“You are a pain in my ass. And, frankly, a horny mess.”
“Speaking of horny and my ass-”
He doesn't let you complete the sentence before turning you around, his broad chest hovering over your form from the back. “Nope. You have lost the privilege of looking at me before you've taken a cold shower.”
You tilt your head back to look at him, excitement glinting in your eyes, “together?”
“No, you pervert.” Your boyfriend opens the door to the bathroom and lets you both in. Before you can even complain, his rough palms are gripping the back of your thighs, swiftly lifting you up on the counter. You let out a little squeal, squeezing your thighs at the display of his strength.
Show-off.
So fucking hot, though. It's like he was made by Lana Del Ray's mind.
Jack doesn’t stop, though. He finds his way behind the glass that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom. His practiced hands mess with the settings until he's satisfied, and comes back.
He stands in front of you again, crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles strain at the motion, trying to escape their way from the tight shirt. You pout at his slut-ishness. A walking, talking, thirst trap. If he was an actor, he would surely have his fare share of editors.
“How am I supposed to not get wet when you manhandle me?”
“Jesus,” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to lull some of his composure back into him. He silently thanks his military discipline, or you would currently be spread on the soft sheets of his bed, waking up his neighbours.
He takes a deep breath, eyes scanning you again. His fingers come up to pinch your chin in a soft embrace, “Shower. Clean. Mind and body both. And then, we will sleep. Got it?”
Heat pools low in your belly at his authoritative voice. God, how did you land this man?
“Sir, yes, sir.” You watch his gaze get heavy at the word. He leaves his hold on your chin, pats your hip, and exits the bathroom.
Guess you know what you'll be calling him, when he finally lets you do what your body is begging you to do.
You find him on his bed, wearing only a pair of low hung worn-out sweatpants. His back is slumped against the pillows, fingers locked behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.
He finally looks at you, crawling on his king-sized bed, trying to make your way over to him. It seems the shower un-possessed you. You look soft, sleepy, tired, and utterly his.
He holds out his arm and you immediately curl up into him, your icy-cold nose finding the hollow of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur.
“One second, honey.” Before he can properly embrace you, he pulls up the thick duvet and arranges it to cover both of you. His left arm is trapped under your body, fingers pressing against the small of your back to pull you closer. His other hand brushes the hair back from your face, watching your heavy eyelids.
“There you are,” he softly rumbles before pressing the softest, most lingering kiss on your temple. A low sigh of satisfaction leaves you. You're still inhibited, but the tiredness has caught up.
“You didn't like the freaky me?” You ask, your jaw cracking with a yawn right after.
“I like every-you, unfortunately. It's a weakness in the ED.” His fingers are still moving in your hair, scratching your scalp in a way that turns your brain to mush. You push your face even deeper in his neck. Hell, you would live inside his ribcage if he ever allowed it.
You let out a soft giggle, hiking your thigh over his hip so no part of you is separate from him. “Can we have a proper conversation about sex tomorrow?”
Your boyfriend murmurs a “yes, baby,” against your forehead.
“Okay, goodnight. Gonna have some good wet dreams.”
“Shut up, and go to sleep, sweetheart.”
If anybody even reads this, and ends up liking it - pls feel free to glaze me in comments, asks, or dms. likes and reblogs appreciated as well <3 also, do yall think im funny?
╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3
ᡣ𐭩 fic recs m.list
@docrobinavitch
That Was Me Blue
when the wedding invitation arrives for your ex husband's marriage to your little sister, you're tempted to set fire to your entire life. your attending, jack abbot, has other ideas.
Did I Do This To Myself?
after jack breaks up with you out of the blue, you show up at his favorite bar to stir up chaos
@lovebugism
Off Day
in the middle of the worst e.r. shift of your whole career, you catch your not-quite boyfriend, shirtless, in an empty room with another resident.
Tender is the Night
you have a perfectly casual, no-strings-attached night out with a charming stranger you met at a bar; only for jack to find out that he's slept with his resident the next morning, and that you’ve made a very memorable first impression on your new attending.
Coming Around Again
while trying to calm down from a panic attack, you accidentally end up in the same room jack abbot is sleeping in, after you've already switched to the day shift just to get away from him.
You Win Some, You Lose Some
you assume jack likes you until the pitt starts betting on how long it'll take him and samira to get together; jack assumes you like him until you get called into work while on a date with your coworker. turns out, all it takes is a bad bet and an even worse date for you and jack to realize how in love the two of you are.
Looking Good Today, Doc | @softundermoonlight
your shift had started terribly. and texting the wrong person (the way-too-hot night shift attending) might be the final stroke.
@flowersforbucky
Its Always Darkest Before The Dawn
after a heartbreaking night shift, all jack wants is to get home to you.
Petals For Armor
vignettes of your relationship with jack abbot told through the five love languages.
Sargeant. M.D. | @drjohncarters
you stop providing camgirl services to your clients when you start your residency. except you can't let go of your favorite client, who, as you quickly find out, is your new attending physician for the next four years. he recognizes you immediately and is ready to stake his claim.
@s-writing-s
Everywhere, Everything
Taking your friend's advice and buying a sex toy might end up being the best thing you ever done—even if it doesn't seem like it at first.
Distance
Jack's a good attending. He's nice to you. Polite. But he doesn't treat you like he does the others. He doesn't send you smiles. He never laughs with you, and he never seeks out your company. It hurts enough that you've decided to leave and take an attending position elsewhere.
Slim Pickins | @flofaiiry
a tipsy reader confides her boy troubles to jack, then realizes maybe one of the good men she's been waiting for has been in front of her the whole time. (it's him, he's good men.)
Cologne and Money | @relaxdiva
You tell yourself it’s just a crush. Just proximity. Just long nights in the ED and shared adrenaline. But when a workplace incident ends up with you being accidentally sedated, your filter is stripped away, the truth slips out—and the man you’ve wanted for months hears it all. You wake up embarrassed, determined to pretend it never happened, but he has other plans. In a department where gossip spreads fast, you’re forced to confront what’s been simmering between you two all along.
On Me | @snoopysupe
5 times jack pays for you +1 time you pay for him.
@pencil-n-pen
You've Ruined My Life
good things happen to those who are found crying in the supply closet by their hot, older, maybe flirty boss-slash-mentor.
Too Sweet
being in and out of the hospital all the time has never been an enjoyable experience. But after meeting a certain ED doctor who you can't seem to get away from, things just might start looking up.
Thinking Of You | @peachyparkerr
after things fall out between you and jack, you do your best to stay away from him when you can. but that doesn't mean that you don't wish that things were different, and it certainly doesn't mean that jack enjoys seeing nurse mateo diaz flirt with you.
@inkydelusions
Hoola Hoop
when you first heard of code hoola hoop you'd whished you'd never have to use it, but the pitt is full of surprises. when jack abbot finds you on the hospital roof, defeated and hurt, he makes the decision to change both your lives for good.
Something Med School Didn't Cover
when the doors of the pitt swing open to reveal you on the gurney, dr. jack abbot’s world shatters, forcing him to fight for two lives he didn't know were at stake.
Elevator Confessional | @mariposium
getting stuck in the elevator with the one doctor on the emergency floor you were hoping to avoid at all costs was not on your bucket list for your shift. neither was having to face the feelings you both had buried for each other.
Oblivious To Him | @mabel-777
jack likes his younger resident, but you are completely oblivious to it, thinking he’s just a nice attending.
It Had To Be You | @munsonpetal
you and jack abbot have known each other for five years. over those five years, feelings on both ends began to bloom. will one failed date finally give one of you the courage to admit your feelings?
Fall in Love (Again and Again) | @cryonme
a failed marriage, a traumatic brain injury, an old emergency contact, and a love that doesn’t give up.
@dearwalker
Gorgeous
You’ve been secretly losing your mind over Dr. Abbot for months. One slip on ice later, and your giant crush on the night attending becomes everyone’s business thanks to a concussion and a mouth that won’t stop calling him gorgeous.
The Great War
Years after your separation, life throws you back into Jack Abbot’s orbit in the worst way possible, carrying a devastating diagnosis that could be the reason your marriage fell apart in the first place: a tumor that may had erased the part of you that fell in love with him all those years back. And he’s not ready to lose you twice.
10 Things I Hate About You | @voidsagent
After joining in on the bet on Westbridge, you find an old bet on your relationship with Jack.
Where Do I Put My Love? | @alinathinkstoomuch
abbot offers up his house for a simple family bbq to help you out of a jam...unfortunately, neither of you are capable of keeping it simple.
Unaffected | @geminiwritten
even after swapping from nights to days, you just can’t seem to escape the inconveniently attractive night shift attending. then a ptmc night out, a sparkly dress, and a not-so-innocent game of never have i ever leads to dr. jack abbot making sure you can never utter the words “never have i ever finished during sex” ever again.
The Jack Abbot Effect | @mariposium
your boyfriend has a way about him that draws women in like bees to honey. it’s never bothered you before, but after a bad shift and an ill-timed bet, you are quickly reaching the limit of what you can handle.
Dancing In The Dark | @inknopewetrust
jack learned to deal with all of his problems alone. when he finds someone to help shoulder his burdens, he falls deeply, unconditionally head over heels for you—and he loves coming home.
@weird-is-life
My Savior
When a creep at a bar won't take a no for an answer, you fall into Jack's lap and get him to play your boyfriend.
Shy Shell
It becomes Jack's mission to get you out of your shy shell around him, and somehow it works.
So Fucking Endearing | @inkdrinkerworld
you do a bar crawl with the night shift as a new couple with jack abbot and he’s concerned about your blood sugar
Mornings At Robby's | @dearkeery
Robby had asked Jack Abbot to house-sit while he’s off on his three-month sabbatical. It just so happened that Robby also asked you, his sister. Out of all the things he’d managed to list, one would think Robby would have the decency to let you know that you weren’t the only one tasked to keep his house intact. But no, of course he didn’t because where’s the fun in that?
Casual | @hearts4hughes
I Couldn't Make It Any Harder | @annaevermore
You consider yourself really hard to love, so you try to keep your distance from Jack. He won't have any of it.
Bed Chem | @spikedfearn
Jack Abbot was still wearing his wedding ring the night he kissed you at your apartment door. Widowed and still learning how to want something again, Jack turns the best date you’ve had yet and one charged goodnight into something neither of you is ready to walk away from—and for him, wanting you is one thing, but letting himself have you is another entirely.
@seewhoyouwanttosee
Slim Pickins
In a final and desperate attempt to try and revive your love life, you turn to a dating app– only to have every attempt sabotaged by your boss.
Go Go Juice
After a series of bad dates, mid-conversation ghostings and a week straight of rejections– you need some good ol’ fashioned fun. Unfortunately, you end up drunk-dialing your hot, older boss– the one you’ve been crushing on since starting your residency. For some reason, he picks up.
The Terrible Date | @fromsil
a terrible date, on your evening off, ends you up at the emergency service in a bad state. the very same emergency service you work at.
@beccasdoll
Attuned
the new nurse in the pitt has caught jacks attention.
First Times
a collection of their first times together.
You Shaved Your Bush | @keytomylockhart
In an attempt to seduce a past hookup, you accidentally send your attending, Jack Abbot, a lewd photo.
are we too late? are we too far? // jack abbot pt. 1
At nineteen, you told Jack Abbot that you’d marry him someday. He laughed it off and disappeared from your life for eleven years. Now, you’re months away from marrying a safe, stable man. Until you lock eyes with Jack across a bar, and your perfectly curated life completely shatters.
genre: dad's ex-best friend!jack x reader, age gap, forbidden romance, mutual pining, eventual smut nsfw mdni
word count: 2700+
(a/n: i've had this one in the drafts for far too long. oooooohhhweeee i love this concept. has me giggling and kicking my feet whilst writing it. there will be a second and final part don't you worry.)
Then
"You're glaring." Jack said. He didn’t look up from the bed of his truck, his massive, infuriatingly broad shoulders working as he hauled a heavy plastic bin toward the tailgate. "It feels very vengeful gremlin. Stop it."
"I am not glaring." you lied, crossing your arms over your chest to keep the chill from the wind out and from the sinking feeling opening up in your stomach. "I am observing. There’s a difference."
"Right. And the term for burning a hole through the back of my flannel with your eyes is what, exactly?" He finally turned around, wiping grease off his palms with a tattered red rag.
He looked entirely out of place in the gravel driveway of your father’s crumbling, overgrown house. But then, Jack had always looked out of place here. He was the only functional adult who had ever walked through that front door.
And now, he was walking away for good.
"I’m documenting the exact moment my favorite person decides to abandon me to the wolves." you murmured, your throat suddenly tight.
Jack’s teasing expression faltered. He dropped the rag onto the tailgate and took two slow steps toward you, effectively obliterating your personal space. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back just to keep eye contact, a fact that you resented on a daily basis.
"I’m not abandoning you." he said, his voice dropping. "We talked about this, kid. Your dad...I can’t do it anymore. If I stay around, if I keep letting him drag me into his disasters, I'm going to end up throwing him through a wall. And that helps exactly no one."
Especially not me, you thought. You knew what your dad was. A master class in parental negligence, a man who viewed his daughter as an inconvenience until he needed a loan or a designated driver.
Jack had spent the last year playing shield. Fixing the plumbing your dad ignored, buying groceries when the fridge was empty, stepping between your father’s alcohol fueled rages and your quiet bedroom.
"I know." you whispered, hating how small you sounded. Hating that you were nineteen and yet entirely unequipped to handle the reality of him leaving. "I get it. He's a parasite. You should leave."
"But?" Jack prompted softly, tilting his head.
"But it sucks."
A corner of his mouth tugged upward, a faint, bittersweet smile. He reached out, his large hand coming down on top of your head, affectionately rustling your hair the way he always did when he thought you were being dramatic. "You’re going to college in the spring. You’re getting out of here. You just have to hold down the fort for a few more months, okay? If you need anything, you call me. I’m cutting ties with him, not you."
It was a safe promise.
And suddenly the suffocating reality of how much you loved him, how much you had loved him since he first showed up to drag your dad out of a bar, boiled over.
"I’m going to marry you someday." you said.
Jack froze. His hand stayed resting on your head before he slowly lowered it, his dark eyes blinking in confusion. "What?"
"You heard me." You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets so he wouldn't see them shaking. "I'm going to marry you someday. Plan accordingly."
The confusion on his face morphed into a booming laugh that rattled right through your ribs. He shook his head. "Jesus, kid." he chuckled, leaning his hip against the truck tailgate. "You really are losing it. I think the stress is finally liquefying your brain."
"I am entirely lucid." you insisted, your heart hammering against your sternum.
"Sure you are. Look, I know I'm a catch." he teased, his eyes glittering with amusement as he pointed a finger at you. "But I'm twelve years older than you, I have a bad knee, and my current retirement plan is hoping the lottery works out. You're nineteen. Go find some college kid who thinks a romantic evening is sharing a box of cheap pizza, and leave the old men out of it."
"You're not old."
"I'm ancient by your standards. Now get inside before you freeze." He waved a dismissive hand, turning back to his truck to close the tailgate.
You turned and walked toward the porch, the gravel crunching beneath you. You didn't look back.
As you reached for the doorknob of the house you hated, the lighthearted mask you’d worn slid completely away. Your chest felt tight, a wild, terrifying spark of certainty settling deep into your bones.
He thought you were joking. He thought it was a silly, dramatic crush from a teenage girl who had a bad dad and a soft spot for the guy who saved her.
But as you pulled the door open and stepped into the dim hallway, you knew with absolute clarity that you had never been more serious about anything in your entire life.
It was unfortunate then that you wouldn’t see Jack Abbot for another eleven years.
…
Now
"I think we should go with the eggshell white for the table linens." Meg said, waving a heavy, binder in front of your face. "Standard white is too aggressive. It screams hospital cafeteria, and we want understated elegance. Thoughts?"
You blinked, pulling yourself out of the haze that had taken over your brain three months ago when wedding planning officially began. "Is there a difference between eggshell and ivory?"
Meg looked at you with the pity of a maid of honor who was single handedly dragging a reluctant bride across the finish line. "One has warm undertones, one has cool undertones. Do you want your guests to feel cozy or intellectually stimulated while they eat their prime rib?"
"I want them to be fed and silent." you muttered, resting your chin in your hand.
You were sitting in your apartment, the coffee table entirely buried under fabric swatches, floral arrangement lookbooks, and a seating chart that confused the hell out of you.
From the bedroom, the sound of typing drifted through the cracked door. David. Your fiancé. A man who possessed a master’s degree in data analytics, an impeccably organized sock drawer, and a temperament so blindingly stable it felt like a weighted blanket for your chaotic soul. David didn't yell. David didn't forget to pay the electric bill. David didn't bring volatile drama into your life.
He was safe. He was exactly what a girl who grew up with a father like yours was supposed to want.
"You're doing that thing again." Meg observed, tapping her pen against the binder.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you look at your engagement ring like it’s a tiny handcuff instead of a three carat symbol of eternal devotion."
You instinctively dropped your hand into your lap, the platinum band suddenly feeling incredibly heavy on your finger. "I am not. I love the ring. I love David. I am just tired. Decision fatigue is a real medical phenomenon, Meg."
"Right. Well, the good news is David already approved the catering invoice." she said, flipping a page. "He made a spreadsheet comparing the price per head of four different vendors against their Yelp reviews. He’s very efficient."
"He is." you agreed, forcing a smile. "He's incredibly efficient."
When David asked you to marry him six months ago after a perfectly pleasant dinner, it had made total, logical sense. Your twenties had been a blur of trying to stabilize your life, working a steady job, and actively untangling the emotional wreckage your father had left behind.
David was peace. He was the quiet harbor.
So why, as you looked at the eggshell fabric swatch in your hand, did you feel like you were suffocating?
"I need a drink." you announced suddenly, pushing yourself up from the couch. The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in.
Meg raised an eyebrow. "It's a Thursday night."
"Exactly. The perfect night for a gin and tonic. Want to come?"
She looked longingly at the mountain of swatches, then at her watch. "I can't, babe. I promised my mom I’d call her by eight. But go. Escape. Command David to join you for a celebratory beverage."
You glanced back toward the bedroom door. The typing hadn't stopped.
"No." you said quietly, grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair. "David’s working. I'll just slip down to the bar on the corner for an hour. A little solo decompression."
…
You pushed the heavy wooden door to the bar open, the overhead bell chime was immediately swallowed by the hum of a Thursday night crowd. The air inside was warm with the low murmur of conversations and clinking of pint glasses.
You threaded your way through the standing crowd toward the far end of the bar, finding a rare, empty leather stool near the service well. You sat down, sliding your purse onto the counter, your fingers instinctively finding the band on your ring finger. You began to rotate it. A nervous habit.
The bartender wiped down the wood in front of you. "What can I get you?"
"Gin and tonic, please. Lime if you have it."
He nodded and vanished. You let out a long breath, closing your eyes for a fraction of a second to let the frantic pacing of wedding checklists drain out of your head.
"I’m telling you, if the CT scan shows a retroperitoneal hematoma, you don't wait for the labs." a voice echoed from across the room, slicing through the noise of the bar. "You call trauma surgery immediately. If his pressure drops in the middle of the night, a spreadsheet of his blood counts isn't going to save him."
Your entire nervous system seemed to short circuited.
The sound of the bartender dropping ice into your glass faded. Your breath hitched, freezing right in the middle of your chest. You didn't move. You couldn't. Because your brain, despite eleven years of therapeutic distance and deliberate forgetting, recognized that voice with instantaneous accuracy.
Slowly, you turned your head.
You looked past the crowded center of the bar, your eyes tracking the sound toward a large, dimly lit booth in the far back corner. There was a group of four or five people sitting there but your brain entirely bypassed them.
It locked directly onto Jack Abbot.
Eleven years had done things to him. Unfair, frustrating things.
He was sitting with his back partially against the wood paneling, one massive arm stretched out across the top of the booth’s leather cushion. The boyish edge to his jawline was entirely gone, replaced by a rugged permanence that only came with time and the unimaginable stress of running an emergency room.
His hair was mostly silver now, but he still had those curls that you used to love so much.
You just stared. You took him in like a person dying of thirst who had unexpectedly stumbled into an ocean. You watched the way his fingers loosely gripped a lowball glass of amber liquid, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as a resident across the table nodded rapidly, absorbing everything he said.
Then, one of the residents cracked a self deprecating joke and Jack threw his head back and laughed. It was that uninhibited sound you used to listen for through the floorboards of your childhood bedroom. The sound that meant the storm had passed and you were safe for the night.
But as the laugh faded, Jack’s head came back down. His gaze drifted casually across the crowded bar, tracking the room with a lazy, relaxed familiarity.
Until his eyes hit your face. And stopped.
The change in him was instantaneous. The easy, relaxed posture vanished. Jack was frozen, his entire frame locking up as his eyes widened, just a fraction, in shock.
His glass stayed suspended halfway to his mouth. The lazy amusement in his face was entirely wiped clean, replaced by a stunned, piercing gaze that was pressing against your chest from across the room.
He stared at you as if he were looking at a ghost. As if he couldn't quite determine if the alcohol or the dim lighting was playing a cruel trick on him.
Panic taking over, you abruptly tore your eyes away. You spun your stool back around to face the bar, your hands trembling so hard you had to clasp them together in your lap.
"Here you go. Gin and tonic." the bartender said, sliding the glass in front of you.
"Thank you." you breathed, your voice sounding thin and reedy even to your own ears.
You grabbed the glass, your knuckles white, and brought it to your lips. You took a long sip, the sharp bite of the gin doing absolutely nothing to calm the wildfire currently roaring through your veins. You kept your eyes glued to the rows of liquor bottles on the wall, staring intensely at a bottle of cheap vodka as if it held the secrets to the universe.
Just leave, your internal monologue screamed. Pay for the drink, stand up, and walk out the door.
But you didn't move. You sat there, sipping nervously, your ears hyper tuned to the noise behind you, waiting for the inevitable.
You didn’t hear his footsteps over the chatter of the bar, but you felt him. The pressure shifted, the light dimming as a towering shadow fell over your left shoulder. The scent of rain and something deeply, inherently Jack invaded your senses.
He stopped right beside your stool, not saying a word at first. He just stood there waiting until you finally found the courage to look up.
When you did, he was looking down at you, his jaw tight, his eyes searching your face.
"I’d know the back of that head anywhere." Jack murmured. "Even if you did finally change your hair."
…
Your vocal cords felt like they’d been sutured together. You just stared up at him, your fingers around your gin and tonic, desperately hoping the dim bar lighting didn't betray the frantic pulse at the base of your throat.
"Jack." you finally managed.
A grin broke across his face. Without asking, he slid into the empty leather stool next to yours, his shoulder brushing against your arm. The casual dominance of his presence immediately erased the rest of the crowded room. He flagged down the bartender. "Bourbon. Neat. And whatever she’s having, put it on my tab."
"I can pay for my own drink, actually," you shot back, the old defensive reflex kicking in before your brain could stop it. You anchored your heels onto the brass rung of the stool, trying to match his height as best you could. "I have a big girl job now. I’m a fully functioning member of the tax paying public."
Jack tilted his head, his face doing that infuriating amusement you remembered all too well. "A big girl job? Is that right? I know you're an adult. I just heard you order a cocktail that tastes like pine needles and regret. Nineteen year old you would have demanded something neon green and loaded with sugar."
"It’s a sophisticated palate." you sniffed, taking a defiant sip. "And I overheard your little performance back there. 'You call trauma surgery immediately.' Honestly, do you ever stop playing god, or do you just like terrifying your underlings in public so they know you're the smartest guy in the room?" You couldn’t help being a brat. The feelings of him leaving you bubbling up, making you pissed off all over again.
"They’re interns." Jack corrected smoothly, leaning an elbow on the bar, shifting his torso so he was completely facing you. The scent of him was overwhelming. "And they need to be terrified. If they lose their heads because a patient's blood pressure drops, they don't belong in my ER. It's called guidance, kid."
"It's called being bossy.”
Jack let out a chuckle, a sound that rattled right through your ribs, agonizingly familiar. He shook his head, his eyes darkening as he leaned a fraction of an inch closer. "God, I missed your mouth." he murmured.
The words hung in the air between you. The banter evaporated, leaving a silence. Jack’s gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before lifting back to your eyes, searching them.
Genre: Romance • Angst • Healing • Slice of Life • Slow Burn • Strangers to Lovers • Smut
Sypnosis: At thirty-two, your wedding ends before it begins when your fiancé disappears without explanation. Still holding the honeymoon tickets, you leave Seoul alone and travel across Europe to escape the life that just collapsed. An unplanned journey brings two broken souls together, and in learning to heal as they move through unfamiliar places, they quietly find love in each other along the way.
A/N: Hi lovelies! Here’s another commissioned fic from one of my wonderful readers. I’ve been working on this for almost a month, and she’s been incredibly sweet throughout the whole process, so I’m really happy I can finally share it here for everyone to read. The story is now fully finished, and I’ll be posting everything here on Tumblr.
I’m also still open for commissions, so if you ever have a story idea in mind, feel free to reach out. You can also support me through Ko-fi if you’d like. Thank you so much for all your support, it truly means a lot.💗
Chapter 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Epilogue
By eight in the morning, your wedding was already circulating across Instagram stories before the ceremony had even begun.
Weddings in Seoul had simply become another kind of spectacle, beautifully staged proof that people in their thirties were still willing to gamble their hearts on forever.
The florist uploaded a reel with soft piano music and captions that read winter elegance meets timeless romance. Your makeup artist posted a blurry candid of you smiling in your silk robe with the caption:
“our gorgeous bride today 😭🤍”
Your cousins were filming TikToks in the hotel hallway. Somebody’s boyfriend had brought a drone. Your aunt from Busan was already asking the photographer if he could “make her look ten kilos thinner in editing.”
Everything looked beautiful online.
The bridal suite smelled like hairspray, coffee, and peonies expensive enough to cover two months of your rent. Garment bags hung from every chair. Half-open makeup palettes cluttered the vanity. Somebody had left a half-eaten egg sandwich beside a Dior lipstick worth more than your electric bill.
Outside the tall windows, snow drifted softly over Seoul.
Your mother stood behind you while the stylist adjusted your veil for the fifth time, both hands pressed over her chest as if she might faint from happiness at any second.
“My daughter is finally getting married,” she kept saying to anyone who walked into the room. “I thought this day would never come.”
You laughed every time she said it because what else were you supposed to do.
At thirty-two, marriage stopped being treated like a milestone and started feeling like a countdown people monitored publicly.
Coworkers stopped asking if you wanted kids and started asking if you still did.
Your relatives sent links to fertility clinics disguised as concern.
Friends who married younger spoke to you carefully, like you might break if they mentioned anniversaries too often.
Even your fiancé used to joke about it.
“Thank god I found you before your expiration date.”
At the time, you laughed.
Because love had a strange way of teaching women to humiliate themselves gently.
Your best friend Mina walked into the bridal suite holding two iced americanos and one look at your face made her stop mid-step.
“You okay?”
“I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“That’s normal.”
“No, I mean actually throw up.”
She handed you the coffee carefully before sitting beside you on the couch.
“You slept at all?”
“Maybe two hours.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m getting married.”
“That sentence sounds like you’re being drafted into war.”
You laughed weakly into your cup.
Across the room, your mother was crying again while showing your wedding photoshoot pictures to the makeup artist who clearly did not care but nodded professionally anyway.
Mina lowered her voice.
“Did he text you this morning?”
You glanced at your phone.
Still nothing.
Which wasn’t unusual.
Your fiancé hated texting. Hated calls too. Hated emotional conversations in general, honestly. For three years you convinced yourself it was because he was “logical.”
Now, sitting there in silk pajamas while strangers curled your hair, you realized logical had always just meant emotionally unavailable.
“He’s probably busy,” you said.
Mina gave you a look that lasted half a second too long.
That should’ve been another sign.
But denial was easier when you already spent eighty million won on a wedding.
The venue downstairs looked unreal in the cold morning light. Tall white flowers climbed gold pillars toward the ceiling while hundreds of candles flickered across mirrored tables, reflecting soft gold across the ballroom. Near the aisle, a live string quartet rehearsed quietly as hotel staff moved through the room with flawless precision, adjusting glasses, straightening chairs, fixing details no one else would notice.
Everything was stunning.
Everything was expensive.
Everything had been planned entirely by you.
Your fiancé barely cared about the details beyond what guests would think.
He cared about the prestige hotel.
The guest list.
The photos.
The optics.
You used to mistake that for excitement.
At eleven-thirty, guests began arriving.
Your phone exploded with notifications.
Friends posting mirror selfies.
Coworkers tagging the venue.
A cousin uploaded a video captioned:
"OUR BRIDE IS HOTTER THAN THE GROOM IDC 😭”
You smiled automatically while scrolling.
Then paused.
Still nothing from him.
No good morning.
No where are you?
No nervous excitement.
Just silence.
A weird coldness crept slowly through your stomach.
You stood from the vanity too quickly.
“I’m gonna call him.”
Mina immediately followed you into the hallway.
“He’s probably downstairs already.”
“He always answers before important things.”
“You said he barely texts.”
“Yeah but this is our wedding day.”
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Voicemail.
You swallowed hard.
“Maybe his phone died.”
Mina said it too fast.
You called again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Something ugly began crawling up your spine.
You suddenly remembered random things you ignored for years.
How he disappeared for hours after arguments.
How every conflict somehow became your fault.
How he once told you crying during fights was manipulative.
How relieved you felt whenever he acted affectionate because it happened so rarely.
Your wedding coordinator approached carefully.
“The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. We just need confirmation the groom has arrived.”
“He’s here,” you answered instantly.
Because the alternative felt impossible.
Right?
People didn’t just disappear from weddings.
That happened in movies.
In viral Reddit stories.
In humiliating TikTok confession videos narrated by robotic AI voices over Minecraft gameplay.
Not to you.
Not after three years.
Not after invitations were sent.
Not after deposits paid.
Not after your mother told every single person she knew that her daughter was finally marrying a successful man.
Your mother entered the hallway smiling brightly.
“His family is asking where he is.”
You stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
“They said they haven’t seen him since last night.”
The silence afterward felt physical.
Mina looked at you immediately.
Your stomach dropped so hard it hurt.
“What?”
Your mother’s smile faltered slightly.
“He probably went somewhere. Men are careless.”
You were already dialing again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
Your fingers started shaking so badly you nearly dropped the phone.
Mina took it from your hand gently.
“Hey. Hey. Don’t panic yet.”
But her face had already changed.
Because now she knew too.
Something was wrong.
Downstairs, the ceremony start time passed quietly at first.
Guests continued chatting politely while the quartet kept playing. Staff members whispered urgently into earpieces. Your father began sweating through his suit jacket while pretending everything was fine.
Then the gossip started.
A few glances.
A few phones coming out.
A few whispers behind bouquets.
“Where’s the groom?”
“Did they fight?”
“I heard he was stressed about money.”
“No, apparently his company’s struggling.”
“Imagine if he ran away.”
“Shut up.”
Someone laughed.
Your mother heard it.
That was when she started crying for real.
The kind that came from years of pressure exploding at once.
“I told her not to wait this long,” she sobbed at your aunt. “I told her men become unreliable after thirty.”
You stood frozen in the bridal suite while people searched hotel floors for your fiancé like he was a missing child.
His parents stopped answering calls.
His friends claimed they hadn’t heard from him.
One of the groomsmen looked genuinely terrified.
Another looked unsurprised.
That one hurt the most.
Mina locked the bridal room door.
Your hands felt numb.
“I don’t understand,” you whispered.
Your reflection stared back from the mirror looking absurdly beautiful for somebody being abandoned in real time.
Your makeup was flawless.
Your hair perfectly pinned.
Your dress tailored down to the centimeter.
You looked like a bride in a luxury campaign advertisement.
And somehow that made everything more pathetic.
Your phone vibrated.
Every person in the room froze.
You grabbed it so quickly your bouquet fell to the floor.
Not a call.
A message.
From him.
Your vision blurred immediately before you even opened it.
Mina whispered carefully, “What did he say?”
You stared at the screen.
Then read it again because your brain refused to process the words properly the first time.
I can’t do this anymore.
I’m sorry.
You deserve someone better than me.
Don’t contact me for now.
That was it.
Three fucking years reduced to four sentences that sounded copied from a breakup advice forum.
No explanation.
No apology worth anything.
No shame.
Just cowardice wrapped in fake kindness.
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then your mother started screaming outside the room.
Your aunt arguing with hotel staff.
Your father yelling at somebody on the phone.
Guests murmuring louder now that they knew.
Somebody downstairs had apparently already posted online.
A blurry photo from the ceremony hall with the caption:
“Ummm I think the groom ran away???”
Mina immediately grabbed your phone.
“Don’t look at social media.”
But it was too late.
Notifications flooded endlessly across the screen.
Missed calls.
Messages.
People pretending concern while hunting for gossip.
You sat down slowly in front of the mirror because your legs no longer felt stable.
The room became strangely quiet despite the chaos outside.
You looked at yourself for a long time.
At the expensive dress.
The pearl earrings.
The trembling hands resting in your lap.
Then suddenly, memories started rearranging themselves.
Every ignored instinct returned sharper now.
The way he never looked excited discussing your future.
How annoyed he seemed when you talked too long.
The way affection always felt like something you earned instead of received naturally.
The fact that he proposed right after his younger brother got married because he was afraid of looking behind.
You remembered crying once after asking if he still loved you and how exhausted he sounded when he answered:
“Why do you always need reassurance?”
Your eyes burned.
Because deep down, some awful part of you had always known.
You just kept hoping love would eventually arrive if you stayed long enough.
Outside the bridal suite, the wedding continued collapsing piece by piece.
Hotel staff began extinguishing candles.
Guests quietly started leaving.
The quartet stopped playing.
Somewhere downstairs, dishes clinked while workers dismantled the happiest day of your life before it had even begun.
And inside the bridal room, surrounded by white flowers already beginning to wilt under artificial heat, you finally understood something devastating.
You were never difficult to love.
He simply never loved you enough.
The first thing you noticed after being left at the altar was how violently quiet your apartment felt.
The kind of silence that made every tiny sound feel cruel.
Your heater clicking on.
Your refrigerator humming.
Your phone vibrating endlessly across the kitchen counter.
Outside your window, Seoul carried on normally. Cars moved through wet winter streets. Couples walked past convenience stores holding umbrellas together. Delivery scooters sped recklessly through intersections while people in oversized coats hurried home from work.
Meanwhile your wedding bouquet was rotting in your sink.
You still hadn’t taken off the dress completely.
Hours after the wedding disaster, the expensive lace hung halfway down your body while you sat barefoot on the kitchen floor eating cold convenience store kimbap Mina bought because apparently heartbreak still required calories.
You hadn’t cried in almost an hour now, which somehow felt worse.
There was mascara dried beneath your eyes. Your scalp hurt from the hundreds of pins the stylist used earlier that morning. One earring remained attached while the other sat forgotten beside an unopened bottle of champagne your wedding guests never drank.
Mina emerged from your bedroom carrying sweatpants and one of your old university hoodies.
“You need to change.”
“I live here now.”
“You smell like floral trauma.”
You let out a small laugh despite yourself.
That seemed to be the only emotion your body could still process properly.
Not devastation.
Not rage.
Just exhausted disbelief occasionally interrupted by inappropriate laughter.
Mina crouched beside you carefully.
“Can you stand?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“You haven’t moved in like forty minutes.”
“I think my soul left my body around noon.”
“Fair.”
She helped peel the wedding dress off you slowly because the zipper got stuck halfway down your back.
The dress had been custom-made by a designer in Cheongdam. Your fiancé insisted it had to look “luxury but understated.” You remembered him criticizing another bride’s gown once because it looked “cheap on camera.”
At the time, you thought he just cared about aesthetics.
Now every memory felt infected somehow.
You stepped out of the dress carefully, staring at the fabric pooled around your feet.
Thirty million won.
Months of fittings.
Hundreds of photos saved on Pinterest.
And now it looked like evidence from a crime scene.
Mina quietly carried it toward the couch.
“You should sell it.”
You laughed again.
“Who the fuck wants haunted wedding dresses?”
Mina looked like she wanted to cry, which made you immediately look away.
People always talked about heartbreak like it arrived all at once.
Like a car crash.
But this felt different.
This felt like slowly waking up from anesthesia while realizing your entire life had been misdiagnosed.
Your phone buzzed again.
Mina grabbed it before you could.
“No.”
“What if it’s him?”
“If he suddenly grew a conscience he can wait another hour.”
She flipped the phone over anyway.
The screen lit up endlessly with notifications.
Friends asking if you were okay.
Relatives pretending not to ask for details while obviously fishing for details.
Coworkers sending awkward paragraphs full of exclamation marks and crying emojis.
And beneath all of that was the thing you were trying hardest not to think about.
Social media.
Because of course people posted about it.
Weddings in 2026 were barely private events anymore. They were content farms with floral arrangements.
Someone uploaded blurry footage of confused guests leaving the venue.
Another person posted a photo of the untouched wedding stage captioned:
“this is literally my worst fear omg”
You stared at the screen numbly.
Mina immediately locked your phone.
“That’s enough.”
You leaned your head back against the kitchen cabinet.
The ceiling above you blurred slightly.
“You know the worst part?”
“The fact that he’s a coward?”
“No.” Your voice came out quieter than expected. “The worst part is I think I knew.”
Mina didn’t answer immediately.
Because she knew too.
Not that he’d leave.
But that something had always been wrong.
The signs had been there for years.
You just kept repainting them into something prettier.
Your relationship replayed differently now, like someone adjusted the lighting in a movie and suddenly revealed all the hidden damage.
You remembered your third anniversary dinner when he spent most of the night answering work emails while you sat across from him in a restaurant too expensive for either of you to enjoy comfortably.
At one point you asked softly, “Can you put your phone away for one hour?”
And he sighed.
Like loving you properly was exhausting.
“You know how important this project is.”
“I know but we barely see each other lately.”
“We live together.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Then he smiled afterward and bought you dessert, which somehow convinced you the conversation ended well.
God.
The bar had truly been in hell.
You stood slowly and walked toward the living room while memories kept surfacing without permission.
The time you cried after a terrible day at work and he told you:
“You’re too sensitive for corporate life.”
The time you gained weight and he joked:
“At least marriage means I already secured you before the damage.”
The time you mentioned wanting children someday and he replied:
“Well your timeline’s getting serious now.”
Always jokes.
Cruel things wrapped in humor so you felt dramatic for being hurt.
That was his specialty.
Making you feel embarrassing for having emotions.
You sat on the edge of your couch clutching a blanket around yourself while Seoul glittered outside your apartment windows.
You suddenly remembered the proposal.
It happened at a restaurant overlooking the Han River. Candlelight. Expensive wine. A hidden photographer waiting nearby.
Everyone online called it romantic.
What they didn’t know was that you’d argued in the car beforehand because he forgot your birthday dinner the previous week.
What they didn’t know was how distracted he looked during the proposal itself.
What they didn’t know was that your first emotion wasn’t happiness.
It was relief.
Relief that someone finally chose you before time ran out.
The realization made you feel physically sick.
You walked into the bathroom and stared at yourself under harsh white lighting.
Your face looked unfamiliar without bridal makeup.
Swollen eyes. Smudged mascara. Exhaustion carved into your expression.
This morning you looked like somebody starting a new life.
Tonight you looked like somebody surviving one.
You opened your skincare drawer automatically because routine felt safer than thinking.
Cleanser. Toner. Moisturizer.
Your therapist once told you trauma made people cling to rituals because predictability created temporary safety.
At the time you thought she meant childhood trauma.
Turns out she also meant failed weddings apparently.
Your phone buzzed again from the bedroom.
Then again.
Then again.
Mina groaned loudly. “If one more relative asks whether he cheated, I’m gonna start committing crimes.”
You almost smiled.
Then your body suddenly remembered another moment.
Two months ago.
You were lying in bed scrolling through wedding videos on TikTok while showing him flower arrangements you liked.
He barely looked up from his laptop before saying:
“Honestly after thirty-two weddings stop being romantic anyway. At that point it’s more logistical.”
You remembered laughing weakly because the comment hurt.
You remembered asking:
“Then why are you marrying me?”
And without even glancing away from the screen he answered:
“Because this is the stage of life we’re at.”
You slowly slid down the bathroom wall until you were sitting on the floor.
And finally, finally, anger began replacing humiliation.
Not at him.
At yourself.
How many times had you abandoned your own instincts just to keep being chosen?
How many nights did you cry quietly in bathrooms because you were scared asking for more affection would make you seem needy?
How many conversations did you rewrite in your head afterward trying to convince yourself he didn’t mean the hurtful things he clearly fucking meant?
Women called it patience.
Therapists called it emotional neglect.
The internet called it “tolerating crumbs.”
You called it love because admitting otherwise would’ve destroyed you sooner.
Mina knocked softly before entering the bathroom.
“Hey.”
You wiped your face quickly.
“He still hasn’t called?”
“No.” She sat beside you on the floor. “And honestly? Fuck him.”
Silence settled between you.
Then quietly, carefully, Mina asked the question nobody else dared to.
“Were you actually happy?”
Your first instinct was to say yes automatically.
Defend him.
Defend the relationship.
Defend the years you invested.
But exhaustion stripped honesty out of you.
So instead, tears filled your eyes again.
And for the first time since the wedding collapsed, you answered truthfully.
“I don’t think I’ve been happy for a really long time.”
Three days after your failed wedding, Seoul already felt like a city trying to politely suffocate you.
Everywhere you went, people looked at you with the same expression.
Too careful.
Too curious.
Too fucking aware.
Even your apartment no longer felt safe.
The wedding gifts still sat unopened near the entrance like cursed artifacts. White envelopes stuffed with congratulatory money remained stacked on your dining table beside guestbooks nobody would ever read again.
The worst part was your phone.
Your phone had become public enemy number one.
Instagram suggested breakup healing reels every ten seconds. TikTok somehow knew you’d been abandoned and started showing tarot readings with captions like:
“if a man disappeared from your life recently this message is for you”
Your YouTube algorithm became aggressively depressing overnight.
