A/N: Hi guys! This is my first time writing for Dean and I have planned this story to be a slow burn romance. It will contains multiple chapters and I plan on updatind it fairly regularly. The story wil follow some of the plotlines from the Off Campus S1, The Score + my own original scenes. I hope I'm able to do all the characters and this story justice.
P.S. Is anyone else as equally obssesed with Mika and Stephen's Quinn Originals Audio?? Bcs I've listened to it 6 times in the past 24 hrs and I'm absolutely obssesed.
Camille Maxwell had spent most of her life believing she was meant for New York. Not in the pretentious 'I belong in Manhattan because I drink iced coffee and own tote bags' kind of way. Though she did do both those things aggressively.
No, she meant it in the soul-deep, cinematic way.
Like she was supposed to exist somewhere between bookstore aisles and magazine offices. Between coffee-stained manuscript pages and women with impossible blowouts discussing deadlines over martinis. She wanted sharp eyeliner and sharper opinions. Wanted bylines and publishing deals and meetings at CondĂŠ Nast where someone called her brilliant while she pretended not to cry about it in a bathroom stall later.
She wanted a life that felt like the ending of a 2000s romcom.
Unfortunately, her current reality looked significantly less like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and more like a low-budget off-Broadway production sponsored by caffeine addiction and poor decision-making.
âCami,â Jeremy announced dramatically from the middle of their living room floor, âif I die before opening night, tell my mother I loved her but she never fully supported my artistic process.â
Without glancing up from her laptop, Cami took a sip of coffee gone cold an hour ago.
âYouâre not dying,â she said flatly. Jeremy clutched his chest harder.
âThe emotional repression in this apartment is killing me.â
âThe emotional repression in this apartment is helping you with line read.â That earned her a groan.
Their apartment was tiny in the aggressively overpriced off-campus way that college apartments tended to be. The radiator made sounds that suggested demonic possession. One of the kitchen cabinet doors refused to close fully. Jeremyâs collection of Playbills had slowly started colonizing the walls. But it was still cozy and homey in ways that Cami has grown to love. It was perfect. Mostly because it was theirs.
Cami met Jeremy Brown at a Broadway afterparty two years ago after accidentally insulting a director loud enough for him to overhear. Jeremy, naturally, decided they were soulmates immediately after. Honestly? He hadnât been entirely wrong.
âYouâre staring into the void again,â Jeremy observed.
âIâm editing.â
âYou highlighted the same sentence six times.â
Cami blinked at her laptop screen. Right. The sentence. She sighed and shoved the computer away before dropping back against the couch cushions dramatically enough to rival Jeremy himself.
âMaybe journalism is dead.â
Jeremy gasped. âDonât say that. Thatâs your whole personality.â
âActually my whole personality is romanticizing my suffering.â
âTrue. Very East Coast of you.â He Snickered. A laugh escaped her despite herself.
Outside the apartment window, Briarâs campus moved through its usual Friday rhythm. Girls in tiny skirts and oversized jackets. Guys carrying cases of beer like sacred offerings. Music already thumping faintly somewhere in the distance. Friday nights at Briar were less a concept and more a survival sport.
Her phone buzzed against the couch.
Beauzođ¤
hawk house tonight
party starts at 9
tuckâs asking if you can bring your garlic dip thingy when u come over?
Cami:
đđ
Cami snorted.
âWho is it?â Jeremy asked with a raised eyebrow.
âBeau. He says party starts at 9.â
âAh, the beautiful menace. Literally how is your entire family so beautiful?â Jeremy groaned into the couch cushion.
She kicked him lightly with her socked foot.
âStop lusting over my brother. Be nice.â
âI am nice. I merely observe beauty when I see it.â Cami laughed.
Jeremy sat up, narrowing his eyes suddenly.
âYouâre debating whether to go.â he said with an accusing tone.
âIâm literally not.â
âYou literally are.â
Cami reached for her coffee again. The truth was, lately, the Hawk House had started feeling dangerous in a way it never used to. Not dangerous-dangerous. Just emotionally inconvenient. Which was somehow worse.
By seven-thirty, she was standing in front of her mirror convincing herself that putting effort into her appearance for a Friday night party was a normal thing people did and not at all related to unresolved psychological issues. The black top she settled on dipped low enough to feel unfair.
Her jeans fit like a second skin. Gold danglers glinted beneath her loose curls. Lip gloss. Rings stacked along her fingers. The kind of effortless look that actually took forty minutes and a small fight with her diffuser.
Jeremy emerged from his room midway through buttoning a shirt and stopped dead.
âOh, you look hot-hot.â Cami grinned.
âThank you.â
âNo seriously. This is concerning. Some mediocre white hockey player is going to fall in love with you tonight.â
âYou say that like itâs a threat.â She laughed.
âIt should be when they look like that.â
ââAre you coming with me now or joining later?â Knowing Jer heâll probably arrive at the Hawk house late around 11 with some random guy behind his tail.
âCanât right now. Meeting up with Noah at Maloneâs. Iâll see you there later.â He smiled innocently.
âIs this the Econ major Noah or the Track runner Noah?â She asked pointedly.
âNeither. This is actually someone I met at the coffee cart the other day.â He admitted sheepishly.
Cami laughed. As predicted no one can keep up with the fun and super chaotic love life of Jeremy Brown.
The Hawk House was surprisingly quiet by the time she arrived. Faint music could be heard from the porch. She loved coming over earlier than others because this was the only time sheâll actually get with all of them together before everyone disappears into the night. The familiar scent of beer, laundry detergent, and aggressively male living conditions wrapped around her instantly. Oddly comforting.
âLilâ Maxwell!â Logan called the second she walked into the kitchen. His head was half under the sink of the kitchen cabinet. âThank Christ. Tell Tucker garlic bread shouldnât smoke.â
âItâs called texture,â Tucker argued.
âItâs called arson,â Beau shot back.
âI think we have established at this point that you donât argue with Tuck over cooking.â Cami answered and made her way to the counter to drop her box of dip.
âWhen did we establish that?â Beau asks.
âWhen you all realized that he is literally the only one here who can cook a decent meal without burning the house down. Plus a little char never hurt anybody.â Cami laughed, tossing her bag onto the counter. Beau immediately reached over to steal the container of dip she brought and then proceeds to dip one of Tuckerâs bread in it whole.
âHey!â Tucker shouted while throwing a rag at him which he dodges successfully and makes a teasing face at Tuck.
âYouâre unbelievable,â she informed her brother.
âAnd yet deeply beloved.â She sat down on the couch in front of the TV. Logan stood up from where he was lying under the sink and sat down beside her.
âHey so howâs that Media Ethics paper coming? You looked super stressed about it last week.â Logan asks while stuffing his face with nachos from the coffee table. Behind them Beau and Tuck were still messing around over something she had zoned out on.
Logan and Cami shared a very understanding friendship. In the Hawk house, Logan was probably the only one who shared the same dedication of perfectionism that she did. They often sat together for coffee and discussed each otherâs assignment despite being in very different fields for a fresh set of opinion from someone with an outside perspective.
âIt is something. I donât even know what I wrote and now Iâm trying to edit it but I spent the last 4 hrs staring into space. My classes were cancelled post lunch today and I was so determined to sit and finish editing at least a third of it, but guess what, I spent 20 minutes zoning out while Jer made me read lines with him.â Cami groaned into the couch cushion. Logan laughed and sat up.
âI donât understand why youâre stressing over it so much. Youâre literally the smartest person I know. Talk to me about it. Whatâs bothering you so much.â He smiled at her.
âSo my paper is on âWho Gets to Tell the Story? Ethics, Power, and Narrative Ownership in Modern Journalismâ.â
"That's a lot of words."
"Thank you for your contribution."
"You're welcome." He smiled.
Cami groaned and dropped her forehead against the back of the couch.
"I've written fifteen pages."
"Sounds good."
"It's not."
âHow do you know?"
"Because it doesn't feel done."
"That's not an answer."
"It is for writers."
Logan shoved another handful of nachos into his mouth. "Okay, explain it to me like I'm stupid."
"That'll take less time." She snickered.
"Rude."
"Accurate."
His grin appeared immediately. "Continue."
Cami sat back. "The paper's about who gets to tell stories. Journalists have power because they're the ones shaping narratives. They decide what's important, whose voices get included, whose perspectives get ignored."
Logan nodded slowly. "So."
"So what?"
"What's your argument?"
She frowned. "I told you."
"No, you told me the topic."
Cami opened her mouth. Then closed it. Across from her, Logan looked entirely too pleased with himself. "I hate when you do that."
"Do what?"
"The thing where you're accidentally insightful."
"It's one of my gifts."
She rolled her eyes. "My argument is that people in positions of power have a responsibility to tell stories ethically."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." Her eye twitched. Logan laughed.
"What?"
"That sounds like the introduction, Maxwell."
"It is the introduction."
"Then what's the actual point?"
Cami stared at him.
"What?" He shrugged.
"Anybody can tell a story."
"Not well."
"Exactly." Something in her chest paused. Logan continued, oblivious.
"Like, hockey reporters come to games all the time. Some of them know what they're talking about." He pointed toward himself.
"Some don't."
"Groundbreaking analysis."
"You know what I mean." Unfortunately, she did. Logan leaned back in his chair.
"The stories that piss me off are the ones where somebody already decided who I am before they talked to me. When reporters come in looking for the party-boy hockey player, that's all they see." His voice had gone quieter.
"They don't care if it's true. They already know what story they want." Now thatâ that was interesting.
"So your issue isn't who gets to tell the story." Logan shrugged.
"It's whether they bothered listening first." For a moment, the kitchen fell silent. Then Cami slowly reached for her phone and started typing something furiously. Logan pointed.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The face."
"What face?"
"The one you make when you've figured something out." A smile tugged at her mouth. Because he was right. Her paper wasn't actually about power. Or journalism. Or gatekeeping. Not really. It was about responsibility. About listening. About recognizing the difference between telling someone's story and deciding it for them.
"You're annoyingly useful sometimes."
Logan looked delighted. "I'm putting that on my rĂŠsumĂŠ." Cami Laughed.
âGuys, Dean texted. G and him are on their way back. Will be here soon. Can you guys get off your feet and help me finish setting up.â Tucker scolded from behind the kitchen counter.
The front door opened less than five minutes later. Cold autumn air swept into the house alongside the familiar sound of Garrett Graham's voice.
"...and I'm telling you, if Coach makes us do another conditioning session at six in the morning, I'm transferring." Deanâs voice was loud just like his pressence.
"You're not transferring."
"Watch me."
"You say that every semester."
"One day I'll mean it." The voices grew louder as they crossed the foyer. Logan groaned immediately.
"Christ. They're back."
A second later Garrett appeared in the kitchen doorway, hockey duffel slung over one shoulder and baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He looked exhausted in the way only college athletes seemed capable of being exhausted. The kind where they still somehow had enough energy to be annoying.
"Maxwell," Garrett greeted, spotting her immediately. "Tell your brother his playlist is ass."
Beau looked offended. "My playlist is elite."
"It sounds like a twelve-year-old discovered dubstep."
"It gets the team hyped."
"It gives me a migraine."
Before Beau could launch a defense, another figure appeared behind Garrett. Dean. Something stupid happened to her stomach every single time.
He looked tired. Not exhausted exactly, but worn around the edges after what had probably been an hour-long meeting with Coach Jensen. A black hoodie stretched across his shoulders. Damp hair curled slightly at the ends from the drizzle outside. Normal. Completely normal. Which somehow made it worse.
"Hey, Millie." The greeting came easy. Automatic. Like breathing. Dean barely slowed as he crossed the kitchen, reaching into Tucker's fridge without permission. Again. Automatic. Like breathing.
"Hi Dicky!" She said in a mocking tone. He groaned and the boys all snickered behind them.
âHow many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Ugh I hate Summer.â Beau was enjoying this too much behind them.
âEvery time you call me Millie Iâll call you Dicky. Thatâs the deal. If you prefer stupid childhood nicknames Iâll give you exactly that.â Dean laughed.
His eyes flickered toward her briefly. Just enough to take in her curly hair drawled across the couch. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Unfortunately, she noticed. Dean grabbed a bottle of water.
"You finish that paper you've been crying about for two weeks?" Cami narrowed her eyes.
"I was not crying."
"You called me at two thirty at night to complain about footnotes." Beau chimed in from behind.
"That was a moment of weakness."
"A forty-minute moment." Garrett barked out a laugh. Dean's mouth twitched.
"How tragic." She wanted to throw something at him. Instead she settled for stealing one of Tucker's garlic knots and aiming a glare in Dean's direction. Dean looked entirely unbothered by it. Naturally.
Across the kitchen, Beau tossed Dean a beer. Dean caught it one-handed without looking. The movement was so practiced it was almost ridiculous.
"How'd the meeting go?" Beau asked.
Dean shrugged. "Fine."
"That's hockey-player code for terrible."
"It wasn't terrible."
"Then?"
Dean cracked open the beer. "Coach wants us watching film tomorrow morning."
A collective groan echoed around the room. Even Cami felt offended on their behalf.
"Saturday?" Logan complained.
"Apparently losing builds character."
"Then we're basically saints at this point." That earned a laugh from everyone.
For a few moments conversation bounced easily around the kitchen. Tucker complained about practice schedules. Logan complained about conditioning. Garrett complained about everything. The familiar rhythm settled over the room. Comfortable. Effortless. Home.
And somewhere in the middle of it, Dean glanced over. Just once. His gaze caught on her for half a second. Then he smiled. Small. Easy. The same smile he'd been giving her for years.
"Looking good tonight, Mills." And just like that he turned back toward Beau, already halfway through another conversation.
Hereâs the thing nobody warns you about regarding first crushes that lasted too long. Eventually, they stopped feeling like crushes. They became reflexes. Instinct. Muscle memory. The scrape of Deanâs rough voice saying her nickname.
âLooking good tonight.â As if those three words had not just branded themselves permanently into her bloodstream. And later tonight â after the party blurred loud and golden around her â Camille Maxwell would still remember this exact moment with humiliating clarity.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :) Pls share your thoughts and crtique in the comments down below. Also mention if you would be interested in being added to the tag list.
was literally in the middle of writing chapter 1 of the things we outgrew and @tryquinn drops another teaser for Stephen x Mika's audio and omg it's best friend's brother. Aaaah!!!
need to listen to this as i finish writing the chapter hehe.
I absolutely loved your last Dean story!! I was wondering if you would be able to write about a reader who has never been able to finish, with herself or anyone else, and dean helps her learn.
Beautiful writing!
I would've done that sober
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!reader
⥠Main Index | ⥠Archive for Earth-66
a/n: Well that was long, but such a delight to write and soooo so sexy
Classification: Smut +18 | Talks of ex's and sexual dysfunction/insecurity, emotional vulnerability, recreational drug use (NOT DURING SEX), dry humping/grinding, getting caught, fingering, tension and arousal descriptions, orgasm, praise and partial undressing/lingerie.
Word count: 12k
Divider by me ;)
You sat across from the fire pit in the boysâ backyard, elbows resting on the armrests of your chair while the flames cracked softly in front of you both. The night air had turned colder hours ago, but neither of you had gone inside. Dean kept talking and you kept letting him or trying to.
Every time he opened his mouth, you exhaled slowly through your nose as if physically releasing air might stop you from interrupting him.
âHeâs an arrogant son of a bitch,â Dean repeated for probably the fifth time that night. He took another drag from the blunt before passing it toward you, smoke curling past his lips as he leaned back deeper into the chair.
âThatâs what pisses me off the most,â he continued, staring hard into the fire like your ex-boyfriend personally offended him. âHe had no clue what he was doing in the relationship from day one and still had the confidence to ask you out.â His jaw tightened slightly. âUsually I respect delusion like that, but that guyâs a fucking disaster.â
You accepted the blunt with a quiet sigh.
Dean had been ranting for nearly a week straight now. Anyone overhearing him wouldâve assumed heâd been the one publicly dumped in the cafeteria instead of you but heâd been there when it happened, front row seats to your ex fumbling through excuses while half your friends sat frozen around the table pretending not to listen. Maybe that was enough for Dean.
Now, instead of being out partying with the rest of the team, he sat outside with you night after night, sharing weed and acting personally victimized by your breakup.
âDean,â you finally interrupted, tone firm.
He stopped talking immediately.