“How to rebuild your life in your 30s.”
“Signs you ignored emotional neglect.”
One video literally used AI-generated wedding stock footage while a woman narrated:
“Ladies, if he says you’re too emotional, RUN.”
You threw your phone across the couch after that.
Mina walked into your apartment carrying takeout and immediately frowned.
“Was that the phone or are we under attack?”
“The internet needs to shut the fuck up.”
She placed the food down carefully.
“You checked social media again?”
“I accidentally opened TikTok and now the algorithm thinks I’m a divorced mother of three healing in Bali.”
“You do have the energy.”
You groaned loudly into your couch cushion.
The apartment smelled like jjigae and exhaustion. Outside, winter rain streaked softly against your windows while Seoul moved restlessly beneath gray skies.
You hadn’t gone outside properly in two days.
Mostly because you were terrified of seeing someone you knew.
The failed wedding had spread faster than you thought possible.
Your aunt apparently told her church group. Your mother’s friends kept calling to offer condolences like your relationship had died in a tragic boating accident. One of your old university classmates even messaged asking if the rumors were true “because people online exaggerate things.”
Mina sat beside you and handed over chopsticks.
“You need to eat actual food.”
“I had crackers earlier.”
“That’s not food. That’s depression.”
You picked at the stew quietly.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Then Mina finally sighed.
“So.”
“So?”
“What are you gonna do about the honeymoon trip?”
Your hand paused midair.
The honeymoon.
Right.
Somehow, between public humiliation and emotional collapse, you had almost forgotten about the winter Europe trip you planned obsessively for nearly a year.
Train rides through snow-covered cities. Boutique hotels. Michelin restaurants you saved TikToks about at three in the morning.
You planned everything yourself.
Your ex barely contributed beyond saying:
“Whatever you want is fine.”
At the time, you thought it meant he trusted your choices.
Now you realized it was because he emotionally checked out months ago.
“The flights are tomorrow,” Mina continued carefully. “You should probably cancel everything.”
You stared down at your soup.
The deposits alone made you want to throw up.
The luxury train passes.
The hotels.
The non-refundable excursions.
Thousands of dollars spent on a future that no longer existed.
“You’ll get some money back,” Mina said gently.
You laughed softly.
“No I won’t. Europe apparently believes heartbreak is not a valid cancellation policy.”
Mina reached over and squeezed your hand.
“You don’t need to prove anything.”
The thing was, you understood exactly what she meant.
People your age loved dramatic reinventions after breakups.
Move cities.
Cut bangs.
Book solo trips to Europe while posting blurry film photos captioned “healing.”
Social media turned emotional collapse into an aesthetic.
But this didn’t feel aesthetic.
You weren’t healing.
You were humiliated.
There was a difference.
That night after Mina left, you wandered through your apartment unable to settle down properly.
You folded laundry without thinking. Rearranged skincare products. Opened and closed the refrigerator four separate times despite not being hungry.
At midnight, you ended up sitting on the floor beside your packed honeymoon suitcase.
Still packed exactly how you prepared it before the wedding.
Matching airport outfit folded neatly on top.
You stared at it for a very long time.
Then suddenly started laughing.
Because the absurdity finally hit you all at once.
You were supposed to be flying to Europe as somebody’s wife.
Now you were sitting alone on your apartment floor wearing old sweatpants while your ex fiancé was apparently missing from the face of the earth like a fucking criminal.
Your eyes drifted toward the itinerary folder beside the suitcase.
You remembered how excited you felt while planning everything.
Not even for the marriage honestly.
For the trip.
For seeing snow in Switzerland.
For wandering foreign bookstores.
For eating pasta in tiny restaurants nobody on TikTok discovered yet.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
When was the last time you felt excited about your actual relationship the way you felt excited planning the escape from your life?
The realization sat heavily inside you.
You reached for the folder slowly.
Inside were printed reservations, train schedules, restaurant bookings, tiny handwritten notes from yourself.
Try the hot chocolate place near the cathedral.
Wear the black coat in Vienna pictures.
Sunset train route!!!
You suddenly burst into tears so violently it startled you.
Because somewhere along the way, your dream stopped being love.
Your dream became leaving.
The next morning your mother arrived unannounced carrying homemade side dishes and enough anxiety to power an entire neighborhood.
“You look terrible,” she said immediately after entering.
“Good morning to you too.”
She clicked her tongue while removing her shoes.
“You lost weight already.”
“It’s been three days.”
“Stress destroys women’s bodies.”
You watched her unpack containers into your refrigerator like feeding you aggressively might reverse emotional devastation.
For a while, she avoided mentioning the wedding entirely.
Then eventually, quietly:
“People are talking.”
Of course they were.
You almost admired Seoul’s commitment to gossip honestly.
A city of ten million people somehow operated like one enormous auntie group chat.
“I know.”
“Your uncle said maybe you should stay home for a while.”
“Why?”
“So people stop asking questions.”
You stared at her.
“What exactly am I supposed to be ashamed of?”
Your mother looked startled immediately.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
She hesitated.
And in that hesitation, you heard it.
The fear.
Not for your heartbreak.
For your reputation.
Because women were still expected to survive humiliation quietly.
Especially unmarried women in their thirties.
Especially women publicly abandoned.
Your mother sat beside you carefully.
“I just don’t want people being cruel.”
Too late.
They already were.
Cruel in subtle ways.
Curious ways.
People loved tragedies they could discuss over coffee.
Later that afternoon, after your mother finally left, you opened your honeymoon itinerary again.
Then you opened your airline app.
Then your hotel bookings.
Then the weather forecast for Switzerland.
Heavy snowfall expected next week.
Beautiful.
Your stomach twisted.
You imagined canceling everything.
Staying in Seoul.
Returning to work.
Pretending this entire disaster would eventually stop hurting.
The thought made you feel like you couldn’t breathe.
Suddenly your apartment felt unbearably small.
Too many memories.
Too much embarrassment soaked into every corner.
The couch where your fiancé used to sit scrolling through stocks while ignoring your conversations.
The kitchen where you meal-prepped together in silence.
The hallway where he once kissed your forehead absentmindedly while answering work calls.
Nothing here belonged to you anymore.
Your phone rang.
Mina.
“What are you doing?”
You looked around the apartment slowly.
Then answered honestly.
“Having a mental breakdown.”
“Cute. Want wine?”
“I think I want to leave the country.”
A pause.
“What?”
The words came out before you could reconsider them.
“If I’m gonna cry anyway, I might as well cry in Europe.”
Silence.
Then:
“You’re serious.”
“I think I am.”
“You’ve never traveled alone before.”
“I know.”
“You’re emotionally unstable.”
“Also true.”
Mina laughed softly.
Then her voice gentled.
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“Are you running away or trying to find yourself?”
You looked toward the suitcase still sitting beside the couch.
Half packed.
Half abandoned.
Honestly, you didn’t know.
Maybe both.
That night you booked nothing new.
Didn’t change the reservations.
Didn’t cancel a single flight.
Instead, you slowly finished packing.
Thermal coats.
Passport.
Skincare.
The Europe guidebook you bought months ago.
At three in the morning, jet lag articles and train route videos played softly from your laptop while snow fell quietly outside your apartment windows.
And for the first time since the wedding, something unfamiliar appeared beneath all the grief.
Like your life had finally cracked open wide enough for air to enter again.
You stood inside Incheon Airport wearing an oversized black coat while dragging a suitcase originally meant for two people.
The airport buzzed with winter travelers and exhausted families. Luxury brands glowed beneath bright lights. Somewhere nearby, a child cried dramatically while his parents argued over passports.
Nobody here knew your story.
Nobody cared.
Strangely, that felt comforting.
Your mother cried before security.
Your father awkwardly handed you emergency cash even though you absolutely did not need it.
Mina hugged you longest.
“If you accidentally marry an Italian man, I’m blocking you.”
You laughed genuinely for the first time in days.
Then Mina grabbed your shoulders suddenly.
“Promise me something.”
“What?”
“Do not spend this entire trip crying over a mediocre man.”
Your eyes stung unexpectedly.
“I’ll try.”
“No.” She pointed aggressively. “I’m serious. You are too hot and too emotionally intelligent to waste Europe grieving over a man whose personality was basically Microsoft Excel.”
You burst out laughing right there in the airport.
People stared.
You didn’t care.
Minutes later, after the final goodbye, you walked alone toward immigration.
Your suitcase wheels rattled softly across polished floors.
And somewhere between security checks and departure gates, reality finally settled inside you completely.
You were thirty-two years old.
Recently abandoned.
Flying across Europe alone in winter with a non-refundable honeymoon itinerary.
And somehow, terrifyingly, your life finally belonged entirely to you again.
Airports always made you emotional.
Not in the poetic movie way where people ran dramatically toward lovers while orchestral music played in the background.
More in the deeply millennial way where standing inside an airport immediately triggered an identity crisis.
Everyone looked like they were becoming somebody else.
Businessmen flying to meetings in expensive coats. Students leaving for exchange programs. Couples documenting every second for Instagram stories with captions like catching flights not feelings.
Meanwhile you stood near Gate 22 carrying emotional damage and a seven-kilogram skincare bag.
Incheon Airport glowed beneath soft white lighting while snowfall drifted faintly outside the massive glass windows. Luxury boutiques displayed winter collections you couldn’t afford. A group of influencers in matching beige outfits filmed TikToks near a café while their exhausted boyfriend carried all their luggage silently behind them.
You sat near the charging station staring blankly at your boarding pass while trying not to spiral.
SEOUL → ROME
One-way.
Well, technically round-trip.
But suddenly the return flight felt theoretical.
Your honeymoon itinerary folder rested inside your tote bag beside emergency Xanax Mina forced you to pack “for emotional emergencies.”
Honestly, the entire trip already qualified as an emotional emergency.
Your phone buzzed again.
Mina.
boarded yet?
You typed back immediately.
not yet
Then another message arrived instantly.
remember if you accidentally meet a hot european man with generational wealth i support your healing journey
You smiled despite yourself.
Another notification appeared beneath hers.
Unknown Number.
Your stomach dropped violently before you even opened it.
For one humiliating second, hope still existed.
Maybe your ex fiancé finally regretted everything.
Maybe he’d apologize properly.
Maybe there was some explanation catastrophic enough to justify disappearing from your wedding.
You opened the message.
Your wedding looked beautiful regardless. Things happen for a reason.
You stared at the screen in disbelief.
Things happen for a reason.
What the fuck did that even mean.
People became absolutely unbearable around public heartbreak.
Everybody suddenly transformed into philosophers with access to Pinterest therapy quotes.
Delete him.
Choose yourself.
The universe removed what no longer aligned.
Meanwhile you were just trying not to cry inside an airport Pretzel shop.
You locked your phone aggressively and leaned back in your chair.
Across from you, an older couple quietly shared sandwiches while watching planes through the windows. The woman rested her head on her husband’s shoulder so naturally it looked unconscious.
Something about it hurt unexpectedly.
Because you realized how little tenderness existed in your relationship compared to ordinary people around you.
You spent years celebrating bare minimum affection like it was proof of devotion.
A text back within twenty minutes felt romantic.
Holding hands in public felt significant.
God.
The bar truly had been underground.
A sudden commotion near the boarding desk pulled your attention away.
At first, you assumed it was another influencer situation because airports in 2026 basically functioned as accidental fashion week now.
But this felt different.
More controlled.
A tall man dressed entirely in black stood near the airline counter wearing a baseball cap low over his face and a mask covering half his features. Even from a distance, something about him radiated exhaustion.
The kind of exhaustion people carried when they’d been perceived too much for too long.
One airport staff member spoke carefully while another kept glancing around nervously.
“I understand, sir,” the employee said quietly in English. “But we still need confirmation for the seat arrangement.”
You looked up instinctively.
His voice sounded familiar.
Not familiar familiar.
More like one of those voices your brain recognized from existing online too much.
The staff member lowered her voice further. “We’re trying our best, but there are limitations because of last-minute booking.”
“I specifically asked not to be seated near anyone.”
“I understand.”
“No offense but people photograph everything now.”
Honestly, fair.
Last month somebody went viral for secretly filming a man crying at an airport and turning it into an aesthetic breakup edit with Billie Eilish music.
Humanity truly lost the plot.
You glanced back toward your phone again, trying not to stare.
But something about him kept catching your attention.
Maybe it was the way he stood.
Shoulders tense beneath a black wool coat. Fingers tapping restlessly against the counter. Like he wanted to disappear from the room entirely.
Then the airline employee asked for his passport.
He reached into his coat pocket quickly.
And that was when you noticed the tattoos.
Dark ink stretched across his hand and fingers before disappearing beneath his sleeve.
Your eyes paused there for a second too long.
Because suddenly recognition brushed against your thoughts.
You’d definitely seen those tattoos before.
Online maybe.
Instagram.
TikTok edits.
Your brain immediately rejected the possibility because there was no fucking way.
Still, curiosity lingered.
The man noticed you looking accidentally.
Your eyes met for less than a second.
Even partially hidden beneath the cap and mask, his gaze felt startlingly sharp.
You looked away immediately, embarrassed.
God.
The last thing you needed was becoming one of those creepy airport people secretly identifying celebrities.
Especially when the man clearly looked miserable already.
The interaction at the counter continued quietly.
“We can move you closer to first class partition seating,” the staff member offered carefully.
He exhaled heavily and rubbed a hand over his face.
That tiny movement revealed more tattoos briefly.
Your stomach flipped strangely.
Not attraction exactly.
Recognition.
Like seeing somebody from another life unexpectedly.
A group of college girls suddenly passed nearby dragging carry-ons and immediately slowed down.
One of them gasped softly.
“Oh my god.”
Another grabbed her arm aggressively. “Don’t stare.”
Too late.
They were already staring.
The man noticed instantly.
You watched something in his posture shift immediately.
Like his body learned to brace automatically whenever people recognized him.
The girls whispered frantically among themselves while pretending not to look obvious about it.
One quietly opened her phone.
You almost physically felt the man’s irritation from across the terminal.
Honestly, airports must be hell if you’re famous.
You couldn’t even have a breakdown in peace.
The girls eventually walked away without approaching him, but tension still lingered around the boarding desk afterward.
The airline employee apologized repeatedly.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
“It’s fine.”
Except it clearly wasn’t.
He sounded exhausted down to his bones.
A few minutes later boarding announcements echoed through the terminal.
Passengers began standing slowly, collecting luggage and passports.
You grabbed your tote bag and joined the line absentmindedly while checking your seat number again.
22A.
Window seat.
At least if you cried during the flight nobody would notice immediately.
Ahead of you, the man in black adjusted his cap lower while airline staff quietly escorted him toward priority boarding.
Definitely famous then.
Or hiding from a murder investigation.
Honestly fifty-fifty these days.
As the line moved forward, your phone buzzed again.
This time from your mother.
Did you board safely?
You stared at the message.
Then another arrived seconds later.
Eat properly on the plane.
You almost smiled sadly.
Your mother still sounded worried in every text now, like heartbreak turned you fragile permanently.
You typed back:
i’m okay mom
It was a lie.
But easier than explaining the truth.
The truth was you still felt untethered from your own life.
Like none of this belonged to you yet.
The failed wedding.
The solo honeymoon.
The strange freedom.
You stepped forward slowly with the boarding line.
Then paused.
Because the man in black was suddenly right beside you.
Close enough now that you noticed details more clearly.
Broad shoulders beneath his coat. Silver rings against tattooed fingers. A faint smell of clean laundry and expensive cologne lingering in the cold airport air.
He looked taller up close.
Tired too.
Like somebody carrying too much noise inside their head.
One of the airport employees accidentally spoke louder than intended.
“Mr. Jeon, your passport.”
The name hit you instantly.
Jeon.
Your brain connected the tattoos first.
Then the voice.
Then the eyes.
And suddenly realization crashed into you so hard your breath caught.
No fucking way.
You stared before you could stop yourself.
Because standing three feet away from you at Gate 22 wearing all black and looking profoundly unhappy was none other than Jeon Jungkook.
And judging by the way he immediately pulled his cap lower after hearing his own name out loud, the last thing on earth he wanted right now was to be recognized.
The first thing you noticed about Italy was how loud everything felt.
Scooters screamed through narrow streets like they had a death wish. Church bells echoed across old buildings older than your entire bloodline. People spoke with their whole bodies here, arguing dramatically over coffee while cigarette smoke curled into cold winter air.
Even the train station in Rome felt emotional.
Meanwhile you stood in the middle of it wearing an oversized black coat and looking like somebody recently escaped a psychological thriller.
You hadn’t slept properly during the flight.
Every time you closed your eyes, memories kept replaying behind your eyelids.
Your wedding dress pooled on the hotel floor.
Your mother crying in front of relatives.
The message.
I can’t do this anymore.
At some point somewhere above Turkey, you gave up trying to sleep and watched terrible in-flight movies instead while drinking tiny cups of airplane wine like a divorced businessman.
By the time you landed in Rome, your body felt disconnected from reality entirely.
The airport smelled like espresso and expensive perfume. Tourists dragged giant suitcases over tiled floors while exhausted parents negotiated with screaming children in six different languages.
Nobody looked at you twice.
Nobody knew.
That was the first beautiful thing.
Back in Seoul, your humiliation had become public property. Here, you were just another tired woman trying not to miss a train.
Honestly?
Kind of freeing.
You pulled your suitcase through Roma Termini Station while clutching your phone with frozen fingers. Your train to Florence departed in forty minutes, which would’ve been fine if you weren’t operating on emotional collapse and two hours of sleep.
Google Maps betrayed you immediately.
“Why are European train stations built like escape rooms?” you muttered while dragging your luggage down another hallway.
An older Italian man bumped your suitcase accidentally before yelling something passionately at another commuter.
You blinked at him.
He shrugged dramatically like this interaction somehow involved destiny.
Europe was exhausting already.
By the time you finally boarded the train to Florence, your hair looked terrible and your expensive airport outfit had lost all dignity.
You collapsed into your seat beside the window and stared outside while the train slowly pulled away from Rome.
Gray skies stretched endlessly over the countryside. Tiny villages blurred past. Winter fields rolled quietly beneath soft afternoon light.
For the first time in days, nobody called you.
No relatives.
No coworkers.
No pity disguised as concern.
Just silence.
Your phone buzzed once.
Mina.
survived?
You smiled tiredly.
barely
Three dots appeared instantly.
any hot italians yet
mina i almost died in the train station
so thats a no
You laughed softly under your breath.
The woman seated across from you glanced up from her book briefly before smiling politely.
You looked away toward the window again.
Somewhere during the train ride, exhaustion finally overpowered adrenaline.
Your thoughts slowed.
Just softened enough for breathing to stop feeling difficult.
Outside, Italy unfolded quietly beneath winter skies while your old life remained thousands of kilometers away.
And somewhere deep inside yourself, hidden beneath heartbreak and humiliation and grief, another feeling began surfacing carefully.
Relief.
You hated yourself a little for it.
But it was there.
No more pretending.
No more begging somebody to love you correctly.
No more shrinking yourself into “easy” and “understanding” and “low maintenance.”
You spent years trying to become digestible enough for somebody emotionally unavailable to keep.
Maybe that was the real exhaustion.
Florence looked unreal at sunset.
Warm golden lights glowed against ancient buildings while winter fog settled softly over narrow streets. Couples wandered hand in hand beneath hanging lights. Tiny restaurants overflowed with people drinking wine loud enough to make entire sidewalks feel alive.
Your hotel room overlooked a quiet street lined with bookstores and leather shops.
It was beautiful.
And devastating.
Because this was supposed to be your honeymoon.
There should’ve been another suitcase beside yours. Another toothbrush in the bathroom. Somebody laughing with you while struggling to unpack winter coats.
Instead, the second half of the closet remained painfully empty.
You stood in the middle of the room for several minutes before finally whispering:
“Well. Fuck.”
Then you cried again.
Just quietly while sitting on the edge of the bed still wearing your coat.
Jet lag made emotions feel unstable. Everything hurt sharper when you were tired.
After twenty minutes, your stomach growled aggressively enough to interrupt the breakdown.
Right.
Food.
An hour later, you found yourself sitting inside a tiny restaurant near Piazza della Signoria pretending not to notice literally every other table contained couples.
Actual couples.
Not emotionally distant corporate men who treated affection like a quarterly business investment.
These people touched each other absentmindedly.
Hands resting on knees.
Foreheads brushing together during conversation.
Smiling mid-sentence because they genuinely liked one another.
Your waiter approached warmly.
“One?”
The question hurt less this time.
“Yes,” you answered.
He led you toward a tiny table beside the window overlooking the street.
At first, embarrassment sat heavily inside your chest.
You felt visible.
Pathetic.
Like everybody around you somehow knew you weren’t supposed to be alone here.
You ordered wine immediately.
Then pasta.
Then tiramisu because honestly your life already collapsed so calories no longer mattered.
Around you, conversations swirled in languages you barely understood.
A couple beside you argued affectionately over dessert. A family laughed loudly near the back of the restaurant. Somebody outside played violin beneath soft yellow lights while snow drifted gently through Florence.
You took your first bite of pasta absentmindedly.
Then paused.
Holy shit.
Maybe heartbreak truly enhanced flavor because the pasta nearly made you emotional.
You actually laughed quietly to yourself.
The waiter noticed.
“Good?”
“Incredible.”
He grinned proudly before disappearing again.
And somehow, slowly, something strange happened.
The loneliness stopped feeling humiliating.
You looked around the restaurant again.
Not comparing yourself this time.
Just observing.
People were simply living.
Eating. Laughing. Existing.
And for the first time since the wedding, being alone didn’t feel like evidence that something was wrong with you.
It felt peaceful.
Temporary.
Even beautiful.
You poured yourself more wine while snow continued falling softly outside the windows.
Maybe solitude only felt pathetic when you were waiting for someone who kept failing to love you properly.
Maybe being alone wasn’t the tragedy.
Maybe staying in the wrong relationship was.
Back in Seoul, however, another disaster unfolded across every screen imaginable.
News articles exploded hourly.
Entertainment channels.
TikTok gossip accounts.
Anonymous forums.
Every headline carried the same name.
Jeon Jungkook
Videos from a nightclub in Gangnam circulated online relentlessly. Blurry footage showed Jungkook shoving a man aggressively while security intervened nearby.
Different stories spread every hour.
Some claimed he was drunk and violent.
Others claimed he attacked a businessman unprovoked.
One viral post accused him of having anger issues for years.
Nobody knew the full story yet.
The truth was much uglier.
Three nights before leaving Korea, Jungkook attended a private industry gathering he never wanted to attend in the first place. Halfway through the night, he noticed a CEO’s son cornering one of the female staff near a hallway while drunk enough to think money erased consequences.
The staff member looked terrified.
Jungkook intervened.
Words escalated.
Then the man grabbed the woman again while laughing.
After that, Jungkook stopped thinking.
The punch happened fast.
Too fast for somebody constantly watched by cameras.
Unfortunately for him, somebody filmed only the aftermath.
Not the harassment.
Not the woman crying afterward.
Just Jungkook looking furious while security restrained him.
Public opinion turned vicious instantly.
Because people loved building idols into gods almost as much as they loved destroying them afterward.
Inside a luxury hotel suite, Jungkook stared blankly at his phone while another article refreshed across the screen.
“Global Star Under Fire Following Violent Incident.”
He tossed the phone onto the couch immediately.
Silence filled the room afterward.
Heavy silence.
The kind that followed years of exhaustion finally catching up with someone.
His manager called again.
Ignored.
Another message arrived seconds later.
Please contact us. The company is panicking.
Jungkook rubbed both hands over his face before walking toward the hotel window.
Outside, the city glittered beautifully beneath winter rain.
He felt nothing.
That was the problem lately.
Not sadness.
Numbness.
His entire life had become performance management.
Smile correctly.
Apologize correctly.
Disappear correctly.
Even breathing required strategy now.
He glanced toward the television where entertainment news replayed the scandal again.
Muted footage.
Slow-motion edits.
Talking heads debating his personality like they knew him personally.
One panelist actually said:
“Perhaps fame changed him.”
Jungkook laughed bitterly under his breath.
Fame didn’t change him.
Fame just made every mistake permanent.
He grabbed the remote and turned the television off violently.
Then silence again.
The hotel room suddenly felt unbearable.
Too expensive.
Too empty.
Too lonely.
His eyes drifted toward the passport tossed carelessly across the table beside train tickets booked impulsively hours earlier.
No schedules.
No staff.
No cameras.
Just Europe in winter.
He didn’t even know where he wanted to go yet.
He only knew he needed to disappear before the noise swallowed him completely.
Meanwhile, few kilometers away, you sat alone inside a tiny Italian restaurant drinking wine while snow fell softly beyond glowing windows.
And for the first time in years, loneliness no longer felt like failure.
𓄲 In order to make ends meet you pick up a side job as the nanny of a brooding, cold perfectionist by the name of Jeon Jungkook — while in the process of doing so, you might've ended up twisting the narrative about your education just a little. Watching over a few children couldn't be too hard, right? Only Jungkook is very peculiar about how he wants things done — strict routines, meal plans and tedious study hours that make the Jeon estate feel more like a military camp than a home — and it's only a matter of time until cracks in the seemingly perfect facade begin to form.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) jungook keeps secrets & so does reader
⧽ word count ⋮ 167.3k+ and counting
total reading time ⋮ 13 hours and 40 minutes
Help Wanted receives updates every week, usually around 4-6 days apart <3
[ Pinterest Board] ╱ [ Timezones For Updates ] ╱ [ Read Help Wanted On Wattpad ] ╱ [ Help Wanted Spotify Playlist ] ╱ [ Read Help Wanted on Ao3 ]
𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗫
chapter 01 "daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore" [5.7k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 02 "your clothes are dirty" [5.5k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 03 "could you stay?" [7.3k]
reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 04 "when mom was here" [6k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 05 "are there some messes that can't be fixed?" [5.2k]
reading time ⋮ 25 minutes
chapter 06 "hide and seek" [8.3k]
reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
chapter 07 "pancakes for lunch and empty fridges" [6.8k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 08 "I didn't know you wore glasses" [6.2k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 09 "dirty dancing" [5.9k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 10 "whiskey tears" [7k]
reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 11 "checkmate" [6.1k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 12 "guilty as sin" [6.4k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 13 "the truth" [5.8k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 14 "you should be careful with that" [6.7k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 15 "crumbling resolve" [11.4k]
reading time ⋮ 1 hour
chapter 16 "tainted skin" [6.3k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 17 "daddy-daughter dance" [5.9k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 18 "Birthday Girl" [6.8k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 19 "Dancing Queen" [9.7k]
reading time ⋮ 55 minutes
chapter 20 "Be Quiet" [11.5k]
reading time ⋮ 1 hour
chapter 21 "Heartbeat" [9k]
reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
chapter 22 "The Day Before" [10k]
reading time ⋮ 50 minutes
chapter 23 "Give and Take" [7.3k]
reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
— summary: you stopped expecting anything from love a long time ago. four years on your own taught you that much until you crossed paths with jungkook at yoongi’s birthday party. what begins as a chance encounter quickly becomes something real. and now, are you ready to close your eyes and trust him?
— pairing: jungkook x fem. reader
— genre: strangers to lovers, ceo au, biker au, slow burn, angst, fluff, and smut
— total word count: 50k in total
— author’s note: soo this happened... this started completely naturally, i never expected to write a fanfic this soon, but i've been having so much fun working on it, and i wanted to share it with you all 🥰 i'm still working on it, but as i've been writing a lot the past few days, i already know that by mid-may both parts will be over. jungkook was used as a visual only on the fic, as this had no chosen member at the beginning 🤗 i guess this puts some kind of an end to my hiatus (still not sure though), and i hope you'll enjoy this as much as i'm enjoying writing it ❤️ thank you so so much for your support guys!! means always so so much ❤️
18+ | warnings listed in each part
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PART I
⤷ meeting jungkook at yoongi’s birthday was unexpected, but in less than twenty-four hours, he made you feel more alive than you have in years. letting him into your life felt just natural, but that doesn’t mean it’s simple. as you slowly get to know him, you find yourself trusting him more… but should you really? or is he hiding something from you?
PART II
⤷ finding out about his secret from someone else hurts more than expected. you’ve always hated lies, and he knew it, which made it even harder. his intentions were never meant to hurt you; he just wanted to be seen for who he truly is. despite it all, your heart burns for him. you’ve never loved anyone this intensely, but are you truly ready to trust him again?
⤷ meeting jungkook at yoongi’s birthday was unexpected, but in less than twenty-four hours, he made you feel more alive than you have in years. letting him into your life felt just natural, but that doesn’t mean it’s simple. as you slowly get to know him, you find yourself trusting him more… but should you really? or is he hiding something from you?
— pairing: jungkook x fem. reader
— genre: strangers to lovers, ceo au, biker au, slow burn, angst, fluff, and smut
— rating: 18+
— words: 24,418
— warnings: alcohol consumption, kind of tipsy, jungkook can’t keep his eyes off our girl, mention of divorce, nervousness, mention of grief, mention of heartbreak, mention of breakup, mention of loneliness, some awkwardness, swearing, teasing, mention of crying, a kind of little argument, they’re both stubborn, kind of self sabotage, mention of masturbation, mention of death, lots of kissing, fingering, protected sex, penetrative sex, good old missionary, and multiple orgasms
— author’s note: soooo, this fic’s idea popped up really randomly and i simply started writing it 😊 this fic is honestly pure softness, but also messy at the same time. the point here is to depict someone who struggles with love after spending sooo long by herself, and she falls for someone who lets her guide the pace… biker jungkook had to be part of this, of course! this fic isn’t made to be perfect, it’s actually the opposite. honestly, i hope you all find a jungkook like this one in your lives 💖 wanted to aslo tell you that this fic will be fully written from oc's perspective, and there aren't any glimpses of jungkook's thoughts. also, special shoutout to @kooppss for her support!! she got to see this fic being written and how it changed 😅 hope you’ll enjoy it my loves 💖
SERIES MASTERLIST | PART II
The night is slowly settling, the sky taking on shades of red as the blue gets darker. For a brief moment, your eyes look up, a smile stretching on your face. The sky is beautiful tonight.
Right now, you’re waiting for your best friend outside the restaurant, as you agreed with her some hours ago. While you do so, a handsome man catches your attention. His eyes meet yours for a hot second before he steps inside the restaurant.
“Yn,” someone screams.
A bright smile grows on your face as you look to your right. Hyunri, your best friend, has finally arrived.
“Hyunri,” you say before holding her in your arms.
Tonight, you’re gathering to celebrate Yoongi’s birthday. Juhee, his wife and your best friend, has pulled out this little dinner to celebrate his 40th birthday. Anyone else would have probably asked for a big celebration, but it’s not his style. He prefers intimate dinners filled with loved ones.
“Did you wait long?” she asks when you break apart.
“No,” you reply. “Maybe a minute.”
She smiles at you. It’s been a while since you last saw her, which only heightened how much you missed her. She studied with you before you worked in the same company for a while, and last year she quit. Since then, you haven’t been seeing each other that much even though you speak every day.
Before she even gets the chance to do or say anything else, you grab her hand to take a proper look at her wedding ring. Her boyfriend proposed two days ago in the most romantic and beautiful way.
“Let me see the beauty,” you tell her.
Your eyes sparkle with joy. Hyunri deserves all the happiness in the world. She’s kind of crazy, but for sure, a woman with a big heart. No matter what, you can count on her. She’d even commit a crime for you if you ever asked.
“Woow,” you say. “It’s even prettier than in the pictures.”
“I know, right?” she asks while moving her hand to make the diamond sparkle.
“Must have cost a lot,” you say.
“But I deserve expensive shit,” she says.
You chuckle, but she’s right. She does deserve that.
“Right,” you shake your head while smiling even more.
Nothing has been decided just yet, but they’re planning on getting married next summer. They have more than a year to get everything settled. Honestly, you can’t wait for their big day. You know it’ll be mindblowing and extravagant like she is.
“Now, let’s get inside before Juhee kills us,” you tell her.
She giggles as the two of you head inside. The restaurant seems absolutely fancy—the type of place where the meal's presentation looks better than a painting. But it’s a once-in-a-while experience.
“Hello,” the host greets you once inside.
“Hello, we’re here for Min Yoongi’s birthday,” Hyunri says.
Your best friend is the social butterfly. The two of you are total opposites, like the moon and the sun. Nonetheless, you’re quite the duo. A lot of times, you wonder how on earth the two of you get along, but then you realize how much you complete each other, and your friendship just makes sense.
“Yes,” he offers you a bright smile. “Follow me.”
The man guides you to the huge terrace in the back, which basically looks like a garden. There is a rather long table placed on one side, and you recognize Juhee and Yoongi at the center. A bright smile grows on your face when you see them. Both you and Hyunri head to them, not paying any attention to the other people around the table.
“Happy birthday, Yoongi,” you and Hyunri tell him as you step up to him.
He stands up immediately, pulling you both into a warm hug before stepping back with an easy smile and thanking you for the warm wishes.
It’s genuinely great to see him again. He’s always been kind, and you’re glad you met him through Juhee. They definitely make a great couple; they just fit perfectly together. Sometimes, if you’re honest, you feel a tiny flicker of envy.
“Thanks, girls,” he says with a bright smile, gesturing toward the table. “Sit wherever you want.”
For the first time, you take a proper look at the table. Your eyes move across the guests, scanning the empty seats. Then, to your surprise, you see the handsome guy from outside. Now that he’s closer to you, he seems even prettier. Is it even possible?
You’re not sure if it’s destiny or a pure coincidence, but the only two remaining seats are the ones in front of him.
She just sits down while talking to Yoongi, completely unbothered, which leaves you right across from the handsome guy. You pull your chair back, placing your bag down by your feet before finally looking up.
He’s already watching you.
For a brief second, you meet his eyes without flinching. There’s a flicker of recognition there, and then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifts. His gaze is intense on you, and it’s honestly hard to simply look back at him.
You glance around the table, trying to avoid his gaze and looking for the bottle of wine. You’ll definitely need it to survive the night if you’re going to have the handsome stranger in front of you.
When you find it, you just pick it up and fill your glass. While Hyunri is still deep in conversation with Yoongi, you fill her glass as well. It’s no secret that she adores wine. She could drown in it if she could.
“Thanks,” she murmurs when she notices it.
“No problem,” you reply.
You don’t look back right away. You let the conversation around you settle, letting yourself blend into the rhythm of the table. You need some time and courage to interact with people. It usually drains your soul, so you definitely need some time before engaging with people around you.
When you lift your gaze again, he’s still looking at you. This time, you don’t look away as quickly. You bring the glass of wine to your lips, never looking away, and this moment is long enough to notice the way his gaze doesn’t waver, and how he doesn’t seems worried about being caught. It’s like he’s even happy that you noticed it.
Then, he looks away first. You blink and let out a quiet breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
Conversation starts to settle around you—people picking up threads, asking questions, passing drinks down the table. The man next to you, Hoseok, starts to talk to you as well. He’s an absolute ray of sunshine, always throwing jokes.
But no matter what, your attention keeps slipping back to the hot stranger. It’s like your body knows you’re being watched and you need to catch it. It’s never obvious, but it’s frequent enough that you start noticing a pattern. A glance when you laugh. Another one when you speak.
“Okay,” Hyunri murmurs after a while, leaning just enough for her shoulder to brush yours.
“What?” you ask with evident curiosity, your gaze looking at the plate in front of you.
“The guy in front of you,” she continues, “he keeps looking at you.”
You let out a small and dismissive huff. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Oh, he does,” she replies.
You shake your head, reaching for your glass. The fact that she noticed how frequently he looks at you makes you feel a bit uncomfortable and shy.
“You’re imagining things,” you dismiss her once again before taking a sip of wine.
The second you glance up again, there he is, looking at you. You don’t drop your gaze immediately. You hold it for a beat before finally looking away.
Her lips stretch into a smile, but you shake your head. The smug smile on her face almost makes you laugh. Any chance she gets, she tries to patch you up with someone. If she could, she’d make you date the entire world. You know it comes from a good place, but you’re just so introverted.
“Shut up,” you say, nudging her lightly under the table.
She instantly giggles, definitely enjoying herself.
“And he’s definitely hot,” she adds.
“Hyunri,” you warn her. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying,” she replies. “He’s into you, and you should try talking to him.”
You look away, avoiding both her and his gazes. This is so strange, and it doesn’t really make you comfortable. Of course, it feels good to have a man looking at you so intently, but you’re not used to it. It hasn’t happened a lot in the past four years.
“Please,” she literally begs.
You take a deep breath before saying, “Okay, I’ll try.”
She smiles widely with happiness, and it warms your heart. You know you’ll have to interact with him at least once; otherwise, she’ll end up annoying you for the rest of your life.
The evening stretches on, the energy softening as food and drinks are being served and conversations split into smaller groups. At some point, Hoseok turns toward you with an easy smile.
“How do you know Yoongi?” he asks.
You turn slightly toward him. “Through his wife, Juhee. We were coworkers.”
“Oh really?”
You nod. “She had started dating him when I joined the company, so I got the whole Juhee-Yoongi package straight away.”
He chuckles while shaking his head.
“Yeah, they’re quite the couple.”
“And you?”
He starts explaining how he met Yoongi years ago, together with a certain Jungkook. They were neighbors when they were younger. Their moms were close friends, and the three of them always hung out together. They still do it today. You carefully listen to him, not bothering to ask who the third guy is.
For a moment, you even forget the man in front of you. You’re so deep in the conversation with Hoseok, and you're more than glad to learn a bit more about Yoongi. You’ve only known him as an adult, and it seems so weird to discover who he was as a kid and teenager.
Hoseok then starts to explain how he ever found out about Juhee. His story is very similar to what she told you, but you’re hearing Yoongi's side, which is more than interesting. They were roommates, he was in a relationship, and she was in love with him.
“Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Yoongi was so into Juhee.”
The voice comes from across the table, cutting gently into the conversation. You look up. It’s him. He’s leaning forward just slightly now, his attention fully directed at you.
“Yeah,” Hoseok adds. “He was always talking about her when he was still dating this Jennifer.”
Juhee always makes fun of Yoongi for having dated this Swedish girl for a while. She likes to say that he wanted to try something exotic just to poke him, and he really goes with it. He’s totally in love with his wife, which you find absolutely adorable.
“And how did he react when she confessed to him?” you ask with curiosity.
Your best friend told you that after two years of being roommates, she finally confessed to him, but he totally dismissed her as he was still with this Jennifer.
“Oh man,” Hoseok laughs.
A hint of amusement flashes in the eyes of the guy in front of you. “He panicked.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Really?”
“He came to my place, totally freacking out because he didn’t know what to do. He clearly wasn’t in love with Jennifer, but knew how down bad he was for Juhee.”
“Jungkook told him to break up with Jennifer,” Hoseok begins.
“But he clearly didn’t listen to me,” the man in front of you finishes.
So, he’s the famous Jungkook, which makes sense. He wouldn’t have randomly jumped into your conversation.
“Seems like he eventually did,” you add.
Jungkook sincerely smiles before saying, “Because I kept repeating it every day.”
You chuckle, your gaze deep into his. Hoseok glances between the two of you, smiling slightly as if he’s picked up on something.
“I’m glad he listened to you,” you reply. “I wouldn’t have met him if he didn’t.”
Everything would have been so different, but you know that eventually, Yoongi and Juhee would have found their way to each other. They were roommates and madly in love.
There’s a brief pause, but it’s not awkward at all.
You’re both looking at each other, as if the world around had completely vanished. Hoseok then continues talking, but you don’t really listen anymore, too captivated by Jungkook. Eventually, you glance away, focusing on the conversation about how everything started between your best friend and her husband.
Jungkook ends up asking if you were at their wedding, which you weren’t. Your sister was getting married a day before in Italy, and you couldn’t make it to Juhee and Yoongi’s marriage. It saddened you back then, but it’s fine. They never resented you for that, and they showed you all the wedding’s pictures, which made it feel like you were there with them.
As the night keeps going, you talk with everyone around you and keep drinking wine. At some point, you can clearly feel the effect of the alcohol in your system, but you don’t really care. You’re not driving tonight. However, you’re clearly conscious that you need to slow down. Otherwise, you’ll get wasted before the end of the party.
The huge cake with the candles arrives, and you celebrate Yoongi’s birthday. He seems genuinely happy, and it fills your heart that he wanted you to be present at this special day for him. For a brief moment, your eyes meet Jungkook’s, and an odd warmth spreads throughout your body.
Right after eating the cake, Hyunri has to leave and makes you promise that you’ll let her know once you’re home. You’re left alone, but honestly, it doesn’t worry or scare you at all. Hoseok has proven himself to be a great company, together with Jungkook. The three of you talked a lot, and you have to admit that they’re funny.
Jungkook’s constant gaze on you makes you feel more and more desirable, and you wish the night would never stop.
By the time the night starts winding down, the terrace feels different. People are slowly leaving in small groups, chair scraping softly, and goodbyes stretching longer than they need to. When almost everybody has left the restaurant, you decide to do the same. It’s already late, and you should probably go back home.
You say your goodbyes to Yoongi and Juhee, thanking them again for the invitation. She tells you that you should definitely organize something sometime. Outside work, you haven’t seen each other in a while, and you also miss their daughter, Bora, whom you consider your niece. You absolutely need to organize something.
Somehow, without really planning it, you end up outside with Jungkook.
The night air is cooler now, brushing against you as you see everybody splitting and leaving. For a second, it’s just the two of you standing there. He glances at you, hands slipping casually into his jacket, but you don’t dare to look back at him; your gaze is on the building standing in front of you.
“How are you getting home?”
The question catches you a bit off guard, making you finally look at him. With his jacket on, he looks even more like sin. This man looks way too good.
“By taxi,” you say. “Or I’ll check if there’s still any bus running.”
He nods once, like he expected that answer, and you decide to pull your phone out of your handbag. Then, after a brief pause, he tilts his head slightly.