You inhaled slowly before looking over at him through the smoke, holding his gaze while you exhaled. âItâs okay.â
Deanâs expression flattened instantly. âWe have very different definitions of okay.â
His eyes drifted back toward the fire for a second, replaying the memory again. You could practically see it happening behind his eyes, the cafeteria, your expression and your ex stumbling through his speech.
âYou shouldâve let me talk to him,â he muttered.
âWhat good would that have done?â You brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling before handing it over again. âItâs not his fault.â
Deanâs head snapped toward you so fast he nearly dropped the thing. âThe fuck does that mean?â
You almost rolled your eyes at the offense in his tone. Instead, you looked away toward the fire again, watching orange light flicker against the patio stones.
âIâm lost here,â he scoffed. âIs being wrapped around another girl at a party three hours after dumping you not a dick move now?â
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. âDean,â you said gently, finally turning your head toward him again. âI think Iâm the only person who wasnât surprised by the breakup.â
His brows furrowed.
You shrugged one shoulder lightly. âHe just beat me to it.â
âOh.â The word left him quietly. Dean looked away immediately afterward, dragging a hand over his mouth while he gathered his thoughts before glancing back at you. âThatâs the first time Iâm hearing about that.â
He passed the blunt over again.
You took it carefully, staring down at it between your fingers for a second before answering.
âYeah, well...â You inhaled deeply, smoke burning pleasantly in your lungs before you let it back out slowly. âYouâve got other business to worry about.â
Dean huffed out a laugh instantly. âYou are my business.â The certainty in his voice made your lips curl before you could stop them. âSo start talking.â
He always did that. Dean had this way of making honesty feel inevitable. The two of you talked about everything, always had. He knew things about you your closest friends didnât. Hell, heâd bought condoms for you the first time you planned on sleeping with someone because youâd been too embarrassed to walk into the store yourself.
You moved deeper into the chair, pulling one leg beneath you while you searched carefully for the right words. âUmâŚâ You inhaled again, then blurted it out before your brain could stop you. âI suck at the sex thing.â
Deanâs face twisted immediately in disagreement as you passed the blunt. âBullshit.â
You laughed softly. âNo, seriously. I do.â You rubbed awkwardly at your neck before continuing. âTurns out not being able to cum eventually becomes an issue when your partner realizes you never actually have with them.â
Deanâs expression changed instantly. Every conversation youâd ever had about sex clearly started replaying in his head at once because confusion hit him violently.
âBut you told meââ
âI lied.â The words came out easier than expected. You shrugged lightly, though your stomach still tightened. âIâve been lying for years...Faking it until I got tired of faking it and started bruising egos.â A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth. âIncluding mine.â
Dean stayed quiet now so you stared into the fire instead.
âI justâŚâ You exhaled slowly. âI donât think sex is really my thing.â Your shoulders lifted. âI like the idea of it. I enjoy parts of itâŚbut everyone talks about this huge explosive ending and I justâŚâ You shook your head. âDonât get thereâŚnaturally people stop believing you when you say it was still good.â
Dean watched you carefully. âWas it?â
âThe sex?â You let the silence drag for a second before shrugging again. âI think so.â Your lips twitched faintly. âIt was good enough to build better stories around afterward.â
Dean stopped smoking entirely after that. The blunt burned slowly between his fingers while he stared down at it, suddenly looking far more sober than either of you probably were. He looked like he was trying to organize his thoughts before speaking again.
âHow about alone?â The question came softly, carefully.
If you didnât know him so well, you mightâve mistaken the look on his face for pity. Thankfully, you did know him, which meant you recognized concern immediately.
You shook your head slowly. âThatâs why Iâm saying itâs not his fault.â
âItâs not yours either,â Dean argued as he flicked the rest of the blunt into the fire pit before continuing. âIt just hasnât happened yet.â His voice softened further. âDoesnât mean it never will.â
You let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the weed finally started loosening the tension sitting on your shoulders. âItâs definitely not from lack of trying.â
You could feel him staring at you even with your eyes closed.
The silence stretched comfortably after your confession, softened by the crackling fire and the distant chorus of crickets surrounding the backyard. The flames had started dying down, wood collapsing inward with quiet snaps while smoke drifted lazily into the cold night air.
Dean still hadnât looked away from you. âSo what now?â he asked finally.
You swallowed slowly, still keeping your eyes shut. For a second or maybe an entire minute, Dean genuinely thought youâd fallen asleep mid-conversation.
Then your lips twitched. âCelibacy.â
The offended sound that tore out of him made your smile widen. You heard him trying to hold it back too, which honestly made it funnier but this was Dean. Subtle outrage had never once existed in his body.
âThink Iâd look hot as a nun?â you asked lazily.
âYouâd look hot in a banana costume wearing clown shoes six sizes too big,â he replied instantly. âAnd youâre absolutely not dropping out of Briar to become a nun. End of discussion.â
His tone came out firm enough to sound ridiculous considering he had absolutely no authority over your life whatsoever.
You finally peeled your eyes open to look at him. The weed had settled into your bones now, leaving you heavy and relaxed against the chair. Dean looked hazy too, hair falling perfectly while the firelight flickered warm across his face.
âYouâre not giving up because some five-eleven idiot couldnât be patient long enough to figure you out.â
You grinned. âHeâs six-one.â
Dean scoffed. âHe tried out for the Hawks freshman year. Trust me, heâs five-eleven.â
Your brows lifted. Dean kept going without needing encouragement, already slipping into that protective streak he pretended wasnât there. He always collected information about people around you, quietly filing it away for future use whenever he deemed necessary.
âHe was wearing lifts during tryouts,â Dean added smugly. âOne bad pivot and the guy almost snapped an ankle.â
A laugh escaped you softly.
âIf you wanna stop having sex altogether, God forbidââ
âYou should become a priest,â you interrupted.
Dean barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. âYeah,â he nodded. âItâd probably take a year and a half to cleanse my sins.â He pointed toward himself loosely. âAnd thatâs assuming I donât burst into flames the second I walk into a church.â His eyes drifted back to you. âCan I continue now?â
âYes, Father,â you replied through a chuckle.
Dean shook his head, smiling despite himself before settling deeper into his chair again.
âIf you really wanna do the celibacy thing, fine.â He shrugged dramatically. âIâll support you. Weâll find support groups together and hold hands through the trauma.â His mouth twitched. âThough personally, Iâd go through withdrawals first.â
âHow solidary of you.â
He nodded solemnly. âExactly. Plus I can probably add it to my extracurriculars somehow.â
You laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly as you leaned back into the chair. âYouâre so fucking stupid.â
Dean watched you carefully while you laughed. The sound came out lighter than anything heâd heard from you all week, chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes squeezed shut again for a second and suddenly the conversation stopped feeling funny to him.
Because underneath the jokes, underneath the weed and the teasing, he kept thinking about what youâd actually said earlier. About you trying and nothing happening.
Dean loved sex. Everyone knew that much about him but you did too or at least you loved wanting it, loved feeling desired, loved the intimacy, the heat and everything wrapped around it and now all he could think about was how frustrating that mustâve been for you. Wanting something everyone else talked about so easily only for your body not to cooperate no matter how hard you tried.
The thought sat badly in his chest. Dean looked down at the dying fire for a second before his eyes lifted back to you.
âUse me,â he blurted out.
Your laughter faded gradually after his words, the smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth while your eyes settled back on him even more carefully this time.Â
âWhat do you mean?â
Dean didnât even hesitate. âIâll be your last resort,â he repeated easily, like heâd already thought this through far more than he probably had. âArenât you always telling me to make myself useful?â
You narrowed your eyes, blinking slowly through the haze settling heavier behind them.
âWhat exactly are you suggesting?â You rubbed at one eye with the heel of your hand. âBecause Iâm starting to think I hallucinated that sentence.â
âI hold my weed better than you,â he reminded you smugly.
That part, unfortunately, was true. Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting against his knees now, all lazy amusement gone strangely sincere beneath the teasing.
âYou wanna quit? Fine.â He shrugged. âQuit when youâre actually out of options.â
A quiet huff left you, somewhere between disbelief and laughter. âDidnât realize Six Flags counted as an option.â Your lips twitched faintly. âI hate rollercoasters.â
Dean nodded decisively. âThen Iâll go out of business.â
âYouâll close the park?â
âIâll shut the whole thing down,â he promised solemnly. âJust so you can ride the teacups.â The grin spreading across his face warned you half a second too late. âRemember when you threw up on theââ
âYes,â you cut him off immediately, flat and horrified. âI remember.â
Dean laughed anyway. Full-bodied, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as he pointed at you. âYou were crying,â he accused through the laughter. âYou kept saying your stomach hated youââ
âI was fifteen.â
âAnd dramatic.â He added. âBut so cuteâŚless mouthy too.â
âYou held my hair while I threw up into a trash can behind the funnel cake stand.â
Deanâs laughter softened slightly at that memory. Back then heâd been genuinely terrified something was wrong with you. Heâd hovered beside you the entire night looking pale enough to pass out himself while you recovered on a bench wrapped in his sweatshirt. Now he just looked fond.
You glanced away first, eyes dropping back toward the dying fire while your thoughts started turning over his earlier suggestion again despite yourself.
It could go horribly. Actually, no, it would go horribly. There were at least seventeen reasons this crossed every boundary imaginable. You already hated rollercoasters, hated fast turns and hated giving up control over literally anything involving your body and DeanâŚWell, Dean was Dean.
Confident, experienced, annoyingly good-looking and unarguably good at sex if campus rumors counted for anything and unfortunately they definitely did. You hadnât exactly conducted research firsthand but after years of hearing stories from girls around campus, the reviews were embarrassingly consistent.
âYou really think that highly of your dick?â you asked finally.
Dean shrugged lazily against the chair. âNobody said anything about using it.â
That made your eyes snap back to him fully. âAnd if nothing works?â you asked quieter this time.
The question slipped out more honestly than intended because suddenly you werenât thinking about sex anymore. You were thinking about aftermaths, about what happened if this ruined things between you. Dean had woven himself into your life years ago so naturally that imagining him gone felt impossible now.
You genuinely didnât know how youâd survive losing him too.
Dean studied you for a second and for once the confidence in his face softened into something steadier. âThen we fail,â he decided.
You swallowed.
His grin returned slowly afterward, softer around the edges. âFail with me,â he corrected. âFail better.â He pointed between you both lazily. âFail together.â
A laugh escaped you despite every effort not to give him one.
You rolled your eyes hard enough to make him grin wider, shaking your head while the weed continued smoothing the sharp corners off your thoughts. The night air no longer felt cold against your skin and embarrassment had slowly stopped existing somewhere during the conversation. Maybe that was the dangerous part and not Deanâs suggestion but how easy it suddenly felt to consider it.
You didnât bring it up again for the rest of the night and neither did Dean.
When the rest of the guys stumbled back into the house loud and half-drunk sometime after midnight, he changed back into normal so smoothly it almost irritated you. He made sure you had food, water, your charger and then bullied one of the sober freshmen into driving you home while standing outside by the car until you pulled away like he always did.
You slept absurdly well afterward.
A heavy sleep and dreamless night, the type that glued you to the mattress the next morning until sunlight was already cutting aggressively through your blinds. By the time you shuffled out with an oversized hoodie you were certain was your exâs, your phone was buzzing with unread texts from Dean sent hours earlier, probably before morning practice.
You ignored every single one and it wasnât because of regret. Embarrassment simply crawled into your chest somewhere between the first and third spoonful of cereal and decided to settle there permanently.
The entire conversation replayed so clearly now that you were sober. âUse me,â You nearly groaned into the bowl.
Three hours of class helped, at least temporarily. You sat near the back of the massive amphitheater classroom while your professor rambled enthusiastically about the new book heâd conveniently written himself and would definitely require students to purchase before midterms. You probably wouldâve absorbed more information if you werenât scrolling mindlessly through Instagram the entire lecture.
The doors behind you opened quietly midway through class.
You barely paid attention at first since nobody descended the stairs toward the lower rows and a second later the seat beside you groaned softly under someoneâs weight.
You recognized the cologne immediately.
âHow hard do you think you need to scrub for that scent to leave your skin?â you whispered without looking up.
Dean grinned beside you, leaning closer enough for warmth to brush your shoulder as his eyes dropped toward your phone screen.
You locked it quickly and finally looked at him. âYouâre not in this class.â
âI see your phone works perfectly fine,â he replied.
The professor thankfully dismissed class early before you could answer, students immediately growing louder as backpacks zipped and people exited the space.
You stood quickly and started gathering your things. âDid you need something, Di Laurentis?â you asked flatly.
Dean remained seated on purpose, forcing you to awkwardly climb past him to leave the row. The asshole looked entirely too pleased with himself while you muttered under your breath and stepped over his legs.
The second you reached the aisle, he stood and followed.
You walked fast, actually, aggressively fast. Dean almost struggled to keep up at first, his legs clearly still wrecked from morning practice while you marched out of the building like escape itself was the objective. He finally caught you outside near the steps leading toward the quad.
âWe need to talk.â
You slowed at last before turning toward him. âWhat we need is space,â you corrected, motioning firmly between your bodies.
Dean looked down between you both thoughtfully, then took exactly one step backward.
You almost laughed, especially because he looked unbearably smug afterward, standing there grinning in the middle of campus like he deserved a reward for basic listening skills.
âYouâve gone to New York with me enough times to know I donât need more space,â he pointed out. âBut fine.â His expression softened slightly afterward, amusement fading as he studied your face more carefully. âWhatâs going on?â
Of course, he was right. Dean practically crawled into peopleâs personal bubbles recreationally, so the fact heâd backed off at all made it harder to flee the conversation entirely.
You exhaled slowly. âWe said stuff last night.â
He nodded once, blinking at the tension written all over your face. âYeah. Thatâs usually how conversations work.â
âStuff you might regret,â you clarified.
Deanâs brows lifted before a quiet laugh escaped him. âRegret?â He pointed toward himself loosely. âCâmon. Itâs me.â
His voice gentled slightly after and the worst part was he looked relieved, because apparently the phrase âstuff you might regretâ translated in Deanâs brain to âgood, sheâs not upsetâ.
âI wouldâve said that sober,â he assured you.
His eyes stayed fixed on yours while your attention darted briefly around campus before returning to him again exactly like he knew it would. Dean stepped closer instinctively, lowering his voice enough that the passing students around you blurred into background noise.
âYou want me to repeat it?â he asked quietly. âLet me help you cum.â
Your stomach tightened at his tone of voice. âIt might not work,â you reminded him softly.
You hoped your face conveyed the actual problem because this had never been about his ego. Dean could survive failure, heâd probably laugh through it, so that wasnât what scared you.
Dean shrugged anyway, maddeningly calm. âWhat if it does?â
âAnd what if it doesnât?â Frustration finally slipped into your voice. âDean, I donât want us to get weird.â You shook your head hard once. âI donât need âoptimistic Deanâ right now,â you muttered. âI need ârealistic Deanâ, so pull him out of your ass.â
âYou already are weird,â Dean corrected easily, smiling down at you. âI accepted that years ago.â His grin widened then. âActually, I encourage it.â
You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you.
âLet me try,â he insisted again, the confidence in his voice shouldâve irritated you more than it did.
Instead, you found yourself studying him in silence, searching for something off in his expression. Some sign this was ego, curiosity or boredom disguised as concern but he just lookedâŚearnest. Enthusiastic, sure, because he was Dean and apparently incapable of approaching anything halfway but not creepy about it and maybe this was partially your own fault.
Youâd spent years talking openly with him about sex, relationships and attraction. About wanting something good someday instead of tolerable, about how when you were old and exhausted with kids running around, you still wanted a partner who looked at you and wanted you back because you were almost certain youâd still want them too.
Dean remembered everything you saidâŚunfortunately.
You sighed heavily. âWe need rules.â
âFine.â He agreed so fast it almost startled you. Dean straightened afterward, nodding once with ridiculous seriousness like the two of you were entering business negotiations instead of whatever disaster this actually was.
You almost reconsidered your next words. Almost.
âNo kissing.â
Deanâs shoulders visibly dropped. âWhy?â
âBecause!â you hissed. âAnd if weâre doing this, you donât get to question the rules.â
His face twisted in disbelief. âWeâve kissed before.â
You crossed your arms tighter. âThat was different.â
Dean scoffed softly. âWe were literally each otherâs first kiss.â
Again, he was right. You werenât just each otherâs first kiss either, a few firsts existed between you both scattered through years of friendship and growing up side by side, all except for sex. There was awkward teenage curiosity, truth or dare disasters and one regrettable spin-the-bottle incident Garrett still occasionally referenced against your will.