“I can drop you off, if you want,” he proposes, his eyes still glued on you.
It takes you a couple of seconds to process what he just said. Your eyes meet his once more while you lock your phone.
“You have a car?” you ask.
He shakes his head before he gestures behind him. You follow his gaze, and under the streetlight, a bike is parked. It’s honestly a very beautiful one, but you haven’t really seen many bikes in your life. They never really caught your attention whenever you’d see one.
“Oh.”
You look back at him, your gaze taking in the man standing next to you. Jungkook being a biker totally makes sense, and it definitely matches his aura. In fact, the opposite would have surprised you.
You should probably say no—that would be the most reasonable thing to do. This man is a total stranger to you, and on top of that, you’ve never been on a bike. It clearly sounds dangerous. And also, being on a bike clearly doesn’t sound like the best option, as you’re clearly under the influence of alcohol. You could throw up at any given moment.
But instead, you hear yourself ask, “You always offer rides to people you just met?”
His lips stretch in a smile, his little dimples appearing on his cute face.
“Only the ones I end up talking to at Yoongi’s birthday,” he simply says.
Before you can overthink it, you simply nod.
The two of you walk to the bike in pure silence, but his heavy presence next to you doesn’t go unnoticed. It feels strangely intimate to be alone with him after the way he looked at you all night.
Once you’re standing next to it, Jungkook takes two helmets out from what look like cases attached to the engine. He hands you one that you take with a certain hesitation, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest second.
“Ever been on one?” he asks. You shake your head, and it’s answer enough for him. He rests his helmet on the bike before taking yours from your hands. “Let me help you out then,” he says.
With the gentlest movements, he pushes your hair back, the touch of his fingers on you sending shivers down your spine. He’s so gentle with you right now. Once he’s happy with the result, he places the helmet over your head and pushes it down. By reflex, your hands catch the bottom.
A proud smile grows on his face, and his eyes glow with something you can’t quite name. It’s like he’s proud to see you wearing a helmet. After that, your little handbag is put in his backpack as it clearly doesn’t sound logical to keep it in hand while he drives through the city. The only request he has as for you to carry it and he reassures you that he isn’t heavy.
When he hands it to you, your fingers brush his, and he even helps you to adjust it on your back. For a second, your eyes get lost in the sight in front of you. The big ass man is helping you out with such a simple thing. He’s definitely a very thoughtful person.
Then, in a couple of seconds, his helmet is on his head. After that, he asks you to put your address on his phone. The thought of him knowing where you live thrills you somehow. The hot guy from Yoongi’s party will know your address.
“Alright,” he says. “Just hold onto me, and lean with me when we turn, okay?”
After spending the entire night sharing looks, you’ll be very close to him, like body to body. Never in your life have you ever been that close with a stranger. It’s kind of scary and exciting at the same time, but you can’t back up now. You already agreed to this.
You nod like that’s completely normal, but it’s not. He climbs first and holds out his hand to you. With a bit of hesitation, you take his hand and climb behind him. It’s a little awkward at first, and you adjust your position until you feel somewhat stable. The seat is narrower than you expected.
Jungkook never once looks away from you, making sure that you’re all set and ready. He’s so close to you, and your heart is beating way too fast with nervousness. Being in a bike with a random guy makes you a bit nervous. If anything bad happens, you could get very badly injured.
“Don’t worry, okay?” he asks you.
Somehow, you trust him enough to believe you’re safe with him. If your parents ever found out that you’ve been on a bike, they’ll kill you. They are very old-fashioned and convinced that every biker dies on the road, which you don’t believe.
For a second, you hesitate, hands hovering uncertainly, and then, you place them on him. You’re absolutely unsure of where you’re allowed to place them, so they rest against his sides. Maybe this is the right way to hold onto a biker. You don’t know.
“You can hold tighter,” he says over his shoulder.
There’s something about the way he says it that makes your hesitation fade just a little. And so you do as he says. Your arms slide around him, your hands settling against his torso, and you feel immediately the solid warmth of him under your palms. His body is definitely toned.
Your breath catches. This man seems like a surprise box, and it feels like they keep coming. You’re unsure of what could happen next, but you wouldn’t mind finding out more about him.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Your heart thuds in your chest, ready to leave at any moment. As if he’s feeling it, he grabs one of your fingers and gently taps it against his torso.
“If there’s anything, you can tap like this against me, okay?” he tells you.
“Okay.”
“I’ll be careful,” he adds.
You simply nod, even though you know he’s not going to see it. The engine starts beneath you, and you feel it everywhere—through the seat, through your legs, through the way your body is now pressed against his. And then, you’re moving. At first, it’s slow and careful as the bike eases into the street. You look around, taking in the houses and the people walking around.
But as soon as he picks up speed, everything changes.
The wind hits you, rushing past your body and pulling at your clothes. Instinctively, you tighten your hold on him, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. And instead of pulling away—like you would have done under any other circumstances—you lean in closer.
Your chest is now fully pressed against his back, your arms fully wrapped around him, and your eyes are closed as if you’re too scared. You can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the subtle shifts of his body as he moves, while he guides the bike with an ease that makes you trust him without thinking about it.
When you wrap yourself tighter around him, his hand brushes against yours in a comforting way. He’s trying somehow to reassure you, and it’s definitely working because you’re slowly opening your eyes again. From this perspective, the city looks different. Everything moves faster, and the lights feel brighter around you.
And as it appears in movies, being on a bike makes you feel more alive. It’s an indescribable feeling, but a welcome one.
Every time he turns, your body follows his naturally. Your body mirrors everything he does, which is normal with the way you’re clinging to him. You try not to hold onto him too tight, too scared to hurt him, while he guides you both through the city.
Honestly, you could get used to this.
Between the rush of the wind, the warmth of his body, and the quiet thrill sitting low in your chest, you realize you’re smiling.
At some point, the streets start to look familiar as you recognize the corner near your place, the small café that’s always closed too early, and the building across from yours. You almost wish you weren’t reaching your place.
The bike slows down, gradually at first, then more noticeably. The rush of wind softens into something gentler, and the city comes back into focus around you.
Then, he stops right in front of your building.
For a second, neither of you moves. The engine is still running beneath you, vibrating softly like the night hasn’t fully settled yet. Your arms are still around him, and your body is still close to his. Slowly, you become aware of it, and heat rushes through your body.
You loosen your grip, your hands lingering just a fraction longer than necessary before you pull them back. Jungkook doesn’t move, letting you do as you wish. You climb off the bike, your feet finding the ground as the world feels slightly steadier.
Jungkook cuts the engine, and silence falls into place.
You take off the helmet, running a hand through your hair, trying to fix it in a way that probably doesn’t make much difference. Your heart is still beating a little faster than usual, and your body is still holding onto the echo of the ride. It’s like you can still feel your body moving.
“Thanks,” you say, as you block the helmet under your arm. “That was really nice.”
Jungkook lifts the visor of his helmet to look at you. He doesn’t seem like himself when only his eyes are visible. It makes him look innocent, which you truly believe he isn’t.
“I’m glad you agreed to this,” he replies.
You nod, a small smile forming. “Yeah, me too.”
You’re standing close. Closer than you would be with someone you just met, but you’re close enough to notice the details again. His expression shifts slightly when he looks at you, his gaze not rushing away. This right here—his intense gaze on you, and him on a bike with a helmet on—makes your mind race crazily.
You never knew you were into bikers…
You glance toward your building to escape him and calm down your thoughts before looking back at him. Neither of you moves to leave.
“So…” you start, then stop. “I guess it’s time to go home.”
“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s in a hurry to go.
A silence stretches between you, but it’s not awkward. It’s like something is waiting to happen, but neither of you is quite ready to be the first to move.
Your fingers wrap tighter around the helmet, your heart beating way too fast in your chest. Jungkook shifts his weight just slightly, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. It’s subtle, but not enough to notice. Your breath catches just for a second, and the air suddenly feels thicker.
You know that if you close the gap between you, you’ll let him do whatever he wants with you, which isn’t a great idea. You’re tipsy, and he’s a total stranger—who knows what he might do if you let him. So, before you start doing something stupid and silly, you take the backpack out to retrieve your own bag.
“This is yours,” you tell him.
Jungkook nods, grabbing the bag and putting it on his back.
“Can I have your phone?” he asks, which makes you frown.
Even though his question confuses you, you still hand it out to him. He types something, and seconds later, his phone starts ringing.
“Now you have my number if you ever want to get a ride again,” he says.
“Thanks,” you say as you get your phone back.
Without truly realizing it, you’re now very close to each other, and his eyes never look away from you. It’s still unsettling, but god, if you could, you’d let him do it for the rest of your life. You love the way he looks at you, even if it is too intense sometimes.
“Goodnight,” he says softly.
“Goodnight,” you repeat.
Neither of you moves right away, and you don’t want this night to finish just yet. It’s for sure one you’ll never forget. This simple ride was enough to make the night memorable, but Yoongi’s birthday party was just as amazing. This was definitely a good evening.
“I’ll see you around?” he asks.
It’s not quite a question, you know it. You smile, still feeling the echo of everything—the ride, the closeness.
“Yeah,” you say. “You will.”
He nods and then starts the bike again, the sound breaking the quiet, and within seconds, he’s pulling away and disappearing down the street. You stay there for a moment longer than you need to, replaying tonight’s events as if you need time to process everything that happened before getting inside.
Your mind can’t help but think about the way he looked at you, the way you held onto him, and the way the ride felt. You exhale softly, a small and involuntary smile appearing on your face.
As the cold air raises goosebumps all over your body, you decide to get inside. It’s time to go to bed, and you know already that tomorrow you’ll be completely dead. When you get older, it becomes harder to deal with the aftermath of a late night filled with alcohol. Thankfully, tomorrow is Sunday, which means a lot of rest.
When the door closes behind you, the silence that follows feels louder than it should. For a moment, you just stand there in the hallway, keys still in your hand. There’s a lingering warmth in your chest that doesn’t quite fade.
When you’re about to unlock your phone, you notice that his helmet is still in your hands. “Shit,” you whisper to yourself. You stare at it for a second, confused at first, but then it clicks. You never gave it back, too absorbed by his beauty.
You set it down on the kitchen counter and sit on a chair, running a hand through your hair as the whole ride replays itself again—his voice, the steady way he drove, and the way he said ‘goodnight’ like it wasn’t quite final.
You quickly send a message to Hyunri, letting her know you safely made it home. Then, a notification appears. There’s a new message.
jungkook 🏍️: you stole my helmet
You stare at the screen for a second, a smile returning on your lips. You can’t help but notice that he added a little bike next to his name, and it does something to your little heart.
you: not on purpose
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
jungkook 🏍️: yeah, sure…
For a brief second, you don’t know whether he’s mad about it or not, so you try to think about what you could eventually reply. But before you can even type anything, another message comes through.
jungkook 🏍️: you didn’t need to steal my helmet to get another free ride 😊
jungkook 🏍️: you can simply ask
That makes you smile more than expected. You settle back on the chair, the helmet resting on the counter beside you, and it’s the proof of tonight’s wild turn.
you: i’m definitely going to ask for another ride 👀
Your heart is beating super fast in your chest. Jungkook makes you feel a certain way—one that you haven’t felt in years, and honestly, you don’t ever want it to stop.
jungkook 🏍️: i can give you another free ride when i pick it up tomorrow
Your entire body freezes when you read his message. He’s literally suggesting seeing you again tomorrow, and you’ve barely just said goodbye. Maybe Hyunri was right when she said that he liked you.
jungkook 🏍️: unless you’re planning to keep it
You feel yourself getting way too bold as you type your answer.
you: maybe
At that instant, your best friend sends you a thank-you message, telling you she’s glad you made it home safely. When she discovers who drops you off, she’ll go insane. In the end, you did more than talk with him. She’ll be proud of you, you’re sure of it.
jungkook 🏍️: do you intend on asking for more rides? 🤔
Well, you definitely would love to repeat this more often, but you can’t just say it now. You met him like five hours ago.
you: if you ever propose, i wouldn’t say no 😊
jungkook 🏍️: we’ll have to check about that tomorrow if you ever give me back my helmet
The silly smile on your face doesn’t fade away. This conversation with him feels incredible.
you: okay, so see you tomorrow then 😊
jungkook 🏍️: yes
The three dots appear and remain for a while before another message drops.
jungkook 🏍️: goodnight, yn
And this right here melts your heart. Not only because it’s a sweet message, but also because you can hear him say it, as he did minutes ago.
you: goodnight, jungkook
And just like that, you go to bed with the silliest smile on your face.
“Are we in a parallel universe?” Hyunri’s voice echoes in your apartment through your phone’s speakers. “What has happened to my best friend?”
Her words make you giggle. As always, she’s exaggerating everything, which only makes you roll your eyes.
“Why are you exaggerating like that?” you ask as you eat your breakfast.
Honestly, this morning you craved chocolate cereals, and you know it’s mostly due to the amount of alcohol you had last night. Always after getting drunk, you find yourself craving chocolate. On top of that, you’re also having a cup of coffee to help you out with the hangover. The aftermath of a night out at thirty doesn’t hit the same way as in your twenties.
“I’m not!!” she almost screams. “Wait, let me add Juhee.”
“Ri, no,” you tell her, but she doesn’t listen, of course, and adds your best friend.
“Hi guuuuuuurls,” Ju screams when she picks up the call. “How are you doing?” She seems full of energy, which makes you smile, even though you know that in a couple of minutes, you wouldn’t be smiling anymore, as they will be talking and raising too many questions related to Jungkook.
“I have to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the party,” Hyunri says.
“Why?” Juhee asks. “Did something happen?”
Is there any point in talking? No. Hyunri is going to say it anyway, and you’ll have to listen to them ranting about you as if you weren’t there.
“Our super friend here managed to get a hot babe’s number,” she teases.
“Don’t call him ‘hot babe’, it’s weird,” you tell her.
“What?” Juhee says. “How?”
You want to chuckle because her reaction is funny, but it’s best not to react at all.
“I’m still trying to figure it out, but as you can imagine, yn hasn’t said much.”
You roll your eyes for the millionth time since she called you. “Let me eat in peace,” you simply reply.
“We don’t care about that,” Juhee says. “We want details!”
Now you giggle before your eyes flutter shut for a moment. Souvenirs from last night flow through your mind. Jungkook seems to be the only thing your mind can even focus on at this moment.
“You actually know him,” you reveal. “It’s one of Yoongi’s closest friends. It’s Jungkook.”
“You should have seen the way he was always looking at her,” Hyunri continues without even letting you or Juhee speak. “He’s really into her.”
Your best friend seems very into what happened yesterday.
“Now, the best part was after the party…” she continues.
Thank god that it’s not a video call, otherwise she’d see the way you constantly roll your eyes. She’s definitely exaggerating everything. It’s like it’s the event of the year when there’s not really much to say.
“Wait…” Juhee then cuts Hyunri off. “Jungkook?”
Juhee must know tons of things about him, and most probably, she knows him well since he’s a close friend of Yoongi with Hoseok—based on what you found out yesterday.
“Yeah,” you simply reply.
Her reaction kind of surprises you. Is there something wrong with him?
“Is there anything we should know about him?”
Your heart is now beating super fast, too scared to hear something you wouldn’t like. For sure, whatever she says will impact the way you’ll see him, and in a couple of hours, you’ll be spending some time with him. Hopefully, she doesn’t have anything bad to say.
“Well…” she begins before pausing for a second. “Not sure if I’m supposed to be the one saying it, but he divorced like a year ago, and apparently, it’s been rough for him since then.”
Somehow, it’s not surprising that he was married, especially considering how thoughtful he was. And on top of that, he’s good-looking, so it mustn’t be difficult for him to find someone.
“What happened?” Hyunri asks with curiosity.
“Yoongi doesn’t speak much about it, nor does Jungkook, but from what I understood, they simply grew apart,” she explains. “But now, back to what happened yesterday, I want to know everything. Yoongi will be happy when I tell him about this.”
A smile spread across your face as you imagine your best friend telling her husband about this. “After the party, he dropped me off with his bike,” you summarize yesterday’s events.
“Annnnnd?” Hyunri tries to push you to reveal more.
“It was cool,” you say. “I’ve never been on a bike, so it was cool to live the experience.”
“You’re annoying, yn,” Juhee says. “We want to know more than that.”
“Fine,” you take a very deep breath. “He gave me his number, and I’m seeing him again today.”
Both girls scream with happiness on the other side of the phone, clearly trying to make you deaf. They really are unbelievable. However, their reaction definitely makes you happy because you know they’ve always been supportive of you. And now, they’ll definitely do everything they can to encourage you to see Jungkook as often as possible.
“I should have introduced you to him years ago!” Juhee says with enthusiasm.
“Well, if he was married, it wouldn’t have changed anything,” you reply.
“Yeah, right… He was indeed already taken,” she seems kind of defeated. “Still, now, you’ve got to meet him, and you can’t do anything stupid to ruin this.”
“He’s definitely into you, yn,” Hyunri continues. “You need to seize the opportunity.”
Honestly, you’re not really sure you’re ready for anything related to relationships. You’ve been on your own for four years, and the simple thought of dating someone scares the hell out of you. Jungkook seems like a nice guy and looks good, but what if he realizes that he doesn’t like you? What if he realizes you simply look good?
“I don’t know…” you admit.
Being single all these years wasn’t in your plans, but life happened. In between sickness, grief, and heartbreak, you gave yourself some time to breathe. Dating was the last thing on your mind, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t try to give it a shot.
Two years ago, you tried tinder, but it was a total mess. It overwhelmed you after two days, and you deleted your profile. You gave it a second chance three months ago, but it ended up with the same result.
The conclusion was that dating apps aren’t for you.
Being on your own never scared you, but sometimes, loneliness can be suffocating—like really suffocating. Those nights, tears get the best of you. Being alone isn’t easy all the time; however, you have to admit that it brings you peace, and you actually love it.
Juhee and Hyunri are worried you’d spend the rest of your life alone. You’re thirty and very much single. For a while, you totally ignored them because you didn’t give a shit about it all. But now, with this Jungkook, it feels a bit different.
“Look, I know you’re scared, but just go with the flow with Jungkook. Don’t overthink, just enjoy yourself. If it doesn’t work, then that’s it, but don’t try to push him away if he keeps coming back, okay?”
It seems easy for her to say. She isn’t the one struggling with relationships. She’s been with Yoongi for seven years, married for two years, and had a baby girl one year ago. She found her soulmate while you’re still trying to figure things out in your life.
“Okay,” you say.
For now, you just have to focus on when he shows up at your door in a couple of hours to retrieve his helmet. Probably nothing will happen, and maybe he’ll leave in two minutes. Maybe he’s not into you, as Hyunri likes to repeat.
“Now, have you planned something for when you see each other again?” Hyunri asks.
“No,” you reply instantly. “He’s just going to pick up his helmet.”
“His helmet?” Juhee asks.
“Yeah, I accidentally stole it yesterday.”
“Ooooh, our girl was so charmed that she stole something…” Hyunri teases you.
She’s not wrong, but you’re absolutely not going to admit it just yet.
“This is awkward, Ri,” you tell her.
“Okay,” Juhee intervenes. “It’s a good thing, though. You get to see him again.”
For sure, you’re going to see him, but you’re not sure how it’ll go. Probably nothing will happen.
“I might have said that I’d like to get on his bike again,” you confess.
“Girl, please beg for that ride today,” Hyunri literally begs you.
“We’ll see,” you reply. “He’s probably just going to take the helmet and leave straight after.”
“Yn…” Juhee exhales. “Don’t let him leave right after. Speak a bit with him and absolutely ask for that ride.”
You take a deep breath. You’d like to go for another ride, but would it even be appropriate if he’s coming to pick up the helmet? He said yesterday that he’ll see when he comes today, but what if he changed his mind?
Suddenly, you receive a notification from him. Your heartbeat increases drastically, and you remain silent as your friends keep talking.
jungkook 🏍️: hi yn ✨ is it okay if i come in one hour?
For a minute, you look at the message without knowing what to say or even to think.
“Yn?” Juhee says, bringing you back down on earth.
“Sorry,” you reply. “He just texted me.”
It feels like you’re in a parallel universe. Everything that has been happening since last night feels absolutely unreal.
“What did he say?” Hyunri asks with curiosity.
“He’s asking if he can come in an hour.”
“And you’re going to say yes,” Juhee tells you.
It’s not even a question. She’s saying it, and you don’t have much of a choice.
“Yes,” you confirm.
you: hi jungkook, yes it’s fine ✨
His reply comes seconds later, as if he was waiting for your answer.
jungkook 🏍️: perfect! see you
“Girls, I’ll have to leave then,” you tell them. “I need to clean my place, it’s a complete mess!”
“Okay, but you keep us updated,” Hyunri makes you promise.
“Yes, I will.”
An hour later, the doorbell rings in your apartment, and your heart starts racing. Your eyes quickly dart around, checking if your place looks presentable. In the mirror of the entrance, you quickly check your reflection to make sure you look presentable.
Following your friends’ advice, you’ve chosen a simple but not too casual outfit. So, you’ve opted for a fitted black top that hugs your frame, the neckline dipping just enough to soften the look without trying too hard. You paired your top with jeans sitting high on your waist, perfectly fitted at the hips before falling straight down your legs. And on top of that, you put on a thin belt that pulls everything together.
You’re kind of satisfied with the outfit, but somehow, it feels like your top is a bit too much. However, now that Jungkook rings at your door, you can’t back out and change.
When you look at the videophone, his strong figure captivates your full attention, and you can’t help but smile. He’s opted for a full black outfit that suits him incredibly well. He’s wearing a tight shirt under a large jacket and tucked into his jeans. In his left hand, he holds his helmet.
“Hi, Jungkook,” you speak through the interphone. “It’s the fifth floor.”
“Thanks,” he says as you open the entrance door through a button on the interphone.
You take a very deep breath, trying to calm your beating heart and your racing thoughts. “He’s just here to pick up the helmet, nothing more,” you try to convince yourself. Deep down, you wish he’s not here just for that. Deep down, you hope he’ll propose to do something. Deep down, you simply want to be around him.
A loud knock against your door brings you back to reality, and without much hesitation, you open the door. Your breath is completely taken away when he stands tall in front of you. He looks even better than yesterday, if it was even possible.
His lips stretch into a bright smile before he says, “Hi, yn.”
“Hi, Jungkook,” you say, smiling as well. “Come inside.”
You step back to let him in, and he doesn’t waste a second before getting inside your place. Jungkook looks around, discovering every corner of the apartment’s entrance. You don’t own a big place because you can’t afford anything bigger, but one thing you’re proud of is the fact that this is yours. You bought this with your own money.
He turns around, his intense gaze now on you. That part hasn’t changed since last night. He still looks at you in a way that makes your tummy twist. You really want to hold his gaze, but you just can’t.
So you look around, searching for the helmet. “Let me just grab the helmet.”
Jungkook frowns. “If you didn’t want my presence here, you could have just said it,” he begins. “I could have waited at the entrance.”
You tilt your head, trying to understand what he’s saying, and when you do, you feel guilty. You’re so awkward that you want to slap your face so badly.
“It’s not that,” you say, shaking your head.
You pause, trying to think of the right way to express yourself, even though you know you’ve already made a mess in like a second.
“I just…”
It feels like you can’t even express yourself, while he’s just waiting for an answer. For sure, after this, he’ll run away and never come back. This is more than over. You don’t even dare to look at him, too scared of what you might see in his eyes.
“I just thought you were here for it,” you finally say, slowly looking back at him.
To your surprise, you see a sly smile on his face, and even if his stare is still intense, it doesn’t feel threatening.
“I wouldn’t be here if it were just for the helmet,” he replies.
“Oh.”
Well, his reply leaves you speechless. He’s implying that he’s here for you, not to retrieve the helmet, and that does things to you. You’re not sure you can remember the last time a man said he wanted to spend time with you, except for the brief times you were on tinder. So, that doesn’t count at all.
“Do you want to drink or eat something, then?” you proceed to ask.
His smile grows bigger as he nods. “Where can I put this?” he shows his helmet.
“Follow me,” you tell him.
Jungkook does as you say, and you guide him to the living room. When he sees the stolen helmet, he instantly understands he needs to place his right next to it.
“You can sit on the couch while I bring some things,” you say with a little smile.
The man nods as you disappear into the kitchen, take some juice from the fridge, and pick up a few biscuits. You come back with all of that and take two glasses from the sideboard.
“This is all I have,” you show him.
“It’s enough,” he smiles. “I really like this orange juice. My favourite.”
His words reassure you.
“I can do coffee if you want,” you propose as well.
“No, no, this is fine,” he replies.
You nod, and the two of you start eating some of the biscuits you have. Those are lactose-free because, unfortunately, your body decided it was damn time you stopped tolerating lactose. In all honesty, this is horrible. The only positive side is that you now know what you're eating, since you always have to read the ingredients.
“Your place is cute,” he finally breaks the silence.
“Thanks,” you reply. “I bought it two years ago, and it’s slowly starting to look like something.”
He chuckles, his fingers placing a chocolate biscuit in his mouth, and you can’t help but drool over this simple action. Fuck, he looks way too hot without even trying.
“So you live alone?” he asks, as if he’s making sure nobody will show up unexpectedly.
“Yes.”
You’re not sure if it’s a good idea to let a stranger know you live by yourself—we never know what might happen. But, somehow, with him, you feel like you’re safe.
“No man is going to show up?”
Your cheeks instantly heat as you realize he’s trying to check if you’re single or not. “Are you trying to ask if I’m single?” you ask without thinking.
“Maybe,” he says, a cheeky smirk appearing on his face.
He’s going to be the death of you. There’s no way you’re going to survive him if he starts acting like that around you.
“Well, if you don’t ask it clearly, I can’t give you an answer,” you decide to tease him back.
If he wants to know, he’ll have to say it loud and clear. Jungkook chuckles before you hear him say, “Are you single?”
Heath instantly spreads through your body as you hear him say it.
“Maybe,” you keep teasing him.
He shakes his head, picking up another biscuit. Why did you even agree to meet him today? He looks way too good, and you don’t even know how to deal with him. Somehow, teasing him is the only way to do it.
“Mmm,” he says. “Is it a yes?”
You decide to nod, “I have been for a while.”
You don’t really know where you found the courage to say it, but maybe the fact that you feel comfortable enough with him can explain it. Suddenly, his face gets dangerously close, his gaze glued on yours. The strong scent of his cologne wraps around you, and you swear that you can feel your soul leaving your body.
“It’s hard to believe it,” he then says.
His words take you off guard.
“Why?” you frown.
“Someone like you can’t possibly be single for long,” he replies.
Your body heat keeps increasing while your heart simply decides to abandon you. Jungkook can’t possibly say things like that. You chuckle, not believing a word. “Is that what you say to all women?”
“No,” he says simply.
The way he says it—calm and without hesitation—makes you shiver. His answer actually surprises you because you weren’t expecting him to reply with ‘no’ so simply.
“I’m sure a guy like you doesn’t have trouble meeting women,” you say.
Even if your friend told you it was hard for him after his divorce, you’re absolutely convinced he managed to flirt—and maybe do even more—with stunning women. You’re not saying you’re ugly; it’s far from that, but you’re sure that he has seen tons of pretty women.
“A guy like me?” he raises an eyebrow.
You’re not even sure what you’re supposed to reply, but you know he understands what you mean. He’s just trying to push you to say it out loud.
“You know what I mean,” you then reply.
Jungkook watches you for a second, his face still too close to yours. A sly smile grows on his face, and your heart just drops right there and then.
“Yeah,” he says. “But it doesn’t mean I’m interested in all of them.”
His answer flusters you. Jungkook is quite straightforward, and you haven’t met a man like him before. It’s unsettling, but at the same time, impressive. As you don’t know what to reply to that, you change the topic of the conversation completely: “I believe you promised me another ride on your bike.”
As you say it out loud, it absolutely sounds dirty. You’re so fucking awkward… He’s going to think you want to go wild with him when it’s absolutely not the case. You press your lips together, trying to suppress the urge to cringe.
Jungkook doesn’t react right away, but for the first time, he looks away. It is as if he needs some time to process what you just said.
“I did,” he then replies calmly. “And we can go whenever you want.”
His eyes meet yours again, and you bite the corner of your lower lip as you think of the place you’d like to go. You’re not sure it’d be right to suggest it because it’s tied to heavy and strong emotions.
“There’s a place I used to go to,” you admit.
You don’t look at him when you continue. Honestly, it’s been a while since you’ve wanted to go there, but you were too scared to go alone. Using this bike ride seems like the perfect excuse.
“I haven’t been there in a while.”
You can feel Jungkook’s eyes on you. Somehow, it feels like you have forgotten how he spent last night constantly looking at you. It’s like he can’t look away, and it’s sometimes unsettling.
“I’d like to go back there,” you say, finally looking at him to see his reaction.
Nothing has changed; it’s like he’s a statue. He’s simply looking at you with that unreadable expression. Jungkook doesn’t ask questions, just nods, “Okay,” he ends up saying. “Let me know when you want to go, then.”
“Can we go now?” you dare to ask.
Again, he simply nods. The two of you stand up at the same time, and you notice a little smile on his face. He looks cute when there’s no smirk or sly smile on his face.
Back on his bike, your arms wrap around him while he drives, and you feel alive all over again. A stupid smile stretches across your face as he guides you both through the city. You didn’t think you’d be back on the bike this soon, but god, you’re definitely not going to complain.
At a red light, he looks back, his hand falling on top of yours. “You’re doing okay?”
“Yes,” you try to scream, making sure he can hear you.
“Good,” he says, his head looking back at the road.
His fingers stroking your hands warm your body in an unexplainable way, and you can’t help but wrap yourself tighter around him. Right now, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He’s made you feel a lot in less than a day, and even if you don’t ever see him again, you’d cherish those moments forever.
When the light turns green, he starts the engine. You look around, enjoying how the city becomes a blur all over again. The bike zigzags between the cars at a fast speed, giving the impression that they are barely moving. Your body moves with his as he drives you around. It’s honestly impressive.
At some point, you rest your head against his back and close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of the wind running through your body. This is so unique. This time around, having your body pressed against his doesn’t scare you. It’s actually the opposite.
Jungkook slows down as you reach the destination, your eyes opening when he speaks. “Can I park here?”
“Yeah, should be fine,” you reply.
He completely stops the engine on a little spot, and you climb off the bike. The street is almost empty, as it was the case when you used to come years ago. The two of you remove the helmets once you put your feet on the floor.
Jungkook’s gaze lands on you, and you don’t look away. His fingers quickly run through his hair to arrange it. This man is so effortlessly good-looking.
“We just need to walk a bit,” you tell him.
He nods as you guide him through the houses and down the street to your secret spot. Four years ago, when you were walking around with an aching heart, you discovered this spot with the prettiest view of the city. You’ve come here tons of times, but over time, you stopped coming.
When you reach it, you halt, and he stands next to you. The view is still breathtaking. A smile forms on your lips. Before you can realize it, your eyes meet the man next to you. For the first time, he isn’t looking at you, but at the city.
“This is a pretty spot,” he admits before looking at you.
“It is,” you say while holding his gaze.
Your hand grabs his gloved one, guiding him to the railing placed a bit further. His hand wraps around you, which honestly creates goosebumps on your body, but you simply ignore it. Once there, you don’t let go of his hand just yet.
“How did you discover this?” he asks, his eyes moving between you and the city. “This is really hidden.”
“The story behind it isn’t the most joyful,” you admit.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t feel like it,” he tells you.
You let go of his hand, put your elbows on the railing, and place your head in your hands. The helmet hangs on your arm while your eyes simply take in the sight before you. Somehow, being here doesn’t overwhelm you as you thought it’d be. It actually eases your mind.
“I lost my best friend to cancer around the time my ex-boyfriend broke up with me,” you confess, not looking once at him.
Revealing the truth feels easy when the person next to you is a complete stranger. He can’t judge you, and even if he does, you can simply walk away.
“The pain was suffocating,” you explain. “And I’d walk around the city for hours to empty my mind. Spoiler alert: it didn’t work,” you try to chuckle, but only a weird noise escapes your mouth. “One day, I stumbled upon this spot and kept coming because the noise in my head and the lump in my throat would calm down for a minute in here.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he tells you.
“Thanks,” you reply. “It’s been four years, but it feels like it was yesterday.”
You can tell that his eyes are on you, not in the city, but you don’t care. It feels good to say this to someone who isn’t Juhee or Hyunri.
“I understand,” he confesses. “Losing someone isn’t easy.”
It isn’t. Grief never leaves you; you simply learn how to live with it, but there are times when everything comes back with more intensity. In those moments, you’re brought back in time, and everything becomes unbearable all over again.
“I hadn’t come here in years, but it’s good to be back,” you admit.
“Thanks for telling me all of this,” he tells you. “And I’m happy you brought us here. It’s very beautiful.”
A small silence settles between you after his words, but it’s not heavy nor awkward. It’s just there as if you both need to proceed with everything you just shared with him. You nod slightly, your gaze still fixed on the city.
The wind brushes lightly against your skin, and without thinking, you pull your jacket a little closer around you. Jungkook steps just slightly closer, not enough to invade your space, but enough to shield you from the breeze. It’s subtle, but you notice it.
“You don’t talk about it much, do you?” he asks quietly behind you.
You shake your head. “Not really.”
The pain that comes with revealing this is always too much, but with Jungkook, it seems easy. It’s not overwhelming, nor painful. It’s just peaceful, especially with the view in front of you.
You finally turn your head to look at him. There’s something different in his expression. It’s softer—as if he can totally understand you and your feelings. It leaves you wondering if he also lost someone.
You hesitate, but then ask, “Have you lost someone too?”
He exhales quietly, his gaze drifting to the city behind you. “Yeah,” he says after a beat.
Jungkook doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t push. He has the right not to tell you everything right away. As he said, losing someone isn’t easy, and most probably, he doesn’t feel like sharing with you what he went through. Nevertheless, you’re here if he ever wants to speak.
He moves to stand next to you again, his shoulder brushing against yours. You don’t move away, nor does he. This feels right.
“I used to come here alone,” you say. “I never thought I’d ever bring someone.”
Jungkook glances at you, and you do the same. Your heart misses a beat when you notice the way he looks at you. It isn’t intense, it’s just soft and filled with feelings. Nobody ever looked at you like that.
“I’ll take this as a good sign,” he says.
You huff a quiet laugh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
His lips curve faintly. “Too late.”
You shake your head before looking back at the city. Another silence stretches between you, and neither of you tries to break it. It just feels good. Being here after all this time feels refreshing because things are different now.
You’ve overcome the heartbreak your ex-boyfriend caused, and the grief isn’t as suffocating as it was. You now know how to live with it, even though you still cry over the loss of your first friend. Lucas would be proud of you; he wouldn’t have wanted you to cry for years.
“Whenever you want to leave, let me know,” he says.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay a little longer,” you tell him.
Jungkook simply nods, and you remain here for a couple more minutes. When the wind becomes too cold, he places his jacket around your shoulders. You mumble a simple ‘thanks’ as you let his warm wrap around you.
No matter what the future holds for you, the simple fact that a man came with you here and showed nothing but support will forever be engraved in your heart. There aren’t many men left like him. He doesn’t question or push you to open up to him. He’s just there, and you only met him last night. What will it be like in a couple of weeks or even months if he stays around?
When you tell him you feel ready to leave, he just brings the two of you back to his bike. No one really speaks, but there’s no need to. You give him back his jacket so he doesn’t get cold while he drives—you’d feel really bad about it.
Like he did yesterday, he stops in front of your building complex. This time around, he climbs off his bike as well. When you open the case on the back to put the helmet back inside, he places his hand on top of yours.
“Keep it,” he says.
His fingers tug a strand of hair behind your ear, as if he’s trying to rearrange it. You let him do as he wishes, your eyes glued on his. Your heart is beating way too fast in your chest, ready to burst at any moment.
“You might need it again,” he whispers.
Clearly, he wants to see you again, and you’re not really sure if you’re ready for that. However, the voices of Hyunri and Juhee echo in your head. You should try not to let him go just yet.
“You’re sure?” you ask.
Your question isn’t about keeping the helmet. It’s about checking if he truly wants to stay around.
“I am,” he replies with the softest voice. “But if you don’t want—”
“I want to,” you cut him off.
Not pushing him away isn’t going to be easy, but there’s one thing you’re sure of. You love being around him. And you don’t want to let him go.
For the past two weeks, you’ve been speaking nonstop with Jungkook. Everything seems easy with him. You don’t struggle to open up; he actually silently encourages you. He doesn’t say it, but always mentions that you don’t have to if you don’t feel like it.
Juhee and Hyunri have been excited about this whole thing with Jungkook. Juhee even speaks about it with Yoongi—you found out that Jungkook has been talking about you with Yoongi, but she refuses to let you know what they’ve been talking about. However, with the way she’s been encouraging you, you can deduce that it’s been positive.
Tonight, he’s picking you up for an outing. The only thing you know is that you’re going to a restaurant for dinner. Honestly, that doesn’t say much, because you don’t know how you’re supposed to dress.
If you follow your friends’ advice, you’d be dressing like a whore, and it’s not necessarily the impression you want to give him. You’ve been enjoying what’s been going on between you without the need to go freaky.
What you’ve discovered is that Jungkook is the type of man you introduce to your parents. Not the type to have one-night stands. For sure, he’s hot as hell, but beyond his looks, there’s a heart made of gold.
You’re not going to lie and say you haven’t thought of sleeping with him, but it was just a fantasy. When you’re around him, it’s the last thing on your mind. You simply enjoy his presence and every little thing that he does for you.
When you reach the main entrance of the building, Jungkook is waiting for you against the wall. For a second, you let your eyes roam over his body. Tonight, he looks different. The biker version of him is gone. Instead, he’s dressed in a full brown suit, the fabric slightly loose on his frame, like everything he wears. This man only seems to love extra-large clothes, but on him, it just works.
It makes him look attractive.
“Hi,” you say finally, once you’ve taken him in properly.
At the sound of your voice, his head turns, and his gaze instantly finds you, his eyes moving slowly over you.
The outfit you’ve opted for is different from what you’re used to. You stepped out of your comfort zone tonight, for him, even if you don’t want to admit it. So, you’ve put on a black skirt—that has been in your wardrobe for years—with a red top that adds just enough contrast. Your black oversized jacket falls naturally over your shoulders, and the boots give you a bit more confidence than usual.
It’s simple, but feels different.
“Hi,” he says, his eyes meeting yours. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” you smile at him. “The suit looks good on you.”
You’ve never seen him in a suit, which somehow makes tonight feel special. You step closer, closing the distance between you, and lean in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. His hand naturally finds your lower back.
When you pull away, his hand doesn’t leave. His thumb gently strokes your lower back. The simple gesture comforts you in ways you can’t even express. In fact, being around him always brings peace to your soul. You love being with him. It’s just easy. You can simply be yourself, and he’ll never judge you.
“We should get going,” he says after a moment. “Don’t want us to arrive late.”
You nod. Before you can step away, he leans in just slightly and presses a soft kiss on top of your head. The gesture catches you off guard. Then, his hand guides you forward, still resting at your lower back as you walk together toward his car.
It’s the first time you've seen it. You’re so used to the full biker Jungkook, and this feels different. The car is pretty and most probably expensive. You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. This man definitely has good taste.
But then again, you already knew that.
His hand never leaves you as you reach the passenger side, guiding and protecting you. Feeling his warmth next to you is like having a blanket wrapped around you; it’s comforting and reassuring.
He opens the door for you without a word, and when you move to sit, he adjusts slightly to make sure you’re comfortable before closing the door behind you. The outside world fades as you settle into the seat, the soft leather adjusting beneath you. The inside smells just like him, which makes you smile.
Over the past two weeks, you’ve found yourself looking for his clean and strong perfume. It’s like your body and soul are already addicted to him, and you’ll die if you can’t have it for a day. And when you don’t, it’s compensated for by the sweet melody of his voice whenever he calls or drops voice notes.
A few seconds later, the driver’s door opens, and Jungkook slides in. You glance at him as he adjusts his jacket slightly before starting the car. The movement is simple and controlled, like everything he does. Even here, nothing about him seems out of place. If anything, it fits him too well.
The engine hums to life, and he rests his hand on the steering wheel before glancing at you.
“You’re good?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you nod.
Your eyes drift around the interior before settling on the world outside through the window. The car slowly starts to glide into the street with ease.
Neither of you speaks for a moment, but the silence isn’t awkward—it never is with him. The city stretches around you as he drives. You rest your elbow lightly against the door, your fingers brushing your lips as you watch the passing streets.
“You don’t use this car much, do you?” you ask after a while.
He glances at you briefly, then back at the road. “Not really,” he replies.
“That’s what I thought,” you murmur, a small smile growing on your face. “I’ve only ever seen you on the bike.”
He chuckles a bit, which makes you turn your head toward him. “On a day-to-day basis, it’s easier with the bike,” he begins to explain. “I avoid the traffic when I go to work, and honestly, I prefer the bike to the car by far.”
He glances at you again, and you hold his gaze.
“It makes sense,” you reply as he focuses back on the road. “But honestly, I didn’t expect you to have a car like this.”
“What did you expect?” he asks with curiosity.
“I don’t know…” you shrug lightly. “Just the bike, I guess.”
A faint smile pulls at his lips. “I do have other sides,” he replies. “I’m not just a biker.”
“I’m starting to notice that.”
Jungkook slows down at a light, the red glow reflecting across his face. You watch him without really meaning to, and his gaze lands on you, neither of you looking away. At first, having him look at you was sometimes unsettling, but it isn’t anymore.
Suddenly, the red glow turns into green, but he doesn’t notice it, or at least, he pretends he doesn’t. Honestly, you could stay like this forever, but I’m sure the cars behind wouldn’t agree.
“You should focus on the road,” you whisper.
He just nods and starts the car, gliding it through the city. Your eyes look out the window once more, watching silently as the world moves around you. In the past few years, you’ve always been the driver, never the passenger, so you have to admit that it’s a bit odd to be in this position tonight.