Which was exactly why kissing now felt dangerous. This couldnât spiral into some âwhy didnât we do this soonerâ conversation. It needed boundaries and structure, something detached enough that neither of you accidentally ruined the friendship orbiting underneath all this and selflessly, you also didnât want the group dragged into the fallout if things exploded.
âWeâre adults now,â you said firmly. âSo no kissing.â
Dean stared at you for another second before exhaling dramatically.Â
âOkay,â he relentedâŚToo easily, which immediately made you suspicious heâd already started planning arguments against it for later.
âIâve also thought about what you said last night,â you continued carefully. âAbout Six Flags.â
Deanâs brows lifted.
âAnd shutting down the entire park feels unfair to you,â you explained. âPotentially devastating, honestly.â Your lips twitched slightly. âSo you can still hook up with other people if you want. I genuinely donât care.â
Dean actually looked offended. âDidnât realize I needed permission.â
âYou know what I mean.â
âNo, I donât.â His voice sharpened for the first time since the conversation started. âBut no thanks.â He shrugged once. âIt makes this more exciting anyway.â A grin tugged briefly at his mouth again. âIâve got one ride right now and thatâs all I need.â
Your face scrunched at his words. âDoes weed somehow make you an even bigger asshole?â
Dean ignored that completely. âIâm not doing anything with anyone else until weâre done here,â he repeated firmly. The teasing disappeared entirely from his voice that time and there was no smugness either, just certainty.
You quieted automatically when a group of students passed nearby, a few of them recognizing Dean instantly and greeting him as they crossed the quad. He responded absentmindedly without taking his eyes off you once.
The second they moved far enough away, you continued. âWhy?â
Deanâs expression softened at the question. âBecause I need you comfortable,â he answered simply. âAnd I need you to trust me more than you already do.â
You groaned. âOh my God,â you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. âYouâre making this weird.â
He grinned at your reaction while you grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him further across campus before more people stopped to talk to him. Dean let you drag him along without resistance, looking far too entertained by the whole thing.
âWe donât even know how long this will take,â you pointed out.
âMy fist works perfectly fine in the meantime,â Dean decided easily.
You looked up at him so fast your neck almost hurt.
Dean pressed his lips together, visibly trying not to laugh at the pure disbelief written across your face. His head tilted slightly, hair strands falling over his forehead while he watched you stare at him like heâd just confessed to tax fraud.
Your gaze dropped away first.
Contrary to what everyone on campus believed, Dean didnât actually need constant hookups to survive. He liked the reputation, liked exaggerating it even more whenever it annoyed you enough to argue back or laugh at him but underneath all that, he could handle himself perfectly fine.
Unfortunately for you, he seemed almost smug about proving that now.
âCan I add rules too?â he asked.
You sighed dramatically. âSure.â
The two of you kept walking through campus side by side, your pace slower now that the conversation had moved on from terrifying to merely humiliating.
âNo scheduling things specifically for this,â Dean decided. âIf it happens, it happens.â
You blinked once before nodding slowly. âYeah. Okay.â Relief actually loosened something in your chest at that. âThatâs good. Iâll stress less.â
Dean glanced sideways at you, probably pleased you agreed so quicklyâŚExcept his rule immediately created entirely new problems.
âUhâŚâ Your steps slowed slightly. âHow do youâŚâ You scratched awkwardly at your eyebrow. âTake it?â
Dean stopped walking altogether. âHow do I take what?â he asked carefully. âMy coffee?â
You groaned. âNo.â Your hand motioned vaguely between the two of you in a series of gestures that explained absolutely nothing. âLikeâŚhow do you like it?â
Deanâs brows lifted as realization hit him almost visibly.
You looked away at once. âFuck,â you muttered under your breath. âDo I need to be clean shaven constantly or not?â Your voice lowered progressively through the sentence while your eyes darted around campus to make sure nobody nearby overheard you discussing grooming preferences in broad daylight.
Dean stared at you for half a second too long before answering.
âY/n.â The seriousness in his tone made your eyes flicker back toward him. âThe day I tell you what to do with your body, you better knock me unconscious.â
Your mouth parted slightly.
âIâll literally kneel for it if that makes it easier,â he continued firmly. âDo whatever makes you comfortable.â
And he meant it. Dean would enjoy it either way, obviously, but that wasnât what mattered to him here. What mattered was getting you out of your own head long enough to actually enjoy yourself instead of performing comfort for someone else.
You blinked slowly at him because suddenly your exâs comments replayed in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Little preferences disguised as jokes and suggestions repeated enough times to become expectations and judging by the expression tightening briefly across Deanâs face, heâd realized exactly where your question came from too.
That only made you feel worse somehow. Your attention drifted toward the students moving around campus nearby.
You suddenly wondered if people would notice eventually. The same way older women always claimed they somehow knew when girls became sexually active. Weird comments about posture and confidence, wider hips and glowing skin that sounded fake until suddenly you became the target of them too.
Your stomach tightened faintly. âWhat are we supposed to tell people?â
Dean barely hesitated. âTo mind their own fucking business.â
You snorted softly.
He looked over at you again, entirely serious despite the amusement still lingering around his mouth. âJust like Iâm doing mine.â
The rest of the week passed almost painfully normal.
There were parties, late-night food runs, afternoons sprawled around the boysâ house while someone yelled at a video game in the background and hockey games while Dean acted exactly the same as always. You spent time with Hannah and Allie between classes and after them, listened to Garrett complain dramatically about assignments heâd started twelve hours before they were due, watched Tucker cook enough food for six grown men while Logan disappeared upstairs with company more often than not.
Nothing changed.
Dean still touched your shoulder when he walked past you, still stole fries off your plate and still looked at you too long whenever you laughed at something stupid and somehow that made the entire thing worse because half the time you genuinely convinced yourself youâd imagined the whole conversation by the fire pit entirely.
Maybe the weed had made you both insane and none of it was real.
You sat curled up on the floor of the boysâ living room later that week with your knees tucked to your chest, a notebook balanced across your thighs while formulas blurred together across the page. Your back rested against the couch and the TV played quietly in the background though neither of you actually paid attention to it.
Dean sat opposite you in the armchair, long legs spread comfortably while he hunched over his own notebook with far more concentration than anyone would expect from him or maybe not because he took hockey so seriously. He took school seriously too, despite pretending otherwise whenever possible but unfortunately for you, he also looked unfairly good doing homework.
You tried focusing on your own work, tried hard. Instead, your eyes kept lifting toward him between equations, your brain repeatedly snagging on the memory of everything heâd said days earlier and the fact neither of you had taken any of it backâŚor done a single thing about it.
âWhatâd you get for number three?â Deanâs voice pulled you from your thoughts but still didnât look up from his notebook.
You blinked down at your own page, trying to remember where your brain had abandoned the assignment entirely.
âC,â you answered eventually. âBut Iâm not confident about it.â
Dean hummed thoughtfully. âIâve done the math twice and I keep getting B.â
You reread the problem slowly, trying to force your attention into place. âThen itâs probably B.â
Dean finally looked up at that, one brow lifting. âYouâre admitting youâre wrong?â
You snorted softly. Honestly, it was extremely possible. Your brain hadnât functioned properly all week because you kept thinking about him offering himself up like some absurdly confident science experiment.Â
âDonât need to dig through my family tree to know Iâm not descended from Isaac Newton.â
A smile tugged slowly across Deanâs mouth as he leaned back in the armchair. âIf you are,â he said, eyes dragging over your face, âIâm glad the ugly recessive genes skipped you.â
Your nose scrunched instantly. âWhat kind of compliment is that?â
âThe kind Iâm hoping gets you over here to help me.â He motioned you closer lazily with his pointer and middle fingers.
You sighed before setting your notebook on the coffee table and padding across the room toward him. The house was quieter this late afternoon, though not empty. Hannah was upstairs with Garrett, Logan had disappeared into his room hours ago and Tucker was outside training.
âLetâs see,â you murmured.
You bent slightly over Dean and the notebook resting on the armrest, attention dropping fully to the equations scattered across the page. The movement loosened the collar of your shirt enough for cool air to brush your skin.
Dean noticed and his throat cleared quietly.
Your attention remained on the notebook while his eyes betrayed him completely, dropping for one dangerous second to the visible lace of your bra before forcing themselves back upward toward your face instead.
Dean had promised himself heâd take this slow and naturally because the second he acted weird about it, you would too. Youâd overthink every movement, every look and accidental touch and unfortunately for him, youâd always been terrifyingly good at reading him.
He moved the notebook slightly farther from you as one hand settled carefully against your hip, guiding you.
You reached automatically for the notebook before he moved it entirely out of reach, successfully grabbing it just as he tugged you forward enough for your balance to tip. A second later you settled directly onto his lap, knees falling naturally to either side of his thighs.
You blinked once. âSmooth,â you muttered, adjusting yourself carefully without looking at him. âIâll give you that.â
Dean grinned openly now. You balanced the notebook against his chest like it was a table and reached backward for the pen loosely held in his free hand. His fingers brushed yours before letting go.
âShould be a five,â you corrected while marking over the equation. âNot a seven.â Your brows furrowed slightly. âYour handwritingâs gotten worse over the years.â
âYou still read it.â
âIâm not the one grading you.â Your eyes lifted straight into his.
Youâd sat on Deanâs lap before, during packed car rides, group trips and random stupid moments over the years where proximity stopped mattering because he was just Dean. This didnât feel like that, not even close.
âNot in math,â he said quietly.
Only one of his hands touched you still, resting warm and steady against your hip like he was making a conscious effort not to overwhelm you. Whether it was intentional or not, it worked. His eyes drifted downward slowly toward your mouth.
âYou should be rating everything else though.â A grin ghosted briefly across his lips. âPretty sure Six Flags has customer surveys.â
You shook your head once, slow enough that your hair brushed lightly against your cheek. âNo ride, no survey.â
Deanâs mouth twitched. His legs spread slightly wider underneath you then, subtle enough that you still felt the change as the apex of your thighs aligned more directly with his. The hand on your hip tightened enough for you to notice. âGo on then,â he murmured.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, down to the visible tent pressing insistently against the front of his sweats. Heat climbed your throat immediately.
âInteresting moment you picked,â you muttered softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the rest of the house.
You felt comfortable there. Comfortable enough to leave clothes behind, to wander into the kitchen without asking and to nap on the couch when you got tired during movie nights but knowing the others were still around somewhere made your pulse jump harder instead of calming it.
Dean noticed. âJust focus on me,â he instructed quietly.
Not âlook at meâ, just âfocusâ which you could do.
You looked at him, seeing the genuine curiosity and lack of judgment in his eyes and for the first time, the wall you'd built around your sexuality felt more like a shield and less like a cage.
Slowly, tentatively, you moved as the gravity of the moment pulled you toward him. You settled your weight directly onto him, feeling the distinct, blunt shape of his cock through the layers of your clothes. He wasn't fully hard yet, just a semi-firm pressure against your clothed pussy but it didn't make you recoil. In fact, it sent a low thrum of anticipation through your nerves.
The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that felt heavy enough to touch. You remembered your own rule: no kissing. So, you kept your face inches from his but you didn't close the gap. Instead, you focused on the sound of his breathing, which had hitched the moment you sat down. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, a teasing, invisible touch that made your skin prickle.
Deanâs hand still hovered near your waist, trembling slightly but he didn't grip you. He seemed to be fighting every instinct to pull you closer, respecting the fragile boundary you had set.
"I'm gonna keep my hands off," he whispered, his voice strained and rough. "You just keep moving. Take whatever you're comfortable with."
He pulled his arms back, resting them flat against the seat beside him, leaving you in complete control. The sudden lack of physical contact made the friction between your pelvises feel even more intense. You knew what you were doing, you had enough experience to know how your body worked, even if the 'explosive ending' always eluded you. You began to rock, a slow, tentative grind that pressed your pussy firmly against the length of him as a sharp, jagged exhale escaped his lungs.Â
You felt him react instantly, the semi-firmness beneath you surged, his cock thickening and hardening rapidly against your center. You rolled your hips in a circular motion, aiming for the sweet spot, feeling the dampness beginning to soak into your underwear. You were getting wetter, the friction creating a sliding, sensual heat that radiated upward into your stomach.
"You still okay?" he breathed out, voice barely a murmur.
You simply nodded and tried to focus entirely on him, wanting to give him something perfect, something that would leave him breathless. You pushed down harder, grinding your clit against the hard ridge of his dick. You watched his face, head falling back against the headrest, leaving his throat exposed and pulsing but he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see you. He wanted to witness the way your expression changed as you found a rhythm that worked.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way. There was no kissing to distract you and no wandering hands to break the spell, just the raw, rhythmic pressure of friction. You could feel the heat radiating off his thighs, the way his chest heaved in time with your movements as your own breathing became ragged, mirroring his, the sound of your synchronized gasps filling the quiet space.
You felt a small, involuntary moan escape your throat, a soft sound of pleasure that made Deanâs hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your descent. You pressed closer, your mind racing, trying to synchronize your pleasure with his but as the tension built, a familiar frustration began to creep in. You were so close to that peak, that elusive edge but the more you focused on his perfection, the more you felt yourself slipping away from your own. You wanted it, you wanted to break through the ceiling you'd lived under for years and the frustration made you grind harder, more desperately.
You were just beginning to lose yourself in the friction, your body humming with a desperate, electric need, when the spell was shattered.
The heavy thud of footsteps hit the wooden porch outside, then came muffled voices.
Tucker.
The sound slammed into you like ice water dumped straight down your spine.
You jolted backward instantly, panic snapping through your body so violently that your balance disappeared completely. The friction, the heat, the dizzy haze clouding your brain shattered in one humiliating second as you scrambled away from Dean in pure instinct.
Deanâs hands had actually stayed off, so when you lurched backward, there was nothing anchoring you in place, no arm catching your waist or grip steadying you. You slipped right off his lap in a graceless tangle of limbs and landed hard beside the chair with a muffled curse, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.
Dean moved at the same time you did. One hand grabbed the nearest couch pillow and yanked it straight into his lap while the other instinctively reached toward you, fingers brushing empty air because you were already halfway onto your feet.
The front door opened and you froze.
Your breathing came embarrassingly uneven as you tried forcing your body back under control, thighs trembling faintly from the abrupt stop, nerves buzzing so hard beneath your skin it almost hurt. Dean leaned back into the chair with his head tipped toward the ceiling for one brief second, chest rising sharply beneath his t-shirt while tortured frustration flashed openly across his face before he forced himself together enough to look toward the entryway.
Tucker walked in distractedly, phone pressed to his ear while he kicked the door shut behind him with his shoe.
ââNo, because thatâs not what I said,â he argued into the phone before finally glancing up.
Deanâs voice came out rough and annoyed. âCan't you knock?â
The irritation in it made your eyes widen and before thinking better of it, you reached over and smacked lightly at his arm which made him look offended for half a second.
Tuckerâs brows pulled together slowly as his gaze moved between the two of youâŚYou standing there awkwardly and Dean spread out in the armchair with a pillow aggressively covering his lap.
The TV was still playing, forgotten in the background too.
âWait,â Tucker muttered into the phone, eyes narrowing slightly. âHold on.â He lowered the phone away from his ear and motioned vaguely around the living room. âI live here,â he pointed out flatly. âIf you two wanna study in complete silence maybe turn the TV down or go to the library.â
Your mouth pressed into a painfully tight smile.
âHey, Y/n.â he greeted, much more gently.
âHi,â you replied weakly with an awkward nod.
Tucker gave you one more lingering look before wandering toward the kitchen, already returning to his phone conversation while opening the fridge like absolutely nothing life-altering had just occurred in his living room.
The second he was no longer looking, your eyes snapped back toward Dean, his were already on you, wide and still dark with frustration and lingering heat and approximately ten other emotions you absolutely did not have time to unpack right now.
You hurried toward where youâd abandoned your bag near the couch and started shoving your things inside far too quickly.
Dean muttered a curse under his breath behind you as the fridge door opened again. âWait, wait, wait,â he whispered urgently.
You ignored him completely, nearly dropping your belongings while trying to zip your bag shut.