Nevertheless, it doesn’t mean that it isn’t good.
After a while, you reach your destination, and your mouth drops as one of the fanciest restaurants in town stands before your eyes.
“We’re going to eat here?” you ask, your head turning to look at him.
Jungkook nods, and your entire body freezes. It’s barely possible to get a reservation, unless you want to wait months. And then, this is expensive as hell.
“How did you…?”
He chuckles lightly as a little smile appears on his face.
“Well, I’ve some friends who helped me out,” he replies.
“No,” you shake your head. “We can’t.”
“Why so?” he frowns. “I thought you’d love to come, you mentioned it a couple of times.”
The simple fact that he remembered you speaking about it warms your heart. He listened and remembered, which to you means more than you’ll ever be able to express.
“It’s not about that,” you say. “This is expensive.”
“And?” he replies as if money was the least of his concerns.
For the past two weeks, whenever you’d be out, Jungkook would pay for everything. Since you’ve met him, you haven’t paid a single thing, even if you begged. He always hides behind the excuse that he was the one inviting you, which wasn’t true all the time.
“I already know you,” you tell him. “You won’t let me pay.”
“I invited you, so I should be the one paying for it.”
“Not this time,” you clap back. “And if you don’t let me, I’ll never speak to you ever again.”
He raises an eyebrow while his eyes try to read yours.
“I dare you to,” he replies.
You’re almost offended by his words. “You don’t believe I can?”
“You’ll for sure do it at first to prove me wrong,” he begins explaining. “But you wouldn’t resist too long.”
Now you’re offended that he already knows you. This sounds totally like you. As you’re stubborn as hell, you’ll try to prove him wrong by ignoring him for as long as you can, but then, you’ll stop. And you both know the reason. You’ll miss him.
As you don’t know and don’t want to reply, you beg, “Just let me pay, please.”
“If it’s expensive for me, it is for you too,” he replies instantly, crossing his arms against his chest.
As you’ve also noticed, there’s no arguing with him. If he has decided something, you can do, say, or ask whatever you want; he’ll just do as he planned and won’t flinch at all.
“At least, let me pay for my part?”
Your words sound more like a question than intended.
“Give me a solid reason, then,” he flatly says.
“The expensive part isn’t reason enough?” you ask, and he shakes his head.
You sigh in defeat, knowing damn well, you’ve already lost this fight. He’s going to pay whether you want it or not. It’s honestly very chivalrous, but he shouldn’t have to pay for everything. It’s like his wallet knows no limit.
“I just feel bad, okay?” you then confess. “You always pay for everything, and I don’t want you to throw your money like that.”
At that moment, something entirely soft appears in his eyes, and his shoulders slightly drop down. His hand finds its way to your cheek before his thumb slowly and gently strokes it. His face gets closer, his hot breath caressing your face.
“I throw my money where I want to,” he gently whispers. “And it’s worth it with you.”
Your eyes inevitably stare down at his lips for a hot moment before shifting up to his eyes. Jungkook can’t throw things like that, especially when it makes you feel so special.
“It’s not fair,” you admit out loud. “I should be able to do it too.”
He chuckles, his eyes still glued to your face.
“Keep your money and make good use of it,” he answers.
You shake your head, looking away and pushing his eyes off your face. He makes everything harder. It’s impossible to resist him.
“Why can’t you let me pay?” he sincerely asks.
His question catches you off guard, which makes you stare back at him instantly. You tilt your head, and you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t used to this. So, it leaves you wondering if people just let him pay without even questioning it.
“We both work our asses off to earn it,” you start explaining. “It feels like I’m exploiting you when I also have the means to pay for everything we do.”
You don’t know much about his job; he’s always so vague about it, as if he wants to avoid speaking about it. All you know is that he works in finance and he’s gotten promoted several times. With those few pieces of information, you deduced that he must be comfortable in life. Now, to what extent, you don’t really know.
“Please don’t feel like that,” he mumbles. “It’s never been my intention.”
Of course, you know it, and you also don’t want him to feel bad about it. You’re simply not used to all of this. Even your ex would let you pay, but things were different back then. He was struggling financially, and it wouldn’t be right to let him pay for everything. But still, it just feels wrong to let Jungkook do it.
“This is my way of expressing my gratitude for spending time with you,” he whispers with the biggest doe eyes.
Damn, how are you supposed to resist him? Those doe eyes always get the best out of you. He gets whatever he wants with that.
“That’s nice of you,” you tell him. “But just let me sometimes pay, okay?”
He nods, and you can’t help but press a soft kiss on his cheek, even though his lips are the spot you’d like to kiss.
“But it’ll start after this dinner,” he replies.
Well, there’s no more arguing left now. You’ve found a middle ground for now, but you’ll for sure remind him of it next time he doesn’t let you pay.
“Okay,” you agree.
The rest of the night just goes well. The conversation flows perfectly between the two of you, and you absolutely enjoy the dinner. The restaurant looks even better than in all the pictures you’ve seen online, and you’re definitely grateful that Jungkook managed to find a table.
Obviously, you let him pay for you, but you had to bite your tongue when you saw the price. Even if you carefully chose a not-too-expensive plate, it was still a lot. Nonetheless, everything was super good, and let’s not even talk about the wine. It was so good that you swore you had an orgasm just with it.
When he drops you off, it feels like the night was too short. You wish you could spend more time with him, but you don’t want to scare him off just yet.
“Thanks for the night,” you tell him once you’re in front of the building’s entrance.
“I should thank you too,” he replies. “It was great.”
You nod, agreeing completely with him. It was really good, and you’d love to do this again.
“We should repeat it,” you say.
“As long as you keep my helmet, we’ll repeat this as much as you want.”
The helmet has become the guarantee that you’ll keep seeing each other, as if it’s an excuse. Somehow, you know that as long as you have it, you have him as well. It’s proof that he trusts you and wants to spend time with you.
A smile grows on your lips, and you swear that at that moment, your body melts. The more you spend time with him, the more you love every single word falling from his pretty lips. It’s like he’s a romantic man without even trying.
“I’ll keep it forever then,” you admit.
Jungkook gets closer, his hand delicately placing a strand of hair behind your ear. This simple gesture sends shivers down your spine. Your eyes get lost in his, and the world seems to disappear around you as his thumb lightly brushes against your cheek, leaving a warmth that spreads through your entire body.
“I’d love nothing more than that,” he whispers, his face moving way too close to yours until you feel his hot breath on your skin.
Your heart hammers faster and faster in your chest, and for a brief moment, nothing else matters. He’s about to kiss you, there’s absolutely no doubt about it, and truthfully, there’s nothing else you want more right now.
“I’ll keep it safe,” you reply, your eyes moving from his eyes to his lips.
His nose brushes against yours, the bare touch making you shiver. When his eyes search yours, you know he’s silently asking for permission. And when you don’t pull away, he simply knows.
Then, he closes the distance.
His lips press against yours with hesitation at first. His hand finds its way to the back of your neck, holding you while he deepens the kiss. The world entirely disappears as his lips move against yours, consuming you completely.
Your body leans into his instinctively, your hands finding his chest to bunch the fabric of his suit jacket beneath your fingers. When his tongue brushes your lower lip, your stomach flips, and you let him in. The sensation is overwhelming and beautiful.
When you break the kiss, you’re both breathless, foreheads resting against each other as your eyes meet once again. Jungkook’s fingers softly caress your face, and his touch is so soft. You close your eyes to savor this moment.
None of you speaks, too lost in the moment to even express what you feel. Jungkook has made you feel so loved in such a short time, and it’s in all the little things he does, like making you keep his helmet. And above all, he’s shown you that he’s there, by your side. That’s worth way more than any word he could ever say.
His lips meet yours once more as if he needs to repeat it to make sure it’s real. And you let him consume you as much as he wants. He can even take your soul if he desires, because you know that he holds your heart in the palm of his hand.
“Miss yn,” Juhee says when you pick up her call.
“Hi to you too, Ju,” you reply.
Last night you slept like a baby, your dreams filled with Jungkook and his sweet lips.
“How on earth am I finding out through my husband that you kissed Jungkook?” she says, trying to sound angry, but she fails miserably.
Her words catch you by absolute surprise. It’s been a couple of hours since it happened, and Yoongi is already aware of it? You haven’t imagined Jungkook being the type to share everything so fast with Yoongi, his best friend.
“Woow, he already knows?” you ask.
“Of course he does. He has like a group chat with Jungkook and Hobi, and they share everything,” she explains. “Like absolutely everything.”
“Oh.”
“BUT I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!” she screams on the other side. “Gosh, I’ve been dying to hear that since Yoongi’s birthday!”
You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile appearing on your face. You’re also happy that you finally kissed. You’ve been giggling all morning, thinking about it.
“Don’t get too excited,” you reply. “It’s just a kiss.”
“Stop,” she instantly says. “It wasn’t just a kiss, and we all know it.”
She isn’t wrong, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself. The last time that it happened was with a man who broke your hearts months later. You really don’t want to get hurt. However, it’s clear that you’re letting Jungkook in and giving him all the powers to hurt you.
“Look, you never heard this from me, but Jungkook gets as excited as you about whatever is going on between you. Yoongi even told me that he hasn’t seen him this happy in years.”
A little silence falls between you—one that simply allows you to process for a moment what she just told you.
“I know I promised Yoongi I’d never say anything, but I want you to realize that he’s really into you,” she breaks the silence. “I know you’re scared because of what Elliott did to you. But you can’t be scared for the rest of your life. If you want to find someone who loves you, you have to let them in,” she pauses for a hot second. “You have to let Jungkook in.”
It’s easier said than done. You know you’ll always overthink everything, which probably isn’t the right move.
“And if he ever dares to do something wrong, we’ll kick him in the ass!” she adds. “Now, seriously, we’re rooting for you because you both deserve this.”
“Thanks, Juhee,” you tell her.
“Now, tell me everything!” she urges you.
You chuckle before saying, “He told me that as long as I have his helmet, we’ll keep having dates.”
“Oh god, he’s soooo cheesy,” she says. “But damn, that’s so sweet.”
You then explain everything in detail—from when he picked you up to when you kissed. She keeps giggling through it all, and somehow, it fulfills you that your best friend is so invested in your love life. You know that she’ll support you no matter what.
After that, your sister shows up at your place with your favorite niece in the world—well, it’s your only niece—because she has an important appointment with her husband. They’ve been trying for a second baby through IVF. They followed the same route with your niece, as they were aware of their fertility issues.
Your parents are out of town; they went on a trip to Thailand to enjoy some time alone. With your sister, you’ve encouraged them to do it because they’ve spoken about that trip for years. They decided to go there for three weeks and visit as much as they could.
“Don’t be too silly, okay?” your sister tells your niece, Ivy.
“I promise, mommy,” she replies with the sweetest voice.
“Don’t worry, sissy,” you add while you grab your niece in your arms. “She’s always been good with me.”
Ivy wraps her tiny legs around your waist and her arms around your neck. She’s so tiny for a 5-year-old, but so clingy. You absolutely adore this kid with all your soul.
“Yeah, but I just want to make sure she doesn’t drive you crazy,” she retorts.
“If anything, I’m the one who will drive her crazy,” you chuckle.
Your sister smiles, knowing damn right that it’s the truth. Before your niece existed, you were driving your sister crazy since the day you were born.
“Now, go before you arrive late at your appointment,” you urge her to leave.
She presses a kiss on her daughter’s cheek before doing the same to you.
“Have fun!” she says as she disappears into the hallway.
You close the door, put down your niece, and look at her. She brought her coloring book with her, and it might keep her busy for a moment. You’re not sure how long the appointment will take, but if it lasts long, you’re not sure the coloring will be enough to keep her entertained.
“Let’s get to the living room,” you say, grabbing her little backpack. “Want your favorite juice?”
Since you never know when she might show up at your place, you always have her favorite orange juice, which you recently found out is also Jungkook’s.
“Not yet,” she replies.
Once in the living room, she sits down on the floor in front of the coffee table, takes his book and the coloring pencils, and chooses which coloring she’ll do. On your end, you decide to sit on the couch, which is more comfortable than the floor.
“Do you want to watch something in particular?” you ask.
“Can we watch The Little Mermaid?”
You nod and put it on. She’s obsessed with it; luckily for her, you adore it too. Otherwise, you would have grown tired of watching it every time she comes. At some point, your phone buzzes next to you, and your eyes quickly take a glance.
The second you notice it’s a message from Jungkook, the silliest smile stretches on your lips. For a moment, your eyes run over his message. He’s asking if you’re doing something today. Since your niece is sitting between you and the tv, you take a picture to show him what you’re currently doing.
you: taking care of my niece
The three dots instantly appear on your screen.
jungkook 🏍️: lucky her
Your smile grows bigger, you’re sure it’s reaching your ears.
you: you could come after, if you want 😊
Your heart is beating way too fast in your chest. You’d love nothing more than to spend time with him, especially after how last night went. You’d love to kiss him all over again.
jungkook 🏍️: of course
Your face gets hotter because he didn’t even hesitate.
you: and could we go on a ride? i miss it 🫣
jungkook 🏍️: we do whatever you want
There is a little pause before he sends you a second message.
jungkook 🏍️: everything is fine for me
He’s way too nice. You’re scared you’ll tire him of going on rides, which you don’t want because you enjoy it too much.
you: aren’t you tired of me asking that?
“Aunty?” your niece suddenly turns around.
“Yes, princess,” you say while putting your phone aside.
“Which color you think is better for the dress?” she asks.
She shows you all her pencils, and you look between them and the coloring, trying to figure out which will suit best. The green seems instantly like the perfect color. In the background, your phone buzzes, letting you know Jungkook has replied.
“This one,” you show her the green pencil.
She takes the pen without thinking much and starts coloring. You decide to remain on the floor, next to her, so you grab your phone from the couch. When you unlock it, you notice three messages from Jungkook.
jungkook 🏍️: no, i love my bike
jungkook 🏍️: and i like the rides with company
jungkook 🏍️: you can keep asking as much as you want
A smile grows again on your face. You feel like a teenager falling in love with her crush, and damn, you don’t want that feeling to ever disappear.
you: don’t say that, i’ll ask every single day for a ride
Your heart beats crazily as you type your second message.
you: might even ask you to drop me off at work at some point
“Who are you talking to?” Ivy suddenly asks without hesitation.
Your eyes move from the phone to her tiny figure.
“A friend,” you tell her.
“Is your friend cool?” she asks.
“Absolutely,” you reply instantly.
Without even looking, you notice his answer, but you don’t look just yet as you speak with your niece.
“How cool?”
She’s way too curious, but you don’t mind. She’s still young and cute too, so she can ask or say whatever she wants with you.
“Like he has a bike,” you reply.
“Woow,” her little mouth takes the ‘O’ shape as she speaks. “Can I see a picture?”
Well, you don’t have a picture of his bike.
“Wait, let me ask him.”
She nods, and your eyes fall on your chat with Jungkook.
jungkook 🏍️: i’ll do it gladly
Your heart melts right there and then. What have you done to find someone like him? He’s just so nice and sweet with you. You feel like you can ask for the moon, and he’ll hand it to you without even blinking.
you: you’re too nice!
you: my niece is asking for a picture of your bike
you: can you send one?
It takes a couple of minutes before you receive the requested picture. It doesn’t do it justice at all, but it still looks good.
“Here you go, little monster,” you tell her as you show it to her.
“It’s beautiful,” she says with the biggest doe eyes.
She takes her time to look at the picture as if the bike will suddenly come to your living room if she keeps looking. She looks cute, though. Then, a message from Jungkook pops up.
“You have a message, aunty,” she points out.
jungkook 🏍️: i can come if she wants to see it irl
You almost giggle in front of her. Seems like Jungkook would find any excuse to come see you, even using your niece.
“Would you like to see it?” you then ask to Ivy. “Like really see it?”
“I can?” she says as her eyes widen, and a bright smile grows on her face.
“Yes, my friend can show it to you,” you tell her.
“Yes, yes,” she says, completely excited.
She stands up and starts jumping with happiness. It really fills your heart to see her like that, and you’d do anything to make her happy until she becomes old. Even though she’s your sister’s daughter, she’s kind of your baby too.
you: she would absolutely love that
jungkook 🏍️: okay, i’ll be there in 10 minutes
“We can keep watching the movie until he arrives, okay?” you tell her.
She nods before sitting down on the floor next to you. She presses her tiny body against yours, and you wrap your arm around her. This little girl definitely owns your heart.
Exactly ten minutes later, you receive a notification from Jungkook, letting you know that he’s arrived. Somehow, knowing that your niece is going to meet him makes you nervous. Why? Because it’s like letting him in your family. Ivy is definitely going to tell her parents about this, which will lead to your sister asking about this, and then, she’ll definitely want to meet him.
“So, little monster,” you tell her. “My friend’s here, but before going, I have something to give you.”
She nods, and you disappear into your room to pick up the helmet. When you come back, you hand it to her.
“To make it even cooler, I’ll let you borrow my helmet,” you smile at her.
“Thanks, aunty,” she says.
“Now, let’s put that jacket on because it’s too cold outside.”
The two of you get ready. You look like an absolute mess. You weren’t exactly planning on seeing Jungkook, so it’s just you, your large Sabrina Carpenter shirt, your oversized jacket, and your grey sweatpants.
When you’re finally outside, she sees the bike right in front of her. She gets super excited, which is somehow super funny. As he notices you, Jungkook climbs off his bike and takes his helmet off.
“Hi, mister,” Ivy says while extending her hand to him. “I’m Ivy, her niece.”
“Hi Ivy, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, taking her hand and gently shaking it. “I’m Jungkook.”
His eyes briefly shift to you, a bright smile appearing on his face.
“Heard you wanted to see a bike for real,” he says with a gentle voice as he lowers himself to her level.
“Yes, my aunty even brought her helmet,” she tells him.
“Well, we will only put it when you’re on the bike,” he explains to her.
“I can go on it?” she asks with evident excitement.
“We’re not going to drive, but you can sit on it,” he tells her.
She gets even more excited, and he takes her in his arms before placing her on the bike. She looks so so tiny on it, but it’s honestly one of the cutest things you’ve ever seen. She’s ridiculously adorable like that.
“Now, Ivy’s aunty,” he says to you, “can you please give me your helmet?”
You nod as you give it to him. With all the care in the world, he places it on top of her head. Obviously, it is way too big for her, but she’s absolutely living her biker dream. As you watch them interact, your heart melts completely. You never knew you needed this in your life.
Jungkook climbs behind her at some point and starts the engine. You obviously take the helmet back as it is too heavy and big for her little head. Let’s avoid hurting her while she’s under your watch. Your sister would kill you if something happened.
He leans in slightly, making sure that he doesn’t squish your niece, and one hand settles on the handlebar.
“Watch this,” he says.
He twists the throttle, and the engine roars to life beneath them, the sound low and powerful as it vibrates. Ivy’s eyes widen instantly. With a small smile, Jungkook gently takes her hand and places it on the handlebar.
“Feel that?” he says.
Ivy nods, almost bouncing in place as the vibrations hums under her fingers. This moment unfolding before your eyes is honestly marvelous. Ivy is clearly so happy to be on a bike for the first time in her life, and Jungkook is more than happy to share this moment with her. He clearly loves his bike. No wonder he doesn’t mind going around with you.
“Aunty,” Ivy calls you, “can you take a picture, please?”
You take your phone out of your pocket, placing yourself in front of them. Jungkook holds her tightly in his arms while she still has her hand on the handlebar. They both give you their brightest smiles. You take several pictures, and then they go back to discuss the bike as if you don’t even exist.
Jungkook tells her many things about it, like how and when he bought it, how he started driving bikes, and how much he loves being on it. She begs for a ride, but he categorically refuses, as it is too dangerous, which you emphasize as well. Obviously, she’s a bit disappointed.
Honestly, you don’t know how long you stayed outside, but you know that it’s enough to have your sister back from her appointment.
“What are you—” she freezes the second she sees her daughter on a bike with a stranger.
“Wait,” you tell her before she joins them. “He’s a friend of mine, and she’s completely safe with him. They’ve been at it for god knows how long.”
Your sister stands next to you, looking at Jungkook and Ivy on the bike, who are animatedly talking.
“A friend of yours?” she raises an eyebrow. “Is it the sexy kind of friend?”
Your eyes move from Jungkook and your niece to her. You really can’t believe her. One second ago, she was concerned to see her daughter with a stranger, and now she’s asking if you’re being freaky in bed with that stranger. Unbelievable!
“Don’t!” you tell her. “It’s not like that between us.”
“Well, with a friend like that, I would have already opened my legs,” she chuckles.
You tap her arm, which only makes her laugh even more. “You’re married.”
“But that doesn’t stop me from appreciating a good-looking man when I see one.”
You roll your eyes, annoyed by what she’s saying. If you didn’t know, you’d believe that she doesn’t care about her husband, but that woman is like desperately in love with your brother-in-law. However, you still decide to tell her what’s going on between you and Jungkook. She’ll find it out anyway.
“If you want to know, this is a friend I’ve been seeing for like two weeks and whom I kissed last night,” you tell her.
She gasps at your words. “You’re telling me that my baby sis is finally giving a chance to a guy?”
“Exactly,” you reply.
“Well, this day couldn’t be going any better!” she says with a big smile on her face.
“You got good news from this appointment?” you ask.
“We’ll start next week our first round,” she explains, and you instantly hug her.
You’re so excited for her. You know how much it means to her to have a baby, and knowing that the whole process will start next week makes you incredibly happy for her. You can’t wait to have another niece or nephew.
Your sister then decides to join her daughter and Jungkook to check up on them. Ivy couldn’t be happier than she is right now.
“Little lady,” she says when she’s next to them. “I leave you with your aunt, and you decide to trick a young man into showing you his bike?”
She laughs with her entire soul, which is an absolutely adorable sound, by the way.
“He’s aunty’s friend,” she explains to her mom. “He agreed to show it to me.”
For the first time since he showed up, his gaze lands on you, and damn, your heart stops beating instantly. The softness in his eyes and the way they glow get the best out of you. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, but you know that this moment fills him with joy. And man, you’re so glad your niece asked for this.
Your sister introduces herself to him, and for a little moment, they discuss. She’s completely charmed by him, just like her daughter. You look at everything from the outside and simply let them discuss. You wouldn’t want to influence the opinions they’ll have of each other.
Somehow, it scares you that he got to meet your sister while you’re still figuring things out between you. But at the same time, it reassures you, because if she believes he’s an asshole, you’ll know where you stand.
He and Ivy end up leaving the bike, and you join them so you can say goodbye to your sister and your niece. When your sister hugs you, she says, “He’s definitely a keeper, so don’t mess things up.”
You hold her even tighter and close your eyes for a second. Knowing that she appreciates him fills your heart.
“Now, let’s go home, Ivy,” your sister says to her daughter.
The little girl waves at you as they disappear into the street. Her car must be parked somewhere, hopefully not too far, so they don’t have to walk too much.
“So, where do you want to go?” Jungkook asks when you’re alone.
“Like now?” you ask with surprise, and he simply nods. “Well, I don’t have the most appropriate clothes.”
“We can stay at your place if you want,” he suggests.
Honestly, you don’t really know what you want to do right now. Staying at your place isn’t what you want to do at this precise moment, but you also look like an absolute mess, so you don’t really know if it’s a good idea to even go somewhere.
“Maybe we can go to the little coffee shop you talked about the other day,” you suggest. “But I’ll just need to change before.”
His hand takes yours, pushing you closer to him. His breath instantly falls on your face as you both get lost in each other’s gaze.
“No need to change,” he whispers. “You look good.”
“But—”
Before you can even add something, his lips find yours for a soft and gentle kiss. It catches you a bit off guard at first, but you reciprocate quite quickly. Your hands find their way to his neck, pulling him closer while his hands rest on your back. If this is how it’s going to be every time you see him, well, you already can’t wait for next time.
When you break the kiss, you look at him with the silliest smile on your face. These moments with him bring so much peace and happiness to your heart. You definitely don’t ever want to let him go, especially since there’s still much more to discover about him.
“You can’t do that to shut me up,” you gently hit his chest.
“I wanted to do it the second you appeared with your niece,” he confesses.
“Still, it’s not an excuse,” you tell him.
“I—”
And you do as he did to you: you kiss him to shut him up. He instantly kisses you back with a passion that could be overwhelming if it wasn’t welcomed. Your fingers play with his hair at the nape of his neck, as his fingers stroke your back with such gentleness.
“Let’s go to the coffee shop,” he whispers when you break apart. “Before we keep kissing over and over.” And just like that, you climb on his bike and disappear into the street.
As time goes on, you’ve been spending more and more time with him. You’re basically inseparable; he’s always showing up at your doorstep and texting you constantly. Going around on his bike has kind of been your love language.
Even though you’ve been having a lot of fun, it’s obvious that it’s becoming very serious between you. You find yourself waiting for his messages and craving to see him constantly. You absolutely love being with him.
So far, you haven’t put a label on whatever is going on, and except for little kisses here and there, nothing physical has happened, which, being honest, makes you happy. You don’t want to turn this relationship into something sexual.
Why?
It’s simple. You want Jungkook to appreciate you for who you are and not for the sex. On top of that, you haven’t been intimate with any men since your last breakup four years ago, so it kind of frightens you to get freaky with him.
He hasn’t initiated or pushed you to do anything like that, and honestly, you couldn’t be more thankful for that. You’re not sure how you would have reacted if he ever did something.
Jungkook has also been nothing but a gentleman. He sometimes accepts letting you pay, even though you can tell it’s hard for him, which always makes you laugh in some way. However, he’ll compensate in another way, like for example, he’ll buy a bouquet of flowers, or he’ll show up at your place with ramen or your favourite chocolates.
Juhee, Hyunri, and your sister have been encouraging you a lot and giving you tons of advice. It’s been helpful whenever you’d feel like it’s too much, because you’re not used to this anymore.
There are some moments where you question everything. You know you shouldn’t because he’s been nothing but a gentleman, giving you the space you need while still being around. A lot of times, you find yourself doubting it all.
“Should you give him a chance? Should you keep doing this? Should you let him fully in?” Those are some of the questions that sometimes cross your mind.
Also, you’ve been used to being on your own and dealing with everything by yourself. And now, you have someone ready to help you whenever you need it. It’s new, and sometimes, you feel like you’re sharing too much. You feel like he might run away, but he never does. He just helps you.
Even compared to your ex, Jungkook is way more present and supportive. Your ex was definitely there and trying to help you out, but it wasn’t the same. You know you can count on Jungkook no matter what, whereas with your ex, you’d sometimes hesitate to share things with him.
And honestly, back then, you would have preferred having Jungkook because you were dealing with a best friend who was dying. Your ex was there even though he wasn't, and you found out later that he was getting closer to the girl he had always had a crush on, which, honestly, is a jerky move.
This weekend, Jungkook invited you to spend it together in a little house out of the city. Obviously, you hesitated at first, but following many conversations with Juhee, Hyunri, and your sister, you agreed to it.
Honestly, it’s such a beautiful place. It’s surrounded by nature, with other small cabins nearby. You don’t know how he found this place, but you’re happy he brought you with him.
“I heard this is the perfect spot to watch the stars,” he tells you Friday night, right after you arrive.
You inevitably look up at the sky, and the stars shine so bright. The sky is absolutely clear, which is hard to see when you live in a city. A smile stretches across your face.
“We could lie down and watch them together, if you want,” he suggests.
“Absolutely!” you enthusiastically reply.
Jungkook grabs a blanket from the inside before placing it on the floor. You both stand next to each other, your eyes focused on the bright sky. You can’t remember the last time you properly looked up there; it feels like you never have the time to slow down and enjoy life.
The two of you remain in silence for a little while, simply enjoying each other's company. Silences with him are never heavy or awkward. They actually are peaceful, as if they’re mending something inside both your hearts.
“I was married once,” he breaks the silence, his eyes still fixed on the sky.
You also don’t look at him, but deep down, you’re happy that he’s mentioning it to you. Never once have you said or commented on anything about it, preferring to wait for him to speak about it.
“Was it a long time ago?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.
“The divorce was settled a year ago,” he replies. “We were together for eight years at the time of the divorce, and we had celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary a couple of months before.”
They were together for a long time, and it’s saddening to know that his marriage didn’t work out. It must be painful to realize that the person you wanted to spend your life with isn’t the one.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” you gently say. “What happened?”
“Time happened,” he replies before pausing for a while. “After a while, we started to grow apart. We were barely spending time together, and whenever we were, it just didn’t feel right. We would always find excuses to avoid each other.”
Picturing a Jungkook avoiding someone he cares for seems absolutely strange. Since you’ve known him, he’s been finding every possible excuse to spend time with you. However, you know that the version of him that you know isn’t the one that he was back then. If anything, the past version of him created this new one.
“My world also changed a lot at some point, and I guess that over time, she stopped accepting it,” he adds. The way his voice breaks at the end makes your heart ache, so your fingers find his to intertwine them, trying to reassure him in some way.
“On top of that, my family never appreciated her. My dad always told me that she was too superficial, so in the end, it didn’t help.”
Jungkook has barely ever talked about his family. You’ve noticed that he never speaks about his mom, which leaves you wondering whether she was ever a part of his life. His father is mentioned here and there, and you can tell he truly loves him. You also know that he has a younger brother.
“Love wasn’t there anymore, and even if it was the right thing to do, it still hurt,” he confesses.
Your eyes drift from the stars to his face. It’s plainly evident that it still affects him, but you guess it’s the aftermath of a divorce. If you get married in the first place, it’s because you loved the person so deeply. A divorce can feel like a failure.
“I really thought she was the one,” he says, his eyes meeting yours now.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” you tell him.
Even though you wouldn’t be here with him today if he was still with her, it’s still sad.
“I’m too,” he confesses. “But I don’t regret it.” Your eyebrows furrow, not sure what he means. “A divorce isn’t easy, don’t get me wrong, but when it’s not working, there’s no point in staying. We weren’t happy, and I don’t regret choosing to end things.” Jungkook pauses for a moment, his gaze lost on yours. “And I wouldn’t have met you.”
Your heart is seconds away from bursting with joy, and your hand squeezes his. For sure, if his marriage had worked, you wouldn’t have met him, or maybe you would have met him with his ex-wife.
“And believe me, getting to know you has been the best thing to ever happen in my life,” he adds.
The confession hits you harder than expected. Heat instantly rushes to your face, and for a second, you genuinely don’t know what to do with yourself. How are you even supposed to respond to something like that? Nothing you could possibly say would ever sound as meaningful as his words.
“You can’t say things like that,” you shily say.
“I’m just stating the truth,” he says. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
Inevitably, you hide yourself in the crook of his neck, which makes him giggle, and his arms wrap around your body, holding you as tightly as possible. His strong scent invades your nostrils, and god, he smells so good. Jungkook chuckles, his chest vibrating against your body.
“Why are you hiding?” he asks as his hand runs through your hair.
“Because when you say things like that,” you mumble against his neck, “I don’t know what to do with them.”
“You don’t have to do anything with them,” he adds softly as his fingers keep running through your hair. Jungkook shifts just enough to press a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “I’m not saying it so you’ll give me something back,” he continues. “I just want you to know.”
Your arms wrap around him, and you simply hold him tight against you. What have you done to deserve someone like him? He’s just so patient with you; it’s simply unbelievable.
“I’m also happy I got to meet you,” you mumble against his neck. “Everything seems easier with you.” Revealing your feelings isn’t something you’re comfortable with, but since he’s been nothing but adorable with you, it just feels right to let him know what you think, too.
“Things don’t have to be complicated,” he says quietly. “At least, not with me.” He pauses for a second. “I really like you, and that’s enough for me.” His thumb brushes lightly against your side. “And if you let me, I’ll keep being there,” he adds.
This simple moment fills your heart in so many ways. A little silence settles between you, and you close your eyes, focusing on the way his heart beats against his chest. As expected, he sounds very calm and relaxed, which also appeases you.
“I really want to be there for you,” he continues after a while.
“You already are,” you mindabsentedly reply.
“Not like that,” he says, his head shaking lightly. “More like being part of your life for as long as you allow me to be.”
Suddenly, the thought of him implying he wants to date you makes your heart rate increase crazily. Are you truly ready to have a boyfriend? You’re not really sure, but the answer almost feels evident. You want him to be your boyfriend—more than anything else in the world.
Jungkook chuckles before saying, “I might sound old school, but what I’m trying to say is that I’d love nothing more than to have you as my girlfriend.”
The biggest smile appears on your face as you squeeze him in your embrace. Even if he probably didn’t plan it, having him say those words under a sky full of stars and in such a cute setting makes this all incredibly romantic.
You push back a bit to be able to see him, your smile never fading away, and the second he sees you, the most glowy smile stretches on his lips. He’s very handsome.
“Do I get to call you my boyfriend?” you sillily ask.
“Absolutely! It’s even a requirement,” he replies.
“Then, you can have me as your girlfriend.”
Jungkook doesn’t wait even a second more before crashing his lips against yours. Tonight is by far the best night of your life.
The days went by with Jungkook by your side, as your boyfriend. It has been the most exciting and nervous thing you’ve ever experienced. The patience he has with you never seems to stop surprising you.
However, today isn’t honestly one of the greatest days. The day was rather long, work was too intense, and you worked overtime. You barely took a lunch break, but you didn’t have much choice if you wanted to finish your tasks for the day. To say you’re tired is an understatement. You haven’t told Jungkook anything yet, but sincerely, you don’t think you need to. It will just bother him, you’re sure of it. What’s the point of even telling him everything went wrong today? It’s best if you just rest and stay by yourself tonight.
The doorbell echoes in your apartment, and you take a deep breath. Who could it be? Who’s about to ruin your night?
When you see him on the interphone, your heart squeezes instantly. You directly regret thinking or being even mad about him bothering you tonight. Without hesitation, you let him in, and seconds later, he’s standing in front of you. A small smile crosses his face when he sees you, but you don’t really smile back at him.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” you tell him.
His expression shifts slightly. “I was nearby and thought I’d come to see you.”
It’s like he understands something is off because he doesn’t even try to kiss you. Blaming him about it doesn’t sound like the right move at this precise moment, especially since you don’t know if you should or not.
“Is it okay?” he then asks. “I could leave if you want me to.”
“No, it’s fine,” you answer quickly.
You step aside to let him in, your shoulder brushing lightly against his as he passes. Usually, he would head directly to the living room, but he doesn’t tonight. He just waits behind you, his helmet in his hand, as you close the door. His eyes don’t ever leave your body, and you can tell that he knows something’s off, but he won’t ask if you don’t say it.
“I just arrived from work,” you tell him.
A small silence settles between you. For the first time, you can see hesitation in his eyes, like he doesn’t know what to do. This surprises you as he’s always confident and knows what to do.
“Long day?” he breaks the silence.
You shrug, moving past him to move to the kitchen and putting some space between you. “It was just work,” you say as you open the fridge without really looking inside.
Behind you, you hear his footsteps as he tries to close the distance between you.
“I could’ve picked you up,” he says as he reaches the kitchen.
“I didn’t need that,” you reply.
Your words come out sharper than you meant. Behind you, you hear the faint shift of his weight, but he doesn’t move closer. Not once do you look around to see him. It’s like you need to avoid seeing his gaze on you, as if you’ll completely break down if you do.
“I didn’t say you did,” he replies calmly.
You close the fridge door before exhaling and running a hand through your hair. Then, you turn around to face him. The sight in front of you almost breaks your heart. He’s standing there, looking almost defeated and absolutely powerless.
“I know, I just…” You stop, frustrated with yourself. “You don’t have to show up all the time.”
His brows pull together slightly. “I just wanted to see you,” he says with a shaky and weak voice.
And that just breaks you. You just hurt him, not on purpose, but you still did it. Now, you feel stupid and selfish.
“I’m not used to that,” you admit, quieter now.
“To what?”
Jungkook doesn’t attempt to get closer. He stays where he is and simply looks at you, quietly studying you from afar.
“This,” you gesture vaguely between you. “I’m not used to having someone just be there,” you pause for a second. “All the time.”
Jungkook nods slowly, but doesn’t react straight away to your words. Knowing him, you’d say that his silence allows him to carefully think about his next words. And that comforts you. Right now, you don’t need someone blaming you for how you feel.
“I’m not trying to be everywhere,” he finally says. “I just don’t want to be absent either.”
You look at him, your chest tightening slightly. “I’ve been fine on my own,” you then say.
“I know,” he answers.
Over the past four months, you haven’t hidden how you’ve been by yourself for the past four years. And having him by your side isn’t always easy. Your peace has been thrown upside down since Yoongi’s birthday. Obviously, you’re grateful to have met him, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t destabilize you. You need time to adjust to all of this.
“I’m not trying to take that away from you.”
“Then, why does it feel like you are?” you ask, before you can even stop yourself.
If you hadn’t hurt him so far, you’re sure you did now. And you wouldn’t blame him if he leaves you right now. He has all the rights to. You’re not being fair to him, but it’s just how you feel. It makes you feel like you’re doomed to remain single for the rest of your life.
After a moment, he takes a hesitant step toward you. He still keeps his distance, and you just watch him move. A part of you wishes he’d get closer, but another part would like him to remain right where he is.
“I think,” he says slowly. “You’re just not used to someone staying.”
Your throat tightens, the tears seconds away to run down your face, and you look away—too coward to face him.
“That’s not—”
You can’t finish the sentence, because he’s not entirely wrong. Jungkook takes another step in your direction, but you still don’t look at him. You can now feel his presence right in front of you, and you really want to look at him, but you’re internally struggling.
“I don’t need you to need me,” he says quietly. “That’s not why I’m here.”
Jungkook doesn’t try to touch you. He just stays in front of you, reminding you for the millionth time that he’s here. He’s here for you, even when you struggle with it.
“I just want to be part of your life,” he adds. “At your pace.”
Something in your chest shifts, and you finally glance back at him. He’s really close, but you don’t do anything to push him away.
“I don’t know how to do that,” you admit.
“I know,” he says. “And it’s okay.”
There’s no judgment or pressure. There’s just understanding, as if whatever you just said makes sense to him. Then, slowly, you close the small distance between the two of you and nestle your face against his chest. He doesn’t hesitate a second before wrapping his strong arms around you, holding you as tight as possible. You close your eyes, hearing the melody of his heartbeat.
You don’t know how to deal with all of this; it’s frightening at times, but knowing that he’ll never pressure you is enough comfort for you. He’s not forcing you to embrace this all. He’s letting you do things at your own pace, which, let’s be honest, is a completely new concept to you. Even with your ex, it was totally different.
And that’s how you fall more in love with Jungkook.
You don’t fall for his sweet and beautiful words. You fall for the way he shows you over and over again that he isn’t going anywhere.
Being intimate physically with Jungkook is something you know will happen eventually. You’ve been officially together for two months now, and god, he’s hot as hell. There are moments when you just want to jump on him and let him ruin you in every way he wants. However, it also scares you.
You haven’t been intimate with a man for over four years; you’re not even sure you know how to have sex anymore. Sometimes, you still touch yourself, but it’s not the same. You’re on your own when you do it. Here, it’ll be with Jungkook. When you ovulate, all those frightening thoughts are thrown out of the window. And you know he has picked it up, but he holds back as the perfect gentleman that he is. Knowing him, you’d say that he’s waiting for it to happen naturally.
Tonight, you’re staying at his place. He prepared a fantastic dinner, as usual—he has turned into your own personal chef by now—and now, you’re both in his bed, simply discussing. You’re nuzzled together, your head on his chest, while he holds you close.
“In two weeks, it’s my little brother’s birthday,” he tells you, as his fingers trace circles on your back.
A smile spreads across your face as he mentions his brother. Lately, he has started to speak more about his sibling, mentioning how it has been to grow up with him and how much he cares about him. But other than that, he doesn’t speak much about his family, and honestly, if it’s a matter that triggers him, pressuring him to open up to you seems absolutely wrong, especially considering how he treats you.
“He’s planning a party?” you ask with curiosity.
“Yeah, dad planned something,” he tells you. “He always does for our birthdays.”
“That’s nice,” you tell him.
His fingers stop on your back, and you instantly understand that it might not sound ‘nice’ to him. “I wouldn’t say nice, but yeah, he does it…”
He pauses for a moment, his hand wrapping against your side as if he’s trying to hold onto something.
“He’s mostly trying to compensate for his absence,” he confesses after a while. Again, you don’t say anything, so he can reveal what feels comfortable for him.
“My dad was never there for us,” he continues. “Wasn’t there for any achievement, not even for our graduations. It was actually a miracle that he made it to my wedding.” Your heart clutches at the thought of a small Jungkook abandoned by his dad. “I know he went through tough things; it wasn’t easy for him as well.” he pauses for a bit. “The good side was that my mom compensated for him. She was present, taking care of my brother and me, and loving us equally.”
You push your body a bit back to look at him properly. Jungkook’s eyes are glued to the ceiling, but you can tell that sadness fills them. He swallows thickly, and your hand softly caresses his arms, trying to give him enough comfort to keep going. When his eyes finally meet yours, it just shatters you.
“Hyejo wasn’t my mom,” he confesses. “My mom died when I was two, and my dad remarried two years later. She loved me from the moment she saw me and treated me as hers since the very beginning,” a small smile appears on his face. “I don’t remember anything from before her, but to me, she’s always been there. And nothing changed after my brother’s birth.”
Jungkook places a strand of hair behind your ear, as if he needs to distract himself for a second.
“She was my mom even if she hadn’t given birth to me,” he tells you. “And there were moments in my life when I felt like I was betraying my birth mom.”
Imagining a young Jungkook blaming himself for loving another woman other than his mom is heart-crushing.
“Hyejo was my dad and my mom altogether, and I always held her dearly in my heart,” he continues. “She even walked me down the aisle for my wedding.”
A sincere smile appears on his face, and you can tell the memory is very special to him.
“Unfortunately, five years ago, she passed away,” he reveals.
So, she’s the person he lost. Losing his mother must have destroyed him on so many levels. If you barely managed to get yourself together after Lucas’s death, you can’t even imagine how he felt.