âYou donât have to leave,â he continued quietly, unable to stand for reasons both of you were painfully aware of. The pillow remained trapped over his lap while he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. âStay for dinner.â Then louder, âRight, Tucker?â
From the kitchen, still mid-conversation, Tucker lifted a distracted thumbs up without even looking over. Of course you could stay, you were always welcome there and it somehow made this infinitely worse.
âY/n, câmon,â Dean tried again, even softer this time.
You finally looked at him, at his flushed face and the way he still looked wrecked from you despite the interruption.
Your stomach flipped painfully. âYou can text me that survey of yours,â you muttered.
Dean groaned quietly at the reminder, watching as you grabbed your bag and headed straight for the front door before your embarrassment could physically consume you alive.
You didnât say goodbye or looked back. You slipped outside into the cold early evening air and shut the door behind you, immediately dragging in one huge breath like youâd been underwater too long.
Fresh air hit your lungs sharply, cool and tensionless.
Your legs felt weird as you walked down the porch steps and somewhere beneath the embarrassment sat an even more irritating realization. You needed to change your panties and somehow, you still hadnât come.
For the first time in your academic career, you were thankful exam week existed.
The chaos of midterms had given you and Dean something else to focus on besides the fact youâd nearly climbed him in the middle of his living room while Tucker casually walked through the front door. Between study sessions, essays, last-minute cramming and the general emotional collapse that overtook Briar every semester, things had settled back into something manageable.
You and Dean had talked afterward, though absolutely not alone.
Heâd insisted on meeting in a crowded coffee shop near campus where old women typed aggressively on laptops and students cried quietly over textbooks in the corner booths. Dean had spent most of the conversation reassuring you Tucker didnât know anything, swearing repeatedly that if Tucker had known, the entire hockey house wouldâve heard about it within twelve minutes. More importantly, heâd made sure you still wanted this and despite the embarrassment, the frustration and how badly your body still reacted whenever he looked at you too long, you did.
âAre you seriously not coming?â Allie paced dramatically across the apartment while speaking, changing outfits for what had to be the fourth time in under an hour. Both you and Hannah tracked her movements from the couch like spectators at a tennis match while she disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds later wearing something slightly tighter each time.
Hannah finally peeled her attention away from Allie to look at you instead.
âSheâs right,â she agreed. âExams are over. Maybe partying would actually help.â
You smiled lazily from your spot curled into the couch cushions, blanket draped across your legs while exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes.
âWhatâll help me is eight uninterrupted hours of sleep,â you informed them. âWhich I plan on pursuing aggressively the second both of you leave.â Your mouth twitched slightly. âNow see some boys and make questionable use of your mouths elsewhere.â
Allie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo while Hannah groaned.
âWhen are we finding your rebound?â Allie asked as she finally settled on an outfit and bent down to tug on her boots.
âItâs too soon,â you decided immediately.
âIt is,â Hannah agreed with a firm nod. âShe doesnât wanna think about men right now and weâre respecting that.â
You pointed gratefully toward her. âSee? Emotional maturity.â
âSure,â Allie snorted. âIâm still passing your Instagram around tonight though.â She grinned wickedly while crossing toward the couch. âYou can decide what to do with the options later.â Before you could answer, she leaned down and squeezed you tightly against her side. âDonât wait up for us.â
You watched them drag out the goodbye process intentionally, moving toward the door with exaggerated slowness like they expected you to suddenly change your mind and throw on heels at the last second.
You sighed and stood from the couch, physically herding them toward the exit. âJust go,â you laughed while they protested loudly.
âWe tried,â Hannah reminded you with a smile while Allie opened the apartment door. âWeâll send you the address anyway.â
âI wonât change my mind.â
âYou say that now...â
You waved them off anyway and finally shut the door behind them once they disappeared down the hallway already talking excitedly about shots and music and whatever terrible decisions the night would inevitably produce.
Silence settled across the apartment immediately afterward.
You exhaled slowlyâŚnow what? You considered your options while wandering aimlessly through the living space. You could curl up on the couch with your laptop and a movie or crawl into bed and disappear beneath blankets for twelve straight hours like a Victorian woman with mysterious exhaustion. OrâŚYour thoughts drifted elsewhere automatically, toward your room and the drawer beside your bed.
You grimaced slightly. Maybe tonight was the night you tried again, actually committed to figuring yourself out instead of giving up midway through frustration like usual. Youâd bought enough toys over the years based entirely on optimistic reviews and late-night curiosity alone.
Were they even charged? You were approximately two steps away from your bedroom when knocking sounded at the front door.
You groaned at the sound. âDid you guys forget your condoms again?â you called out while turning toward the entrance. Honestly, it happened often enough that the assumption came naturally now.
You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then blinked at who you saw. âDean.â
Dean stood casually in the hallway wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses despite the fact it was nighttime indoors, which mightâve worked better if he wasnât also carrying an enormous black bag beside him.
âI always carry condoms,â he informed you smugly.
Your face scrunched instantly as his answer only emphasized how thin the apartment walls actually were. You narrowed your eyes at him while glancing suspiciously down the hallway.Â
âWhy arenât you at the party?â
Dean lowered the sunglasses enough to properly look at you over the frames.
You looked soft tonight, comfortable. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, hair messier than usual from lying around all day. The sight quickly made something warm settle low in his chest.
âBecause Iâm here with you.â
âNo,â you corrected. âYou wanted to be here with me.â You pointed vaguely toward campus. âPast tenseâŚYou should currently be at that party.â
âNo can do.â Dean slipped smoothly past you before you could stop him, nudging the apartment door shut behind him with his foot.
Only then did you fully notice the bag. It was large, rectangular, black and rigid with no visible branding whatsoever. It completely ruined the whole incognito outfit.
Your eyes narrowed harder while Dean looked far too pleased with himself.
âI come bearing gifts,â he announced, then he walked straight toward your bedroom like he paid rent there.
âHow did you know I didnât go to the party?â you asked while following him toward your bedroom.
Dean set the bag carefully onto your bed before finally turning around, fingers hooking beneath the brim of his cap as he pulled it off. The sunglasses followed next, revealing eyes already fixed on you with far too much satisfaction.
âI have my sources.â
You grimaced again. âThat sounds vaguely threatening.â
âHannah asked me the other day to convince you to come out tonight.â He shrugged casually. âI didnât.â
You crossed your arms. âWho says I wouldâve agreed anyway?â
Dean smiled instantly. âMe.â The confidence in his answer came without hesitation. âIâm very persuasive.â
You rolled your eyes before your attention dragged back toward the massive black bag sitting suspiciously at the foot of your bed. âWhat is that?â
Dean glanced over his shoulder toward it. âOur entertainment for tonight.â His mouth twitched slightly. âWellâŚmine.â
You narrowed your eyes harder at him before stepping around him toward the bed. The bag gave nothing away from the outside, rigid and sleek and annoyingly mysterious.
Cautiously, you reached inside and your fingers brushed lace first. You blinked then slowly pulled the item free into the light between you both, pinching it delicately between two fingers like it might suddenly attack you.
âLingerie?â you asked, genuinely confused.
Dean nodded once. âI had to get rid of the boxes,â he explained. âTurns out Agent Provocateur packaging isnât exactly subtle.â
Your eyes widened immediately. âAgent Provocateur?â You stared at him in disbelief before looking back into the bag. âAre you insane?â
One by one, you started pulling more pieces out. Black laceâŚcream silk and tiny straps. Things so soft they barely felt real against your fingertips.
Dean watched your growing expression carefully and only then seemed to realize he may have gone slightly overboard. âI got lost on the website,â he admitted. âAnd then there was free shipping after a certain amount which felt financially irresponsible to ignore.â
You straightened slowly, still clutching one lace bodysuit in your hands while looking at him like heâd lost his damn mind.
âExplain to me,â you said carefully, âhow exactly this counts as entertainment.â
âBesides the obvious?â
Your stare sharpened. Dean exhaled quietly before answering, his tone softening as the teasing faded from his expression.
âWhen you were on my lap the other dayâŚâ His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor before returning to you. âYou stopped focusing on yourself after a while.â
Your fingers tightened slightly around the lace.
âYou started trying to get me there instead,â he continued gently. âLike you were more worried about proving something than actually feeling good.â
Heat crept onto the nape of your neck because he was right. Dean noticed everything.
âAnd I get it,â he added quickly, voice staying careful. âProbably instinct. You wanted me to enjoy it.â His mouth twitched faintly. âWhich I definitely did, by the way. Donât start doubting that part.â
You stayed quiet while watching him and actually listened instead of acting on your urge to flee.
âTonight,â he said after a beat, nodding lightly toward the lingerie scattered across your bed, âthe lingerie can be for me.â His eyes moved back to yours. âSo the rest can just be yours.â
The room went quiet afterward. The plan had probably sounded more coherent in Deanâs head at one in the morning while online shopping half-awake with his laptop balanced on his stomach but somewhere beneath the absurdity of it, you understood what he meant.
Lingerie wasnât only about someone else seeing you in it, women bought it for themselves too, to feel pretty, desired and confident. Sometimes just to stand in front of the mirror and reclaim something private but eventually, with partners, it often became performative too, something shared and visual. Dean was trying to remove that pressure from everything else.
Your gaze drifted slowly back down toward the pile of lace but you still werenât entirely sure what happened next. You tried things on and then, what?
Your voice lowered slightly. âWhat kind of mind games are you playing?â
You hoped it didnât sound accusing because it wasnât meant to. You were just struggling to process the fact Dean had seen through you so clearly after one failed attempt, that heâd gone and actually thought about it, considered it and returned with something tangible instead of empty reassurance and blind confidence.
Dean shook his head immediately. âNo games.â His voice stayed soft and patient, ready to leave the second you told him this was too much. âLetâs just give it a shot.â
Silence stretched again before you finally reached for a pair of panties instead. The lace slid smoothly through your fingers as you lifted the panties between you both for further inspection.
Deanâs eyes dropped instantly and despite himself, one very clear thought crossed his mind.
âYeah. Definitely one of my favorites.â
âHow do you even know these will fit?â you asked honestly. The fabric looked expensive enough to disintegrate if handled incorrectly, soft lace brushing against your fingertips while you inspected the tiny details stitched into it.
Dean opened his mouthâŚclosed it and opened it again. âIâmâŚobservant?â
Even he sounded unsure of the answer.
Your lips twitched as you bit back a laugh while digging through the pile until you found the matching bra, then gathered both pieces in your hands.
âObservant and persuasive,â you mused while backing toward the bathroom. âLet me know when thereâs something substantial to add to that list.â
Dean nodded solemnly like youâd given him serious criticism to reflect on. âWill do.â
The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and the second it did, Dean exhaled sharply and looked down at himself...for fuckâs sake.
He adjusted himself miserably through his pants while staring at your closed bathroom door in defeat. Lately everything about you affected him differently, your voice, your teasing and the way you looked at him for half a second too long depending on the day.
It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.
Dean barely moved from the spot youâd left him in.
He stayed planted near the foot of your bed, one hand dragging occasionally through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door like staring hard enough would somehow let him see through it. Every few seconds he twitched awkwardly in his pants, dealing unsuccessfully with the consequences of occasionally hearing your hums through the thin wall while knowing exactly what you were changing into behind it.
Inside the bathroom, you stood frozen in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary.
You tried very hard not to think about how closely Dean mustâve paid attention to you over the years to somehow get the sizing exactly right because it fit perfectly.
The lace sat snug against your skin without pinching anywhere, soft black patterns curling over your chest and hugging your hips beautifully. The bra lifted your breasts enough to make your posture straighten instinctively while the matching panties rested low against your hips, delicate enough to feel expensive but comfortable enough not to make you tug at them every two seconds.
You looked good, not just tolerable under dim lights or acceptable after strategic positioning and reassurance and maybe that was what scared you most because now you had to walk back out there and let someone else see it too.
With one last glance toward your reflection, you finally reached for the doorknob and stepped back into your room.
Dean looked up immediately, the reaction was almost embarrassing.
He stopped breathing for half a second entirely, eyes dragging over you slowly enough to make heat climb straight into your throat. He barely blinked while following your movement across the room as you drifted toward your full-length mirror, fingertips lightly tracing the lace resting over your shoulders before moving lower toward the small details connecting the cups together.
The silence stretched thickly.
You kept looking at yourself mostly because looking directly at him felt dangerous right now, even as he moved behind you slowly without touching. He was just standing there close enough for warmth to gather along your back while his eyes followed yours through the reflection. Wherever you looked, he looked too, until eventually your gazes met in the mirror.
You swallowed. âWhat do you think?â
Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. âI think,â he said slowly, âSix Flags might be going out of business soon.â
Your brows lifted immediately before a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You turned around to face him fully then, stepping closer until only inches separated you both. Your hands settled carefully against the center of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt while you looked up at him.
Dean held your gaze steadily, too steadily, sometimes it genuinely felt like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough. âWhat do you think?â he echoed softly.
You hummed quietly, eyes flickering downward toward his mouth before lifting back up again.
âI thinkâŚâ Your hands began sliding slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing over the hard planes beneath his shirt one inch at a time. âMaybeâŚâ Your voice softened further as your palms drifted lower. âI could show you something I actually know how to do.â
Deanâs jaw tightened as your fingers brushed the bulge straining against his pants.
âWith my mouth,â you finished quietly.
You didnât move afterward and neither did he.
In your head, the logic made sense. Dean already thought you were beautiful, so you didnât need him witnessing your frustration firsthand too. You could give him something good instead, something you knew how to control.
For one dangerous second, he looked like he was genuinely considering it. Then Dean exhaled sharply and turned you around instead, guiding you gently back toward the mirror until your back rested against his chest.
A startled breath caught in your throat as your ass pressed unintentionally against the hard outline of his erection.
Your eyes met his again through the reflection.
âI donât doubt you can do those things,â he murmured near your ear. âAll of them.â
One of his hands settled carefully against your waist while the other slid slowly downward, fingertips brushing beneath the waistband of your panties enough to make your stomach tighten.Â
His eyes never once left yours in the mirror. âSo why do you?â
The reflection showed the two of you, a study in tension and longing. You could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched you not just with desire but with a focused, intentional kind of devotion.
His hand didn't push further, he stopped before his fingertips brushed the outer lips of your pussy, leaving a teasing spark of contact. He held himself there, gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, waiting. He wasn't going to take a single inch more without your explicit permission.
You felt your heart hammer against your ribs, chest heaving. You looked into his eyes and gave a small, shaky nod.
The moment you did, he slid deeper. His fingers glided through the slick already gathering between your thighs, parting you with a gentle pressure that couldâve made your toes curl. He didn't rush, he navigated the wet lips until his fingertip found the small, swollen bud of your clit. He began to circle it slowly with agonizingly steady rotations that sent ripples of electricity shooting straight to your core.
"Tell me what you see," he whispered, voice a low and gravelly vibration against your ear.
You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you focused on the reflection. "You...you touching me," you breathed.
As you spoke, you watched your own body react. Your breathing picked up, turning into shallow, jagged gasps. In the mirror, you saw your breasts heaving, the nipples peaking and hardening into tight, sensitive points through the lace of your bra. As if reading your thoughts, Deanâs other hand reached around, his fingers finding one breast and gripping it. He massaged the hardened peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and you let out a sharp, involuntary swallow, head tilting back slightly.
"And what's at the end of me?" he asked, voice humming with a dark, sensual curiosity.
"Me," you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.
"What else?" he pressed, fingers continuing that relentless, circling motion. He was forcing you to stay present, stripping away your ability to hide in your head or focus on his pleasure. He wanted you trapped in your own skin.
You stared at yourself, hyper-aware of every inch of your anatomy. "Beauty marks," you murmured, noticing the small moles on your thighs and torso that you usually ignored.
"And here?" he asked, his thumb flicking the tip of your nipple.
"Hardened nipples," you gasped, eyes fluttering.
"And on your skin..." he prompted, his fingers quickening their pace, the friction against your clit becoming more insistent and demanding.
"Goosebumps," you whimpered. You could see them breaking out across your shoulders and arms, a physical manifestation of the arousal peaking within you.
The sensory overload was dizzying. Every time you named a part of yourself, the pleasure seemed to intensify, as if acknowledging your own body was unlocking a door you'd kept bolted shut. Deanâs fingers were no longer just circling, they were fluttering, vibrating against your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your hips instinctively buck back against him. You felt the wetness flooding out of you and coating his fingers, making the sounds of his touch wet and explicit in the quiet room.
You tried desperately to keep your eyes locked on his in the mirror but as the pleasure climbed, the world began to blur. Your eyelids grew heavy, the edges of your vision darkening as the sensation centered entirely on the point where he was rubbing you. You started to moan, the sounds raw but still shy, escaping your throat without your permission. You pushed your backside harder against the rigid length of his erection, craving the friction, the completion.
The tension in your lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding up to the point of snapping. You were right there, on the precipice, the beginning of an orgasm shimmering just out of reach. Your breath became a series of broken sobs as your body trembled in anticipation. Was this it?
"I think...Iâ" you started, voice breaking as the first wave of a climax seemed to form but just before it solidified, just as you were about to believe it would, Dean abruptly pulled his hand away.
The sudden void was shocking. You gasped, body jolting from the abrupt loss of stimulation, the orgasm denied at the very last second of creation. You were left vibrating, aching and halfway undone but before you could process the frustration, he gripped your waist and turned you around in his arms so you were facing him.Â
Your eyes were wide, glazed with lust and confusion, chest heaving as you looked up at him.
"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, voice a breathless wreck.
Dean didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, taking in the desperate hunger in your eyes. He gripped your hips firmly, knuckles white and began backing up toward the bed, pulling you with him.
"Trusting you to do it first," he murmured.
As the back of his knees hit the mattress, he let himself fall back, laying flat on his back and spreading his arms wide, leaving himself completely open and vulnerable to you.
You climbed over him, your movements determined, fueled by a desperate, humming need that had been wound tight in the mirror. You braced your knees against his sides, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and planted one hand firmly on his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, a mirror to your own. With a renewed sense of determination, you slipped your other hand beneath the fabric of your panties, your fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of your pussy.
As you began to touch yourself, you closed your eyes for a moment, repeating the litany he had forced you to acknowledge in the mirror. You focused on the hyper-awareness he had instilled in you, turning that mental lens inward. You found your clit, already engorged and sensitive and began to circle it. Your breathing became ragged, each exhale a shaky shudder that vibrated through your entire frame.
You opened your eyes and looked down at your hand on his chest. You watched the way his pectorals heaved under your touch, his skin flushed and warm. Then, you felt his hands slide up your legs, his large palms gripping your thighs firmly. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the way he watched your every movement with a hunger that felt almost tangible, made a low moan escape your throat.
You had never reached this point before, never felt this close to the edge of something so profound. The pleasure was a rising tide, threatening to pull you under.
"Be patient," Dean breathed, his voice a low, grounding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress and into your bones. "Listen to your body."
You nodded, eyes locked onto his and focused entirely on the sensation. You ignored the noise in your head, everything except the friction of your own fingers. You kept your hand working at a speed you liked, a steady, rhythmic pressure that built a coil of tension in your lower belly. You began to squirm, hips rocking in a slow, undulating motion against your own hand, chasing the spark.
In your haze of arousal, you shifted, pressing your soaking wet clothed cunt directly onto the rigid length of his erection through his pants. The sudden, blunt pressure against your clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through you and you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. Dean groaned in response, a sound of pure, tortured restraint as he kept his hips from jerking upward to meet you.
You quickly lifted your hips again, holding them high in the air, body arching as you fought to maintain the rhythm.
âHoly fuck,â You were so close now, the world was narrowing down to the point where your fingers met your flesh.
"Attagirl. That's it," Dean whispered, voice thick with praise. "You're doing so good. Just like that...look at you, taking it all in. So fucking worth it."
His words were like fuel to the fire. The praise made you bolder and movements more frantic. You pressed harder, your fingers fluttering with an urgency that bordered on desperation until the tension reached a breaking point, a white-hot spark that suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.
The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped back, your spine arching as the first wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your lips parted and an unreal, unabashed sound, a high, keening cry of release slipped out of you, echoing through the room. It was your first time ever coming and the sensation was overwhelming. It didn't just peak and fade, it rolled through you in long, rhythmic pulses that seemed to last forever, shaking your entire body, leaving your muscles twitching and your mind a complete blank.
Dean didn't move. He looked at you, completely mesmerized, eyes wide and unblinking. He watched the way your throat worked as you gasped for air, the way your breasts heaved and the way your body shuddered under the aftershocks. Beneath you, his cock throbbed and twitched painfully against the constraint of his pants, a visible manifestation of the agony and ecstasy of watching you shatter.
As the waves finally subsided, leaving you limp and floating, you collapsed onto his chest with a sultry whine, skin damp with sweat and breathing heavy and synchronized with his as you caught your breath.
The silence of the room was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the moment.
You swallowed hard while still catching your breath, voice a mere whisper against his skin. "Is it too soon to say that was the best orgasm I've ever had?"
Dean let out a heavy, uneven breath beneath you, the sound shuddering straight through his chest and into yours. Only then did his hands finally leave your thighs. Slowly, almost cautiously, they slid upward along your sides until his palms settled against your back.
Gone was the restraint that had kept his fingers tense and controlled earlier. Now he touched you lightly, almost reverently, fingertips drifting along the curve of your spine over the lace while he tried to steady his breathing. Every few seconds his hands flexed against you instinctively, like he still couldnât quite believe what had just happened.
âDefinitely the best one Iâve ever had,â he murmured.
His voice sounded wrecked, dizzy, like simply watching you come apart on top of him had pushed him somewhere dangerously close to losing it himself.
You lifted your head slowly from where it rested against his chest, pushing up enough to properly look at him.
Dean blinked up at you lazily, pupils completely blown.
You swallowed once. âDid youâŚ?â
The question barely finished forming before Deanâs expression morphed into something sheepish and amused all at once. He swallowed too before nodding once against the mattress.
Your eyes widened slightly as his hand slid upward from your back, fingertips brushing softly along your jaw while he looked at you with an expression so openly fond it almost hurt to hold eye contact with him.
âAm I still not deserving of a kiss?â he asked quietly. Half joking, half absolutely not.
You hummed thoughtfully like you were genuinely considering it. âYou want a cookie and a gold star too?â
Deanâs grin spread slowly across his face, matching yours instantly despite the pleasure still weighing down his features. âBetter than the survey.â
You laughed softly through your nose before finally leaning down the rest of the way.
The kiss was warm, searing and long overdue.
Deanâs hand moved instantly to the back of your head, holding you in place like heâd been waiting weeks to finally do exactly this. It started slow for approximately two seconds, soft lips parting against yours carefully, almost disbelievingly, before weeks of tension snapped apart all at once.
You melted into him with a breathless sound as his mouth pressed harder against yours.
Dean kissed like he did everything else, thoroughly.
His thumb pushed lightly beneath your jaw, tilting your head back enough for him to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours slow at first, exploratorily, before the restraint heâd been clinging to all night dissolved completely. The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth and the low groan that rumbled out of his chest when you kissed him back with equal desperation made your stomach tighten all over again.
The kiss quickly turned messy, hungry. You could barely catch your breath between them, mouths reconnecting instantly every time you pulled apart for air like neither of you could tolerate the distance anymore. Deanâs grip tightened on your hair as his other hand spread wide against your back, dragging you flush against him while his tongue swept against yours again, deeper this time, making heat rush straight through your body.
So much for rules.
Seems like Six Flags had just been privatised for a single Agent Provocateur wearerâŚindefinitely.
a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! đ¤
Disclaimer: This fic features an Original Character (OC) Female Character who is Beau Maxwell's little sister.
Chapter 1
Thereâs a very specific kind of heartbreak reserved for girls who grow up loving the boy who never notices.
Camille Maxwell knows this better than anyone.
Everyone at Briar University knows Cami as Beau Maxwellâs younger sister â the witty sophomore with ink-stained fingers, an addiction to Nora Ephron movies, and dreams bigger than Manhattan skylines. Journalism and publishing major. English lit minor. Future editor-in-chief of some impossibly cool feminist magazine with a corner office at CondĂŠ Nast. The kind of girl who romanticizes rainy bookstores, annotated paperbacks, and impossible love stories.
The problem?
Her impossible love story has a name.
Dean Sebastian Kendrick Heyward-Di Laurentis.
Dean has been woven into her life for as long as she can remember â Beauâs best friend, Summerâs annoying older brother, the boy who used to carry her on his shoulders and call her âMillieâ while she played dress-up in his motherâs closet. Her first crush. Her longest crush. The one thing she promised herself sheâd outgrow.
And she almost did.
Until college put him back in her orbit.
Now Dean is everywhere again â sprawled across Beauâs couch, stealing fries off her plate, grinning at her like sheâs still sixteen instead of twenty. And worse? Cami notices the way he looks at Allie. The quiet tenderness hidden beneath his usual charm. The kind of feeling Dean never seemed capable of before.
Which means two things become painfully clear:
1. Dean can fall in love.
2. And itâs never going to be her.
So Cami does the only thing she can â she pulls away. Less movie nights. Less hanging around their apartment. Less Dean.
Except Dean notices.
He notices the empty seat beside him. Notices how quiet the room feels without Camiâs laugh. Notices the way other guys look at her now â really look at her â and suddenly wants to break their jaws for it. For the first time, Dean sees whatâs been right in front of him all along:
Camille Maxwell isnât a little girl anymore.
Sheâs sharp-tongued and ambitious and devastatingly beautiful. She smells like coffee and old books and expensive perfume. She challenges him. Avoids him. Unravels him.
And just when Dean finally starts understanding what she means to him, he realizes he might already be too late.
Because maybe the hardest thing about loving your best friendâs little sister⌠is realizing someone else could love her better.
Tags: Brother's Best Friend, Best Friend's Brother, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, 6000 Years of Slow Burn, Idiots in Love, oblivious dean heyward-di laurentis, College Hockey, Found Family, Yearning, PhD in Yearnalism, nickname as terms of endearment, she fell first he fell harder, Unrequited love (sort of), Not Actually Unrequited Love, no hatred for allie hayes, emotionally mature female character, supportive brother beau maxwell, Healthy Relationships
A/N: Started working on this story this week and still planning out the no of chapters and outlining the plot but I plan to update weekly at best. If this is something that interests you, pls let me know and I'll add you to the tag list so you know when I update the chapters :)
Iâve wanted to do this for a while, so here it is! It took some time, but it was necessary for me to better organise everything. It will keep being updated. I hope it can help anyone find fics they like. Also, I would like to thank all those amazing authors for giving us such amazing stories! Happy readingđŤśđž
genre/tags ; âwe shouldnât but we canât stopâ trope, accidentally in love, enemies to lovers if you squint, grumpy girl boss x cocky idol, angst, smut (and a LOT of it), fluff
summary ; In a world where power is currency and reputation is everything, you have spent years building an empire of influence. As the Chief Marketing Officer of one of the worldâs most elite fashion houses, your word is law and your vision, untouchable. Cold, calculating, and always two steps ahead, youâve mastered the art of control.
Then, Jeon Jungkook happens.
A global phenomenon. A household name. A man whose mere presence bends industries to his will. He is the face of your brandâs most ambitious campaign yet, an unstoppable force wrapped in inked skin and effortless charm. To the world, he is perfection. To you, he is a walking risk.
From the moment you meet, it is a battle of power, of wit, of control. He is all teasing smirks and reckless confidence, unafraid to test your limits, to push where no one else dares. You donât have time for his games, but that doesnât stop him from playing.
What starts as business turns into something far more dangerous; itâs a game of seduction and sabotage, of whispered secrets and stolen moments. He wants more than carefully curated press releases and polite smiles. He wants you. And he doesnât care what it costs.
But in this world, desire has a price. Wanting him could cost you everything.
The question is: Are you willing to pay the price?
Ë ŕźâĄ â･ËË ŕźâĄ PLAYLIST HERE Ë ŕźâĄ â･ËË ŕźâĄ
[ MINISERIES ; COMPLETE ]
part one
part two
part three
part four *
part five *
part six*
part seven*
part eight
part nine*
extras
â #the price of desire: jungkook musings
â tpod!oc character biography
â tpod!oc and jungkook: the imessage diaries
â tpod!ocâs instagram
â the confession: his POV
epilogue blurbs
â in which bam is your favorite jeon
â in which mingyu is no longer his friend
â in which heâs replaced by yoongi
â in which a sex toy meets stress relief*
â in which you meet the parents
â in which nyfw is a mess but jeon jungkook saves the day*
comment / reblog with a note if you would like to be a part of the taglist!
psa! this will be published after UTCF is fully completed. patience, my grasshoppers.
prompt ; in which a TikTok edit sparks a desire to get absolutely destroyed by your boyfriend.
note ; hey⌠heyyyy *opens door* um idk what this is but Iâm back with a new fandom and this random piece of writing. this is my formal request to join the bts fandom pls xoxo i promise im fun and can write hellish smut
Itâs cruel that you live with someone as attractive as your boyfriend.
Itâs even more evil that the world posts TikTok edits of your boyfriend to seductive songs that make your underwear soak through with arousal.
All this to say, youâre not really making your life any easier by watching every single one that stumbles across your For You Page.
Youâve been better. It was a slow Sunday: one where your boyfriend sits perched on your shared living room couch, mindlessly playing with his lip ring as he watches some Netflix show. Itâs nice having him like this, all for you, in a space you two built for yourselves. But you, youâre in the bedroom, aimlessly scrolling through an app that has taken up more than enough of your time and perfectly curated content about your boyfriend and this silly little band heâs in.
But itâs when, and only when, you stumble across an edit of your boyfriend to a The Weeknd song, that you shoot up in your bed, blink rapidly, inhale a sharp breath. Your heart catches in your throat, does that stupid little flutter thing. And then.. the clench that follows down below. You replay it once, twice⌠a third time.
Donât be weird. Do not be thirsty.
But, he is yours. That much, you do know.
You close the app, delete the page off your phone. Itâs not like you two have a boring sex life, he takes care of you and you never feel dissatisfied. In fact itâs rather the opposite. This one time being two nights ago when he had your legs up on⌠never mind. You look at your black phone screen in disgust. Do not be a horny little freak.
Well, one last look at the edit wonât hurt.
You go back to the fan edit. Glance at it, slap your hand over your face, peek through your middle and ring finger. Fuck.
The arousal that had pooled before in your underwear was now a full-on ocean. Really, you should have more decorum than this. You donât really want to bother Jungkook, heâs had a busy week with the boys⌠but it also has been two days since you two have had sex.
Fuck it.
You swing your legs off the bed, shuffle down the hallway of your apartment. You spot your boyfriend lounging on the couch, his back to you. Even from where you stand, you can see his build, his biceps.. Gosh. You sound like a hormonal teenage girl.
You creep up behind him, wrap your arms around his neck and press a few sloppy kisses down it. His hand flies up to caress your arm thatâs hung around his neck, a little laugh leaving his mouth, âWell, hello to you too.â
You decide then and there in that moment: Youâre going to die if you donât have him. Maybe thatâs a little dramatic, but youâve lost all strength.
âHi,â your voice is frail, weak even, as you kiss along his jaw. He sucks in a deep breaths, fingers drawing circles on your arm. His eyes are glued to the television screen like if he looks anywhere else, he might combust.
You detach your arms from around him, moving to the front, blocking his perfect view of the screen. He looks up at you with those doe eyes you love so damn much. One look at you and he gathers quickly there will be no more watching of television.
With little words, you straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs. Jungkook feels up your thighs, smirks a little, âWhat did I do to earn this right now?â
You are well aware of how needy and desperate you look right now, but that doesnât matter. You let out a little sigh, pushing your lips onto his. For some reason, you feel like some little fangirl who is hooking up with her celebrity crush. The cold metal from his lip ring is a welcomed feeling, and you place your hands on his neck, feeling the structure and heat of his skin. God, you are going to cum just from this kiss if you keep it up.
Pulling away a little, you look into his eyes, âNothing specifically⌠I justâŚâ
You sigh, go back in to kissing him again. Those plump pink lips of his work against yours, shivers running down your spine as he runs his hands up and down your bare thighs. âJust what, baby?â He speaks in a low tone in between the incessant kissing.
âIâm so fucking horny,â You admit.
Upon the minute those words leave his mouth, you feel his cock begin to press against your inner thigh. Youâve got him right where you want him. And itâs not that this isnât normal; it is. But youâve essentially offered yourself up to him on a silver platter and the act of desperation you got going on right now is really doing it for him.