“I’m so sorry,” you mumble.
Jungkook simply nods and runs a finger down your face. It mustn’t be easy for him to reveal all of this, and you feel beyond grateful that he felt comfortable enough to share it with you.
“After that, my dad stopped being absent.”
Now that you know this, you understand why Jungkook is the way he is. Growing up with a dad who’s never there impacts the person you grow into. It’s like he promised himself that he’d never be absent. With you, he makes his presence known under any circumstances.
“It’s good to have him now, but it’ll never erase the past,” he admits. “My brother is still struggling with that and always throws it at this face.”
“And you?” you ask with concern.
“I forgave him years ago,” he replies. “I grew up as an angry teenager and hated him with all my soul, but it was destroying me more than anything else. So, I made my peace with it.”
That totally sounds like him. The opposite would have surprised you.
“My brother is trying to change,” he continues. “The death of our mother changed his perception of our dad, but there’s still a lot of anger inside him.”
“It takes a lot of courage to forgive someone who hurt us deeply,” you tell him.
“I know,” he says. “It’s a lot of work.”
Out of all the people, he’s the one who knows that best.
“I hope he’ll find the same strength to do it,” you reply.
“I hope so, too,” he says.
A little silence settles between you. You simply look at each other, body against body, his fingers touching your face with a tenderness that can mend any soul.
“I truly admire you for that,” you break the silence.
“Thanks, love,” he replies.
Jungkook leans down and presses the softest kiss on your lips. Your hands wrap around his neck, pushing him even closer. The confession makes you feel so many things for him right now—pride, admiration, and even more love.
His past could have turned him into an awful man, but it did the opposite. It made him a man with a beautiful soul. It gave him the strength to be different from his dad. It gave him the strength to give love back despite everything.
And man, that does something to your heart.
You feel even more grateful to have met him. Life has been blessing you with the gentlest of souls, and you definitely don’t intend on letting him go, even if it might be hard for you at times. This is all new to you, but he stays despite it all.
His arm slides around your waist, pulling you closer, just enough to close the space left between you. Your legs tangle slightly under the sheets, your body naturally settling against his. Not once do you stop kissing. It actually deepens more and more.
There’s no doubt where this is going.
Your hands find his shirt to push it off his head and run through his firm body. A little moan escapes his lips, but you swallow it with your mouth. Your top follows the same path when he strips it off your body. The moment the cold air brushes against your bare chest, shivers run down your body.
Those shivers suddenly bring you down, and you realize what is about to happen.
“Wait,” you say against his lips, pushing him away.
“Something’s wrong?” he asks.
You swallow hard, thoughts flying through your mind. Jungkook’s gaze is full of concern, and for a brief moment, you look away.
“It’s just—”
The words seem stuck in your throat.
“Sorry,” you shake your head.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle. “Talk to me.”
The way he looks at you and the way his fingers brush against your skin encourage you to open up to him.
“I’m scared,” you admit. “I haven’t done anything in over four years.”
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to.”
Right now, your entire body craves him with a desperation you can’t quite name. You want this more than anything else, but your mind keeps reminding you that you haven’t done anything in ages.
“I want to,” your voice is barely audible. “I really do.” You pause for a bit, trying to gather all your thoughts and express out loud what is going on inside your head. “Nobody has seen me naked, and…” you’re not even sure you’ll be able to continue, but you have to. “I’m scared you find me ugly.”
Jungkook exhales shakily and presses his forehead against yours. “There is nothing ugly about you, love,” he softly says. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together. “You’re absolutely drop-dead gorgeous,” he continues. “There’s not a single part of you that's ugly.”
“How can you know that?” you whisper. “You’ve never seen me bare.”
He takes a deep breath, his free hand running through your cheeks.
“When you told me about losing your friend, that felt more intimate to me than seeing you naked,” he tells you. “Being vulnerable with someone means more to me than anything physical could ever.”
How does he always find the right words? It’s like he holds some sort of superpower. That must be it. Jungkook brings your intertwined fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your wrist, and your forearm. The wet kisses ease you a bit, but nothing can ever compare to what he just said.
“Okay,” you say after a while.
“Okay?” he repeats, trying to be sure that you really and fully agree.
You nod before saying, “I really want this.”
“I’ll be slow and careful, but let me know if I overstep,” he tells you.
At first, he moves as if he might break you. His hands run over your body slowly and carefully, as if he’s trying to map your body with his palms. They never linger too long in one place. Your gaze follows his every movement, while his is completely focused on your body.
The remaining clothes slowly disappear from both your bodies, and seeing him naked as well helps you feel at ease. It still isn’t easy, and every time your body tenses, he stops and kisses you gently. There’s nothing but love in every single movement of his body.
Slowly, but surely, his fingers find your wet core, which makes you arch and moan at the same time. The feeling of his cold fingers running through your folds sends shivers down your spine and ignites a fire from within you.
When he slips a finger inside you, pleasure instantly takes over your body. This is new, and it feels so so good. Jungkook takes it easy, giving you all the time to adjust before he adds a second finger.
Your eyes flutter shut to enjoy this moment, but you can feel his gaze on you. The mere thought that this was scaring you minutes ago seems unbelievable. Jungkook leans down to press a kiss on your lips.
“Let me know if it’s too much,” he mumbles against your lips when he slips a third finger.
After so many years without experiencing this kind of exquisite torture, you come as soon as his third finger is inside you. It seems too quick, but god, nobody fingered you in years. And Jungkook does it really well.
However, he doesn’t stop; he keeps fingering you through your orgasm. Your moans get louder and louder, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to keep up with this if he keeps going. The stretch of his fingers feels marvelous. It’s like you’re transported into another dimension. When the second orgasm rips through you seconds later, he takes his fingers out and licks them. That sight alone could make you come because he looks like pure sin.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he takes his fingers off his mouth. As you’re unable to speak, you simply nod. “Good,” he smiles. “Do you want to keep going?”
His concern melts your heart. This is actually so sweet.
“I do,” you reply.
Jungkook stands up, disappears into his bathroom, and comes back with a box of condoms. As he walks toward the bed, he takes one and tears it from the foil. He kneels before you, settling between your opened legs.
“I haven’t done this in years,” he chuckles as he struggles to put the condom on.
“Do you need help?” you ask.
“No,” he shakes his head as he focuses on the task.
After a couple of seconds, he succeeds in placing it and presses his body against yours. His hand grabs his cock to rub it against your folds.
“If it’s too much, you stop me, okay?” he asks. “At any moment.”
You nod. He clearly gives a lot of importance to consent, which is great. Having sex for the first time with your boyfriend is kind of an intense and special moment. It’s better to turn it into a good memory, filled with respect for each other.
When he finally slides inside you, the stretch almost feels too overwhelming. You’ve read and heard that after going several years without sex, your hole goes back to how it was when you were a virgin. You wouldn’t believe any of it, but now that you’re back at it, you couldn’t agree more. It’s like you’re losing your virginity all over again.
Jungkook halts once he’s fully inside, giving you all the time in the world to adjust. Honestly, you’re grateful he does it because you really need it. Your body needs to learn all over again to have a cock inside. His body leans over yours, his lips pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek. Your arms wrap around his back, and you can’t help but hide your face in his neck. Jungkook holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.
“Let me know when I can move,” he whispers against your ear.
“Just give me a bit more time,” you tell him.
Your boyfriend remains still for as long as you need him to, and after a couple of seconds, you give him the green light. When his hips start rocking slowly, you’re instantly brought to heaven. His body brings pleasure to you like never before.
Everything feels so intense and consuming. You’re not sure if it’s due to the fact that you haven’t had sex in years, but it’s so so good. Jungkook is nothing but a sweetheart. His movements are slow, careful, and full of love. His lips kiss every part of your face and neck, bringing you to your orgasm through love. This is so intimate; you’ve never experienced sex like this.
The act itself is kind of dirty with all the body fluids leaking everywhere, the sweat all over your body, and the moans, but the way he does it turns it into a vulnerable moment. It’s not about sex. It’s about the love and attraction you both feel for each other.
When you cum, your entire body spasms violently while his name falls from your lips. The pleasure overwhelms you in a wonderful way, and you wish this would never stop. Your walls squeeze him so strongly that it pushes him to his release, coming inside the condom.
His body falls on top of yours while you both try to catch your breaths. When he pulls out to remove the condom and throw it, you feel empty and cold. Seconds later, he comes back to bed, wrapping your body against yours after he pushes the sheets on your bodies. One of his hands strokes your back in slow circles while the other remains in your lower back, pushing you as close as possible.
With all the emotions running through you, you fall asleep in the comfort of his warmth around you.
Two weeks later, it is rumored that the CEO of the company you work for is selling it to a worldwide group. People around you have been talking about it nonstop. Honestly, you haven’t paid much attention to them. As long as you keep your job, you don’t care, and it’s also just rumors; it doesn’t mean it’s true.
Jungkook told you yesterday he’ll have an important meeting today, and you promised him you’d spend the night together, eating junk food and watching some silly romcom to decompress. You’re planning to meet at your place, because it’ll be closer for him.
Your eyes look down at the phone in your hands before you send a quick message to your boyfriend, suggesting to order pizzas for tonight. Before he arrives at your place, you want to have everything ready, so he just has to come and sit down. You really want to take care of him, just like he does with you. He deserves it all.
A reply comes quite quickly, where he tells you that it sounds good. You’re already planning to order from his favourite place right before you leave, so you can pick it up on your way home. Hopefully, the pizzas will still be warm when he joins you.
jungkook 🏍️: can’t wait to be with you ❤️
This makes you smile, and it just warms your heart. Why does he always have to be so cute? Instantly, you let him know that you miss him so much. If you could, you’d bring him to your work, so you never have to be apart.
“Have you heard the news?” your coworker Ana asks as she appears next to you.
Instantly, you put your phone down to look at her. Her desk is right next to yours, and she’s always so into all the gossip going around. She’s the one who told you about those rumors concerning the sale.
“What news?” you frown.
“Well, the head of that worldwide group is coming today to meet the CEO,” she explains.
Honestly, you want to tell her that you don’t care, but that would be rude. And you also don’t want her to stop to tell you all the juicy gossip from the office.
“It’s official then?” you ask her.
“It doesn’t confirm if he’s selling, but looks like he is,” she adds.
“Hopefully, we won’t lose our jobs,” you reply, which makes her chuckle.
“Yeah, I hope so too,” she says.
If that guy is money-oriented, for sure, a lot of restructuring plans and other bullshit like that will happen. You truly hope it won’t happen because you love this job, and it’d be a shame to lose it, but this goes beyond yourself.
“But I heard that he’s kind of hot,” she adds. “If you weren’t so enamored with your Gukkie, you could have tried to seduce him and convince him not to fire us.”
You can’t help but laugh while shaking your head. This woman always pulls things like that, as if it was absolutely normal. “You really think I would have managed to?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re hot and sexy too,” she replies.
“But he’s like the head of a group,” you tell her. “Those kinds of guys are unapproachable.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she mumbles in defeat. “It’s best you keep your man.”
By far, you’d prefer Jungkook to some guy who probably thinks the world belongs to him. Usually, those men believe they’re better than anyone else, which is the total opposite of your boyfriend. She goes back to her desk, and you look down again at your phone. There’s a notification—a message from Jungkook where he says that you’ll be together soon.
The only thought of being with him after work thrills you more than anything else. For sure, you’ll mention this whole story to him, because there’s no way you’ll be hiding that Ana tried to convince you to seduce some random wealthy stranger. You can’t wait to see his face.
A couple of minutes later, there’s a lot of agitation around you, and your coworkers whisper things. Inevitably, you look behind you, trying to understand what’s going on. You try to find Ana, but she’s nowhere to be seen, which is annoying because you’re sure she’d know what is going on.
Then, you look to your right. For a moment, it feels like you’re hallucinating. A man is walking in the hallways who strikingly looks like Jungkook. Your heartbeat instantly increases, your eyes follow him, and your mind goes completely blank. It’s him. There’s no doubt.
He’s wearing his lucky suit—the one he only uses for important meetings. You’ve seen him wearing it a couple of times. His hair is pushed the exact same way as in the picture he sent you an hour ago. What is he doing here? And why is everyone looking at him?
“Who is he?” you ask another coworker.
“It’s Jeon Jungkook,” John tells you.
Your heart drops instantly. Yeah, now, you’re a hundred percent sure that it’s him—your boyfriend.
“He’s the head of the Jeon Group and CEO of Jeon Pharmaceuticals,” he continues. “Apparently, he wants to buy the company.”
Your eyes move back to the man walking in the hallway. Never once does he look around; he’s just focused on following the man in front of him. Honestly, you don’t know how to react to the bomb that John just dropped on you.
How on earth are you finding out only now that Jungkook is the son of Jeon Minju, one of the most influential and wealthiest men on earth?
synopsis: jungkook is the last person you want to be stuck with on your holiday—irritating, smug, painfully attractive—but the universe keeps placing him in your path: at the airport, on the plane, in the room next door.
𓇼 pairing: jeon jungkook x reader
𓇼 genre/warning: e2l, strangers-to-lovers, modern au, travel romance, airport meet-cute, forced proximity, one-bed energy (hotel room next door edition), mutual pining, tension, sun-drenched holiday vibes, light bickering, flirting, slowburn-but-fast-burn, smut (18+), consensual intimacy, alcohol mention, soft feelings, mild angst
𓇼 dedication note: the amazing trip to morocco that has inspired this fic
𓇼 total word count: 45k~
𓇼 status: completed
𓇼 playlist 𓇼 main masterlist
｡⋆𓇼 chapters
teaser ｡⋆
day one ｡⋆
day two ｡⋆
day three ｡⋆
day four ｡⋆
day five ｡⋆
day six ｡⋆
day seven ｡⋆
read on wattpad
review your experience, thoughts, or unhinged feelings here
synopsis: jeon jungkook is a clean freak who can’t stand dust, noise or the way you chew. you’re a mess who forgets bin days, leaves dirty laundry everywhere and hates the smell of his chicken breast smoothie. you argue in passing, coexist at a distance, and survive each other only because your schedules never overlap—he works night shifts as a nurse, and you’re an underpaid teacher. until one night, they do. he comes home early. you don’t expect him to. he walks into the living room, catching you with a wine glass, panties on the floor and a vibrator between your legs.
ᥫ᭡ pairing: nurse!jeon jungkook x teacher!female reader
ᥫ᭡ genre/warnings: roommates au, e2l, control-freak x messy roommate, explicit sexual content, 18+ mdni, smut with plot, masturbation, oral sex, rough sex (with protection, doggy), dom/sub vibes, choking, spanking, degradation/dirty talk, exhibitionism, non-verbal consent
ᥫ᭡ wc: 5.5k
As usual, the blender starts at 06:02am exactly.
After nearly two years, your brain has learnt the exact pitch. It’s the smell that does you in. The scent of warm, boiled chicken breast being murdered into paste. It creeps under your door, sits on your tongue, turns your stomach before you’ve even sat up.
You lie there for three long seconds, staring at the ceiling—trying to decide if you can call in sick from poultry-related trauma. You can’t.
You shove the duvet off, hair sticking to your cheek, and swing your legs out of bed with the grace of a woman dragged out of sleep against her will. The floor is cold. Your eyes burn. Your throat feels dry because you’ve slept too little and lived too loudly the day before.
The blender keeps going. You stomp to your door and yank it open. The kitchen lights are on, bright and rude. He’s there, exactly where he always is at this hour.
Jeon Jungkook stands at the counter in his nurse uniform—scrubs that fit him offensively well, sleeves pushed up far enough that you catch the dark ink creeping along his forearm. A glimpse of metal at his mouth when he turns his head. He doesn’t look tired. The blender is under one of his hands. The other hand holds the bottle.
You stare at him for half a second too long. It’s annoying—genuinely irritating—how good he looks. A man who knows exactly what he’s doing with his hands. A man anyone would happily ruin their life over if he wasn’t also the kind of person who wipes down the counter after pouring a glass of water.
He glances up, clocking your presence. “You’re up,” he says, flat. “Your laundry is still in the dryer.”
“Am I up?” you reply, voice hoarse, purposely ignoring the last part. “I thought I was hallucinating the sound of a blender trying to break through the wall.”
His eyes flick to the doorway, then to your face. He gives you that look—the one people give to badly behaved children. It annoys you because you’re a grown woman who pays rent and buys her own groceries.
“It’s been there since yesterday,” he says, again.
“Aaand?” You drag the word out. “It’s also a weekday. People are asleep. Some of us have jobs that don’t involve terrorising innocent kitchen appliances.”
He looks down at the blender and he turns it off. Silence drops—unfortunately, the smell remains.
You walk into the kitchen with purpose, which is mostly to stop yourself from walking into the wall. The tiled floor is cold under your feet. Your eyes flick to the blender jug without permission—it’s pale, dense and horrifying.
“Ew,” you say, disgusted.
He lifts one shoulder. “Protein.”
You reach past him for the bread because you’re already up and you’re already suffering, so you might as well suffer with toast. You shove a slice in the toaster, wait for it to pop, and take a bite.
His gaze snaps to your mouth. “Can you not chew like that?” he says, already reaching for a cloth.
You pause mid-chew, stare at him, then chew louder, with your mouth open.
Jungkook wipes the counter in front of you like you’re shedding crumbs by breathing. He catches a few that fall and wipes again immediately, as if the crumbs have personally offended him.
“It’s disgusting,” he adds. “And you’re eating before you’ve even brushed your teeth.”
“Oh my God,” you say, still chewing.
He doesn’t stop—Jungkook never stops once he starts. “All that bacteria just goes straight into your stomach.”
You swallow. “Fuck off.”
His jaw shifts. “Brush your teeth.”
You take another bite. “You’re such a heter,” you mutter, passing him for the bathroom. You make sure your shoulder bumps his on the way through, just to be petty.
He doesn’t move, not even flinch. But his gaze drops to where your shoulder touches his chest for a fraction of a second, like you’ve burnt him. “Don’t touch me,” he says.
You stop in the doorway of the bathroom and look back at him. “Oh, sorry. I forgot you only let Dettol touch you.”
His jaw shifts. “You’re not funny.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my class. They think I’m a stand-up comedian. Mostly because they’re laughing at me, but still.”
He picks up his bottle and starts rinsing the blender jug. “You left a bowl in the sink last night,” he says again without looking at you.
It’s way too early for his nagging. You stare at the back of his head. “I left a bowl in the sink because I ate dinner like a normal person and then I fell asleep. At night. Like someone who doesn’t work the hours of a vampire.”
Jungkook turns around and looks you up and down once—a quick assessment that manages to make your skin tighten. “Make sure you leave the bathroom window open and turn the fan on.”
You pause. “Why?”
“Steam,” he says, clipped. “Mould.”
You laugh once, without humour, and shut the bathroom door hard enough that the frame rattles.
When you’re finally ready for the day and tugging your shoes on by the front door—bag slung over your shoulder, keys in hand— his bedroom door opens.
Jungkook steps out shirtless, towel looped around his neck and another in his hands. His hair falls in wet waves on his forehead. Water glistens on his chest. His tattoos are more visible like this—dark lines disappearing over his ribs, into places you don’t get to see.
You hate your body for noticing. For scanning. For imagining.
He looks at you and his gaze lands on your shoes first, then your bag, then your face. “Bins,” he says.
You blink. “What?”
He nods towards the door with his chin. “It’s bin day. Take them down when you get back.”
“You love bossing me around,” you say.
“You love needing it.”
You swallow your comeback because you don’t have time for a full-scale war before work. You also don’t have time to stare at his chest, so you don’t—making sure your eyes behave.
“Fine,” you say. “I’ll do it.”
“Good.” One beat. Then, almost as an afterthought: “Don’t forget.”
You grab your keys tighter. “I won’t.” You step out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind you.
Today has been miserable. You get home with your keys already digging into your palm, jaw tight from clenching it all day.
The flat greets you the way it always does when Jungkook’s been through it—offensively spotless. No shoes by the door unless they’re lined up. No mug in the sink. Not even crumbs. The air even smells clean—the scent of the very specific disinfectant he likes.
You toe your heels off and kick the door shut behind you.
Your eyes land on the hallway mirror. You look like you’ve been chewed up by fifteen-year-olds and spat back out again. Hair escaping your clip, mascara smudged at the edges, shoulders slumped. Your throat hurts from talking over classroom noise. Your head is full of the headmaster’s voice—targets, targets, targets—like you can single-handedly bully kids into better grades with worksheets and hope.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket. Another email. Another deadline. You don’t even check it. You exhale and drop your bag to the floor.
The bins.
He told you this morning. Bin day. Don’t forget.
You glance at the kitchen corner where the bin lives. “I won’t forget,” you mutter out loud.
You walk past it anyway, telling yourself you’ll do it in a minute—after you’ve had a shower; after your shoulders stop feeling like they’re made of stone; after you remember the feeling of being in your own skin.
You strip your clothes off in the bathroom, step under the water, and let it hit you hot. It loosens something in you—not the stress, not really, but the surface of it. The day washes down the drain in pieces: students arguing over calculators, the constant low anxiety of exams, the headmaster’s tight smile that never reaches his eyes.
You press your forehead to the tiles and breathe.
When you step out, towel around your hair, your body feels lighter and your mind feels emptier. Better. Not fixed—just quieter.
You don’t even bother with dinner. The thought of standing in the kitchen, choosing food, chewing, washing up—it all feels like too much effort for a Friday night you’ve earned through sheer survival.
So you go for the only thing that doesn’t ask questions. Wine.
You pull the red from the cupboard and pour yourself a glass that’s a little too generous. No one’s here to comment on the amount. No one’s here to tell you to use a coaster. No one’s here to wipe the counter behind you the second you turn away.
Jungkook’s meant to be on nights. He’ll come in at stupid o’clock, make his disgusting smoothie, glare at the state of the world, and go to sleep. That’s the arrangement. Your lives brushing past each other like strangers.
You take the wine to the sofa, drop down, and turn on Netflix. Something mindless with attractive people and predictable problems. You let it play while you drink and let your body unclench.
Halfway through the film, two characters start kissing. Hungry kissing—hands in hair, mouth open, bodies grinding against one another.
You swallow a mouthful of wine and stare at the screen for a second longer than you mean to. It’s been—what? Eight months since you got laid? Maybe longer. You can’t even remember the last time someone else’s hands were on you with intent.
You shift on the sofa. Your damp hair sticks to the back of your neck. Your skin feels too awake all of a sudden. That restless, irritated ache that sits low in your belly and refuses to be ignored.
“Tired, stressed, horny,” you mutter. “Amazing.”
You take another sip, bigger this time, as if you can drown the feeling. It doesn’t work.
Your gaze flicks to the hallway. To your bedroom. To the drawer you keep things in—the drawer you pretend isn’t important until nights like this, when your body starts demanding attention.
You stand up.
The film keeps playing behind you, the actors going at each other. You walk to your room, open the drawer, and pull out your vibrator. You pause with it in your hand, considering your bed. The problem is the wine. The glass you left on the coffee table—also the fact that you don’t want to get up again once you start and you’re already too keyed up to be patient with yourself.
You go back to the living room.
You stand there for a moment, looking at the sofa, then at the glass, then at the corridor again. As if Jungkook might suddenly appear and scold you for existing.
He won’t. He’s at work.
You sit.
Leather under your thighs. Cool at first, then warming. You set the vibrator on the cushion beside you and take a gulp of wine that burns a little on the way down.
“Who cares,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone. “It’s my sofa too.”
Your fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. You slide them down, step out, and kick them away without thinking. They land near the coffee table, a soft pile of fabric that would make Jungkook visibly twitch if he saw it.
You sink back into the sofa, the leather sticking slightly to your bare thighs, and grab the vibrator. The wine's buzzing in your veins, making everything feel a little sharper and dirtier.
You flick the toy on—the low hum is too loud in the flat’s quiet—and spread your legs to press it against your clit. The first vibration jolts through you, and you bite your lip to stifle the gasp that wants to escape.
Fuck, it's been too long.
You don’t have patience for slow. Your hips shift instinctively as you circle the tip over your folds. You close your eyes, letting your head fall back. That's when your mind betrays you.
Jeon Jungkook. That asshole with that metal at his mouth and his infuriating control.
You imagine him in the kitchen, not blending his stupid chicken breast shake, but pinning you against the counter instead. His hands—those dry-knuckled, impatient hands that scrub everything spotless—digging hard enough to bruise. Him yanking your panties down your hips.
"You can’t do anything clean, can you?" he'd growl, voice annoyed as usual.
But he'd be hard against you, pressing between your arse cheeks as he bends you forward. Your face pushed against the cold countertop.
You slide the vibrator lower, pushing it inside yourself with an easy glide. Your breath hitches. Fuck, it feels good, but it's not enough—not like how it would feel to have him shoving your thighs apart with his knee.
One of his hands fisting your hair to keep you arched, the other undoing his pants. You can almost feel the length of his cock before he thrusts in with no warning—stretching you open until you're gasping, gripping around him like you'd never let go.
"Fuck, Jungkook," you whisper, the name slipping out desperate as you pump the vibrator faster.
The buzz is sending shocks up your spine. Your free hand claws at the throw blanket, bunching it up, while your hips buck against the toy.
Jungkook’s relentless. His balls are slapping against your clit with every snap of his hips. His tattooed arm wraps around your waist, fingers finding your clit and rubbing circles that make your legs shake.
"Take it," he’d mutter, breath hot against your neck, his ring scraping your shoulder as he bites. "You want this, don't you? Acting like a brat all day just to get fucked like one."
The image burns behind your eyelids—his sweat-slick chest pressed to your back. The wet sounds of skin on skin. The way your pussy would grip him until he's groaning your name—losing that perfect composure.
Your toes curl into the carpet, thighs trembling as the pressure builds in your core. The sofa is pooling with your juices. You're so close, chasing the edge where everything explodes.
“Jungkook—” you moan, louder.
One more thrust in your mind—him slamming home, grinding deep—and you're there, body arching as the orgasm rushes up—
A throat clears.
Your eyes snap open. The vibrator is still buried inside you, still buzzing as your hand freezes. Your heart slams against your ribs; your breath caught in a choke.
He's there. In the doorway. Jungkook, in his scrubs, staring like he's walked into a nightmare. His jaw is clenched. His grip tightens on the strap of his bag.
You yank the toy out with a gasp, thighs snapping shut. You scramble for the blanket, face burning. "Oh my God," you stammer, voice wrecked. "It's not what it looks—fuck. Okay. It is exactly what it looks like."
He doesn't say a word. Just swallows hard, gaze dropping for a split second to your discarded panties on the floor, then away. He turns on his heel, and you can then hear his door slamming.
You want to die.
You’ve pulled on a fresh pair of panties. The cotton is soft against your still-sensitive skin. Your shirt is tugged down over your hips—trying to erase the last fifteen minutes.
You have cleaned up the living room's crime scene. The vibrator is safely stashed back in your drawer. You’ve wiped down the sofa and the throw blanket has been haphazardly folded. Your abandoned wine glass is rinsed and set in the drainer.
But none of it helps settle the pulse under your collarbone.
You stare at his closed door from the hallway, chewing the inside of your cheek until it stings.
This is stupid. You should let it blow over, pretend it never happened. You’re adults who share a flat and nothing else.
But the silence from his room feels heavier than usual—and you know that if you don't deal with it now, it'll turn worse. Awkward glances in the kitchen, him wiping surfaces longer than necessary, you slamming cabinets louder than needed.
Your bare feet pad across the cool floorboards. You knock twice and immediately regret it. There are shuffling sounds from inside, muffled footsteps, and then the door cracks open.
He's changed out of his scrubs into loose sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that clings to his chest. His hair's pushed off his forehead, and his eyes are narrowed at you with that familiar edge.
"What?" he says, voice clipped.
You shift your weight, arms crossing over your chest—as if that might shield you from the humiliation crawling up your back. "Can I come in?"
He doesn't move at first, just stares. Then he steps aside with a sigh, letting the door swing wider.
You slip past him, careful not to brush against his arm, and the room envelops you. It’s clean, almost sterile, with the faint scent of his body wash hanging in the air. It’s crisp and minty and it makes your stomach twist.
It's the first time you've been in here, and it's exactly what you'd expect—bed made with military precision, sheets tucked tight, no stray clothes on the floor. His desk is against the far wall, a sleek gaming setup taking up most of it—dual monitors, a keyboard with RGB lights turned off, headset draped over the back of the chair. There is a framed anatomical diagram on the wall that screams nurse vibes.
No clutter, no personality spilling out—just freakishly controlled, like him.
You head straight for the swivel chair at the desk. You spin it around to face him and drop into it, knees pressed together because the bed feels too intimate. He closes the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it—arms folded, waiting.
The room feels smaller with both of you in it, the air thicker.
"Look," you start, forcing your voice steady even though your throat's dry, "about what you walked in on—it's not what you think. I mean, it is, but—I didn't know you'd be home early. You’re always on nights and never early—and—and yeah."
“They moved my shift,” he says. “Roster change. I got sent home.”
“And you didn’t think to text?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.” He pushes off the door and takes a step closer. His expression remains unchanged—brows furrowed, mouth a flat line. "I also didn't ask for an explanation."
"Yeah, well, I'm giving one anyway," you snap back, heat rising in your cheeks. "Because now it's awkward as hell—and I don't want you thinking I'm some kind of exhibitionist or whatever. It was private—you— you weren't even supposed to see that."
"Private in the living room?" He scoffs, voice low. He moves to stand by the bed, hands shoved in his pockets, posture rigid.
You roll your eyes, swiveling the chair a little to face him fully. "Oh, come on. Like you've never done anything in a common area. The flat was empty—or I thought it was—annd don't act like you're scandalised—we're adults, okay?"
"I'm not scandalised," he mutters, gaze flicking to the floor, then back to you. "Just—didn't expect it."
That’s when your eyes drop, unintentionally, to his sweatpants.
The fabric's loose, but not loose enough to hide the outline straining against it. The unmistakable bulge that's impossible to ignore now that you've seen it. Your breath catches, a fresh wave of heat, mixing with the embarrassment.
"Are you horny?" you ask, voice quieter than you mean it to be—your gaze lifting to his face.
He goes still and doesn't answer. But you see it—the flush creeping up his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. His hands flex in his pockets, and he shifts his stance, trying to adjust without admitting it.
You lean forward in the chair, heart hammering. "Is it because of me?"
Silence stretches, until you can't take it.
"If it's my fault—I can take care of it. For you."
His eyes snap to yours, but he doesn't move nor speak.
You push the chair forward with your feet, wheels rolling silently across the floor until you're right in front of him. You slide off the seat, knees hitting the rug with a soft thud, and look up at him.
You wait for the rejection, the bickering—the get out or you're annoying or any of the usual barbs that fly between you.
He doesn't say a word. Just stares down—breath coming a little faster, chest rising and falling under his shirt.
Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for him, palms pressing against the bulge. He’s hard under your touch. Jungkook hisses—a sharp intake of breath that sounds more like pain than anything, but his hips twitch forward, betraying him.
Still no words.
You hook your fingers into the waistband, tugging it down slowly. His sweatpants part, and you slide your hand inside. You palm him through the thin layer of his boxers. The fabric's damp at the tip, and he groans low in his throat.
His head tips back against the wall with a thunk, eyes squeezing shut. His cock is throbbing, veins pulsing as you stroke him firmly.
"Jungkook," you murmur, your own arousal building again.
You’re slick between your thighs despite the fresh panties. You tug his boxers down, and he springs out—thick, flushed, the head glistening with precum beading at the slit.
You lean in, wrapping your lips around the tip, tongue swirling to taste the salt of him.
He gasps. One of his hands comes to grip the edge of the desk beside him, knuckles whitening.
You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You bob slowly at first, then faster. His free hand tangles in your hair—fingers flexing as you suck him harder, your hand stroking what doesn't fit. His thighs tense under your other palm, and you feel his cock swell on your tongue—twitching with every flick against the underside.
His breathing turns ragged, hips starting to buck into your mouth. Sweat beads on his neck, trickling under his shirt. His face is flushed, lips parted as soft curses slip out—too low to catch fully.
You pull back when you feel him throb harder, close to the edge. Your lips are shiny and swollen as you look up at him, meeting his gaze.
"Jungkook, do you have any condoms?"
For a beat, he just stares—pupils are blown wide, chest heaving.: “I really can’t stand you,” he says eventually.
“Then don’t,” you whisper.
“You’re a mess,” he spits. “You make everything worse.”
“And you still want me,” you say, breathing hard.
That’s all it takes for his hand to shoot out, fingers wrapping around your throat as he hauls you up, crashing his mouth against yours. The kiss is all teeth and tongue. His piercing is cool against your lip as he devours you, tasting himself on your tongue.
His other arm bands around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His cock is still hard and pressing into your stomach, smearing saliva and precum on your shirt. The grip on your throat sends sparks down your spine. Your nipples harden against his chest through the fabric.
You taste the faint mint from his toothpaste mixed with the salt of his skin. Your fingers dig into his shirt, bunching the fabric as you kiss him back.
He breaks the kiss first, pulling back to look at you. His breath comes out in hot puffs against your lips. "You sure about this?" he asks, like he's forcing the words out past whatever restraint he's clinging to.
His grip on your throat loosens, fingers trailing down to your collarbone instead.
You nod, swallowing hard, your own voice shaky but certain. "Yeah. I want this. Do you?"
"Fuck yes," he mutters.
“This doesn’t mean I like you,” you murmur back.
“Good,” he says, mouth on your neck, “I don’t need you to.”
His hands slide under your shirt, draggin up your sides and tugging the fabric. You lift your arms without thinking and let him peel your shirt over your head. The cool air hits your bare skin and makes your nipples pebble instantly. He tosses the shirt aside, gaze dropping to your chest.
“Try not to sanitise me,” you say, with a giggle.
“Try not to ruin my sheets,” he grins back.
You grab the hem of his t-shirt and he helps, shrugging it off in one fluid motion. His chest is right there, inked skin glistening faintly from earlier sweat. You run your palms over his pecs, down to his abs. He's built solid, every ridge and dip warm and firm.
"What are you even made out of?" you breathe—half-laughing, half-awed, as your fingers trace the lines of his tattoos.
He smirks, but it's strained, like he's barely holding back. "Condoms," he says, nodding towards the nightstand. "In the drawer."
“You plan for everything, huh?” you say, glancing over.
But he beats you to it and leans across the bed to pull one out. “I didn’t plan you,” he says, foil packet crinkling in his hand.
While he's distracted, you slip out of your panties again, kicking them off. You then tug at his sweatpants and boxers, shoving them down to his thighs.
He kicks his pants the rest of the way off, tears the packet open with his teeth, and rolls the condom on with quick movements.
You watch, thighs pressing together, your clit throbbing. "Come here," he says, grabbing your hips and guiding you onto the bed.
“You’re always telling me what to do,” you say, already crawling back.
“And you always do the apposite,” he answers, not letting you get far. He flips you onto your stomach with surprising ease, his hands strong on your waist. "Like this.”.
You’re positioned on all fours, knees sinking into the mattress. You arch your back instinctively, ass up, and feel the bed dip as he kneels behind you.
"Ready?" he asks. His hand slides between your thighs to check, fingers slipping through your folds. He finds you soaked. He groans at the feel, circling your clit once. It makes you jolt. "Shit, you're so wet."
"Yeah, well, you interrupted me earlier," you shoot back, voice muffled against the sheets.
He chuckles, then lines the blunt head of his cock to your entrance. "I won’t let it happen again."
He pushes in—inch by inch, stretching you open with a burn that's equal parts pain and pleasure. You gasp and he stills for a second, letting you adjust.
His breath is ragged behind you. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good—so tight," he grits out, like he's fighting not to move yet.
You feel him throbbing inside you, every twitch sending sparks up your spine. "Move," you beg, pushing against him. "Please."
He does—pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in hard; the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.
You moan as he sets a rhythm, his cock dragging against that spot inside you with every stroke. You’re flooded by the stretch, the friction, the way your walls clench around him.
His hands roam. One slides up your back to press between your shoulder blades, keeping you arched. The other gripps your ass. Then his palm comes down—spanking you once.
Heat blooms across your skin, and you yelp. But it's good, the pain twists into pleasure.
"Is this okay?" he asks.
You don’t get the chance to answer before he does it again, harder this time.
"Yes—fuck, yes," you gasp, rocking back to meet his thrusts.
He's pounding into you and you feel him filling you up. His sweat drips onto your back as he leans over you slightly, breath hot on your neck.
"I’m so close—to cumming," your voice breaks.
The edge is right there, building with each drag of his cock.
"Not yet," he growls, and suddenly stops.
He pulls out completely, leaving you empty and whining at the loss. “I hate you,” you say.
“No, you don’t,” he says.
Before you can respond, his hands are on you, flipping you onto your back. The mattress bounces as he hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half, and slides back in—deeper this time, the angle hitting new places that make stars burst behind your eyelids.
"Oh fuck," you cry out, hands scrabbling at his arms, nails digging into his biceps.
He's looming over you, face inches from yours. His eyes are locked on your face as he starts thrusting again, each one punching the air from your lungs. His cock is buried to the hilt, grinding against your cervix.
"I want to see you while I fuck you," he says, one hand bracing beside your head, the other holding your thighs in place. "I want to watch you when you cum on my cock."
Tears prick your eyes—from the pleasure crashing over you in waves.
He notices, thumb brushing under your eye. He flicks a tear away gently, his expression softening for a split second amid the heat. "Is this too much?" he checks, slowing his pace for a fraction.
"No—don't stop," you plead, shaking your head, hips lifting to urge him on. "I feel so good, Jungkook."
He nods and picks up speed again. His face twists with effort—brows furrowed, lips parted as soft grunts escape him. Sweat slicks his forehead, dripping down his temple. You feel the tension in his thighs, the way his abs clench with every movement.
"I’m close," he warns. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so hard."
You cum first—vision blurring as it rips through you. Your whole body shakes, walls fluttering around him in pulses that make you sob his name. "Jungkook—yes, fuck—"
He follows right after, burying himself with a groan. He spills into the condom, cock twitching inside you. His arms tremble, holding himself up—but then he collapses forward, weight pressing you into the mattress.
The both of you are panting, slick with sweat.
He pulls out carefully, tying off the condom and tossing it towards the trash. He then flops back on top of you, face buried in your neck. His heart hammers against your chest in time with yours.
For a moment, it's just that—exhausted quiet, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back, feeling the muscles relax under your touch.
Then sis hand slides down your body, fingers finding your clit—still sensitive and swollen—and he starts circling it slowly.
You jolt, a whimper escaping as fresh sparks ignite. "Jungkook—what—"
"I’m not done yet," he mumbles against your skin.
He lifts his head to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue flicking over the peak. His other hand squeezes your breast, thumb rolling the nipple until it's hard and aching. He takes turns switching sides, mouth latching onto each bud.
Pleasure builds again, faster this time, your body oversensitive from the first orgasm.
His fingers on your clit speed up, pressing firmer. He leaves marks—sucking hickeys across your breasts, red blooms that sting under his lips. His hand knead the soft flesh like he can't get enough.
"Jungkook, I—oh fuck," you gasp, hips bucking into his hand, tears threatening again from the overload.
It's too much, too good, every nerve ending lit up.
"Come on," he urges, voice muffled against your skin, lifting his head to watch your face again. "Come one more time for me."
You shatter—body convulsing, a cry tearing from your throat as the second orgasm hits. It’s harder than the first, leaving you trembling.
It's the best you've ever had, waves crashing endlessly, your mind blanking out.
He slows his hand, easing you down. Jungkook then pulls you close as you both catch your breath.
"Holy shit," you whisper finally.
He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah."
“Don’t get smug,” you mumble, leaning into to him.
“Don’t get sentimental,” he answers immediately, wrapping around you.
You lie there for what feels like hours, bodies slick and spent. The room smells of sex and sweat and that faint body wash scent from his skin. Your limbs feel heavy, every muscle humming from the aftershocks of what has to be the best fucking of your life.
His arm is draped over your waist, chest rising and falling against your side—and for the first time since you met him, the silence between you isn't loaded with tension. It's comfortable, almost.
"Did you take the bins down?" he asks suddenly, still panting a little. His voice muffled against your shoulder.
You blink, brain sluggish, then it hits you—the morning reminder, the one you'd blown off in your post-work haze. "Oh, shit, I forgot."
Jungkook scoffs. The familiar edge creeps back in, but there's a playful glint in his eyes as he shifts. He rolls on top of you again, pinning you with his weight. His elbows bracket your head.
"Now, what shall I do to get rid of those bad habits of yours?"
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a/n: hi hi hi my loves!! thank you so much for reading. just a note that i wrote this in one night while ovulating (like this is prolly the freakiest thing i have written in my life), and i've been trying to edit it for the past two days, but i'm in the middle of a raging migraine (day 3 of it now yayyy for me), and when i get my migraines, i genuinely cannot function. so ik there are a lot of spelling/grammar errors, and i will try to go back and edit again when the migraine decides it had enough. also, smut is not my best genre, so please do leave me feedback/constructive criticism on where i can improve! (but also pls be kind i have a soft heart). as usual, your comments, reblogs and asks mean so much to me and really fuel my fingers! much love <3
SUMMARY. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do girls. As the first son of the Jeon family, heir to more money than God, he’s spent thirty years being perfectly fine without them. He doesn’t have any desire to engage in frivolous rendezvouses like his friends, nor enter a situationship that will distract him from the title of CEO. That is, until his best friends drag him to a strip club for his birthday and a girl in red lingerie falls right into his lap, and well… there goes that ideology.
pairing. stripper!oc x virgin!jungkook
word count. 17.2k
warnings/genre. inexperienced!koo, virgin!koo, soft dom!oc, stripper!oc, everyone’s horny, male masturbation, public dry humping???, lap dancing, mention of slutting yourself out obv, jk steals oc’s panties, strip teasing, virginity loss, oral (m receiving), titty fucking, jungkook cums a LOT help, cowgirl
note. hi my pookietons! this was supposed to be out weeks ago but unfortunately my fiancé’s mom passed away and it has been a rough time in the household. luckily, things are starting to get back to normal and i’m trying to stay optimistic about things. writing has always been my outlet for my emotions, and having this community during this time has been such a blessing. i’m so grateful for you all and hope you enjoy this diabolical read 🤍
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banner creds | masterlist
Jeon Jungkook has been seeing black for the past 25 minutes, and quite frankly, he’s fed up with the situation.
He was under the impression that his birthday meant doing what he wanted to do, not getting kidnapped by his six closest friends and getting tossed into a Cadillac for a ‘big birthday surprise.’ If Jungkook wanted a surprise for his birthday, he would’ve just asked his assistant to book out a restaurant of her choosing. Or done absolutely nothing, which was the original plan and, truthfully, a perfect one.
It’s not that Jungkook necessarily despises his birthday—although it is tough to celebrate happily when your family is as strict and prim as his— but more that he doesn’t see the point in it. He would much rather spend money on himself, perhaps buying the new car he had his eye on. Not squeezed in the back of his car with his best friends.
They often lived a different lifestyle than he did. His friends worked hard as most people did in his circle, but they played harder. Weekends were swallowed up by clubs and bottle service and girls whose names they’d forgotten by Monday morning.
Jungkook had never quite understood the appeal. He had a company to inherit, a father who tracked his every move like a hawk and exactly zero interest in giving the man more ammunition. Jeon Wooshik had made it abundantly clear that the CEO seat came with conditions, and Jungkook had spent the better part of his twenties checking every box that his father had almost run out of things to criticize.
So, really, this whole thing is juvenile. Immature and foolish. But considering he’s blindfolded and handcuffed, he doesn’t really have a say in the matter.
“Kook! We’re hereeee,” He recognizes Kim Seokjin’s voice, his hyung. Jin was four years his senior and had the emotional maturity to show for it exactly none of the time. He was Namjoon’s best friend first, then Jungkook’s by proximity, and somewhere along the way had appointed himself a permanent fixture in Jungkook’s life whether he wanted him there or not.
Kim Namjoon, though, he trusted unconditionally despite his laidback lifestyle. If Namjoon had signed off on this, there was a reason. Jungkook just wished the reason didn’t involve handcuffs.
“Alright, jokes fucking over. Can you take off this shit?” Jungkook asks flatly.
He hears the car door open, and warm hands are guiding him out of the vehicle, little giggles and snickers filling the cool night air.
“He speaks!” Taehyung cackles, arguably the most immature of them all. (Well, between him and Park Jimin.)
“What a grump,” Jimin adds, and he sounds closer, so Jungkook assumes it’s his soft hands leading him somewhere. “Look at his cutie little face.”
“Feels kinda unfair I can’t see any of your faces.”
“Jungkookie,” Someone squeezes his cheek, and he has to fight the urge to punch the air.
“Ugh, his pout is so cute, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung giggles again, and Jungkook sighs. He can already tell Taehyung is drunk, since he only laughs in such a way when Jimin is shamelessly flirting with him or he’s drunk too much soju.
“I’m going to kill all of you—“
A hand finally yanks the blindfold off his face, as another undoes the handcuffs digging into his wrists. Jungkook blinks into the dark, vision swimming. When his eyes finally do adjust, six faces grin back at him, varying degrees of giddiness painted across their expressions.
Jungkook surveys his surroundings as quickly as he can. He’s in a parking lot… it’s packed to the brim with all kinds of cars, none that are as expensive as his. Bass pounds in his eardrum from the nearby entrance, but when he cranes his neck to peer inside, he sees nothingness. A void that leaves everything up to the imagination.
The front door is musty, worn down and guarded by one man who’s watching something on his phone. “Paradise” in flashing letters hangs off the top, flickering as though someone had forgotten to pay the bill. And underneath it, “Adult Club.”
Fucking hell.
“What,” he says slowly, “is that.”
“Birthday surprise,” Jin jokes, and the boys giggle like schoolgirls.
Jungkook looks over at Namjoon. Namjoon, to his credit, has the decency to look sheepish. His friends know him better than anyone. People don’t gain access to Jeon Jungkook easily—and yet they failed him so astonishingly he can’t even believe it. This goes against everything he stands for. Clubs of any kind are forbidden. Especially strip clubs, where any lone person can recognize him and report back to his father.
As if Namjoon can smell the rebuttal on his lips, he rushes to argue, “It’s fun in there.”
Jungkook snorts, “I doubt that. If my dad finds out, I’m fucking toast.”
“Your dad’s not gonna find out,” Jimin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been here like once a month and you’re not allowed to take pictures. Out of respect for the girls or some shit.”
A shiver rolls down Jungkook’s back at the word girls. The thought of them annoys him already. “This is stupid, you know? I’m not even into this kind of shit.”
“Yeah, we know,” Taehyung slaps his shoulder, trying to steer him toward the entrance, but Jungkook is fortunately bulkier than him. “You’re the king of the land, Jeon Jungkook, refuses to touch a woman because he’s better than all of them.”
“Fuck off, Tae.”
“Dude, come on. Live a little. It’s your birthday and your boys want to treat you to a night of fun. How could you say no to that?” Jin begs, and Jungkook comes up with a plethora of ways he could say no to this.
Jungkook sighs, staring at the door. On the other side of it are things he cannot get involved in. He has a board meeting Monday morning he hasn’t prepped for yet. A pristine reputation that took the better part of a decade to build. He has a father who has Google alerts set for his name.
He really, really should not be here.
Jungkook turns to face the six faces staring back at him expectantly.
“It’s your birthday,” Namjoon tries feebly one more time.
“That is not the argument you think it is—”
“Jungkook-ah.” Jin steps forward and puts both hands on his shoulders. “We love you. We have always loved you. And it is because we love you that we are telling you, as a united front, that you are going inside that door if we have to carry you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Jungkook retorts, and all Jin does is raise his brows back at him. Well played.
The silence that follows is not reassuring.
Jungkook realizes this is one negotiation he is not going to win. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I fucking hate you guys. One hour tops, and I’m out of there.”
“That’s a good boy,” Jin pats his shoulder like he’s a dog and pushes him in the direction of the entrance. “Let’s get on in there.”
The bouncer at the front seems to finally recognize he has a job when the seven men walk up, beady eyes scanning their faces before they land on Namjoon in the back. “Joon!” he calls out, reaching over to give him a firm handshake, nearly knocking Jungkook flat on the floor. Of course Namjoon knows the fucking bouncer—he’s probably reached some kind of reward status at this club. He doesn’t bother checking anyone’s IDs, just lets all of them sidle in.
Jungkook steps through the door and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Goddamnit.
Red lights flash over the club floor, speakers blasting some RnB song he doesn’t recognize. The place is enormous, larger than he thought, with a main stage dominating the room. Two strippers dance on the two poles adjacent to each other, men perched on chairs with wads of cash stuffed in their hands. Booths line the walls, packed with men in varying states of losing their minds. All decked in suits, loosened collars and flushed faces and eyes tracking the room with an attention they probably never give their actual jobs. Private tables closer to the stage are worse. Bottles everywhere, dollar bills everywhere.
The worst part of it all, is how many girls there are. Girls in lingerie, silk and lace that barely constitute fabric, moving through the room in what feels like slow motion. Every single one of them moves like she knows exactly where she’s going and exactly what’s going to happen when she gets there.
“Kim Namjoon?” A hostess approaches in normal clothes—thank god—and he steps forward to speak to her, all hushed whispers and suspicious glances back at Jungkook. Enough for him to know that this night will be anything but casual. Jungkook expects he’ll have an ass in his face in twenty minutes tops.
She smiles at all of them, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Hi boys! Welcome to Paradise. I know some of you have been here before, so I’ll keep it brief. No pictures or videos allowed. If we catch you, you’re banned for life. ATMs are lined up against the wall, so make sure you take out cash beforehand so you don’t have to get up.”
She pauses to ensure everyone understands, eyes lingering on Jungkook, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not rocket science. It’s a strip club. “I heard we’re celebrating a birthday tonight, so Joon has booked a private table for you all. Dancers will rotate by your table and you better make them feel like the shit, because they are. Got it?”
All boys nod in unison. Jungkook side-eyes Jimin and Tae, and already, they have heart eyes forming. It’s despicable. The hostess leads them through the room, weaving between tables without looking, heels silent on the floor, not once glancing back to check if they’re following. The private table is tucked a few feet off the main floor, with curved booth seating, a pole attached from the ceiling hanging right in front of them, and a clear sightline to the stage. Bottles are already sweating on ice in the center like they’d been expecting them (which Jungkook is certain is the work of his hyungs).
The boys pile in with zero decorum. Hoseok immediately reaches for a bottle, passing out glasses to pour up shots of soju and whiskey. Jungkook allows him to be overserved, because there’s no other scenario in which he gets through this night without being wasted. He doesn’t know where to look, which means he keeps looking everywhere. He’s not stupid — he knows objectively that women are attractive. He’s always known that. It’s just that knowing it theoretically and sitting in a room saturated with it are two very different things.
Jeon Jungkook’s disinterest in women never stemmed from anything other than the fear of being mediocre. His high school life, which should’ve been filled with bad decision making and girlfriends, was instead taken over by shadowing his father at the office or learning how to use Microsoft Excel to make financial reports. College was a repeat, and he adapted easily to the hermit lifestyle he had been living. Even once he graduated, he made no attempt to date anyone. His mother, a frivolous woman who lived off the family money with ease, had once asked him if he was gay or asexual. Unfortunately for her, he is neither.
He is just, quite literally, indifferent to what women can offer.
That’s not to say Jungkook doesn’t get horny (hence dispelling the asexual rumors). Jungkook masturbates as often as most normal guys do, mostly when he’s frustrated by work. But instead of seeking respite in another woman’s vagina, he uses his own hand, which has worked perfectly well for him.
And, well, there is this other… thing he’s kept locked with a key within him. Deep in his unconscious, something not even a therapist could uncover. The fear that he might be bad at it.
It sounds ridiculous when it crosses his mind for even a second. He does not do things badly. He does not do things at all until he’s certain he can do them well. That’s just how he's wired, has always been wired, the same compulsion that made him practice his father’s presentations in the mirror at fifteen until they were perfect.
It is exceedingly unfortunate that this is not something one can research into oblivion or competence. You learn by experience. And the idea of being in front of someone, exposed and vulnerable, makes him want to die.
“Jungkook-ah, look at the girl in the pink,” Namjoon whispers into his ear, fighting to be heard over the bass. “She’s so fucking hot.”
His eyes wander over to where Namjoon is trying to subtly point. A girl in pink lingerie roams the stage, lashes batting flirtatiously as she lets the pole sit between her ass cheeks. Jungkook doesn’t have time to respond to his hyung before he’s being (rudely) interrupted by a girl in light blue lingerie, standing over their table with a smile. “Hi boys, how are we doing tonight?”
The boys, minus Jungkook, whoop and yell, and he wants to crawl into the booth and hide. They’re acting like wild vultures, and his brain is reeling trying to comprehend what’s unfolding in front of him.
Before his mind can catch up, he feels a wad of cash slithering into his palm.
“Just go with it,” Namjoon murmurs from beside him, already clapping.
He gulps as he peers down at the bills in his hand. The girl in blue has climbed onto the small raised platform in the center of their table, one hand wrapping around the pole. Up close she’s gorgeous—warm tanned skin, black curly hair spilling over one shoulder, a devious twinkle in her eye.
Her hips roll in a figure eight, one hand trailing the length of the pole as the other moves down her waist. She turns, spine arching back, and the boys lose their collective minds. Bills flutter onto the platform like confetti, and a small smile contorts onto her plush lips.
With both hands, she drops into a low squat, thighs spread, and comes back up in a languid motion. Hoseok physically slaps the table, tossing twenties to no avail.
Okay, calm down, he thinks distantly. His heartbeat is picking up in his chest.
She spins, one leg extending wide, the momentum carrying her around the pole in a slow arc before she hooks her knee and drops back in a hang that makes the fabric of her lingerie ride up her thighs. The light catches her and Jungkook forgets, very briefly, that he came here against his will.
Taehyung’s on his feet as fast as he can move. Jungkook can only watch in horror as Taehyung peels a bill from his stack and stuffs it right into the waistband of her panties. She giggles and turns toward him. Tae grins up at her and she leans down, curly hair falling forward, and shakes her chest right in his face.
Taehyung tips his head back and says something Jungkook cannot hear over the music, but it evokes another laugh from her. Jungkook’s mind is blank, save for the images of ass and tits flying across his vision.
Jungkook sits very still and feels something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time shift somewhere low in his stomach.
He is not indifferent, it turns out.
He is just very, very in over his head.
The girl turns back to the rest of them, eyeing them up as though to decide her next victim. Her eyes linger on Jungkook for a few seconds, and his heart thumps out of its cage.
He’s aware of what he looks like. He’s not a fool, after all. Tattooed arm, a body sculpted by Greek gods, multiple facial and ear piercings. The irony of it is not lost on him—all that packaging, none of the experience to back it up.
He’s had girls lining up to talk to him, but not a single one that could hold his interest. Jungkook could care less.
But it seems she recognizes he’s not eager to talk to her, and so she focuses her attention on Jimin, who’s practically panting like a puppy left out in the sun for too long. She does a few tricks for him on the pole, all of which are rewarded with bills and yells.
“Candy, you don’t plan on keeping these boys all to yourself, do you?”
A melodic voice, almost like a siren’s, floats into Jungkook’s ear. His body stiffens, muscles taut as his eyes avert over the table to spot a woman.
Jungkook’s not gay by any means. He’s also not fucking blind. The woman that stands before him is an angel, a goddess, a temptation for him sent from hell. Adorned in red lacy lingerie and white knee socks with red bows on them… utterly fucking delicious.
He’s drooling.
“They’re all yours, Angel,” the stripper, apparently named Candy, says with a grin, sliding off the platform, and just like that she relinquishes the pole like a crown being passed. In one smooth motion, you climb up, nimble fingers wrapping around the pole. Immediately, his friends turn into wild animals, even more explicit than before. Taehyung stands from his seat, eyes blanking as he observes how your thong hugs your hips and ass.
You alternate through a series of movements—slow spin, then fast, one leg extended in a line. You hook your knee around the pole and lean back, hair falling away from your face, and the red lace catches the light. Jungkook’s higher brain functions vacate the premises. Money rains onto the platform, more than he expected.
He realizes he’s also holding money, and it’s as though a lightbulb flashes above his head. Oh shit, he thinks. He wants to spend his entire wallet on you.
You climb down and drop straight into Namjoon’s lap like you’ve known him for years. Kim Namjoon, the most composed man Jungkook has ever met, grins like an idiot. You lean in close to say something to him, pink, lush lips brushing his ear, and Namjoon laughs low before responding with a hushed whisper.
Slowly, you pull away from his ear, eyes twinkling.
And then you glance over at Jungkook.
It’s a half-second, a flicker, the most minor redirection of your attention imaginable. A slide of your eyes that lands on him and then lifts away.
His cock twitches in his pants. It is, quite literally, the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. In that moment, he realizes he wants nothing more than your attention, your time, you. But he just doesn’t know what he has to do to get such a thing. To be able to deserve a woman as delectable as you.
A flutter of giggles escapes your mouth, cheeks ruddy as you get up from Namjoon’s lap.drifting around the curve of the table, all seven pairs of eyes track you like flowers following light. Taehyung fans himself with a hundred dollar bill, and you immediately gravitate towards him.
Jungkook watches you kiss his cheek. Watches Taehyung’s hands find your waist. Watches him stuff a fistful of bills into the back of your lingerie, give your ass a playful smack that you welcome with a laugh. He wants to blow his brains out.
He deadpans at the ice bucket instead.
“Fucking hottest girl I’ve ever seen," Namjoon mutters beside him, just loud enough for him to catch, "Don’t you think, Jungkook-ah?”
Jungkook’s tongue is tied into knots.
“She’s a sin,” Namjoon continues.
Across the table, you laugh at something Taehyung says, head tipping back, throat exposed, and the red lace shifts. Jungkook moves with it, recrossing his legs under the table and tugging his shirt down to hide the growing tent in his pants.
Namjoon notices the movement, looking down for a millisecond before peering at Jungkook smugly.
He claps Jungkook on the back, “Welcome,” he says, “to being a fucking man.”
“I hate you so fucking much right now.”
“Your dick doesn’t hate me.”
He’s not technically wrong, per se. Jungkook just refuses to admit he’s right.
Taehyung leans up to murmur something in your ear, and you pull back with a slow smile spreading across your face.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no—your body turns to look directly at Jungkook.
Jungkook has closed deals worth nine figures, has sat across from men who built empires from nothing and held their gaze at the age of 20 without a care in the world. He has endured his father’s silent disappointment across a dinner table for 30 consecutive years.
Like a cartoon character with a fork stuck in his throat, he gulps audibly.
You start walking toward him, your eyes piercing into it. They don’t leave his face not once, not even to check where you’re stepping or acknowledge the table erupting in cheers around you.
Namjoon slides over calmly to make room, and Jungkook watches the space beside him open up and thinks what the fuck are you doing and means it directed at every single person in this room, including himself.
You stop in front of him, and he peers up at you. In those heels, you tower over him, and he notices the smirk that’s curved upon your lips. Evil. You’re fucking evil.
Trepidly, you sink down onto your knees, maintaining eye contact.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god —
His cock twitches so hard he has to lock every muscle in his body to keep from visibly reacting.
“Hi,” you smile.
“Hi,” he replies with bated breath.
You already know. He can tell you already know exactly what you’re doing to him and precisely how badly he’s losing. Somehow that makes it so much worse and so much better.
Your hand comes to land up on his thigh, snaking up and up until he swears you’re going to stick your hand in his pants. You stop right on his inner thigh, feeling the muscle. He swears he sees a twinkle in your eyes at the realization. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm every nerve ending in his body.
“What’s your name, pretty boy?” you whisper, trying not to be heard by the group of animals that he unfortunately calls his friends.
“J-Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”
“Jungkook.” You repeat the name with so much seduction it almost doesn’t even sound recognizable to him.
You stand up, and he exhales the deepest breath. God fucking damnit. Of course you’re done with him—he stuttered his own name like he’d never used it before. He watches you straighten up and thinks okay. okay, that’s fine. that was a normal amount of humiliation for one evening.
But instead of leaving, your knee lands on the cushion beside his thigh, followed by the other one, and then you’re in his lap. The air leaves his lungs in one swift, silent evacuation. Your lace panties settle directly over the front of his pants and you shift forward, eyes panning down between you.
With a lift of your brows, you move again. Shit. He knows what you found. He can feel exactly what you found and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.
Shit shit shit—
“Look at little Kookie!” Taehyung’s voice echoes across the table, ringing in Jungkook’s ear. “He’s pink!”
Jungkook turns to look at his alleged friends with the dead eyes of a man considering his options.
And then he feels your warm hand, two fingers catching his jaw, turning his face back to yours.
“Don’t look at them, baby.” Your voice is low, meant only for him. “Look at me.”
God help him, he does.
Your eyes hold his for a moment that stretches longer than it should, and then—your hips gyrate forward in a slow circle. The warm drag of your hips moves against his, and nothing, not a single thing, has ever felt like this in his years of living.
“You’re really pretty,” you giggle, looping your arms around his neck, rolling your hips in a figure eight that makes his vision white out at the edges.
Behind you, the boys are losing their minds. Money’s flying, and Jungkook cannot process any of it because you’re shifting again, turning so that your back is pressing into his broad chest. You lean back into him, head dropping to his shoulder, and the slide of red lace against his cock is making him see actual stars. He can’t hide the groan that escapes him.
Leaning your head back to face him, you’re close enough that your breath fans across his jaw. “You’re so tense, pretty boy. These hands doing anything useful or just decorating the couch?”
He really can’t argue, because his hands are pressed flat against the cushions on either side of him, white-knuckled and rigid like he’s bracing for a car crash. “I—” he begins.
“Need help?”
Helplessly, he nods.
You reach down, take his hands and settle them on your hips. The lace is soft under his palms, plush skin warm to the touch.
“Hold on right there,” you whisper. “Don’t let go.”
An actual, audible, involuntary whimper crawls up his throat and escapes before he can catch it. With his hands on your hips he can feel every single movement now, every roll and dip and shift of your weight, and it is so much better than anything he has ever done alone in the dark of his penthouse that it almost feels like a personal insult to every year that came before this one.
“F-fuck,” he exhales. "You’re so—you’re so g-good—”
“Yeah?” You straddle him once more, knees digging into the couch, your eyes pausing to glance at his lips before meeting his eyes. Your finger comes up, tracing slowly along his lower lip, catching on the small metal ring of his lip piercing and playing with it before releasing. “What a pretty piercing for a pretty boy.”
“You like it?” Jungkook feebly asks, even though he knows you do. Every girl likes it, but none have caught his eye the way you do.
Silently, you reach past him then, fingers closing around the forgotten wad of cash still sitting on the cushion where Namjoon pressed it into his palm a lifetime ago. He watches as you lean back in his lap and drag the bills languidly across your chest, the red lace, down over the curve of your waist.
You peer up at him from under your lashes. “You were just going to let all this go to waste?” you ask, clicking your tongue.
“I—” he swallows. "I didn't know—like the protocol—”
The dopey smile that breaks across your face sends vibrations to his cock. “You’re doing so well for me already.”
You lean forward again, closing the distance, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hips keep moving. Without a second thought, he grips your hips tighter.
Somewhere behind you, he distantly registers that the boys are no longer watching. Other girls have materialized at the table, except for Namjoon and Hoseok, who are deep in a drunk conversation. It’s just you and him.
Your teeth graze his earlobe. “You know, when I saw you, I thought you’d be trouble.” A soft giggle leaves your lips. “Turns out you’re harmless.”
“I—” he starts, some distant fragment of pride assembling itself. “I’m not—”
“Harmless,” you repeat, pulling back to look at him. “The sweetest thing in this whole place.”
For an irrational moment, Jungkook forgets every reason why he can’t be caught here.
And then it’s his father’s disapproving tone, thinks about the words you represent this family everywhere you go, Jungkook, everywhere, and the Google alerts and the face his father makes when he’s upset and how Jungkook has spent his entire life trying to prevent that specific expression.
He could call his driver, go home, pretend this whole evening was a fever dream. After all, this is exactly the kind of situation that becomes a headline. Jeon heir spotted at—
Suddenly, your hands leave his shoulders. The warmth of your weight lifts off his lap all at once and the absence of it is so sudden that his body mourns it, an embarrassing physiological grief response he didn’t know he was capable of. Left behind with a raging boner that is apparent to the naked eye.
You smooth down your lingerie. Roll your shoulders back. And just like that the curtain comes back up, a polished version of you, like the last twenty minutes happened only to him. “Bye boys," you say to the table and the ones paying attention halfheartedly wave.
Then you turn to him. “Bye, Jungkook. It was nice to meet you.” With a wink, you disappear off to the next table, and all he can do is stare at the space where you were once sitting, his cock standing tall and proud in his pants.
He becomes aware, slowly, that Namjoon is looking at him. “Don’t start.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
“Ah Jungkook-ah, you just need to fuck a girl and get it over with!”
Kim Seokjin, for all his years of knowledge and wisdom, is a bit of a menace when liquor enters his bloodstream.
Jungkook has become overtly aware of two things: 1) he’s the drunkest he’s ever been and 2) the boner in his pants has yet to go down.
He had briefly considered going into the bathroom to jerk off, but that would be too obvious and embarrassing to admit, even to himself. Instead, he would much rather subject himself to the torture of his best friends and let three other women dance on him to erase the taste of you from his mouth.
Each woman was attractive, but they didn’t entice him the way you had. Even after an hour of sitting at this couch, throwing bills upon bills, nothing felt as ethereal as the feeling of your weight upon him, as though he had claimed you.
“I’m not just going to fuck any girl,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, tipping his head back to take another shot of whiskey.
“Why not?!” Jin motions wildly with his glass, sloshing amber liquid alarmingly close to the rim. “You’re 30! You’re rich! You look like… that!” He waves his hand at Jungkook’s being. “What are you saving your best years for? Soon we’ll all be pumping ashes out of our cock—”
“Jin—”
“Dust will leak from our tips!-”
“I’m going to fucking murder you.”
“He’s waiting for love,” Jimin notes, words slurred from the effects of alcohol. A black-haired girl is draped across his lap, lips peppering kisses on his supple skin. “It’s actually very romantic if you think about it.”
“I am not waiting for love.”
“He’s waiting for her,” Taehyung whispers, pointing across the room. Without even turning to look, Jungkook knows they’re talking about you. Mostly because he hasn’t been able to stop looking at you for the past hour, heat rising to his cheeks when he watches you dance on other men.
“The red lingerie girl has him in a chokehold,” Tae continues to nobody, nodding as though Jungkook is suffering from a grave disease. “I’ve seen this before. This is a chokehold situation.”
“No one except my dad has me in anything, Taehyung,” he argues.
“Your cock has suggested otherwise,” Yoongi snorts, not even looking up from his drink.
Jungkook tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, thinks about how peaceful his penthouse is right now. How peaceful. How completely devoid of these people.
From his peripheral, he watches as Hoseok leans over and cups his hand around Namjoon’s ear. He has known Kim Namjoon for ten years and he knows exactly what Namjoon’s listening face looks like versus Namjoon's scheming face. This is the second one. Very much the second one.
Namjoon’s eyes light up, and Jungkook’s body has a visceral reaction. Namjoon turns to Jin. Whispers something. Jin’s face splits into a grin so enormous it looks like his lips will crack in two.
Flatly, Jungkook asks, “What is happening right now?”
Not a single one of his friends answers. They’re doing the hive thing—buzzing between each other, passing from person to person, grins multiplying like a virus.
Jungkook clears his throat. “Excuse me.”
Namjoon ignores his words and stands up. “Where are you going,” Jungkook blurts, panic bursting in his chest. “Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. Where are you—”
But he’s already gone, sliding through the crowd, and Jungkook watches him disappear toward the back of the club where a woman in all black is standing with a clipboard. The bottom of his stomach drops out completely. He turns to the remaining members of his betrayal circle. “Whatever he’s doing, stop it now—”
“Shh,” Jin serenely says, patting his knee.
“I don’t care that I’m younger, don’t shh me.”
“Shhh.” Jungkook shrugs him off and cranes his neck toward where Namjoon is now deep in conversation with the clipboard woman, nodding, reaching into his jacket pocket. His wallet comes into view. Fuck.
Jungkook can’t imagine whipping out a wallet at the strip club is anything but bad news.
“I’m leaving,” Jungkook announces, planting both hands on the table. The way he sees it, he has about ten minutes to escape before he either blacks out or embarrasses himself even more.
Two pairs of hands push him back down immediately. “You’re not going anywhere, big boy,” Hoseok tuts.
“You’re detaining me.”
“It’s a birthday gift,” Taehyung argues, “You can’t refuse a birthday gift. It’s rude.”
“Watch me.”
Jungkook abruptly feels a slap on his back, and when he looks up, it’s Namjoon reclaiming his seat beside him, a sinister grin plastered on his face. “You’re welcome.”
Sighing, he shakes his head. “For what?”
“Happy birthday, Jungkook-ah.”
“That didn’t answer my fucking question, Namjoon.”
Before Jungkook can pester further, a shadow falls over the table. The woman with the ominous clipboard and headset is standing at the edge of their booth, and she doesn’t particularly look like she’s here to refill their drinks or anything tame.
“Which one of you is Jeon Jungkook?”
Of fucking course.
The boys erupt like zoo animals. Clapping, hollering, hands slapping his back from every direction simultaneously. Jungkook wants to cry, maybe throw himself off the balcony of his penthouse.
The woman smiles at him. “Follow me.”
“What—”
Namjoon’s hand closes around his arm and hauls him bodily upright. “Up you go, buddy.”
“I’m not—this is—you can’t just—”
But none of it matters—his feet are carrying him, brain several steps behind. He’s following the clipboard woman through the club in what feels like cement shoes. As he walks, he peers around the club—other men at tables, women moving through the dim light to reach their poles, money piling on the floor.
He is the only one who looks like he’s being escorted to his own execution.
The woman stops at a door at the back of the club. It’s unmarked, flush against the wall. She pushes it open, and the first and only thing Jungkook sees is red. Everything inside is red. A plush crimson couch curved against the far wall, red LED light bleeding over every surface.
Even the color red turns him on now. That must be your doing.
“Wait right here,” the woman instructs, stepping back toward the door. “Your private dancer will be here to join you shortly.
“My what?!”
He’s so fucked that he might need to use a new word to describe how utterly fucked he is.
The door slams shut behind her, a finite ending to his arguing. There’s no going back.
His cock jumps in his pants, and Jungkook looks down at himself in indignation. Bad, he thinks. Bad. Bad dog. We are leaving.
But he thinks that even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t. He’s thinking of you, towering over him, asserting your dominance over him. He’s spent most of his life being in charge, and for once, someone else is taking the reins and letting him sit back.
He stands in the middle of the red room until finally, his legs give up the principle of the thing and carry him to the couch. He should have known. From the moment Namjoon’s wallet came out he should have connected the dots because Kim Namjoon does not spend money without intention, has never done anything without intention, and Jungkook has known this for years and still walked directly into it like a fool.
Pressing both palms to his knees, wiping the sweat off them, he stares at the door. It might not be her, he reasons. It’s probably not her. There are lots of girls here. It could be anyone.
It would be foolish to assume someone like you would not be taken already by another dominant, assertive man. Sure, Jungkook probably has the money that most men in this club dream of, but he doesn’t have an ounce of the confidence that he needs to handle you.
Jeon Jungkook is currently sweating through an expensive shirt in a red room the size of a closet because a girl in lingerie might walk through that door.
The door swings open and the first thing Jungkook sees is—red.
Red flashes across his vision and it’s all he can see or think about.
You step inside and the LED light catches the lace, makes your curves look like they were designed by a Greek god. For a moment, your eyes adjust to the dim light, averting around the space to try and make sense of your surroundings.
But when they finally land on him, there’s a dangerous twinkle dancing in your eyes.
“We meet again.”
Loudly, he swallows whatever drool has accumulated in his mouth. The door clicks shut behind you and you move toward him, heels marking an agonizing rhythm against the floor.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
He cranes his neck as you approach, tracking you up until you’re standing directly in front of him and he has to tip his head all the way back to hold your gaze. Your lips are freshly glossed with red lipstick, he notes.
“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “I was starting to think you were scared of me.”
He opens his mouth (to say what, he’s not sure of.)
“Are you, Jungkook?” You pause, lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Scared?”
Without a single reservation, yes, he is. But he’s not entirely useless—he’ll never admit that.
Clearly, you take his non-response as an admittance of defeat. Your hand comes down, cradling the side of his face. Your manicured thumb traces his cheekbone. “Hey. We don’t have to do anything, you know. I know your friends booked this.” Your eyes are steady on his, reading him the way you’ve been reading him all night. “Or…”
He blinks like a teenage boy, saliva pooling in his mouth as you hold your words for a second.
“Do you want me, Jungkook?”
Embarrassingly, devastatingly fast, his head bobs up and down before his brain has even finished processing the question. He wants to dissolve into the couch cushions and never be found.
Your smile breaks acros your features. Pearly white teeth come into view, the realest expression he’s seen on your face all night. “Good boy. Do you have any song requests?”
You turn toward the TV mounted on the wall, and he watches you move to it, your back to him now, and somehow that’s almost worse because he can just… look. He may be a virgin, but he’s not an idiot. Your perky ass is mere inches away from his face, and his fingers itch to reach out and squeeze the plush skin in his hand.
With his eyes still trained on your ass, he says, “U-um. Anything. I don’t—I don’t care.”
“Hmm.” You bite your lip, scrolling. Jungkook begins to hope you never turn back around so he can relish in the shape of your ass all night. That would be well worth Namjoon’s money, he thinks.
The opening beat of a song drops from the speakers and Jungkook goes completely still. Of all the songs in the world, it’s his favorite song.
2.0 by BTS.
He’s not ashamed to listen to their music, despite them being a typical k-pop boy group. Their shit is catchy. Sue him.
You swivel back around and your hands come down onto his thighs. You lean down enough that your hair falls forward and he can smell your perfume again. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
Your eyes drag themselves down to his pants, like they’re ogling at the very unfortunate situation he’s unable to handle. Then they drift back up as if you saw nothing at all.
“You know,” you say, your voice dropping to something that would be condescending if it were anyone else. “I’ve had a lot of men in this room.”
He swallows back the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. He’d rather not think about them. .
“But none of them—” your fingers press into his thighs, just slightly, “I’ve wanted to have as bad as I do you.”
He can feel his jaw go slack, eyes widening to the size of flying saucers.
You smile. Lean in until your lips brush the hinge of his jaw, a bare whisper of contact that makes every nerve ending in his body stand at guard. “You have no idea how bad I want you.”
Great. You must be attracted to tortured virgins who are rich and powerful but don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. “Lucky for you,” you pull back to look at him. “I’m going to take very good care of you.”
The weight on the couch shifts before he can really notice it, your knees digging into the sofa, until you’ve infiltrated every cell in his body. Above him, around him, your hands landing on his shoulders and squeezing, fingers pressing into the muscle there with a small sound of approval.
Your full, warm body settles onto his lap as though you’re at home, and really, he doesn’t think there’s enough oxygen in the room. The thought of how little space there is between you two wrings a sound out of him that he will be taking to his grave. Your panties graze slow over the length of his cock. “Fuck—”
His head drops back against the couch, neck going loose, and he stares at the ceiling like it might offer him salvation. Potentially a trapdoor.
He can feel your eyes lingering on his face, and not a single thing can be done about it because every resource he has is currently being allocated to not cumming in his pants.
Your clothed pussy drags over him through the thin barrier of your panties. He makes a sound that is not a word.
“There he is,” you murmur. Your hands slide from his shoulders up the sides of his neck, thumbs tracing his jaw, tipping his chin back down so he’s looking at you instead of the ceiling. “Stay with me.”
“I’m—” he tries. “I’m here. I’m very—I’m extremely here—”
The pace you set is torturing enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. Your lips curve. “You feel that?”
“I feel—” he swallows, “—yes. Yeah. I feel that.”
A hum leaves your mouth. Jungkook watches your eyes stay on his face and realizes with dawning, helpless clarity that you are observing every single reaction. Every twitch. None of it really matters, since he has no poker face left, has burned through every last reserve of composure he had somewhere around the moment you sat down.
Manicured hands slide down from his jaw to his chest, pressing flat against him, and you lean back to look at him from a new angle, hair falling over one shoulder, hips never breaking rhythm.
“Relax,” you softly say, fingers digging into his chest. “I can feel how tense you are.”
“I’m not tense—”
You perk an eyebrow.
“I work an intense job—”
“Jungkook.”
“Fine. I’m tense or whatever," he admits, “and I would appreciate it if you didn’t hold that against me.”
You giggle, and his stomach erupts into a nest of angry hornets, bloodthirsty insects that rival those ‘butterflies’ people get when they fall in love. Jungkook doesn’t do girls. Never has. He feels the need to remind himself once or twice.
“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, and your hips roll again, and he swears he can feel your folds against him. Or maybe wishful thinking.
He just can’t fucking think straight anymore.
“I-I’ve never done this b-before,” he whimpers as your ass rubs over his hardened length agonizingly slow. “I don’t r-really—fuck—talk to g-girls.”
His head falls back onto the couch again, small, erratic puffs of air escaping his lips.
You lean into his ear, lips coquettishly brushing against the crimson, heated skin. “I know.”
Kim Namjoon. When he gets his hands on him. It is so fucking over.
Your hands leave his shoulders. They move, traveling behind your back to undo the clip of your bra in one fell swoop. The red lace goes slack. You let it hang from two fingers, dangling, looking at his face the whole time. Then you let the red fabric drop to the floor.
Oh fuck.
Everything he knows about boobs is from porn itself. But up close, he can see your hardened peaks, stimulated and perky, ready for him to suck and play with. They’re just the right size, enough to cup in his hand. You lean forward, bracing your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head, closing the distance between you inch by inch until your nipples graze his chest through his shirt.
He shivers, cock twitching beneath you.
“Sensitive,” you note with a whisper.
“I have—I’m wearing a shirt—”
“I know.” Your lips brush his jaw. “Imagine if you weren’t.”
He grips your hips so hard the lace bunches under his fingers. “You have no idea,” you exhale against the hinge of his jaw, “what I want to do to you.”
“Tell me.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when it escapes him.“Please—”
You pull back to look at him, eyes an onyx black shade, lips parted.
“Have you ever touched yourself, Jungkook?” You punctuate your question with another slow grind. He whimpers in response, and the shame of it hardly registers because his cock is twitching and pulsing against his slacks, his boxers already damp with his arousal. He has never been less in control of his own body.
“Answer me.” Your nail drags across his jawline.
Jungkook can’t breathe. All he can do is grip the couch and try not to fall apart in front of a woman who looks like she has never fallen apart in her life.
“Y-yes.” he croaks, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I do.”
“Hm.” Your hips roll again, the lace of your panties catching against his slacks perfectly, perfectly, and his brain halts all coherent thoughts. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”
He thinks about women, mostly. They’re usually abstract, faceless, nothing like you. Nothing like the warm weight of you in his lap or the way you smell. Usually the entire ordeal takes him four minutes and he goes to sleep feeling embarrassed about the whole thing.
He does not say this.
“I— I think about girls.”
“Just girls?”
Your eyes peer down at him, sparkling with wonder. Your lips graze his cheek and every single neuron in his body fires at once. He’s going to fucking pass out.
God, he’s an idiot. He should’ve been having sex years ago. What was he so busy doing? Working? He gave up this for spreadsheets and impressing his father?
“Y-yeah,” he exhales. “Just—yeah.”
A small sound escapes you, something like a moan. The thought that you could be finding pleasure from this makes his cock pulse desperately in the confines of his pants.
“Well.” Your hand finds his, lifts it, and presses his palm to the curve of your hip. Guiding his grip, guiding your own rhythm, you turn him into an active participant in his own undoing.
“Next time you touch yourself.” You pick up the pace, slowly but steadily. “Think about this. Think about me. And how bad I want to fuck you.”
Fucking hell.
His eyes squeeze tight, tight, tight. Tries, desperately, heroically, pathetically, not to cum. Jungkook groans, and he feels your fingernails dig into his broad shoulders for stability as your movements become more frantic.
“F-Fuck,” he chokes out. “That feels so good.”
“I bet it does, baby,” you purr, and your angelic voice quells the fire in his core. “Bet your cock has been hungry for female attention, hasn’t it?”
“No.” Jungkook hastily replies, “N-No, just for you.”
He’s so fucking close, precum leaking out of his tip incessantly as each grind gets him closer and closer to his orgasm. Your tits bounce in his face, and he opens his eyes to see the sight that will forever be imprinted in his brain. Probably stored in his spank bank for the rest of time. Your cheeks are ruddy, eyes piercing into his, hair moving wildly, lace panties hugging every curve.
Fuck.
He’s going to cum untouched, like the virgin he is.
Underneath the red lights, your hand finds his, and you guide up, up, up, press his palm flat against your chest. Your eye contact doesn’t waver. “Fuck,” he groans, “fuck, I’m—”
You watch him with a faint smile on your face. Without instruction, his fingers find your nipple, toying with the hardened peak lazily. Rolling them softly, you make a small sound above him and a lightbulb goes off in his brain.
This is good for you too. You like what he’s doing. Holy. Shit.
He continues to massage your nipple as you rut against his thighs, and it’s only a matter of time. He is a virgin, after all.
Jungkook feels his cock twitch in his pants once, twice, before he’s moaning and whimpering as spurts of hot cum fill his boxers. His hand tightens around you on instinct, a sound leaving his throat that he has never made in his life, not once, not like this. He rides out his orgasm, shuddering and cursing under his breath, and your hips slow to ease him through it.
He’s not sure how long he cums for, if he’s ever even cum this hard before. But when it does finally end, he slumps back against the couch like his skeleton has resigned. Staring at his face, your own movements still.
Jungkook doesn’t keep track of time, only cares for the loss of the feeling of your body on his. You stand up, using his thighs for leverage to steady yourself.
Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, your eyes twinkle as you grin at him. “Come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy.”
Jungkook sounds like a broken record everytime he reminds himself he doesn’t do girls. He’s already convinced himself that his attraction to you is some sort of rebellion against his virginity.
That’s the only explanation as to why he’s standing outside Paradise Adult Club at 7 PM on a Monday holding an extravagant bouquet of red roses.
Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that his Sunday night was spent wallowing in despair, cringing at how fast he came in his pants after you dry humped him for five minutes. No, that piece will live in his brain exclusively. It’s embarrassing to admit how much of an effect you’ve had on him.
He’s never done anything nice for a girl in his life. Never took someone on a date, bought them flowers or jewelry, never held their hand just because he wanted to. He finds that shit cheesy, especially when his dad is yelling at him about some document from ten years ago.
But then again, he can’t say a lot of girls have had the effect on him that you do. You had him throwing his truths and ideologies out the window, disappearing under red lights and red lace and just… he really fucking loves the color red now.
The idea to stop by your place of work was a bold one, he can admit that much. It’s just that your last words to him before you strutted off ‘come and find me when you’re ready, pretty boy’ didn’t leave much room for representation. When he’s ready? Ready for you? Pretty sure he was ready for that the moment you laid eyes on him.
Or, maybe you were referring to being ready to lose his virginity. He’s certain Namjoon has set him up for failure, probably mentioned numerous times everyone thought he was gay. In that case, Jungkook was also more than ready, but only if it was to you. Only if it was to see your tight little pussy swallowing his cock whole, eliciting those same sounds you did a few nights ago.
Fuck, he needs to have you.
“Excuse me? Sir?”
A brunette hostess with a mousy voice jolts him out of his daydream, his cheeks rosy as if he’s been caught sniffing your panties. Her eyebrow is raised in confusion as she eyes the bouquet of roses. Chances are slim to none she’s ever seen those around a dance club before.