âHmm?â He hums against your lips, his hands roaming underneath your shirt to trace your spine. And you could marry him right now for being so quick to go along with it. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.
You start to grind yourself down on him, the wetness soaking through your pajama shorts you have on. It is criminal how much you need this man inside of you, now. âWhat do you need from me, baby?â He starts to kiss down your neck as light whimpers exit your throat from the friction of your shorts on his grey sweatpants.
âN-nothing,â You exhale out. âLet me ride you.â
âFuck.â He groans out.
âYou need me that bad?â He brushes a strand of hair off your shoulder, kisses down your supple skin.
âYes, please,â Your voice cracks. You canât take it anymore; you think you might combust into a million little pieces.
âWell, go on, my love,â He removes his lips from your skin, smirks, sits back against the couch. âHave me.â
He does not need to tell you twice. Thereâs no time for pleasantries.
You move your legs off his, lower down his sweatpants enough for you to be able to access his boxers. Your shorts get abandoned next, leaving the underwear on; thereâs not a single shred of a fuck left in you.
Jungkook is sat there, an amused look plastered on his face, mixed with a level of adoration you are not sure you have seen before. His arms have moved, now splayed out across the top of the couch, his biceps flexing. You straddle him again, remove his throbbing cock from the confines of his boxers.
Fuck, if you werenât so ready for him, you wouldâve taken him into your mouth.. but your brain decides pretty quickly thereâs no time to waste.
You push your panties to the side, rub your juices over his length. He lets out a little moan at that, watches you eagerly get ready to take him whole.
With a gasp, you align him to your entrance in search of relief. You engulf him, take him in inch by inch until you bottom out. Honestly, you could unravel just from that. âHoly fuck, baby,â His head falls back, eyes still glued to the sight of you fully taking him to the brim.
You never really do get used to how big he is; when you two first started dating, he stretched you out so wide you were certain you would never recover. Your bottom lip is sucked in between your top teeth, rushed exhales leaving your body as you slowly begin to move, begin to gyrate your hips and lift yourself up and down on his pulsing cock. âOh my god,â You breathe out, hands moving to his broad chest, gripping onto him to steady yourself
Heâs not doing much, besides just watching you in complete and utter awe, and yet that still takes your breath away.
âYou look so unbelievably sexy right now,â He says, barely even realizing the words leave his mouth, since they were mostly meant for his inner thoughts. His hands come around to land on your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into the bone. There will definitely be a bruise there tomorrow.
You lull your head back, close your eyes tight. Itâs all you can do to try and keep yourself together. Youâre an absolute mess right now; pussy squelching with each stroke, his cock a mix of yours and his arousal. The only sounds that can be heard in the apartment are the slapping of skin and the moans that continually leave both of your mouths. â[Y/N]âŚâ He moans out. You look at him, deep in those eyes that you love so much.
And thereâs such⌠desire on his face, his pupils blown wide, his jaw slack.
Heâs so undeniably hungry for you, and itâs going to kill you.
You speed up your bounces, losing a little more control with each and every passing moment. Your arms snake around his neck, pull him even closer to you. âFuck, I am so close,â You whisper out, mostly to calm yourself down.
âYeah?â Is the only word he can muster right now. âNeed you to cum for me. Want to make sure youâre taken care of.â
It is all so filthy â the sounds, the look heâs giving you, the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his neck and leaving marks. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, gaze dropping down to his lips. You press a few sloppy kisses on them.
âYou like this, hmm?â he asks, fingers digging even deeper into your hip bones that youâre certain he is leaving an imprint on your skull. âHaving me like this ready for you? Does that get you off?â
His words elicit a clench around his cock, your walls tightening around him. He is absolutely correct. He knows heâs hit the mark. âTalk to me.â His tone is soft but threatening.
âY-yes, it does. Oh my god, Kook..â you can barely think, any singular thought beside how incredible his cock feels inside you, how you can feel him penetrate your stomach with his entire length. âIâm gonna cum.â
Itâs so close, itâs teetering on the edge. Every nerve ending in your body craves him to a point where you wonder if you need to be institutionalized. All you can see is that stupid edit made by that fan flash across your head, your brain unable to comprehend that that is the man you currently have inside of you. âCum for me, darling..â He coos.
It nearly wrecks you, this orgasm. It washes over your entire being and youâre so loud youâre certain your neighbors will come knocking down your door. Your bounces go from focused to frantic, hips gyrating wildly, and he wraps an arm around your entire waist, picking you up lightly. He begins thrusting into you at a shallow, quick pace, chasing after his own release. Jungkook lets out a few grunts, eyes trained on the sight in front of him; and then he shudders, his cock throbs inside of you, head falling onto your shoulder as he feels himself empty out inside of you. Youâre struggling to catch your breath, gripping onto the hair at the nape of his neck.
âMy god..â You breathe out. Youâre still sitting on him, cock warm inside you as he lifts his head from your shoulder, meets your fucked-out face.
âBaby, that was so incredibly hot, you have no idea,â His face is flushed, hand reaching up to caress your cheek. You entwine your arms and legs around him, holding him close, drawing him deeper into you. You stay there, hearts pounding in unison, as if they're each trying to break free from your chests, desperate to draw nearer. And still, even in this perfect closeness, you long to feel him even closer.
âMhmm,â You hum out, quite content with yourself. You press a soft kiss to his lips.
âSo⌠care to share what made you jump my bones?â He teases, pressing another kiss to your lips.
âOh, nothingâŚâ You act coy, but the heat creeps onto your face regardless. He pokes your side, eliciting a giggle from you that has you folding like origami.
âMaybe⌠just saw a little something on TikTok..â You trace circles on his collarbone, avoiding his gaze.
âContinue.â He presses a kiss to your forehead.
âSome girl made an edit of you..â Itâs low when it leaves your mouth, he can barely hear it. âJust wanted to remind myself I can have you.. whenever I like.â
You bury your face into his neck in sheer embarrassment, feeling warmth and the vibration as he chuckles. âYou can have me whenever. Iâm yours, baby.â
SUMMARY. Life after high school has been pretty mundane. Give or take a few breakups, a few quarter life crises, youâve done well for yourself. Enter Jeon Jungkook: a blast from the past and your ex-Chemistry tutor, except now, it seems he's traded in his glasses and textbooks for a lip piercing and tattoos. The universe is clearly testing you... or maybe it's giving you one last shot to get it right.
pairing. jeon jungkook x reader
word count. 21.7k
warnings/genre. ex-cheerleader!reader, oc used to be a mean girl, ex-nerd!jungkook, jungkook used to be OBSESSED with oc, like clinically obsessed (what is wrong with him), slight sexting (kinda maybe) alcohol consumption, jimin instigating but whatâs new, making out in dirty club hallways, fingering in an uber, heâs HUNGRYYY, he has a d*ck piercing!, oral (f receiving), you bounce on it, he fucks you while carrying you, idk read the rest they have sex, he cums inside you
note. WE NEED TO BRING BACK THE DYING ART OF A 10k+ WORD ONE-SHOT. the concept of publishing a 7k celly when my 6k celly hasnât even been posted yet⌠i hate me too. i hit 7k a few days ago but this has been in the works since manâs best friend dropped. iâm quite proud of this, if i do say so myself. also before anyone yells at me, this was NOT on the to-do list but when thereâs a will, thereâs a way (or in my case, if you get a little tipsy, your brain starts thinking of ex-nerd!jungkook and this happens). this is just a fun little thing. porn with plot! but anywho, thank you all for following me, for engaging with my work, for continuing to give me a platform to share my passions. i love you all. hereâs to many more cellyâs!
âśď¸ â˘áá||á|á|||| when did you get hot? by sabrina carpenter
banner creds | masterlist
Saturdays. 3 PM. Brunch. Itâs been carved in stone since the day you met Park Jimin during your freshman year at Yonsei University, when he was still closeted and you were still treating every night like your last on earth.
Today, heâs on a rampage about his fiancĂŠ of two years, Kim Taehyung.
âDo you know what he did? He bought a twelve foot cactus. Twelve. Fucking. Feet. And guess where it is now?â Jimin waves his fork dramatically, almost stabbing two nearby patrons in the process. âIn the middle of our beautifully crafted living room. Heâs lost his fucking mind.â
You hum, twirling a straw in your iced latte, half-listening and half-focused on the couple next to you who seems to be arguing. âSo sorry, Jiminie. I donât know how you do it.â
âThank you.â He sighs. âItâs a lawsuit waiting to happen when I inevitably walk into it. You know, when I told Tae to pursue art, I didnât think it meant this.â
Taehyung and Jimin have the kind of love story that makes romantic comedies look documentary-level realistic. By comparison, your love life is a blooper reel that never made it to air. Theyâve been disgustingly in love since senior year of university, and youâve been their trusty little third wheel. While itâs comforting to hang out with a couple that has a dynamic as healthy as theirs, you do have to fight the pang of jealousy that hits you everytime.Â
âLast week it was the sculpture made of kitchen utensils. This week, desert plants. Next week? Probably something with a blow torch,â Jimin carries on, poking at his salad mercilessly.Â
You snort. âTae doesnât know how to work a blow torch.â
âHe could, is my point. Heâll try anything once.â Jiminâs eyes light suggestively, and the gag reflex hits fast and mercilessly. âLike that one time he wanted to try out suspension andââ
âJimin. Please. I am trying to enjoy my coffee,â you plead.Â
He rolls his eyes. âLike you donât love us.â
âI do,â you reply quickly. âBut please spare a girl the details of your sex escapades.â
âMaybe youâre bitter because you need some sex escapades of your own.â Jimin shrugs. Heâs not saying it to be rudeâthe man doesnât have a mean bone in his body, unless someoneâs rude to his fiance.Â
Poor Park Jimin has been running a one-man campaign to get you laid for months. The last time you remotely showed interest in a man was a year ago, and that catastrophe ended with you sobbing on their couch for 72 hours straight while Taehyung made you soup and Jimin burned sage to âcleanse the toxic energy.â
You have no interest in any of it.
Sure, sex is cool and all, but the idea of the emotional turmoil that comes with the territory seems like something you can do without.Â
âWhat did I say about bringing up this topic again?â you groan.Â
âCâmon, please tell me you have something new thatâll make me feel better about my cactus situation.â
Your fingers collect the condensation on your plastic cup, pretending to be deeply engrossed by it. âI have nothing.â
âSo as exciting as my cactus?âÂ
Your foot kicks his ankle under the table and the noise he makes in retaliation is enough to get dirty looks from the other patrons. âJesus Christ. Arenât you a ball of fucking sunshine?â he moans in agony. âThis is why you need to have sex. You get all crabby and violent when you donât. Whenâs the last time you had sex again?â
Okayâthere was that guy from the marketing conference in MarchâŚ. No wait. That was last year. February? No, that was the guy who ghosted you after two dates. January? You werenât even in the country in January. December feels like a decade ago but that was... oh god, was that really eight months ago? Nine? The guy with the man bun who worked at the bookstore and couldnât find yourâÂ
âDonât worry about it.â
âYikes.â He gives you a dramatic side-eye, one that screams you are a pathetic loser, but lovingly. âYou need to stop getting coffee with me and go get coffee with a man.â
You frown. âWell, youâre a man?â
He rolls his eyes. âA man who doesnât enjoy the good olâ cock up his ass.â
Fair play. Jimin leans back in his chair, studying you intently. Never a good sign. âYou know what your problem is?â
You pick up your latte, taking a few sips. âEnlighten me, Park Jimin.â
âYouâre too picky.â
Coffee snorts out of your nostrils, landing right onto the table. Jimin flings napkins at the mess, disgusted. âIâm sorry, have you met me? Iâve went out with some weirdos.â
âNo, no, not the weirdos.â He waves a hand in the air. He;s about to go on one of his famous monologues, and all you can do is sit back in horror and watch. âIâm talking about the good ones. The ones you actually like. You find one tiny flaw and suddenly it's âoh, he chews too loudâ or âhe uses the wrong there, their, they're.â Like, relax. Nobodyâs perfect.â
âReally? Says the guy currently plotting his fianceâs death over a home decor choice.â
âThatâs different.â Jiminâs pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, something he truly only does when youâve exhausted his last nerve. âTaehyung and I are past the point of no return. We're in too deep. You, my dear sweet angel, are sabotaging perfectly good opportunities because you're scared.â
Of course, youâve had this conversation with your therapist numerous times, and youâll do anything to avoid the topic in your personal life.
But before you can open your mouth to argue, a voice cuts through. Itâs low but polite, maybe a little uncertain.Â
âJimin-ssi?â
You donât bother looking up to see who it is. Jimin knows everyone and their mother, their cousin, probably their dog too. Walking down the street with him is no easy feat, considering half of Seoul stops to talk to him. So, you do what you always do: focus on your phone and ignore the small talk about someoneâs new job or whatever mundane life update theyâre dying to share.
You scroll through Instagram, half-listening as they exchange pleasantries. Something about the gym, mutual friends, weekend plans. Standard small talk that you've heard a thousand times.Â
âYeah, bro, itâs been forever,â Jiminâs saying. He sounds happier than he normally does when he talks to these people. âI saw your LinkedIn update. Howâs the new job treating you? Still insane?âÂ
âBetter now that Iâm settled in,â the mysterious voice responds, and thereâs something familiar about it that tickles the back of your brain, but youâre too busy watching someone's Instagram story about their breakfast to pay attention. âThe teamâs chill, and I donât have to be on call on weekends anymore.â
âYou deserve it after all that overtime hell,â Jimin laughs. âOh, hey, you should totally meet my friend [YN] here. [Y/N], this is Jeon Jungkook.â
Your head snaps up. Your phone falls to your lap.Â
What. The. Fuck.Â
You havenât heard that name since high school.Â
High school you, to put it mildly, was kind of a bitch.
You were a cheerleader, top of the social food chain. Naturally, you failed a few classes because you were too busy making out with Kim Mingyu behind the bleachers and planning which party to hit up on Friday night to care about things like academic integrity.Â
When your GPA started looking tragic enough to threaten your spot as cheer captain, the guidance counselor assigned you a tutor. And since the universe loves to have fun with you, you were paired with Jeon Jungkook. Lanky, awkward Jeon Jungkook, with messy brown hair that looks like he cut it himself with safety scissors, thin silver glasses that slid down his nose every five seconds, and wide, innocent boba eyes.Â
All that to sayâyou did what any mean girl would do and took advantage of him. Batted your eyelashes, laughed at his terrible jokes, and suddenly your chemistry homework was getting done without you having to lift a finger.Â
Tests? He'd leave his answer sheet just visible enough for you to copy.Â
Lab reports? Practically wrote themselves, if by âthemselvesâ you mean Jungkook wrote them while you filed your nails and complained about how boring science was.Â
So, this? This has to be a comedic joke. This is a prank. Jimin is pranking youâitâs an elaborate one, you'll give him that. That's the only logical explanation because there is absolutely no way that the scrawny, stuttering kid who used to turn tomato red everytime you asked him to explain a chemistry problem is now standing here, towering over your table.Â
The man who stands before you has a lip piercing, one that hugs the curvature of his pink lips. A sleeve of tattoos that curls down his arm in vivid ink. His hair is perfectly tousled, dark chestnut locks falling into each other.Â
And most importantly, those arms. Biceps. He could probably bench press you. Why are you thinking about him bench pressing you? Stop thinking about him bench pressing you. Oh god, you're staring. You're definitely staring. Say something. Anything. Be cool.