“Yes. Hi. I’m looking for—” he stops.
Oh. Jungkook comes to the very hapless realization that he, in fact, does not know your real name. He knows your stage name. Candy called you Angel. That’s what he has. Angel. Which is a stage name, obviously, not a real name, and showing up to a woman’s workplace asking for Angel with a bouquet of roses is somehow worse than what he’s already doing.
“She works here,” he starts.
The hostess blinks. “…several women work here, sir.”
“Right. Yes. She was, uh, she was working Saturday night. She had—” he gestures vaguely at his own chest, “—red. She was wearing red.”
“A lot of women wore red on Saturday too.”
Her patience is wearing thin.
“She had pretty hair.” He’s aware of how this sounds. “And she was—” another vague gesture, this time at his own face, “—she was very. You know.”
The hostess does not know. Her eyebrows are migrating slowly toward her hairline.
“Pretty,” he finishes, lamely. “Very pretty. Like, showstopping pretty.”
“Tall? About this height?” The hostess holds her hand up.
“Yes.”
“Works the private tables?”
“Uh, yeah,” he nods. “And uh, private rooms too.”
Something clicks behind the hostess’s eyes. Her brows lift in a completely different way now, a hint of recognition mixed with amusement.
“[Y/N]?” she asks.
[Y/N.]
He turns the name over in his head. Lets it settle. What a gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl, he thinks.
(It’s his first crush, so he lets himself be as shameless as he needs to be about it.)
“Sure,” he says. “Yes. That one. [Y/N].” Your name. He knows your name now. He likes it more than he has any reasonable right to. “Is she—can I—”
“She’s off today.” The hostess smiles at him, fake sympathy seeping through the gesture. “Sorry.”
Jungkook grips his bouquet of roses until his knuckles are white. “Oh,” he says.
“Yup.”
He looks down at the bouquet. Red roses, obviously, because he’s been colonized by a color. He’d had his assistant order them this morning and had not explained why and the look on her face had been something he’d also be taking to his grave.
“Is there any chance—” he starts.
“I can’t give out personal information, sir. Our dancers lead private lives outside of their place of work.”
Jungkook sighs, weaving his fingers through his hair with his free hand. He can’t blame the hostess for her unwillingness to help, but he can’t let you get away. “No, I know. I wasn’t going to—Could I leave these for her? Is that… is that something that’s allowed?”
The hostess looks at him for a long moment.
Then she sighs, rolling her eyes and beckoning him further into the club. “Follow me.”
Somewhere, there’s a god he’ll be thanking later.
The hostess leads him through a narrow hallway, behind the main floor, past a few closed doors, stopping at one left slightly ajar. When she pushes it open, it’s empty, save for the scattered lingerie and perfume bottles on the floor.
“You can just leave them there,” she says, gesturing at the vanity.
She turns to leave. He hears it distinctly, murmured under her breath as she goes, “Amateur hour.”
Jungkook chooses not to acknowledge that.
He steps inside and sets the roses down on the vanity, straightening them slightly, then immediately feeling insane for straightening them and stopping. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look around, but his ADHD gets the best of him as his eyes wander.
Your setup feels very you, although he’s only been aware of your existence for two days. The vanity mirror is framed with warm bulb lights, surface below it an organized chaos of things he has no reference for—foundation bottles and setting sprays lined up like little soldiers, a tray of eyeshadow with so many colors he can’t identify half of them. There’s trays of lip glosses, shades of red and pink that sent his brain into a tornado of horny thoughts.
And, yeah, that’s enough for today.
He turns to leave, trying to avoid eye contact with any of your other belongings he might find. But on the chair by the door sits a pair of panties.
Black. Lacy. Small enough to fit in one hand.
He stares at them, and they stare back. Every single rational thought he has ever had in thirty years of living lines up in his head and says, collectively and in unison: do not.
His hand moves independently of his brain, reaches out, closes around the fabric, and tucks it into his pocket in one fluid motion. Fuck. He did not plan that. That was not a decision he made, that was a decision his hand made, and he and his hand are going to have a very serious conversation about boundaries later—
He walks quickly, practically jogging. His shoes are loud in the hallway, he just needs to be outside, needs air, needs to be somewhere that isn’t the room where he just stole a woman’s underwear like some kind of pervert.
“Have a good evening, sir!” the hostess calls from the front.
“Yep,” he quickly retorts, not stopping.
The door swings shut behind him and the cool night air hits his face. Luckily, his car is still waiting at the curb. It’s a miracle his driver hasn’t left him for dirt, despite Jungkook telling him to not wait for him. Maybe he also thinks Jungkook is a big, fat loser and knew he would need a backup plan.
Jungkook gets in, stares straight ahead.
“Home, sir?”
“Immediately,” he says. “Please.”
With the knowledge of the black panties sitting pretty in his pocket, his cock puffs up in his pants, poking at his boxers, begging for air. Jungkook suddenly feels sweaty, even with the aircon set to 60 degrees.
By the time Jungkook gets home, he’s a full-on mess. His cock is leaking precum at the tip, dripping into his Calvin Klein boxers. He’s never felt like this before, never been so undeniably hungry for someone that his whole body feels like it’s on the verge of collapse.
Jungkook stumbles into his bedroom, sitting down on his bed and pulling out the pair of panties with shaky hands.
He recognizes this is not a defense, merely an observation—he has never stolen anything in his life. He is a man of principle, of discipline, of self-control that has served him exceptionally well for three decades. He has walked away from bad deals, bad investments, bad decisions, more times than he can count.
He cannot seem to walk away from this.
Jungkook brings them up to his face slowly. Presses the fabric against his face and inhales. The fabric is warm, floral detergent filling his nostrils, and he falls back against his mattress as though his spine has stopped working.
“Okay,” he says to the ceiling. “Okay.”
He is so far gone it’s almost funny.
Almost.
His veiny hands find his waistband. The pants go first, then his boxers shoved halfway down his thighs, and when his cock finally springs free it’s so painfully hard he actually hisses, slapping against his abdomen.
Thirty years old. CEO-in-waiting. Multiple degrees. Fluent in three languages. Lying in his bed with stolen lingerie and the most humbling erection of his life. He rushes to sit up against his headboard, otherwise his skeleton will fail him and he’ll fall straight down on his bed again. His cock is flushed, angry and red, glaring at him. The veins on the side of his length protrude, and he quickly gathers the seed of precum that’s spurted at the top to spread it around his tip. “Fuck,” he groans, head hitting the sturdy wood behind his head.
Jungkook lets saliva fall from his mouth right onto his cock, too desperate to search for lube or lotion. Another quick glide of his hand up and down his length, and he’s painfully hard. Your black panties are strewn to the side of his mattress haphazardly, and he makes eye contact with them for a split second.
He grabs them in his right hand. The lace is soft in his fist, softer than he expected, delicate little scalloped edges. He wraps the pair of panties loosely around his cock, and the sensation of it sends his brain into overdrive. Against him, the lace looks improper, something immoral.
He is a little ashamed of himself.
Unfortunately, he is also completely unable to stop.
He guides his hand up and down his length, at a pace that he normally goes at when he’s just frustrated. His brain supplies images in snapshots—the weight of you in his lap, hips rolling against his crotch. He thinks about your chest, bare in the red light. The small sounds you made when the pace shifted and you stopped being professional about it for a microsecond. He thinks about your hands guiding his, hold on right there, pretty boy.
Your thighs bracketing his, what it would feel like if there was nothing in between them… if you were actually—if he could actually watch you ride his cock, bouncing up and down on it as your tits moved in his face. He would probably press his face into them, so perfectly plump and ready for him.
“God, [Y/N],” he chokes out, to nobody, to the ceiling, to the concept of you existing in the world without his knowledge for however many years before Saturday.
Jungkook jerks himself off faster, twisting his hand at the ase just how he likes it when he wants to cum fast. His hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at the way your black panties are now covered in a mix of his saliva and precum.
He wants to see you covered in his cum, maybe on your perfect tits or those glossy lips, taking every ounce of him that your body can manage. He bets you would take it like a good girl, would do anything just to please him and suck him dry of his money.
It doesn’t take long before his mind is spiraling down a drain and he’s on the brink of his orgasm. It was never going to take long. It bubbles in his core, the knot in his stomach unfurling, and then he’s cumming, with a loud whimper and a “Fuck, fuck. [Y/N],” staining your panties with hot, white ropes of cum. Jungkook doesn’t know how long his orgasm lasts, just that he’s never cum that hard in his entire life, not with the essence of you on your panties lingering so nearby.
For a long time, he sits on his bed, panties still balled in his fist. He sets them down very carefully on his nightstand like they’re evidence. In some sick twisted way, they are. They’re evidence of whatever is happening to him, whatever you cracked open in that private room, whatever he has blindly been waiting thirty years to feel and was not prepared for when it finally arrived.
But Jungkook knows one thing for sure: he can’t go on like this. He has to have you, one way or another.
Sometimes, you really fucking hate your job.
Men over the age of 40, married with two kids, will treat you with such disregard, as though you’re a piece of meat lucky enough to be desired by them. Your boss, Natalie, is a fucking cunt who takes half your earnings some nights, just to assert her dominance. Some nights, it’s so slow that you and the other dancers watch paint dry on the wall in your dressing rooms.
But sometimes, when the stars align and the universe throws you a bone, you really, really love your job.
Those nights are harder to come by. Usually, they start with a man throwing wads of cash at you, or stuffing them into the hem of your panties. They end with a private lap dance in the red room, where you rake in enough cash to pay off ten months of rent in advance.
But in the case of Jeon Jungkook, although your night started and ended the same way with him, you were utterly, completely intrigued by the harmless creature you had made cum in his pants last weekend.
His friends had showered you with cash, but Jungkook sat back in fear, watching you with a hypnotized gaze that never wavered. It was like he was captivated by every movement, hanging on every gyration of your hips. Namjoon didn’t need to tell you he was a virgin. You could smell it on him, something you predicted with just one glance.
And now, that virgin had infiltrated your every thought.
When you stumbled into the club on Tuesday, you saw the fresh bouquet of red roses lying on your vanity, and immediately knew who they were from. Sure, you had other older suitors at the club, some regulars, but none that would bring you flowers or shower you in anything but money. No, this was the gift of a boy, someone who wasn’t quite yet a man.
Quite honestly, you wanted to defile Jeon Jungkook.
So you waited. You waited and you waited, but he didn’t show up all week. By Friday, you were beginning to lose hope of seeing the aforementioned man again. You settled back into your old routine, hoping to get him off your mind with older, more forward men. It’s not like you were having sex with them. It’s a firm line you never wanted to cross, made that clear the first day you started.
It’s also not every day a hot, buff, tatted guy with bunny teeth and puppy-dog eyes walks into your club.
Saturday begins the same way it always does. Saturday nights at Paradise run like a well-oiled machine, and you are one of its most valuable parts.
The private tables are usually packed by 9PM, main stage rotating girls every twenty minutes. Bartenders furiously make drinks for eager men with open wallets, scanning for a dancer they can claim as their own for the night. You move through it with ease, a calming sensation spreading through your limbs. At least for now, this place has become your sanctuary. Or until the number in your head for your mother’s hospital bills finally hits zero.
Candy (also known as Lisa, but no one calls her that anymore) materializes out of nowhere, falling into step beside you. Since the day you joined Paradise, you two have shared a dressing room, secrets, lip gloss, and even underwear. She’s in gold tonight, hair pinned up, already counting a wad of bills from her regular client. Her hand connects with your bare ass, smacking the firm skin hard enough to leave a mark. “Lover boy show his face yet?”
“Haven’t seen him.” You adjust your bra strap without breaking stride. “Don’t think he can handle me, honestly.”
She snorts, “Yeah, no shit. Baby, he came in his pants from a lap dance.” She tucks the bills into her garter. “He cannot handle you. That’s the whole point.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going easy on him. Letting him come to me if he wants.”
Candy stops walking entirely to look at you. “You’ve never gone easy on anyone in your life.”
“I’m feeling charitable.” You try to walk around her, but she holds her arms out.
“We don’t do free shit around here,” she squints her eyes at you, sizing you up. She knows you better than most people do, which is usually a positive, but has now turned into what you hate most about her.
“Listen, the guy’s obviously a virgin.” You roll your eyes. “Not to mention, he’s fucking stacked. Like, loaded loaded. He’s also hot. Need I go on?”
She stares at you for a long moment as though she’s watching a car accident happen in slow motion. Then she opens her mouth to refute.
“CANDY. [Y/N].”
Natalie’s voice bellows across the floor. Your boss is standing by the bar in all black, clipboard tucked under her arm, wearing the expression she reserves for moments when she feels her 40% cut is not being adequately earned. “Floor. Now. Both of you. Please, for the love of God.”
Candy mouths a not-so-subtle we’ll talk later and runs off toward the main stage. You turn back toward the floor, scanning the private tables, already taking mental note of the bachelor party in the far left corner. There’s eight guys, sashes, someone wearing a veil ironically. They’d keep you busy for an hour tops, and everyone knows bachelor parties are where the money is—
Natalie’s hand lands on your shoulder, redirecting you with zero ceremony. “Not that one.”
You turn. “The bachelor party has—”
“Got it covered. I need you at table five.” She steers you firmly. “He’s alone.”
You raise a brow. “He got money?”
Natalie gives you a side eye that could scare kids on Halloween. “Yes, dumbass.”
“How much money?”
“Just enough.” She releases your shoulder and delivers a brisk slap to your ass that you choose not to comment on. “Make me proud.”
Cursing under your breath, you start toward table five, fluffing your hair as you walk, rolling your shoulders back. Chin up, gaze level, lips pouted. Table five is tucked slightly off the main floor, dim even by Paradise standards.
As you approach the booth, you excitedly say, “Hi—”
The word dissolves in your mouth.
Because sitting at table five, in a dark t-shirt that hugs his tattooed biceps, turning a glass of whiskey between his hands nervously, is Jeon Jungkook.
He lifts his eyes to yours. For a second, he has the audacity to look surprised, like he didn’t come here specifically. He blinks at you and his ears go bright pink.
“Well,” you say, recovering first, “Look who found his nerve.”
His eyes rake over your figure, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
You don’t want to let the poor man suffer for too long. Swinging yourself into his lap, your knees straddle his thighs. A sharp inhale escapes him, hands flying up instinctively before freezing mid-air like he’s forgotten whether touching is allowed, ears going from pink to red in one second flat. “Nothing to be shy about, pretty boy,” you murmur.
He lowly whimpers. A soft and involuntary noise, his jaw snapping shut like he can take it back.
“I got your gift,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him an inch closer to you. His sculpted chest is pressed against your tits, and he doesn’t need to take his shirt off for you to decipher how buff he is.
His eyes go wide. “Y-yeah? Did you like them?”
You tilt your head, lips brushing against his jawline. “How did you know my favorite color was red?”
(It’s not. Your favorite color is green, has been since you were seven years old. But he doesn’t need to know that, and the way his body tenses when you say it is worth every cent of the lie.)
“L-lucky guess,” he stammers, and looks so pleased with himself.
“You’re a smart boy.” You press a chaste kiss to his jaw, then to his neck, and you feel his cock twitch underneath you. He shifts a little, trying to hide it, but you press down further.
His hands hover at your hips, still not quite landing, suspended in that same paralyzed uncertainty from the private room last week.
“You can touch me.”
He doesn’t spare a moment. His hands land directly on your hips, curling into the fabric of your underwear that rides high.
“Tell me why you came back,” you coyly bat your eyelashes. You know exactly why he’s here and what he wants, but you’ll let him tell you. After all, that’s what you instructed him to do. To come and find you when he was certain he was ready. Even though it was unspoken, he had to have known what you meant.
“I–I wanted to, uh, see you,” he swallows thickly, struggling to maintain eye contact.
“Alone?” You tilt your head.
“My friends don’t know I’m here.”
“Ah, so I’m your secret?” you tease.
“N-no!” He leans forward, brunette hair falling into his eyes. God, he’s so fucking cute. “No, you’re not. I just—this is new for me.”
“What is?”
Say it, Jungkook. Say it.
“You… you know what.”
“You know,” you say, leaning in slightly so he can feel your hardened nipples through your bra, “most men who come in here alone aren’t shy about what they want.”
“I’m not shy,” he pouts.
You roll your hips over his half-hard cock, and he exhales. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Jungkook. You are a big, strong man.”
He owlishly blinks at you, trying to understand what mind game you’re playing on him. Not that it matters, since he’s putty in your hands.
“So prove to me that you want me.”
You tip his chin up with two fingers, pulling his gaze back to yours. “Hey,” you say quietly. “Right here.”
Hurriedly, like he’ll lose the words, he says, “I touched myself to you. Like you said.”
“Yeah? Did you cum?”
“I did,” he pauses, mulls over his next words. “I came so hard I almost cried.”
“Wish I could’ve seen that.” You kiss his neck, teeth biting down on his soft skin before soothing it with your tongue. A sweet moan echoes in your ear as you suck on his skin, sure to leave a blooming purple bruise on him. “What did you think about?”
“You… and me.” Your lips travel to a different park of his neck, littering a new section with sloppy hickies. “You…ah, fuck… on top of me, riding me. Making me cum again. I wondered w-what it would feel like if there were no clothes between us.”
Your hands slide from his jaw down his chest, feeling him tense under every inch of movement. “And what did you decide?” you ask. “Would it feel good?”
“I think it would feel like—I think you would ruin me,” he whimpers.
It’s written all over his face, plain and undefended, the way everything is with him, and you think about all the men who have sat where he’s sitting and uttered the complete opposite. Your hands drift lower, finding him at your hips, and you guide them up over your waist, ribcage, until his palms are cupped over your tits, fingers curling around you through the thin fabric of your bra.
He breaks your gaze. Looks down at his tattooed hands cupping your breasts.
“Jungkook,” you say.
He looks back up like a puppy following orders from a trainer.
“Still with me?”
“Yeah,” he exhales, massaging your tits with his massive hands. “Yeah,‘m very—I’m extremely with you.”
You roll your hips forward and watch his eyes flutter. “Good,” you murmur, lips brushing the corner of his jaw, cheek, the soft skin below his ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
“You have?”
“Mhm. Kept thinking about how good you’d feel inside me.” Your thumb traces his lower lip, catching the piercing. His cock is hard against you now, has been since you sat down, and you roll over it slightly, enough to feel him inhale sharply through his nose and grip you. “I want you to cum inside me, fill me up the way I know you want to.”
“O-oh,” he breathes, rutting his hips up to feel more. “I want that too.”
“You’d take it like a good boy, wouldn’t you?” You tug at the piercing, running your fingers over his supple pink lips.
“Y-yes, please. Anything.”
His eyes are glossed over with lust, so much that you doubt he’s hearing a word you say. “I bet my pussy feels so good wrapped around your cock. Bet you’re—”
“How much?”
Huh?
Your brows furrow, and his hands halt all movements on your tits. “What do you mean?”
“H-how much for a private room?”
He eyes you expectantly, chest heaving.
Of all the things you expected him to say in this moment, it was not that. You’re half naked in his lap, you just told him you’d been thinking about him all week, and he’s asking for a price point.
The old version of this interaction writes itself easily. You name the number, take him to the back, take his money, take what you want, and send him home by midnight. Clean cut.
You’ve done it a hundred times.
But then he’s looking at you with those eyes, looking like a kicked puppy. An obscenely wealthy, tattooed, jawline-having kicked puppy who brought you roses on a Tuesday and almost cried when he came.
You genuinely, physically cannot take his money right now.
“I don’t want your money, Jungkook,” you say.
He stares at you like you’ve grown an extra head. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I—” he frowns, “—that’s not—you should take it, it’s fine, I have it—”
You shift in his lap, rolling your eyes. “I know you have it.”
“So just let me—”
“I want you,” you shrug. “Not your money. You.”
He goes still underneath you, like he’s running it back trying to find the catch. His brows pull together. “That doesn’t make any sense—”
And before he can question you any further, you kiss him.
You don’t plan it. One second he’s trying to logic his way out of being wanted and the next your hand is at his jaw and your mouth is on his and he makes a strangled sound against your lips. A muffled noise falls from his lips, and you swallow it down. For half a second, he’s frozen, your lips guiding themselves. He clearly has no idea what to do.
And then something gives way in him all at once and he kisses you back clumsily. His lips try to match your speed, and you cup his jaw in your hand to guide him as best you can.
Jungkook lets out a soft moan, fingers digging into your waist so he can tug you closer to him. It feels like your body is melding into his, becoming one. The sound of misogynistic men waving cash around fades into the background, and you forget where you are. Only a mere moment, until you snap back into it. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he licks into your mouth desperately. You open your mouth a bit to let him explore, and his tongue is so soft and warm that butterflies erupt in your stomach unexpectedly.
When he pulls away, his cheeks are red, breath escaping him in puffs. Those doe eyes of his are twinkling under the light, bunny teeth poking out underneath his top lip.
“I—was that, um, okay?”
Oh god. You’re going to ruin this man’s life.
You bashfully giggle. “It was perfect, pretty boy. Are you sure this is your first time?”
Jungkook nods a few times like a broken bobblehead. You chuckle, shaking your head. Your voice lowers an octave. “I want more of you.”
“R-really?” He squeaks.
Rather than answer him with words (which he seems to understand so little of), you peel yourself off his lap, taking his hand in yours and tugging him off the couch. Jungkook stands, brows stitched together in confusion. You’d forgotten how tall he was, how much of him there is.
The floor parts around you as you move through it, the Saturday night chaos swallowing the two of you whole. You catch Natalie’s eye near the bar. She locks eyes with Jungkook and gives you an enthusiastic double thumbs up from behind her clipboard.
She’d lose her mind if she knew you were walking her highest-paying client of the night to the back for free. That’s a problem for later.
You push open the door to the red room. The LED light bleeds warm over everything.
Turning, you push him onto the couch with one hand flat against his chest and he plops into it with a soft exhale, hair falling across his forehead, looking up at you with those eyes. Puppy dog eyes, you think.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about all week?” you say, reaching up to slide one strap off your shoulder. Then the other.
He frantically shakes his head.
“Taking you apart,” you murmur. “Until you don’t remember your own name.”
“That’s—” he swallows thickly, “—that’s fine. Y-yes.”
You reach behind you and unclasp your bra.
For some reason unknown to you, it’s at this moment that you remember what you’re actually doing.
You’re standing in the red room on a Saturday night about to take the virginity of a man, a man who looked at you in a room full of women and somehow only saw you.
His eyes drop to your bare chest, perked nipples on display
The moment of clarity evaporates completely. You don’t feel bad at all.
Sinking to your knees, you crawl over to where he sits. The carpet is soft beneath your knees. You place your hands flat on his thighs and look up at him, plump, pink lips parting, hands gripping the couch cushions on either side of him. You run your hands slowly up his thighs, feeling the muscle jump under your palms, and tilt your head. “Is this okay, pretty boy?”
“Y-yes. It’s okay,” he hurries to respond like you might rid him of this moment.
“Have you ever been titty-fucked before?” you blink up at him, already knowing the answer.
His cheeks turn the color of the lights. His hand comes up to cover his face and he makes a sound into his palm that is equal parts mortified and desperate. “I-no. I never-I don’t even know, like, what that—I don’t—“
“Hands down,” You tug his hands away from his face. “Use your words, pretty boy. It’s just me.”
“No.” He finds his voice, his big brown eyes burning into yours. “I have not.”
You hold his gaze and run your palms up the inside of his thighs. Every coherent thought he has exits his body through his eyes.
“Well,” you say. “Pay attention.”
Your hands find his zipper. The sound it makes in the quiet room ricochets off the walls. His breath goes ragged, stomach caving on an inhale, watching your manicured hands fiddle with his pants. You take your time dragging the denim down his legs until he kicks them off desperately, left in his boxers.
Even through the fabric, you can see the outline of his erect cock. You wonder how long he’s been hard for, if it’s been before you saw him. You press your palm flat against the fabric, rubbing his bulge, and his head drops back with a groan.
“You’re so responsive,” you murmur, more to yourself than him, pressing slightly and watching his hips shift toward the pressure. “You feel everything, don’t you?”
“Y-yeah, I really—” he stops, swallows, “—I really do.”
“That’s so good,” you tell him. “That’s exactly right.”
His fingers find the edge of the couch cushion and grip. You take the waistband of his boxers between your fingers and look up at him one more time, giving him every opportunity to change his mind.
Jungkook’s eyes say please before his mouth does.
“Please,” he whispers anyway, because he has no defenses left. You trace the outline of his cock—and holy fuck, you can’t believe your luck. You’re the first girl to bear witness to his cock, and its massive, hidden underneath a man who’s never felt the warmth of a woman, never wanted to. Through his boxers, you can feel his girth, how thick he is.
Saliva builds up in your mouth. Slowly, you peel down his boxers, dragging them down his legs to the floor.
His cock stands up proud, slapping against his abdomen. For a moment, your heart thumps in your chest at the size of it, how thick and veiny he is. Fucking hell. You haven’t taken a cock this big in years, but damn straight you’re willing to try.
“I-is everything okay?” he asks, eyeing your expression.
You wrap a firm hand around his cock and he jolts forward. Stroking upwards, you feel every ridge, every vein that outlines his length. “It’s perfect, Jungkook. I can’t wait to taste you, for you to be inside me.”
Precum seeps from his glossy, red tip. You jerk him off a few times until he’s thrusting his hips into your hand. He’s beyond eager for anything you’ll give him, you note. Your eyes meet his, and slowly, you let spit dribble onto his cock, giving you enough slick to jerk him off properly. “Agh-fuck,” he moans, biting his bottom lip hard enough to produce blood.
“Feels good?” you ask, smiling.
“Y-yes, don’t stop,” he begs. Flicking your hair behind your shoulder, you hold your tits together, slipping his cock in between your cleavage. He chokes on a breath. “O-okay—okay—” he stammers, hands hovering uselessly on the couch.
The image of his pretty pink tip sitting between your tits sends waves of arousal to your core, flooding your panties. Adrenaline pumps through you, at the thought of taking this man’s virginity. Slowly, tentatively, enough for him to feel it, to understand it, you observe his face the entire time. His head falls back against the couch.
“You’re—fuck—” he cuts himself off, fingers digging into the cushion. You tilt your head, adjusting the pressure, testing what makes him react harder. Gradually, you move your tits up and down, down to his base and back up to his tip. The slick sounds of skin-on-skin echo across the room, mixed with his soft whimpers. His body tightens under your hands, thick thighs flexing, hips starting to thrust into you without thinking. He’s losing control faster than he can handle, faster than he can pause it. “S-shit, [Y/N], I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna cum—“
But you want him to cum. Want him to cum all over your tits, paint your body with it and let himself claim you. “It’s okay, Kookie,” you let the nickname roll off your tongue. “I want you to cum. It’s okay, I won’t be mad.”
“Y-You won’t?” His eyes bug out of his head like you’ve just spoken another language.
You giggle. “No, of course not.”
He shakes his head like he wants to deny it, but it’s useless. “I– I don’t know, I just— it feels—”
The words fall apart in his mouth. You slow down for a moment before leaning in and adding more slick, dragging your breasts over him again. Jungkook's head snaps back, a broken sound ripping out of him as his hands grip the couch harder. “Oh—fuck— I think I—“
Beneath your grasp, his thighs quiver, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he spurts all over your tits, white, hot liquid painting your skin. Some of it lands on your face, which you lick off happily. “O-oh, [Y/N], fuck fuck, I can’t stop—cumming,” he cries as you slow your pace down, laughing to yourself.
You ease back onto your knees, hands resting loosely around him. Jungkook is entirely too beautiful for his own good with his chest heaving, long lashes fluttering.
You’ve had men leave this room strutting. Buttoning their shirts before they’re off the couch, already reassembled, gone. It’s a specific kind of departure that reminds you what this is and what it isn’t.
He takes two shaky pulls of air, then a third. His eyes find yours and stay there. “I—I think you’re amazing.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have volunteered to defile the virgin, because now he’s saying things like this.
You laugh softly,. “Yeah?”
“No, like—” he pushes himself up further on the couch, words tripping over themselves, “you’re so beautiful and you knew exactly—and I didn’t even—I couldn’t—”
He stops himself. Cheeks flooding red, and all you can do is
look at him. “God, you’re cute,” you say.
Obviously, you’ve said the wrong thing because his ears go scarlet and his shoulders cave inwards. “Oh. Thank you”.
Another giggle escapes you, and you hardly recognize yourself. You’re not the girl who giggles during sex with a client, let alone any man. But then again, Jungkook isn’t really your client.
Your fingers wrap around his softened cock, and without doing much, he begins to harden in your hand, puffing up to his full potential again. He owlishly blinks, gulping. “Sorry, I’m just—“
“Don’t apologize,” you interrupt. “How do you want me?” His throat bobs when he swallows, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests on his length, then back up to your face. “I—”
He exhales shakily. “I don’t know.”
You hum, not letting him off that easy. Your thumb brushes over his tip, gathering the precum that’s begun to form and his hips twitch up.
Your mouth curves into a sinister smirk.“That’s not true.”
Jungkook lets a small, frustrated sound slip from his lips.“I just—” He breaks off again, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t know how to say it.”
Leaning in a little closer, he has no choice but to feel how little space you’re giving him to hide in. “Use your words, pretty boy,” you murmur, “You’ve been doing so good.”
He sucks in a breath, “I want… I want your mouth on my cock. I want you to suck me off.”
Immediately, he turns bright red and you can’t help the delighted laugh that wracks through you. “Kookie,” you say, shaking your head a little, “I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.”
He chuckles at that, reaching down to place his hand over yours, guiding your slow strokes. Your heart leaps into your throat at the innocent touch, betraying you entirely.
With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and kitten lick his tip, and then drag it down his shaft. His mouth drops open on a silent moan, chest heaving. When you reach the bottom, you lick back up, following the path of a vein, before engulfing him fully in your mouth. He’s bigger than you expected, and your jaw aches at how much you have to open up to fit him in. Your tongue swirls around his tip, and he jolts forward, instinctively pulling your hair and entangling his tattooed fingers in it.
“K-keep going.” He bucks his hips up, the tip of your nose hitting his pubic bone. You can hardly hold back your gags, choking sounds escaping from your mouth, tears seeping through your lashes as you take him to the hilt. “Feels s-so good, angel. You’re so p-pretty.”
Your lips pop off his cock as you gasp for air, jerking him off in the meantime. “Yeah? You like how I look with your cock in my mouth, baby?”
He nods eagerly. “Yes, please.” Jungkook pushes your head down, and then blushes as though he just caught himself sticking his hand in a candy jar. It’s not as if you mind—his cock is addicting, his precum so sweet and warm. You lower your head, swirling your tongue around his tip just so you can hear his pretty little moans again.
You move at a steady pace, your hand working anything your mouth can’t take. His fingers dig into your scalp, almost guiding you. You don’t want to stop, never do, not until you ruin him. Not until you’ve had every ounce of him. His cock twitches in your mouth, and his thighs shake. It’s hard to hide the smile that’s curving upon your lips. After suctioning your lips around his tip a few more times, he drags your head up, practically ripping you off his body.
Your stomach leaps into your throat, and the unfamiliar swell of anxiety bubbles inside you. Men don’t ever push you off, and you’d be lying if you said your ego isn’t taking a hit.
“What do you want, pretty boy?” you ask sweetly.
“I liked it when you c-choked on it.” His cheeks turn a scarlet glow, brunette hair sticking to his golden skin. “You look pretty.”
“Want me to deepthroat your cock?” You grin, kitten licking his tip. Jungkook whimpers, and you take that as your answer. With no further instruction, you deeply inhale through your nose and take him to the hilt again, your throat full of him. Your air flow is entirely restricted, and Jungkook—the innocent virgin—pushes your head down, as if there were anywhere further to go. The feeling of being lightheaded doesn’t even scare you, just turns you on from how utterly desperate he is for you. “Shit, you’re so good at this,” he whines. “Don’t wanna cum yet. I wanna cum inside you, baby.”
You hum around him, and your mouth pops off his cock, saliva connecting his tip to your lips. “Are you sure, Kookie?”
You’re certain the poor boy has never been more ready for anything in his entire life. “Yes, please, please fuck me.” He begs between breathless groans, and you have to hide your own whimper from how fucked out he sounds.
Now, you’ve done a lot of things in the red room. Bondage, roleplay, orgasm denial… but taking someone’s virginity? And that of a man who actually might be worth your time? Can’t say you’ve done that before. It excites you, and for a moment, you have to wonder if it’s because of the situation, or because of the man sitting in front of you.
Standing up, you steady yourself despite the ache in your knees. You unhurriedly peel off your underwear, your arousal sticking to your thighs as you kick them off. Jungkook’s eyes follow your legs up, up, until he stares at your pussy with a tiny gasp. You straddle his thighs, using his shoulders as leverage. Your soaking core hovers above his erect cock, and he looks down to see just how close you actually are. “Are you sure, pretty boy?” you ask again, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Please.” His eyes snap to yours, and the sincerity behind it sends electricity through your veins. You take his fingers, placing them in your mouth before sucking on them and bringing them to your clit so he can feel how aroused you are for him. So ready and pliant above him. “O-oh, you’re really wet.”
“I am, Kookie,” you giggle. “You made me like this.” You guide his movements, little circles on your clit. Foreplay isn’t even necessary—you’re not sure you’ve ever been wetter.
You align his length to your hole, and sinking down on him, inch by inch, you can feel every ridge and vein decorating his cock. You're deliciously full, until you’re filled to the brim, stuffed with his cock. You’d had a rough idea of what to expect. You’d done this a hundred times in this room. You thought you knew how this part went. But you were not prepared for Jungkook.
The stretch of him is slow and overwhelming and your walls have to work to accommodate his size. You hear yourself exhale, an involuntary release of air. His face finds your neck immediately and he groans. “O-oh my god,” he croons in your neck, muffled against your sweaty skin. “Is this what pussy f-feels like?”
You can hardly think long enough to form a response, and then he starts to move. Careful rolls of his hips, driving his cock up into you, checking every flicker of your expression for anything that looks like discomfort. It’s so like him. Completely, specifically him, that something in your throat tightens.
What he finds instead is your eyes, telling him everything. He continues fucking upwards, and a borderline scream escapes you from how quickly he finds that sweet spot inside you. His fingers flex at your hips. He gasps and then he’s babbling, words tumbling out unfiltered the way everything does with him. “Your pussy feels so good. So tight and warm,” he speaks into your neck, inhaling your scent like he’s a wolf. “It’s so wet, [Y/N], so fucking wet.”
You need to get it together. You need to find the part of yourself that knows what she’s doing in this room, that has always known, that has never once lost the upper hand. Your hands come to rest on his thighs behind you, and you lift yourself up his cock, only to slam yourself back down. Each time you take him fully, your breath punches out in a grunt you can’t swallow back, your knees working against the cushions as you ride him. Your nails dig into his thighs, red, crescent moons forming. The sound of skin slapping and your wet cunt swallowing his cock fills the room. “Fuck, you feel so good, Jungkook. You’re so big, so deep inside me.”
“Yeah? You like how I feel inside you?’ His hands cup your ass, helping your movements. Despite it being his first time, Jungkook moves like he knows you.
Muscle memory takes over, and you grab a fistful of his hair and drag him towards you. You kiss him.
Sloppy and breathless and without technique, lips catching and sliding, both of you too far gone to be graceful about it. He makes a broken sound into your mouth, hips stuttering.
“Want to make you my fucktoy. Would you like that, pretty boy?”
He nods excitedly, eyes squeezed tight as you milk his cock with every bounce. Although you should be focused on making him cum, all of that flies out the window as the familiar coil in your stomach begs to come undone. Your walls flutter around his cock and his eyes open, looking to where your bodies join to try and decipher the sensation. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.
“Really?” he asks, wide-eyed with wonder. “Shit–keep going, baby. You’re gonna make me cum too, I won’t be able to last l-long.”
You switch to a back-and-forth motion, your clit hitting his pelvic bone, enough to make your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. Jungkook grips your hips tight as you whimper, falling forward and wrapping your arms around his neck for stability. He takes the opportunity to thrust up into you again desperately, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whines. “So fucking addicting. I want to be inside you forever.” The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, tone so easy, has something inside of you clenching.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum again,” he hisses, hips faltering as he coats your walls with his cum, and the warmth of him fills you up. Wrapping his arms around you entirely, you feel Jungkook press chaste kisses to your neck, jaw, and cheek, bringing you back down to earth.
When you two finally catch your breath, you rest there, with his cock softening inside you and your nails tracing patterns down his back. Your legs remain glued to his thighs, like the rest of the club doesn’t exist, like Natalie and her clipboard and the Saturday night chaos on the other side of the door are happening on a different planet. It feels like just you two in the whole building.
14 months ago, your last relationship ended abruptly. In the parking lot of a grocery store, which is such an unglamorous setting for the end of two years that you’ve never quite been able to shake it. He was handsome, aware of it, rationing it, using it for his benefit. He never brought you flowers. Not once, not for birthdays or apologies or just because. Flowers were a waste of money in his opinion, and not to be spent on ‘cheap girls’ like you.
You look at Jungkook’s profile. The soft line of his jaw in the red light, the flutter of his long lashes.
There are red roses on your vanity that he left without being asked.
“Did I… did I do okay?”
You pull back to peer at him, and his eyes are sparkling, an earnest expression taut on his face. You recognize what he needs to hear. “Yes, Jungkook,” you say, combing your fingers through his hair. “You did very good.”
The relief that moves across his face is immediate. “Okay,” he nods. “That’s good.”
He ducks his head. “How do I—how do I pay you?”
The ripple of his question moves through you. You need the money more than anyone in this room. You have a number in your head that lives there rent free, that wakes you up at 3 AM sometimes, that is the entire reason you’re here in the first place.
You open your mouth to name a figure, but instead, “It’s fine,” you hear yourself say. “You don’t have to.”
He pouts. “But I want to. You should let me.”
“It’s fine,” you repeat.
“Not even a tip?” he tries again, and you have to commend his effort.
“No.”
And with a calm confidence that was not there an hour ago, “My number then,” he says. “Can I have yours? Would that work?”
You laugh, dropping your face into the curve of his neck, and feel him go warm underneath you. “You have some nerve, Jungkook.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Huh?” Maybe he wasn’t expecting your compliance, but you give it anyway. You’ll give yourself this one.
“Yeah, Jungkook.” It’s probably a bad idea. Or maybe it’s the best one you’ll ever have. “You can have my number.”
The next night, when you open your phone, you read a text from Jeon Jungkook that says: i know you said no tips, but think of this as a gift. open your door.
Outside your door sits a bouquet of red roses, with piles and piles of cash sitting beside it. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that.
On the flowers is a note, something even cuter than his text, that reads: give me one more night? - your pretty boy
Summary: The construction company your neighbors hire to do work on their house are loud, inconsiderate, and quickly get under your skin. One man in particular seems hellbent on driving you crazy until one day, all that tension comes to a head.
Warnings: language, smut (piv sex), dirty talk, praise kink, light spanking, reader being kind of pissy and Joel fucks it out of her (but he's not mean), Joel gets turned on by bossy women
Masterlist
It's your day off. You had a long month, working extra late to meet deadlines and skipping plans with friends and family to perform at your fullest and get the promotion you so badly deserved, and now that the project was done and you impressed all right people, you rewarded yourself with a singular day off. But your neighbors had other plans.
It started before eight in the morning. Power tools, yelling, laughing, car doors slamming. It ruined the peace and tranquility of the post-school bus and rush hour lull. At first, you turned over and tried to fall back asleep. When that didn't work, you grabbed your extra pillow and pressed it against your ear. But after thirty minutes of chasing sleep with the sounds outside only growing louder, you gave up, blood boiling.
Maybe you should have coffee first, but unfortunately, your rage wins out. It's way too early. They're being far too noisy. And it's your goddamn day off!
You're seeing red when you tighten your robe around your waist, not even bothering to tie it but instead you hold it closed with your fist as you storm towards the front door. Your pajamas are just a tank top and sleep shorts, it's not anything scandalous anyway, especially given how hot Texas gets in the summer, but the last thing you want is a whole construction crew gawking at you while you give them a piece of your mind.
Music had just been turned on somewhere amongst the site. Tom Petty, you think, as you make your way over. Your flip flops snap angrily against the blacktop as you cross your driveway into your neighbor's front yard to survey the scene.
There's at least eight workers getting set up. Their trucks are parked all up and down the street, taking up every open spot. None of them glance your way as they unload tools, coolers, and supplies from their flatbeds. Your arms cross tightly and your brows furrow but the noise only gets louder.
"Excuse me?" you call out to no one in particular, but they don't hear you. Your jaw tightens. "Hey! Excuse me?"
"Can I help you?"
You swivel around, taken off guard by the deep voice behind you.
"Yes! I—"
Your words falter when you lay eyes on the man who snuck up on you. He's setting a ladder down by his feet, giving you time to take in his strong arms and broad shoulders underneath the stretch of his black short sleeved shirt, which still allows you a generous view of his tanned forearms. His jeans look lived in in the best kind of way. He wears them like a man who doesn't care what they look like, so long as they're comfortable. You push down the heat crawling up your neck by the time he straightens up, but when you see his face, you lose your train of thought once again.
Deep brown eyes, sharp nose, a chiseled jawline dusted with a short, somewhat patchy beard. Then he offers a soft, crooked smile that knocks the wind out of you to the point where you nearly forget your earlier anger.
Focus, you scold yourself.
"I live right over there—" You point behind him and he slowly turns, eyes scanning your modest home. "And my bedroom window is right there," you add. His eyes flicker to your open window towards the back of the house before he gives you his full attention again, something that makes your stomach flip. "I'd appreciate it if you guys could keep it down this early in the morning. It's disruptive to the whole neighborhood."
His devastatingly dark eyes glimmer with humor and even though he's not smiling, you can sense he's not taking you seriously. He makes a show of checking his watch—a beat up old thing with a green fabric band—before looking back at you. "It's eight fifteen," he tells you, tone flat.
"Yeah, now," you say, rolling your eyes, "but this noise started earlier. It woke me up."