He isâthere's no other word for itâbuff. Like, really buff.Â
And he's looking right at you with dark eyes that definitely weren't that intense in high school, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
â[Y/N] [Y/L/N]...â His voice has a deeper timber to it, with a confidence that high school Jungkook could never have. His tone alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine. âItâs been a minute.â
âUh, Iâyeah,â you gulp down a quarter-sized lump that magically appears in your throat. âIt has.â
Smooth. Incredibly smooth. Someone needs to hand you a medal for conversational excellence.Â
His eyes narrow into slits, like heâs analyzing you and your pathetic life. Sizing you up to discover that youâve lost all importance in the world, and are now just another girl in the world.Â
Jimin, completely oblivious to everything, beams at the two of you. âAmazing! You two already know each other.â He claps his hands together. âJungkook, you should sit. [Y/N] and I were just catching up on her sad little love life.â
Damn you, Park Jimin.Â
Maybe ten years ago, you wouldnât have cared if he knew about your romantic failures, but with the black shirt hugging his biceps so perfectly, you resent Jiminâs openness.Â
âI was notââ you protest, but Jungkookâs already got a hand on the empty chair between you two, plopping into it.Â
âWas she now?â Jungkook tuts, looking over at you expectantly. âHow sad is sad?â
âOkay, not sad.â You roll your eyes. âItâs just⌠quiet.â
His eyes dance with amusement, and you sink into the chair. âI canât imagine you having trouble in this department.â
If only he knew the half of it.Â
You open your mouth to combat the embarrassment, maybe to come up with some elaborate lie about how you have three dates lined up tomorrow night, but a server interrupts you before you get the chance. She smiles at Jungkook, and you can't help but note how her eyes twinkle when she realizes how utterly attractive he is. You sink one inch lower into the chair.Â
Please donât order, Jungkook. Ordering means staying and your brain (or your ego, for that matter) canât take a second more.Â
She asks what he wants, pearly whites on display, and he replies smoothly, âJust a black coffee is fine. Thanks, sweetheart.âÂ
He turns back to you and Jimin, smiling lightly. Behind him, the server trips over her own two feet a bit before adjusting her shirt and walking off. You watch the whole exchange with a weird feeling in your chest. It's not jealousyâyou have no claim to be jealous. But it's something. Maybe annoyance that she was so obvious about it. Maybe annoyance that he didn't seem to notice.Â
âSo, how do you two know each other?â Jiminâs smile resembles a mischievous cartoon villain who just tied someone to railroad tracks. Vibrating with joy, eyes gleaming, the whole nine yards. You donât even need to hear him speak to know what heâs thinking.Â
âHigh school.âÂ
You and Jungkook both say in unison, surprising even yourself. He glances over at you before elaborating. âI was her Chemistry tutor.â
The memory alone sends shivers of disgust down your spine. You can still picture it so clearly: high school you in your cheer uniform, sitting across from him in the library with phone in hand, texting Mingyu about whose parents were out of town that weekend while Jungkook explained electron configurations. Heâd push his glasses up his nose, stumble over his words when youâd sigh and lean forward, watch him turn crimson red and stutter through the rest of the explanation.Â
Evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.Â
âYou needed a tutor in high school?â Jimin snorts, taking a long sip of his drink.Â
âHey, that shit isnât easy.â You push his shoulder playfully.Â
Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair. âDefinitely not easy when youâre too busy with cheerleading practice to study.â
âAnd you were a cheerleader?â Jimin gapes.
âOkay, thatâs enough reminiscing for today.â
Jimin raises his hand. âIâm not done reminiscing. I want to hear more about cheerleader [YN].â
Your face falls flat. Luckily, before Jungkook can embarrass you more with tales from a decade ago, the server comes back with his coffee, making sure to toss him the widest smile her pearly whites can muster.Â
Jungkookâs lips wrap around the cup. Your eyes just so happen to fall on the movement, on the way they hug the rim. Were they always that kissable or did he get lip filler?
He meets your gaze.
Shit.
You turn back to Jimin, whoâs eagerly awaiting more from Jungkook. âWhat else donât I know about high school [Y/N]? Sheâs never told me anything.â
âWell,â Jungkook starts, and by the way his lips curve upwards, you can tell the next anecdote wonât be endearing. âShe did ask me once if we could âskip the math partsâ of chemistry.â
Jimin bursts out in laughter. âYouâre kidding me.â
âIn my defense, chemistry is like, ninety percent math,â you retort. âThatâs a reasonable request.â
âIt really wasnât,â Jungkook counters, and his grin widens. Thereâs something almost⌠predatory about it. Like heâs enjoying watching you squirm. âBut then again, you always did think the rules didnât apply to you.â
For a moment, you canât do anything but stare at him. This confidence, this self-assured way heâs teasing you without a hint of anxiety that used to color every interaction, is foreign.Â
The absolute worst part of it all is that if he wasnât currently roasting you for being a shallow human being, this might be the sexiest thing youâve ever witnessed.Â
The eye contact, the slight smirk playing at his lips, the veins poking out of his biceps. All of it both excites and confuses you.Â
âWhat do you mean?â You tilt your head, feigning innocence.Â
âNothing.â He shakes his head, laughs to himself. âJust that some things never really change.â
A pregnant pause fills the space. Jiminâs eyes dart between you two like heâs at the US Open and this is the match of the century.Â
âYou know, she also once asked me if atoms were contagious," Jungkook adds, turning to Jimin like youâre not even there. Itâs a fucking power playâone that high school you inventedâand you hate how effective it is.Â
A long exhale leaves your mouth, and you have to bite back a thousand venomous words in retaliation. Jimin laughs. âOh, donât worry. In college, she asked me if square roots were plants.âÂ
Okay, so math wasn't your strongest suit. Sue a girl.Â
Jungkookâs hands wrap around his cup, taking a quick sip. Theyâre bigger than you remember, rougher, with calluses to match.Â
Truthfully, everything about him is just⌠more. Bigger, broader, bolder.
You shift gears, clearing your throat to interrupt whatever powwow Jungkook and Jimin have going on regarding your academic life. âWhat do you do now?âÂ
âSoftware development.â Jungkook almost seems surprised that you have an interest in his life. âStarted at a startup, but I just moved to a bigger company.â
âWhat kind of software?â you ask mindlessly, happy to have the attention finally off you.Â
âMobile apps. Some web development.â Jungkook shrugs like itâs nothing, but you catch the hint of pride in his tone. âNothing crazy.â
Jimin chimes in, eyes twinkling with mischief. âYou know, [Y/N] works in marketing for a tech company. You guys probably have tons in common now.â
You want to sink through the floor. Actuallyâscratch that. Sinking through the floor isnât enough. You need the floor to open up, swallow you whole, digest you, and then launch whatever remains into the sun.Â
You can see exactly what's happening here. You can see the gears turning in Jiminâs pretty little head. Heâs planning your wedding, probably picking out centerpieces. He thinks this whole encounter is fate, some kind of romantic star-crossed lovers nonsense where the nerd gets the girl who was too stupid to notice him the first time around.Â
Heâs going to be insufferable about this. Probably loop Taehyung into this delusion as well. There will be betting pools on when you finally hook up with Jungkook.Â
Whichâokay, fineâyou wouldnât be completely opposed to. Hypothetically. In theory.Â
âHowâs that going for you?â Jungkook turns to you.Â
âGood. Iâve been at my current company for a few years now. I just got promoted last year.â Your chest puffs out a little. Thereâs nothing you need to prove to him. But it doesnât hurt, especially as he validates your words with a slight nod in approval.Â
âThatâs awesome. Iâm happy for you.â
Not said with even an inch of malice.Â
âThank you.â You flip your hair over your shoulder. âSee, and I didnât even need math or chemistry to be successful.â
He chuckles. âFair enough.â
âI know how emotionally tolling it was to tutor me, so at least your efforts didnât go to waste,â you joke, and he cracks a smile at that, bunny teeth poking out.Â
âIt wasnât that emotionally tolling.â He shrugs, lifting his coffee to his lips. âIt was fun. Yâknow, when you werenât texting that guy you used to date.â
He maintains eye contact with you as he takes one, two sips, and you have to clench your thighs to ignore the second heartbeat thatâs beating in your vagina.Â
Jimin opens his mouthâprobably to ask approximately eight thousand invasive follow-up questions about your high school love lifeâbut his phone buzzes violently against the table, the vibration loud enough to rattle his fork.Â
Glancing down at his phone, his expression shifts from pure glee to actual panic. âShit, I need to head out. Taehyungâs making dinner and if Iâm late, heâs gonna put that weird purple pesto in it again.â
You raise an eyebrow. âPurple pesto?â
âYou know how he is, babe.â Jimin frantically flags down the waiter, motioning for the check.Â
You and Jimin always split Saturday brunch. Itâs a tradition, one that you donât plan on breaking. You reach for your wallet in your bag, prepared to pull out your trusty debit card.
But before you or Jimin can get too far, Jungkook smacks his AMEX Platinum card down like itâs nothing.Â
You blink at the shiny metal. âJimin and I alwaysââ
âIâve got it,â he says, all casual, like dropping 100,000 won on lunch for three people is normal for him.Â
To your left, Jimin has the biggest shit-eating grin of all time. âThanks, Jungkook. You donât have to do that.â
âItâs my treat. Itâs nice to run into old friends.â He tosses you a side glance when he says the word friends, because thatâs hardly what you two ever were.Â
Jiminâs phone buzzes again, and his eyes widen as they scan the new message. âOh no. No, no, no.âÂ
âWhat?!â You lean forward, trying to peek at his phone.Â
âYeontan threw up all over the new rug. Taehyung just sent me a picture, itâsâŚâ He makes a sour face. âI gotta go. Code red dog situation.â
âIs he okay?â you ask, because despite Jiminâs dramatics, that little ball of fur is your ray of sunshine.Â
âHeâs fine.â He stands, shrugging on his thin sweatshirt. âHe probably ate something he should have. This was great though! We should all hang out again soon!â
And then heâs sprinting out of the cafe, leaving you all alone at the table with none other than Jeon Jungkook.Â
If you didnât know better, youâd say Jimin planned this. Although, to be fair, you do know better, and he one hundred percent planned this. You're going to kill him. You're going to actually murder your best friend.
The waiter comes by, charging Jungkookâs card while you sit there awkwardly, twiddling your fingers. You donât know what to do with yourself, quite frankly.Â
âJimin isnât very subtle,â Jungkook says, signing the receipt and placing it aside.Â
âJimin doesnât do subtle.â You fidget with your napkin. âHe probably planned this.â
He quirks an eyebrow. âOh, really? You think so?â
âI know so. Heâs been trying to set me up with someone for months.â
Crossing his bulky arms over his chest, he leans back in his chair. âHowâs that working out for him?âÂ
âWell,â you begin, âConsidering the last attempt was one of his coworkers who turned out to be married, I would say pretty terrible.â
âJesus.âÂ
âIâm not really into the whole polyamory thing,â you joke.Â
Jungkook laughs and stands, and you follow suit, realizing how much taller he is than you. Not that he hasnât always been tall, but now he has the ego to match it.Â
âWant me to walk you to your car?â he asks.Â
You bashfully look down at your feet. In your years of living in Seoul, youâve never once been embarrassed about taking the bus before. The Korean bus system is efficient and better for the environment. But Jungkook, with his fancy tech job, probably has some sleek car that makes the bus system look like a clown car.Â
âI took the bus, actually.â
Immediately, without so much as a second thought, he goes, âIâll drive you home.â
âYou donât need toââ
âI know I donât need to.â He strolls towards the exit, holding the door open for you to glide through first. âI want to.â
Wait. Is he⌠is he flirting? That was definitely flirting, right?
If he is very specifically flirting with you, that means he either has a terrible memory or some kind of revenge plot in the works. Both options seem likely and panic-inducing.Â
When you finally get outside, the crisp afternoon air dances across your skin. The autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet. You keep a few inches for God between you and Jungkook, and he falls into a comfortable pace beside you, matching you.Â
His hands are nestled into his pockets, kicking leaves as he walks. Now that you two are alone, heâs returned to some of his old habits, like being quiet around you when thereâs nothing to fill the noise with.Â
âHow do you like your job?â he finally decides upon asking, and your head lifts to peer at him. Heâs gazing at you intently, clearly waiting for an answer.Â
âI like it. Most days, itâs creative, but we do a good amount of analytical work too.â
âWhy did you choose marketing?â He seems genuinely interested in your answer, which sends tingles down your spine. Itâs been a while since someone has cared enough to ask about your life beyond the standard two questions.Â
âWell, you know I suck at math,â you start, and he laughs at that. A deep sound that reverberates in his chest and makes your insides mushy. âI also hate science, so that wasnât an option. I like being creative, and Iâm a visual person. I took an intro class and it stuck.â
He nods, soaking it in. âWas college you the same as high school you?âÂ
You know what heâs asking. Was college you also the biggest bitch alive, or did you grow out of that phase?
âNah.â You shake your head. âIâm not as shallow⌠or annoying.â
He smiles. âGood to know.â
You reach his carâa black BMW that looks like it was ripped right off the set of Fifty Shades of Greyâand he unlocks it with a soft beep.Â
âYour car is nice,â you note, and his cheeks turn a soft pink at the compliment.Â
âThanks. I figured I should probably upgrade from the bus at some point.â He opens the passenger door for you, causing you to almost trip getting in at the sheer thoughtfulness.Â
You frown. âHey! I still take the bus.âÂ
He raises his hands up in surrender. âNot hating on the bus. I took that bad boy for years.â
Jungkook closes your door, rounding the car to the driver's seat and hopping in. the inside of the vehicle smells like leather, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne. Your brain canât help but go a little fuzzyâscents are your weakness. Any man who smells good deserves to get their dick sucked, period.Â
âAddress?â he asks, starting the engine.Â
You give it to him, and he inputs it into the GPS. Fifteen minutes, it spits back. Fifteen minutes in a car alone with Jeon Jungkook, the most confusing blast from your past.Â
Peeking over at him, you take his appearance in. His jaw is defined and sharp. Could probably cut glass on that thing. His nose juts out, big enough for you to wonder if heâs ever let a girl sit on his face. God, you really need to get laid. Youâve resorted to sexualizing the man you used to tease in high school like some kind of medieval man who just saw an ankle for the first time.Â
The guilt of your past sits heavy in your chest, but your body doesnât seem to care. It wants what it wants, ethics be damned.Â
You donât deserve to be this turned on by someone you treated like human furniture for two years. But here you are, wondering about the logistics of his face between your thighs, and maybe that makes you exactly as terrible as youâve always suspected.
Your eyes wander down to his biceps, down to his arms that are cluttered with tattoos. Different designs snake down his skin, some with color, and it takes all your might not to reach out and trace them. Fuck, now youâre thinking about his hands gripping the steering wheel. The veins. Those long fingersâÂ
âYou have a lot of tattoos,â you blurt out.Â
His eyes remain on the road, but his lips curl upwards. A little bit like a smirk. âI do.â
âWhen did you start getting them?â you wonder aloud.Â
âCollege. I started with one, but then I got addicted and kept going.â He glances at you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. âYou disapprove?âÂ
âNo! No, theyâre⌠they look good. Really good.â You want to die. âBut it is different from what I expected from you.â
His gaze hardens. âA lot of things are different from high school.âÂ
Silence fills the air as you two continue along the highway in the direction of your neighborhood. Your town is quaint, not too far outside of the main downtown area of Seoul. Itâs so peaceful that your neighbors are two elderly women who treat you like their daughter.Â
You wonder where Jungkook lives. If you had to guess, he probably lives in Gangnam, the upscale area in Seoul. Fancy tech job, fancy car⌠he must have a fancy house to match. Or a fancy girlfriend.Â
âDo you live near here?â you ask, hoping to sound as casual as possible. Although, realistically speaking, there is nothing casual about interrogating your ex-Chemistry tutor.Â
âNot too far. Iâm about ten minutes by car.â His grip loosens on the wheel a little. âNear Hannam-dong.â
So, you were kind of right. Hannam-dong, where all the celebrities and rich people live.
Before you can stop yourself, you say, âDo you live alone, orâŚ?â
Itâs possibly the least subtle question in the history of subtle questions, but you need to know.
Jungkookâs grip on the wheel tautens, and when you look over at him, thereâs a scarlet flash creeping up his neck. âIâyeah. Alone. Itâs just me.â
Is he⌠blushing?Â
âOh, cool.â You try not to sound too pleased by the information. âThatâs really cool. I mean, not cool that youâre alone if you donât want to be alone, but cool that you have your own space andâ yâknow, everything.âÂ
Nailed it.Â
âItâsâyeah, itâs good.â He clears his throat, and suddenly, you get a glimpse of the man you remember in high school. Less like the confident, macho guy from the cafe, and more like the boy who used to stumble over his words when you asked him questions. âNo one to, uh, bother me or anything. Not that having anyone would be bothering, I just meantâI live alone. No girlfriend orââ
He stops himself, like heâs just realized what heâs saying, and the flush spreads to the tip of his ears. Oh my god. Heâs flustered. Jeon Jungkook, with his tattoos and lip ring and his whole sexy confident energy, is flustered because you asked if he lives alone.