Now the corner of his mouth lifts and he slowly crosses his arms, which simultaneously irritates and excites the hell out of you.
"Sorry 'bout that, miss," he tells you, "but we're abidin' by city ordinance."
"I'm sure you are, but you have to admit it's disturbing the peace."
He regards you silently for a moment, his heavy gaze drifting up and down your frame. Suddenly, the thin robe you're wearing is too much and doesn't seem like enough all at once. An amused look flits across his face at one point before his eyes drop to the dirt.
"Could start at seven, technically," he finally says, "we're doin' you a favor by startin' at half past."
Your hackles raise at that. "Would you like me to thank you?"
He chuckles and shakes his head before meeting your gaze again. "Never said that. Just sayin' we're followin' the law, is all."
"I know you are," you huff, "all I'm suggesting is maybe keeping your voices a little lower."
He smirks and uncrosses his arms in favor of propping his hands on his hips, giving you a spectacular view of his wide chest.
"We could," he muses, pretending to think about your request while staring off at a fixed point somewhere over your shoulder, "if you ask real nice."
Your jaw drops at the same time your knees go weak. "Excuse me?"
He shrugs, still staring somewhere behind you in order to keep his shit eating grin from stretching across his face. "Just sayin', you came over here all hot under the collar. Had you asked nice, I mighta been able to help you out."
Your throat tightens. He's not trying to sound suggestive but your brain doesn't care. It's sending a wave of arousal right through you, causing your heart to slam against your ribs the more it builds.
"What's your name?" you demand with a clipped tone.
"Joel," he says without missing a beat.
"Joel," you repeat, "I'd like to speak with your boss."
"Ah, that'd be me."
He stretches out his hand with a grin. You ignore it and look back at the trucks until you spot a logo on the side and squint.
"Miller?" you guess. He nods. "Great. I'll be filing a complaint with the better business bureau."
You shoulder past him and try not to fixate on how good he smells, a mixture of motor oil, fresh soap, and coffee.
"Yeah? And what's your complaint gonna be for?" Joel calls after you. You ignore him and keep walking. You hear his deep chuckle before he picks up the ladder and it pisses you off even more, but you don't allow your rage to show until you're safely inside your house where you can seethe to yourself while making some coffee.
***
The rest of the week is uneventful. You have meetings downtown all week, a disruption to your usual remote work schedule, but a necessary evil you try your best to organize all at once every month. When you leave in the morning, the workers are just arriving. When you get home, they're already packed up or gone entirely. You nearly forget all about your intriguing run in with the mysterious Joel Miller until the following Monday, when you're back to working remotely.
You're an hour into emails and onto your second cup of coffee when you first hear the familiar ruckus next door. It starts with amused banter. Then truck doors slamming. Then the music kicks on. You shake your head, close your windows, and keep working.
With your television playing in the background, it's easier to block out some of the construction noise, but at around one in the afternoon you hear a repetitive, ear piercing beep, beep, beep during a work call that sets your teeth on edge.
Stones are pouring from the back of a metal flatbed. Shovels are scraping and banging loudly. And you do your best to stay focused, but when the call ends and you can't recall half the topics discussed, you can't hold back any more.
You spot Joel with his back to you, holding a shovel and shouting instructions to his crew while you approach. As if he can sense it, he turns when you're about ten feet away. His eyes sweep up and down your body and he grins before leaning on his shovel, amused by the anger currently forcing your feet forward.
"Don't tell me we woke you up again," he teases before you can even open your mouth. "It's after lunch. What's the matter now?"
You scowl at him, ignoring the way his crew sends you curious looks as they work.
"No," you snap, "I'm working. Or, at least, trying to! I have all my windows closed and I still can hardly hear myself think."
He looks at you like he's sizing you up, like he's trying to figure something out. "Thought you worked in an office somewhere."
You frown, slightly alarmed. "How would you know that?"
"Saw you couple times last week," he says hurriedly, as if he just realized how his comment sounded. "When I was gettin' here in the mornin', sometimes I'd see you gettin' in your car and drive off."
The silence that followed made Joel nervous. He shifted his weight and awkwardly scratched his beard while you tried to sort through what he just said without giving away your feelings. He noticed you? Was he looking for you, or did he just happen to see you?
"Uh, based on your spiffy clothes, just figured you worked somewhere fancy," he finished, rubbing the back of his neck before looking away.
You look down at the clothes you currently have on—denim shorts and an old, oversized shirt... far from spiffy today—before looking back up at him. To your surprise, you notice some red creeping up his neck and staining the apples of his cheeks. You have to bite your lower lip to keep yourself from smiling because despite how pleased it makes you to see the big, annoying, sexy construction guy next door all embarrassed because of you, you're here for a reason.
"Sometimes I work in an office, but most of the time I work at home," you explain, waving toward your house, "and right now, it's pretty much impossible to get anything done."
"Well, m'sorry 'bout that, but we gotta work, too."
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "I know. How much longer is this going to take?"
Joel clicked his tongue, making you lift your chin to look back up at him. The way he looks at you like you're something worth studying makes your heart skip a beat. Traitor.
"I'm offended you wanna get rid of us." His tone is back to teasing, and that glint in his eye confirms it. He likes pushing your buttons.
"I just want my quiet back! My—your customers are elderly! They can't hear for shit, they keep to themselves, they're the perfect neighbors! They aren't bothered by all this noise, but everyone else is!" Your voice is getting louder than you thought. People are beginning to notice, but you don't care.
"Everyone?" Joel repeats, narrowing his eyes now. "Strange, 'cause you're the only one cryin' 'bout it."
"I am not crying about it, I'm attempting to come to some sort of agreement, but you're being too... too..." Your hands flail in the air as you struggle to think of the right word.
"Too what?" Joel presses, stepping closer. You catch a whiff of his sweat mixed with sawdust and it makes your head swim. Focus.
You glare at him, blood on fire in your veins the longer he stands there looking all cocky.
"Misogynistic!" you exclaim triumphantly. Joel just blinks at you.
"What?"
You roll your eyes. "Means if a man were out here asking you to keep it down, you probably would, but instead you're giving a woman a hard time."
That seems to piss him off. His jaw sets into a tight line and he leans forward, voice low and dangerous. "Now you listen here," he says, and the way his demeanor suddenly shifted makes your spine straighten. "I'll allow for alotta shit, but I ain't gonna stand here and let you spin some wild story when you don't even know me or my crew. That's disrespectful and untrue."
You swallow tightly, unable to tear your gaze away from his eyes. They're so dark and stormy when he's legitimately mad that it's hard to look away.
"Sorry," you mumble, "but you're not taking me seriously, what else am I gonna think?"
His gaze softens then. His shoulders loosen. And the clouds clear from his eyes. The playful glimmer returns and you swear you see a ghost of a smile tug at his lips before he casually says, "I'll prove it to you. Bring out your husband or boyfriend or whoever and I'll tell him the same things I've been tellin' you."
"I don't have a husband or boyfriend," you answer before you even realize the trap you stepped in. His face lights up but he plays it off with ease.
"That's a relief." Your eyes widen and he grins. "'Cause if you had some guy hidin' in there all this time, lettin' his woman handle all the dirty work, gripin' to me while wearin' short shorts or a see-through robe? That wouldn't be much of a man."
Then he turned on his heel to join his crew, leaving you to weave through the rollercoaster of emotions he just dumped on you for the rest of the afternoon.
***
Over the next few days, something slightly changed. You found yourself going outside more, lingering around your car or taking a while to get your mail just to catch a glimpse of Joel. Usually, he'd catch your eye and give you a small smile, but that was the extent of it. Nothing overtly friendly and nothing mean, either. He was very good at being polite and cordial, which infuriated you. It made it impossible to figure out exactly what he was thinking. You replayed so many looks and conversations in your head to the point where you were paralyzed trying to pick apart every inflection and glance.
Why do you care anyway? you kept asking yourself. You never provided an answer.
It's the combination of your frustration with yourself as well as Joel's confusing signals that cause you to find more things to complain about, although you never admit it. But every interaction with Joel leaves you more aggravated and pent up than the last.
"That's not the property line. This is the property line," you had argued with him on Tuesday.
"It's just four inches."
"That's nine inches, easy."
Joel had tsked sympathetically under his breath. "Oh, darlin', if someone out there's tellin' you that's nine inches, I'm so sorry."
On Thursday morning, he had parked his truck in your driveway.
"I need to have my driveway clear!"
"I know, I know, it was only for a minute til the concrete truck comes—"
"I don't care! Park on the street!" you had yelled, but the angrier you got, the more pleased Joel looked.
"No parkin' left on the street."
"Then park on the lawn," you said, crossing your arms and jutting out your hip. His eyes had drifted down, noting you chose to wear a shirt that showed a little more cleavage than usual.
"Careful, sweetheart. Keep yellin' at me like this and I'll fall in love with you."
Every time he said something flirty like that, it sent you back to your house to obsess over whether or not he was serious or just trying to get you off his back.
The cherry on the sundae was the incident on Friday when someone accidentally dug in the wrong spot and severed your internet cable, completely derailing the latest project you had been tasked with at work. Joel had anticipated your anger before you stormed out of the house, screen door smacking loudly against the siding as you stomped down the old wood stairs of your porch, making a beeline right for Joel next door.
"Tell me it wasn't your guys who did that."
He sighed before slowly turning around to face you. He looked tired, no doubt drained from the long, hot week, but he still managed to brighten up a little when he laid eyes on you.
"Sorry, darlin'. They're comin' to fix it."
"When?" you snapped. Joel narrowed his eyes as if to silently warn you about your tone. Who the hell does he think he is?
"An hour," he said flatly.
"An hour?" you exclaimed, clearly devastated.
"Yeah. An hour. Ain't you got a lunch break or somethin' you can take til it's fixed?"
You snorted and tossed your hair over your shoulder. "I haven't taken a lunch break that didn't involve a client in more than five years."
"Well, today's the day you break that streak," he told you before turning back to the hole in the ground. "Damn inspector didn't flag the property right. Ain't our fault, it's the town's."
You bury your face in your hands with a groan. "I can't believe this," you mutter to yourself.
"If it helps, I ain't happy 'bout it either," Joel says, crouching down to inspect the spot closer. "This just set me back a couple days."
"Days?!" you exclaim, letting your hands fall back to your sides in disbelief. Joel nods, still not looking at you.
"Yeah. Gotta redo the plans now. Old plans were built 'round the cables bein' two feet west—"
"So this insanity is going to last even longer?" you ask, cutting him off. Joel sighs and drops his head between his shoulders briefly before standing with a grunt. He's tall—his shadow blocks the sun when he towers over you, a fact that never went unnoticed.
"What's the matter, sweetheart? Thought you'd be happy to know you ain't gettin' rid of me just yet." The smirk he gives you is devastating. Your gaze falls to his throat, where beads of sweat have been trickling down and soaking his collar. It's not fair this man is so fucking handsome yet so irritating.
"I'll survive," you mutter, crossing your arms tightly and looking away to clear your head.
"Yeah? Who you gonna yell at when I'm gone, hm?"
"Believe it or not, I'm actually not a yeller," you shoot back with a glare. "Guess you just bring it out of me."
His gaze darkened for a moment like he was considering how to reply. You could almost see the silent back and forth behind his eyes, the words locked and loaded on the tip of his tongue but a small sliver of logic fought to hold onto them and pull them back down.
He says it anyway.
"That right?" His voice dips lower than you've heard it before, but not out of anger. Something else. Something far more heated and dangerous. "Wonder what else I could bring outta you."
The implication falls between you like an anvil. The weight of it keeps you both still, oblivious to what's going on around you entirely. Somehow, you manage to hold his gaze, but you're swallowing hard and breathing even harder and he can see it. He tracks the movement with those dark eyes, waiting for you to come up with a retort or storm off.
Normally, you'd do the latter, but today, you're fired up. It's always Joel who gets the last flirty word in. It's always Joel who leaves you spinning while he happily carries on with his day. So this time, you close the distance between you and crane your neck up. He doesn't break eye contact but you can tell he didn't expect this. He didn't expect you to get inches away and hold the silence like a knife to his throat. His lip curls into a smile, breathlessly anticipating some flustered, snappy comeback paired with an angry look. Instead, what you say shocks him.
"You couldn't handle it, Miller."
The confidence in your voice is what makes him falter. You clock it and grin, very satisfied with yourself, before turning and heading back to your house. The world begins to wake up around him again. Sounds begin to crescendo slowly in the air: power tools, his crew's voices, cars rumbling down the street. But his eyes are fixed on you. On the way you carry yourself back up your porch and into your house without the courtesy of a single glance back.
When your screen door snaps shut, he blinks. Clears his throat. Then forces his feet to move.
After that, Joel spends the rest of the afternoon praying he doesn't get distracted enough to lose a finger.
***
The weekend is thankfully quiet, but long. You pace around trying to keep busy, but you miss it. You hate it, but you miss peeking out your window to see what Joel is up to. You miss whatever has been brewing between you over the last two weeks. You miss the excitement and electricity that crackles between you when you stomp over there for one reason or another.
By Sunday night, you decide it isn't healthy to be so fixated on this. You're not even sure what's gotten into you. Usually, your life is mundane and quiet, yet this man has burrowed his way in and found a piece of you to bring to life you didn't know existed.
He pisses you off, you remind yourself. It's not good. He's not good. Let this go, the sooner the better.
So on Monday, you force yourself to stay in your house all day. It's hard, but you know it's the right thing to do. You need to focus on work and Joel is just a distraction. A big, annoying, sexy distraction.
On Tuesday, you do the same thing. It's a littler easier this time. You get a decent amount of work done with your earbuds solidly in place. You only look up from your computer to check your window a handful of times. Once or twice you swear you catch Joel glancing expectantly towards your house, but you push down the butterflies in your belly and focus back on the project in front of you.
Wednesday is more difficult because on that day, there's a legitimate reason to be annoyed. Joel's crew is using a portion of your lawn to toss old pieces of wood from the porch next door. When you first notice, you find yourself rising to your feet, propelled by anger. But then you catch yourself and slowly sit back down.
It's fine. They'll clean it up. Don't worry about it.
You finish your workday without stepping foot outside, although you had to close your curtains so you'd stop looking at the mess.
Thursday is loud. Drills pierce the air earlier than usual. You assume it has to do with the rain clouds forming on the horizon, but it still grates your every nerve to hear metal grinding into solid wood first thing in the morning. You pop your earbuds in and turn the volume up. It works, until the rain starts. The water streaking suddenly down your windowpane catches your attention, so you pull your earbuds out and look up.
Across your driveway, Joel's crew is packing up early. They're running, getting absolutely soaked in the rain while trying to get everything valuable back into their trucks as quickly as possible.
Good, you think. Peace and quiet a little earlier today.
Then you see him. Joel. With his dark curls plastered against his forehead and his white shirt sticking to his torso like he had just jumped into a pool. Your brain buffers and your lips part at the sight. You could tell before he's strong, but now his shirt is leaving very little to the imagination.
"Shit," you whisper as you watch, unblinking, while Joel packs up his truck and then turns to help his crew. His muscles flex under his rain soaked skin, water drips furiously down the sides of his head, and you forget how to breathe.
Fuck him for being so irritating and goddamn good looking at the same time.
The image is seared into your brain for the rest of the night. It has you tossing and turning in bed until you can't stand it anymore and you give in, sliding one hand down the front of your shorts in search of relief. It's fleeting and not as good as you hoped, but at least you're able to fall asleep.
Friday is when everything comes to a head.
You're tired from a restless nights sleep and on your third cup of coffee when you notice the end of your driveway is blocked. Your jaw clenches as you push a curtain aside to get a better view and of course, it's Joel's truck.
"Son of a bitch," you mutter, narrowing your eyes like you could destroy the car with your mind if you tried hard enough.
It's fine. He'll move it. He's probably waiting on some delivery, like last time.
But this time, his truck remains parked haphazardly at the end of your driveway all day. When you manage to spot him working next door, he's all smiles, completely unbothered. At last around three you see him walk to his truck, but it's just to get something from the console. The way he strolls back to his crew like he had every right in the world to encroach on your property makes your blood boil.
That's it. You've had enough. You've kept to yourself all week long, it's almost the weekend, you did pretty good. And this isn't unreasonable. He's in your fucking driveway! He's had multiple chances to move and he didn't!
Before you could stop yourself, you reach forward, lift open your window, and lean out.
"Joel Miller!"
He stops dead in his tracks, along with half his crew, to track your voice from your office window. When he spots you, he lifts his hand to his eyes to shield himself from the sun and he grins.
"Yeah?"
"Move your goddamn truck out of my driveway or else I'm havin' it towed!"
His crew chuckles and goes back to wrapping things up for the day. Joel tilts his head at you like he's amused.
"Thought you moved," he says, "haven't heard that smart mouth all week."
"Unfortunately for me, I'm still here," you snap, "now move that hunk of junk right now!"
"She ain't no hunk of junk," Joel says with mock offense. "She's the only lady in my life that never let me down, don't talk 'bout her like that."
"Stop talking about your car like it's a woman, that's gross."
Joel whistles low and comes closer so he doesn't have to shout. "Jealous?"
"Of a car? Give me a break," you snort.
He tsks and inches closer. By now, he's halfway across your driveway. "Why don't you try askin' me real nice, then maybe I'll move it."
"Why don't you get a little closer and I'll make you do it."
The deep groan that rumbled from his chest made your thighs clench.
"Don't tease a fella now," he warns with a playful look, "'cause if you talk like that I'm gonna make you follow through."
You roll your eyes, grateful you have an entire wall between you to hide the way you're practically squirming in place.
"Will you please shut up and move the truck?"
"Don't love the shut up part, but y'did say please, so I will."
"Thank you," you reply, overly sweet with a fake smile. Still, Joel stifles a laugh, entirely enthralled with how riled up he manages to make you.
"No problem. I'll be done in an hour, then I'll get outta your hair."
The smile falls from your face to be replaced with a scowl. "An hour?"
"Yeah. An hour," he confirms, turning back to his job site. "Don't worry. Won't get in the way of your Friday night plans."
"Joel—"
"It'll be longer if you keep flirtin' with me," he says loudly over his shoulder so his entire crew can hear. Your cheeks instantly heat up but you slam your window shut before you can give him the satisfaction of witnessing your embarrassment.
You sit back down and try to focus on work, but it's impossible. Why does this man get under your skin so easily? And why do you find him so irresistible at the same time? It must be because it's been a while since the last time you've been with someone. You've been so focused on work the last several months, you can't even remember the last time you went on a date, let alone took a man home.
Your gaze drifts up against your will. Most of Joel's crew has cleared out next door. There's two guys left plus Joel, cleaning up the rest of the lawn before the weekend. You can see the relaxed smiles on their faces as they chat, probably discussing weekend plans. It makes you wonder what Joel does on the weekends. You have a feeling he's single based on his earlier comment about his truck. So what does a single man do with their spare time?
Probably pick up girls. The thought makes your stomach twist into a knot. You shake your head and focus back on your computer. That's none of your business. Who cares if he's getting laid? It doesn't matter.
Your lips press together when your eyes lift to find Joel through the window again, but now you realize the yard is empty. The remaining trucks are gone. The supplies are picked up. It's quiet.
For some reason, you're relieved when you stand and hurry to your window to find Joel's truck still idle in your driveway. You stand there staring at it while you weigh your options in your head.
It's a bad idea, you think. Joel isn't good for you. He drives you crazy. Yet you have to admit, you can't remember the last time you've felt such a spark with someone before. He's certainly not boring, you'll give him that. And he's funny, in his own way. Would it really be so bad?
Fuck it. You rush to your bedroom to change your shirt for a simple light dress and freshen up as fast as you can, all the while straining to hear for the telltale sound of his motor turning over, then you slow down.
You decide to leave it up to fate. If he's still there by the time you're ready, then you'll go for it. If he's gone, then he's gone, no big deal.
After tapping on some subtle, fruity flavored lip balm and spritzing just a tiny bit of perfume in your hair, you step out of your bedroom, mustering up as much confidence as possible as you walk to your front door. You decide not to practice what to say, that you'll just let it happen organically if it feels right. But when you swing your door open only to be met face to face with Joel, who has one fist raised in the air as if he were about to knock, all that confidence goes straight out the window.
Shit.
"Hey," he says with a crooked grin. His arm lowers to his side and your heart kicks in your chest when you notice his eyes sweep up and down your body before meeting your gaze.
"What can I do for you?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe with a small smile. His grin widens and you feel like you've stepped into yet another trap.
"That's a loaded question, sweetheart," he says, voice low. You suppress a shudder. "Wanted to tell you I'm headin' out. Looks like I got good timin', too." He gestures to your appearance and you look down.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He quirks up an eyebrow. "You got someone comin' over?"
You shake your head and try to bite back the smile that threatens to stretch across your face.
Joel makes a soft noise and casually lifts his arm to rest against the frame, right above your head. He's towering over you like this and you think it's on purpose.
"Just gettin' all dolled up to sit home alone?" he asks. You shrug and cross your arms, hoping your breasts lift when you do. His gaze flickers down quickly, confirming you're successful.
"You think this is dolled up?"
Slowly, he lets himself take in your appearance again, this time making sure you saw.
"Just used to seein' you in shorts or that little robe of yours."
"You don't like my shorts or robe?"
"Never said that."
You have to stifle a laugh and his eyes practically glitter with amusement.
"Do you have any big plans this weekend?" you ask, hoping to come across casual.
"Nothin' too crazy," he tells you, leaning in a little further. "Watch the game. Mow the lawn. Come up with new ways to get you yellin' at me."
You laugh and shake your head. "You've been doing a great job so far."
"Not so sure 'bout that," he says, swiping his palm over his chin. "Been tryin' all week. Didn't get your attention til I parked in your driveway."
The expression on your face instantly melts into one of annoyance. "You did all of that on purpose?"
His enjoyment couldn't be contained. With a huge grin, he replies, "Yes, ma'am."
"The mess on my lawn? The extra early noise?" You could feel your anger rising, flooding your chest with heat.
"That's right," Joel replies. "Parkin' in your driveway was a last resort."
Your jaw tenses as you stare him down in disbelief. "What is your goddamn problem?" you seethe. Your earlier plans to ask if he wanted to come in for a drink vanish. Screw this guy.
"Thought you were dead or somethin'. Consider it my version of a wellness check."
"I don't need you to do a wellness check on me!" you yell, throwing your hands in the air to stop yourself from pushing him. "I've put in the shittiest work this week because of you! Why are you hellbent on bothering me so much?"
"'Cause it's fun and you're cute when you're all pissed off."
"I'm cu—"
The words die in your throat as your brain formally processes what he just said. You're still angry and red in the face, your chest is still heaving from adrenaline, and yet you're frozen solid, blinking up at him like an idiot. A slow smile spreads across his face, revealing that dreadfully adorable dimple.
"Probably the only woman on earth who looks prettier when she's readin' me the riot act," he adds just to watch your mouth open and shut like a fish.
"You—"
You're at a loss for words. The emotional whiplash has you reeling. He's into you, but he's showing it like an elementary school boy. It's kind of endearing but mostly immature, so you stand your ground.
"How old are you? Because you act like you're no older than twelve."
"I'm definitely older than twelve," he chuckles without missing a beat. "But listen... I really am sorry if your work suffered 'cause of me. Lemme make it up to you."
"How could you possibly—"
"Lemme take you out to dinner tonight."
The floor practically gives out from under you. What the hell is going on? The last ten minutes has your brain scrambling and your heart racing faster than any workout. How does this man manage to drive you to the brink of insanity only to pull you back at the last second with something sweet?
"You can yell at me the whole time, if you want," he says once too much time has passed without an answer. If you could see through your rage, you'd be able to pick up on his nervousness: his hand flexes at his side and his weight shifts from foot to foot with anxious energy.
"How about I just yell at you right here?" you snap. Joel laughs.
"If that's what you want, darlin', then sure."
Frustration bubbles up with a growl. You push away from the door to pace up and down your small hallway, raking your fingers through your hair while you attempt to calm down. All the while, Joel remains where he is, planted just outside your door, watching you spiral.
"You seem tense."
"I am tense! Because of you!"
"I can help with that."
You freeze and stare at him, long and hard. All those thoughts you've had about him, those images of him working in the rain, his way of turning a phrase to just barely imply he could ruin you... all of those moments crash down over you like a tidal wave and you decide that maybe he could help, after all.
In the blink of an eye, you close the distance keeping you apart. Your hand fists his sweaty, dirty shirt and you yank him forward. He stumbles a few feet into your house with surprised huff. You see the way his eyes widen right before your mouth crashes over his and finally, for a few blissful minutes, you get your coveted silence.
Joel only needs a moment before he catches up. His lips soften against yours as you pull him deeper into your house. He kicks back one foot and it collides with your door, slamming it closed behind him, then his hands are on you, pushing you gently against the wall so he can take control.
His teeth greedily graze your lower lip and your mouth parts for him with a soft moan. Driven by the sound, his tongue eagerly slips past your lips and his hands drop to cup the backs of your thighs. He hauls you up and your legs circle his waist while your tongues tangle together, hot and angry. It's desperate and messy and exactly what you need. The broad heft of his body pressed up against yours, the heady scent of the outdoors and sweat and him invading your senses, the faint taste of coffee on his tongue... it's utterly perfect.
"Where'd this come from, hm?" he asks, voice low and rough as his lips skim the edge of your jaw. Your head tilts back and your eyelids remain closed, offering your throat up to him without a fight.
"You said you could help," you murmur, craning your neck to give him better access. He finds a spot below your ear and sucks, leaving the beginnings of a mark that will take days to disappear.
"I did," he mumbles against your skin. "Meant a drink or somethin', but I ain't complainin'."
Your chin drops, hunting for his mouth, but then his hand is there tipping your head back, cupping your cheek with his thumb pressed on the underside of your jaw.
"Ain't done," he grumbles before continuing his assault on your throat. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and let him move your head this way and that, enjoying the way he's taken control. You get the sense he's wanted this as badly as you because he seems determined to taste every inch of your skin. When his mouth travels lower to ghost over your shoulder, you shrug, allowing the strap of your dress to fall and expose more skin. Joel makes a pleased grunt before his lips explore the newly revealed territory.
"Christ, you're soft." It almost sounds like he's talking to himself, the way his voice is full of quiet wonder. A shiver rolls down your spine and you tug impatiently at his hair.
"Joel," you whine, but your thought is cut off with a gasp when he presses himself firmly against the cradle of your hips. You can feel him there, hot and hard behind his zipper. One of your hands drops to his belt and you slip your fingers past his waistband, but just as you're about to reach your target, his body jolts and he swats your hand away with a chuckle.
"Eager thing," he grins before sealing his lips over yours again.
"Bedroom," you manage to mumble when he takes half a second to breathe. "Behind you."
"Bossy," he scolds. His mouth covers yours with a deep groan before he tightens his grip around your legs. He pulls you from the wall and swings around to carry you in the general direction of your bedroom, all while never breaking the kiss.
It's kind of comical the way you stumble into your room. The door swings open too fast and knocks back against Joel's shoulder but it doesn't slow him down. He refuses to pull away to look where he's going, but when his boot collides with a half empty laundry basket on the floor, he curses under his breath and finally tears himself away.
You take the opportunity to squirm out of his grip. When your feet hit the floor, you instantly rise to your tiptoes, lips seeking out the warm skin of his throat. You moan a little when your tongue drags over his pebbled skin, tasting salt and sun that remains there. It's addicting to taste the product of his day's hard work, so you do it again and relish in the way he shudders from your attention.
"Shoulda just told me from the start what you wanted." His fingers fumble with his belt buckle after he hears the quiet sound of your zipper coming undone. "Would've saved us both alotta time, darlin'."
"Shut up," you grumble before your teeth pinch a spot next to his Adam's apple. Your dress falls into a pool at your feet, hands free to help him lift his shirt over his head.
"I need a shower," Joel says after his shirt is discarded. You just shake your head and press your mouth over his collarbone, then his sternum, mapping his body while he works on kicking off his boots and jeans.
"I like you like this," you whisper. He smirks, stepping out of his clothes as best he can with your mostly naked body pressed against his own. "You smell good," you add after a minute, and he seems pleased with that.
"Get on the bed, sweetheart. Lemme see you."
You pull away from the faint red marks you left littering his chest and look up at him through your lashes. "You first."
Joel frowns. "Wha—"
With a grin, you give him a gentle push. His back hits the bedding and he barely has a chance to register it until you're climbing on top of him, legs bracketing his hips with a giggle. He smiles so big that his eyes squint, revealing those damn dimples again beneath his beard. Then his gaze drops to your bare breasts and his eyes darken.
"Fuck, you're pretty," he mumbles, palming them greedily. When his rough thumb grazes your nipple, you lunge down and capture his mouth with a searing kiss.
"You want me like this?" he asks, words tumbling against your swollen lips. "Wanna ride me, baby?"
"Yes," you whine while tugging down his boxers with one hand. His palms glide over your thighs, squeezing and pulling you back and forth so your hips begin to grind down on his lap.
"Take these off 'fore I ruin 'em," he warns you, fingers hooking into the band of your panties. You suppress the shiver of arousal at his tone before you do exactly as he says.
When your bare cunt comes in contact with the underside of his cock, you suck in a deep breath. He's so hot and throbbing against your soaked folds, making every slide of your hips steal your breath away.
Joel watches you move with heavy lidded eyes, seemingly just as lost in the feeling as you. His chest rises and falls a little faster when the tip of his cock presses against your clit and your whole body shudders with a moan he will end up dreaming about for weeks.
Reality hits when a streak of his arousal leaks and smears across your skin, bringing him back down to earth for one second.
"Wait, my wallet—"
He extends one hand towards the floor and your eyes follow, connecting the dots and sliding off him to grab his pants. You find it tucked into his back pocket and toss it his way. He catches it and fishes out a little foil packet from its depths while you resume your spot in his lap, lips parted and heart racing with anticipation as he rolls the condom on with care.
"Alright honey, I'm all yours," he announces, smirking as he folds his arms behind his head. You roll your eyes but still shimmy forward and raise your hips, using one hand against his chest to prop yourself up and the other to guide him to your entrance. The moment you sink down, however, his lips melt into a soft circle and his eyelids flutter shut, filling your chest with pride before caving into the pleasure yourself.
You sigh and tilt your head back when you finally take all of him. The stretch is exquisite, or maybe it's just been a while, but it doesn't matter. All the static that's been electrifying your brain lately, all that stress from work, from pushing yourself too far every single day dissolves away.
"Oh, shit," he whispers, voice cracking. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips. "Feel so goddamn good."
You drop your head forward to look at him, chest and neck all flushed underneath you. Your eyes trace his body as you begin to move, just slow rolls of your hips while you take in every detail: strong arms built from work, not weights. Skin slightly sweaty and a shade lighter where his shirts protect him from the sun. Broad shoulders and a firm stomach, but not too lean. One of your hands drifts over the planes of his chest and the curves of his muscles, humming with admiration as you continue to slowly ride him. His eyes light up and you swear you can see the pleasure in his expression when he clocks your appreciation for him.
"Make yourself feel good, honey," he says, voice low. Your gaze flickers up to his and you share a smile. "Wanna see what you like. Wanna watch you fall apart on it."
Your hips lift and drop a little faster, skin slapping against skin. "Should've known you never stop talking, even when you're getting laid," you tease, and Joel chuckles.
"Bark and bite, I like that."
"Yeah, I figured that out." You gasp when he thrusts upwards, hitting a spot deep inside you can't reach on your own. He notices and files it away for later.
"Takin' notes on me?" he asks, ghosting his palms over your ribs before landing on your breasts, watching in a daze while they bounce in his hands.
"You wish," you pant. He tsks, eyes still fixed on your chest.
"I got a few things figured out 'bout you, too."
You stop moving to glare down at him and catch your breath. His dark eyes dance with amusement at your annoyed look.
"Like what?"
He shrugs but the smile still tugs at the corners of his mouth. "You work hard but don't ever blow off any steam. Don't know yet if it's cause you're too tired or you feel like you don't deserve it."
That stuns you. Even though you're naked and he's currently buried inside you, you suddenly feel very exposed. He sees he might have overstepped, so he backtracks with a joke.
"You can call me anytime and I'll be happy to help you unwind."
You snort and begin moving again, shaking off the unexpected flash of vulnerability. "Why don't you focus on making this memorable enough for me to call you again?"
Joel laughed then, loud. And despite yourself, you giggle.
"Baby, when you're done playin' cowgirl, I'm gonna flip you over and fuck you so hard, you'll feel it on Monday when you're watchin' me through that office window of yours."
Your pussy clenches involuntarily and you begin working faster, fucking yourself on his lap now like you mean it.
"That's a-a lot of big talk, Miller," you reply, breathless from the exertion. You circle your hips and moan loudly when you find an angle you like.
"Ain't just talk," he says, big hands back on your hips, helping you move. His gaze is fixed on where you're connected, on the slick smearing between your bodies, and his stomach tightens. "Been thinkin' 'bout fuckin' you every which way to Sunday, got a head full'a ideas."
"You've been thinking about fucking me?" you repeat almost shyly.
"Don't be coy, now," he tells you, grunting softly when you plant both hands on his chest for leverage. "You know you came over there that first day with these perfect fucking tits pokin' through that little robe on purpose."
"Did not," you breathe, but all the fight has left your body. You're getting close and it's all you can focus on now.
"Uh-huh," Joel says, clearly not believing you. He swallows hard and his cock twitches impatiently inside you. He could come like this, with you riding him, getting yourself off, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want it to be over just yet, especially if you expect this to be a one time thing.
Shit, he hopes it's not just a one time thing.
"C'mon, baby, let go," he says before mouthing at your breasts. His tongue glides over one nipple then grazes it with his teeth before moving to the other one. You jolt and whine and push your chest even closer to his face.
"Joel..." you whisper. Your muscles are tired, you're slowing down. Sweat dots your forehead, collects behind your knees, and you're gasping for air.
He sits up suddenly, understanding right away what you need, and wraps one arm around your waist while the other braces himself against the mattress. He's able to fuck up into you like this and instantly your legs relax and your body slumps forward, causing him to relinquish the attention to your chest.
"That's it," he coos, "lemme help you."
You rarely accept help. The thought flickers across your mind for a moment before you push it away. This is different. This is just sex.
"M'close," you mumble shakily, fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders, forehead pressed intimately against his.
"I know," he breathes, "give it to me, darlin'."
A few more harsh snaps of his hips has you falling, whimpering his name as white hot heat rolls through your limbs and soaking your brain with a drunken haze. He's murmuring to you the whole time: how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, what a good job you did, how perfectly you fit on his cock. The praise goes straight to your head and fills a much needed void somewhere inside you. Some piece of you that is always pushing you to do more, try harder, work faster... efforts that rarely give you desired results. Or, at least, the results you're after. But this—this man—he's giving you something you desperately crave without even realizing it.
Your breath stutters like you've been knocked off kilter, and maybe you have. Joel thinks it's an aftershock of your orgasm and doesn't think anything of it.
He lifts you off his lap and you gasp, eyes flying open in shock. You have about half a second before you're tossed face down onto the bed next to him, then he's climbing behind you, rough hands gentle on your hips as they pull you back up to your hands and knees.
"That's it," he grunts when you obediently spread your legs and arch your back. He smirks to himself before pushing back inside you with a heavy sigh. "Goddamn, you're warm," he says after sliding slowly all the way in, giving you a chance to adjust to the new position. You bite your lip and breathe through it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how deep he feels like this. How good he feels.
"Fuck me, Joel," you moan, pushing your ass back, encouraging him to move. He rolls his hips forward, slow and deep.
"I know," he pants, "I know what you need."
He moves a little faster. Your ass bounces with every push. He grabs it with one big hand and squeezes before giving you a playful smack and doing it again.
"No, you don't. You barely—barely know me," you remind him. Your words stumble over each other as you feel yourself losing focus again. He feels so good, it's impossible not to.
"Know you better than you think," he shoots back. He smoothes over the spot on your ass he had spanked, soothing the area before sliding his palm up and over your spine. He can feel every knot and twist, every stress point you keep locked away deep inside. His fingers seek them out with ease, like maybe he really can see more than you think.
Still, you're stubborn.
"You only know what I want you to know." Your jaw is clenched, the words escape through your teeth but your point is made. You swallow down a moan and close your eyes, giving in to the way he expertly takes you apart.
"I knew you needed this from the first time we met," he tells you, "could've fucked this out of you back then and saved us both the trouble."
"You like it," you hiss over your shoulder. His pace is relentless now, hips swinging roughly against your ass, burying his thick cock as deep as it'll go. He wants to split you open and make you scream his name. He wants your mind blank and your body satiated. "You like—ohh... f-fuck—"
"What's that?" he goads. Joel drops forward so both his arms bracket yours. His chest presses against your spine and his breath is hot in your ear. You shiver and your jaw falls open.
"You..." Your throat is dry. Heat is building behind your navel and your legs are starting to shake. You swallow and keep talking. "You like trouble. You like it... when I yell at you. Whe—when I—"
"Yeah, I know," he admits, "somethin' real sexy 'bout you when you get all pissed off."
"—Like when I tell you... tell you what to do."
He's silent for a moment but his pace never falters. The wet sound of skin on skin is deafening, addicting. Your face warms as he punches the air from your lungs with every devastating thrust.
"Yeah. Maybe I do."
You hum and breathe deep through your nose. Fuck, he's right. You're going to be sore. You can already feel it.
"So tell me what to do now," he adds. It takes you a second to process it, but when you do, you force your eyes open.
What does he want to hear?
Don't overthink it.
"Touch me," you demand, firm and clear despite how your heart is racing.
Joel doesn't hesitate.
He leans back, leaving your sweaty back exposed to the cool air, and he reaches around to play with your clit. Instantly, you gasp and buck under him.
"Like that?"
If you had any clarity at all you would have shot him back some sarcastic remark because of course the answer is yes. Your entire body is shaking, you can barely speak and he knows it.
"Mhm," you manage, "ye—yeah, just like that. Fuck, keep going—"
"Jesus Christ," he mutters when your body begins to work in tandem with his, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Shit honey, you're gonna make me come like this."
You whine and throw your head back. His fingers don't stop circling your clit. Sweat coats your skin now. Gasping breaths and the sound of his hips meeting your ass over and over are filling the room, punctuated by Joel's deep grunts and your breathy moans.
"Joel—" you whisper as your body locks up. Your muscles ache, your cunt aches even more, but you continue to take it all. Your hand feverishly finds his between your legs and you leave it there, loving the way his fingers feel while they play you like a guitar.
"Sweetheart, I'm gonna—"
But you cut him off before he could finish his thought with a sharp cry. Your orgasm washes over you, harsh and unforgiving. A moment later Joel follows you over the edge with a loud curse, then a rough, deep grunt you can feel in your bones as he empties himself into the condom.
"Oh, holy fuck," he gasps, removing his hand from between your legs. He still thrusts weakly into you as the last of his orgasm streaks through his veins. It's cut short when he feels your body shaking violently under him and just like that, his focus is back on you.
"You okay?"
"I'm—" You're out of breath. Your vision is spotty and your muscles are weak. You swallow hard and try again. "I'm good, just need to—"
You fall onto your elbows and Joel takes the hint. He eases out of you, ignoring the way his chest pangs at the loss of your body, before he collapses into bed and hauls you down next to him.
Now you can rest. You close your eyes and breathe, deep and heavy. He does the same while the sweat cools on both your bodies and slowly, your brain begins to come back online. When it does, you realize his body is loosely curled around yours, keeping you warm and grounding you. It's strangely intimate but you don't pull away. Not yet.
"How 'bout I take you for that dinner now?" he mumbles before carefully pressing a soft kiss against your neck. His sweaty chest is pressed against your back, sealing you together.
"Let's just order something instead," you sigh with your eyes closed.
"Did I tire you out, darlin'?"
"Didn't sleep well," you say, unwilling to give him any credit just yet, "the damn construction crew next door woke me up way too early."
"Uh-huh," he teases before tightening his arm around your middle. It feels nice, so you lean into him just a bit. And for a while it's quiet and peaceful. Your breath steadies, your head clears, but your muscles stay soft and relaxed. Joel doesn't say anything. His thumb rubs idly over your stomach, lips occasionally graze over your back or shoulder, and it feels good until that defensive part of your brain wakes up, right on schedule.
This isn't serious. This didn't mean anything. It was just stress relief. Don't get attached.
"So," you say, voice a little hoarse when you gently slip out of his grip. He rolls onto his back with a soft, reluctant noise and he watches you stand to pick up your clothes. "This is what it takes to finally shut you up, huh?"
You grin at your joke as you press your clothes to your front, hiding your bare body from him like he hadn't just touched every inch of it minutes ago. When he doesn't answer right away with some smart remark, you pause and meet his eye.
He's stretched out on your bed, looking at you like he's seeing something not meant for him. You swallow nervously and try not to let yourself enjoy how good he looks in your space, amongst your things, in your life.
"Yeah," he finally says, "guess that'll do it."
His voice sounds flat and you begin to feel bad, so you clear your throat and inch towards your bathroom. "Let's order something to eat before you go."
Before you go. Joel heard it and got the message. He didn't know what to expect but for some reason, it stings.
"Yeah, what are you thinkin'?" He sits up and reaches for his jeans, where his phone is still tucked into his pocket.
"I don't care. Whatever you like." Then the door to the bathroom quietly snaps shut. Joel sighs once's he's alone and rubs his face before looking around your room. It's neat and organized, nothing like his own. He chews the inside of his cheek while he thinks, but before he lets himself get too lost, he snaps out of it and looks at his phone.
Chinese is a safe bet, so he orders that before standing to rid himself of the condom and get dressed. Suddenly he feels out of place. He's rough and dirty and you're... not. And that's fine. This was fun, it doesn't have to be anything more. Yet when he wanders into your kitchen for water, he can't help but feel an empty pull in his chest at the thought of leaving.
Unknown to him, hidden inside your bathroom, you're struggling with the very same thing.