The ex-mean girl in you rises to the surface, bubbles in your throat. Itâs been a while since youâve activated her. Not since college, that one time when Park Eunji threatened your spot as sorority president. That version of you knew exactly what to do: touch his arm, squeeze once, watch him stutter. Make him want you so badly it hurts, then pull away. It's muscle memory, this kind of manipulation. You hate that it's still there, your instinct to weaponize attraction.
You want him to be nervous around you. Itâs a sick, twisted thought you have, and you donât know where it comes from, but you want it. âNo girlfriend,â you repeat, trying to hide your smile. Reaching out, you place a small hand on his bicep, squeeze once. His bicep is firm under your palm, and the second you make contact, you realize what you've done. That was flirting 101. High school you wouldâve done that without thinking twice, but current you? Current you doesnât have that kind of game anymore. Abort mission. Abort.Â
You yank your hand back to your lap like heâs made of volcanic ash.Â
âI didnâtâthatâs notââ He runs a hand through his locks, messing it up even more. âIâm just giving context about my living situation.â
âNo, I got it.â You keep your eyes trained on the road, even though your heart is doing somersaults in your chest. âThough, I have to admit, Iâm shocked.â
He gulps thickly. He pulls up to a red light, finally looking over at you directly. Thereâs vulnerability in his expression, polar opposite to his earlier reactions to you. âAre you making fun of me?â
Huh. You donât know why, but the fact that old, anxious Jungkook still lives somewhere deep within him makes your stomach backflip. âI would never,â you reply dramatically, waving your hand for emphasis. âIâm just speaking aloud.â
Jungkook hums at that, focusing his attention back onto the street. Itâs quiet again, if not for the sound of the engine purring and the awkward tension thatâs loitered in the car since you stepped inside.Â
He doesnât need to ask you anything else anyway, since Jimin did a good job of outing you as the most single girl in the history of single girls. He might as well have just admitted youâre a born again virgin.Â
The familiar road of your neighborhood looms ahead, and a pit of despair swallows your stomach whole. You really donât want to get out of the car that smells like him. It would be embarrassing how youâve begun to thirst over him, but after not getting laid in a while, youâre about ready to unzip your pants and jam your fingers in there.Â
âIs it the building up ahead?â he questions, pointing to the cream apartment complex that you reside in. You nod sweetly, smiling brightly. You dial up the olâ high school charm.Â
âThanks, Jungkook. I really appreciate it.â Another quick flutter of your lashes as he puts the car in park, taking a deep breath and angling his body to look at you.Â
âOf course. Anytime.â His face remains stoic, probably hoping to not look like you affect him anymore than you already have.
Your fingers land on the handle, pushing it open to let the brisk air in, replacing the suffocating tension in the car. âWell, I wish you the best. It was nice running into you today.âÂ
Maybe you should invite him to come up. Maybe you should invite him for a nightcap? Granted, it is midday and thereâs no actual alcohol in your home, but you can think of something real quick.Â
But he doesnât move toward you, or show any other inclination of interest. In fact, youâre feeling kind of slutty right about now. He probably thinks youâre some kind of embarrassing gold diggerâwhich like, yes, you might be. For him only.Â
Quietly, he says, âYou too,â and thatâs the end of that.Â
And just as youâre about to slam the passenger door shut and head upstairs to scream into your pillow, Jungkook abruptly speaks. â[Y/N].â
You whip around as fast as your body will let you. âYeah?âÂ
His big eyes twinkle under the sunlight rays reflecting on the car, two bunny teeth poking out as he sheepishly smiles. Youâre going to have fantasies about that mouth later.Â
âJust so you know, today wasnât planned. But Iâm really, really happy I ran into you.â
Huh Yunjinâs birthday bash has never been an easy feat. Every year, without fail, thereâs a table bought at an exclusive club, and your entire friend group blacks out within the hour. Youâre not sure how she gets away with it, but your love for her and mild fear of disappointing her clearly gets her very far.Â
Hence why youâre standing in a shopping mall at 3 PM, trying to decipher what makeup product she would like best. Her birthday gift needs to be top notch, because youâre up against Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, and those two have some kind of gaydar for gift-giving. Last year, Taehyung got her a vintage Chanel bag he âjust foundâ at a thrift store. The year before, Jimin surprised her with tickets to see Beyonce. Youâre operating at a disadvantage here.
You pick up another lipstick, eyeing the two intensely. A salesperson loiters over your shoulder, waiting to pounce at any given moment. In the end, you opt for a sleek red lip gloss, one that you know will pair well with her peachy skin. The relief that washes over you at finally securing her gift is endless.Â
Pushing past the doors of the shop, you blend into the rest of the mall-goers. Itâs pretty packed for an afternoon, but you figure it has something to do with the sales going on. 50% off for shoes⌠hm. Across the way, you see a sign for 25% off scarves, and you squint to try and make out the tiny writing. Buy one, get one freeâ
âOof!â
Your body collides into something firm, something warm. Itâs fleeting, and you jump back several feet, immediately armoring yourself with numerous apologies. âOh gosh, Iâm so sorry, I wasnât looking where I was goingââ
A deep chuckle. âIâm not mad about it.â
You know that voice. That voice has been haunting your wet dreams and your poorly-written mental fanfiction.
When you were ten, you got chosen to attend a unicorn retreat. It was a glorified horse camp, but it was five days of pure magic. Horses walking around with plastic horns on their head, offering unlimited rides to anyone who wanted one. Magical doesnât even feel like the proper word to describe it.Â
You thought that was the most enchanting moment of your life. But this⌠this rivals any stupid pony. This makes those ponies look like donkeys. In fact, with the luck youâve been given, you might rent a unicorn and a castle.Â
In front of you stands Jeon Jungkook, looking somehow more scrumptious than he did a few days ago. Defying the damn laws of hotness. Youâd spent a good few hours tossing and turning in bed, dreaming about his lips, his eyes, his veiny hands. He looks like he stepped straight out of your wet dream, adorned in a zip-up sweatshirt and black t-shirt, fluffy hair askew.Â
His eyes still carry that same twinkle from the last time you saw him, and you wonder if theyâre like this all the time, or if it's just for you.Â
âHi,â you exhale breathily.Â
âHello.â He smiles at you, and itâs sweet, just a little dopey, and so decidedly adorable that you want to gnaw on his cheeks like a dog with a chew toy. âMust be my lucky day to run into you again.â
âClearly.â He is flirting. Sure, there were doubts in your mind before this, but anyone who says those kinds of things, is someone who wants to be balls deep inside you. âI donât normally treat pedestrians like bumper cars, though.â
Jungkook laughs at that, a melodic sound that sends vibrations from your head to your toes. âIf I was a better man, I mightâve moved out of the way to make room for you.â
âWell, then I guess itâs my lucky day youâve decided to not be a better man,â you counter, and he takes a step closer to you, allowing the people behind him to filter around. A mom of three tosses him an evil glare, but you could care less.Â
âI was actually hoping to talk to you again so I could ask you a question.â His eyes bore into you, the eye contact making the walls of your vagina contract incessantly. His confidence from the cafe has returned with a vengeance, and youâre not sure whatâs gotten into him, but you hope it never leaves.Â
âI might have an answer,â you tease.Â
His lips quirk upwards into a soft smirk, one that would normally disgust you but doesnât whatsoever. âI was thinking you and I should get dinner sometime. Maybe catch up one-on-one.â
If this were a game of tennis, you just won match point. He served, you returned, and now the ballâs sitting in his court while he watches it roll away. Checkmate. Victory. Crowd goes berzerk.Â
But you know how to play this game. Even though youâre a little out of commission, you still invented half the rules in high school. And rule number one: never let them see you sweat. Rule number two: make them work for it.Â
Tilting your head, you pretend to consider it like you havenât thought about what underwear you would wear to this hypothetical one-on-one time. âMaybe,â you say, drawing out the syllables. âIâll have to check my calendar.âÂ
Your calendar is wide open. Your calendar has been wide open for months. Your calendar is begging for plans. Your calendar is weeping with joy at the possibility of having something on it besides âtherapy 2 PMâ and âdonât forget your lexapro.â
But hereâs the thing: if you say yes immediately, if you're too eager, too easy, heâll figure it out. He'll realize you're still that girl who only wants things because they're shiny and new, who gets bored the second the chase is over. Except this time, the thing you want isnât a spot on the homecoming court or the captain of the basketball teamâs attentionâitâs him.Â
âMaybe?â Heâs grinning now, full teeth, like heâs finally been let in on how the game works. âI pour my heart out and I get a maybe?âÂ
âYou didnât pour your heart out. You asked to get dinner.â
He scoffs, âSame thing.â
âNot even remotely close, lover boy.â You migrate an inch backwards, so miniscule he hardly notices.
Something flickers across his face at the nicknameâamusement, or something darker, more interested. His eyes track your movements like a predator watching prey.Â
âI feel like youâre just testing fate at this point,â he jokes. You can see the gears turning in his head, shifting and transforming to try and get to his end goal: you.Â
âItâs worked once before already.â You shrug, taking a few more steps back.Â
âAlright, well, can I at least get your number? Not really feeling like leaving it all up to the universe.â The color drains from his face slowly as he realizes youâre really, truly, going to walk away. His voice raises a little at the end of the sentence.Â
âIâll see you around, Jungkook.â
With that, you turn on your heel, bags in tow, and make your way towards the exit of the mall with what you hope exudes confidence, and not like someone whoâs about to sprint outside and scream into the void. His eyes burn into your back the entire way. Donât turn around. Youâre doing so well. Youâre a mysterious enigma. Youâre unattainable.Â
You trip over your own two feet and have to do some weird stumble-hop recovery move just so you donât eat shit in the middle of the mall. Â
Okay, so maybe not entirely mysterious. But you do make it outside with a goofy grin on your face, caught in some kind of daze, all because your ex-Chemistry tutor has made it abundantly clear he wants to see you again.Â
The following Saturday, you and Jimin cozy up at a nearby cafeâa different one than last weekâs. You suggested it over text a few days ago, after you had run into Jungkook, because there was some perverse thrill to testing fate and the universeâs weird way of working. Jimin, who could care less where he got his cup of coffee, agreed with a shrug of his shoulders.Â
âSo, tell me again why you didnât give him your number,â Jimin furrows his brows, picking at his limp salad in disgust. Heâs trying this new diet that only allows for 1000 calories a day, and itâs made him even more judgmental than usual. âWalk me through your thought process here.â
You sigh. âJiminie, I told you already. Iâm playing the game.â
âThe game⌠I hate straight people.â
âHey, you did the same thing with Tae when you guys first started out,â you frown, taking a prolonged sip of your iced latte. Senior year, Jimin refused to see Taehyung more than once a week in fear of seeming too desperate and clingy, even though he texted him every five minutes anyway.Â
Jimin lets out a long-suffering sigh, pushing the soggy lettuce into the corner of his plate. âTae and I are different. Weâre homosexuals. Thereâs no rules when society already hates you anyway. But you are playing a dangerous game with him.â
Rolling your eyes, you scoff. âIâm not. Iâm playing hard to get.â
âHow do you know he wonât get bored?â Itâs an innocent question that, when asked, makes you want to bash your head into a concrete wall. âI mean, youâve seen the guy. He probably has a roster of girls throwing their phone number at him.â
You pause mid-sip, straw frozen against your lips. You⌠hadnât actually thought about it like that. In your mind, this whole thing has been about you trying to regain an inch of the upper hand, about making Mr. Cocky work for it. But Jimin's rightâJungkook isnât the same nerdy kid who would wait around forever for a crumb of your attention. Youâre also not the cheerleader that everybodyâs dying to get their hands on. He could have anyone, and yet his sights are set on you (or well, as far as you know).
âThen I guess weâll just have to see how into me he is.â You shrug, but no ounce of you feels calm.Â
Jimin quirks an eyebrow. âReally? Off of one conversation after ten years, heâs supposed to be magically in love with you?âÂ
âOkay, first of all, it was two conversations, and second of all, do you have no faith in your hot and sexy best friend?â You swish your hair for good measure, but Jimin doesnât buy it for a second. Your charms have no effect on his gay self.Â
âI do have faith in you. However, I canât recall the last time youâve successfully kept a guy around after the first kissâŚâ he trails off, pretending to count on his fingers. You gasp, appalled by the insinuation.Â
âPark Jimin,â you scold. He bursts into a fit of laughter, wiping faux tears from his eyes, and you really canât help but follow suit at the hysterics of it all. âYouâre the worst.â
âIâm honest, babe,â he says through another fit of giggles. âYou hate to see it.â
âJimin? [Y/N]?âÂ
The laughter dies down within a millisecond. Somewhere in the distance, you swear you hear a record scratching.Â
Tentatively, you crane your neck upwards. Lo and behold, Jeon Jungkook stands before your table, holding an iced coffee and looking between you and Jimin in bewilderment. He must have a tracker planted inside you, because although you had daydreamed about this scenario approximately ten times in the past few days, never did you actually think it would come to fruition.Â
âWhy are you here?â you blurt, and Jimin throws you a glare, facepalming. You slap a hand over your mouth. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to vomit.Â
Jungkook laughs, and you notice the tip of his ears turning pink. âI could ask you the same thing. This is my regular spot.â
âThis isââ You glance around the cafe, like the answer will appear written in invisible ink. âSince when?âÂ
âSince I moved to the area?â Heâs donning a massive grin now, one that lights up his entire face.Â
Your face falls flat. In your frantic search for a new cafe, you neglected the fact that the new spot you selected is located in Hannam-dong. Exactly where he told you he lived last week.Â
Jiminâs completely forgotten his salad, jumping in to save you from the depths of shame. âJungkook! Join us.â Heâs already pulling out an empty chair before he can protest.Â
Jungkook shakes his head, the hoop earrings in his ear moving with him. âI donât want to interruptââ
âDonât be silly,â Jimin retorts quickly, shooting you a look that both screams: youâre an idiot and this is fate knocking at your door. âCome, sit here.â
Jungkook hesitantly sets his drink down, sitting down in the chair. âSo, what were you guys laughing at before?âÂ
You blink a few times, utterly speechless. Thereâs no universe in which you admit to Jungkook what you two were discussing before his appearance.Â
âNothing crazy,â Jimin starts, and he has this glint in his eyes he only gets when heâs about to do something so diabolically crazy youâll have to second-guess your friendship. âShe was just telling me about this guy sheâs playing hard to get with. Real shame, honestly. He sounds great.â
What the fuck is going on? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is shooting blanks.Â
Jimin sips his water nonchalantly as if he didnât just throw you under the bus.Â
You finally muster up the courage to speak. âJiminâs being crazy,â you say, trying to recover some dignity. âThereâs no guy.â
âReally?â Jungkookâs smirk is unrattled. âAt the mall, you said you had to check your calendar. It sounds like youâre pretty busy.â
Oh, he wants to play this game. Â
âI am busy.â You lift your chin in defiance.Â
âDoing what?â Jimin chimes in. After this lunch date, heâs lucky if you ever respond to one of his texts ever again. âYou texted me yesterday saying you were bored.â
âI hope you die, Park Jimin,â you mutter.
He turns to Jungkook, a conspiratorial grin plastered on his face. âSheâs playing hard to get. I told her it's a terrible strategy, but does she listen? No.â
Jungkookâs eyes donât waver from your face. âHard to get, huh?âÂ
âThat is not what Iâm doing,â you huff, even though thatâs exactly what youâre doing, and all parties present at the table know it.
âNo, it makes sense.â Jungkook nods, leaning forward in his chair. âAfter all, you have that busy calendar⌠you know, the one you need to check.â
âExactly,â you agree.Â
âAnd have you? Checked it, I mean?â
You stare blankly at him.Â
âIâve been meaning to.â
âMm,â Jungkook hums, sipping his coffee. The white t-shirt and grey sweatpants combo heâs wearing today makes you feel like a rabid animal whoâs been deprived of food for too long. âWhoâs the lucky man?âÂ
âGet this,â Jimin jumps in eagerly. âShe met him at the mall.â
âThe mall?â Jungkook asks incredulously, dropping his chin into his open palm.Â
âAnd she didnât even give him her number.â Jimin continues this charade as if youâre not even sitting there. Which, you really wish you werenât. In fact, you might just bury yourself six feet under this cafe after everythingâs said and done.Â
âWow,â Jungkook tuts. âI hope that guy gets her number somehow.â
âSeems like a long shot.â You shrug, fiddling with your straw.Â
âRight. I mean, we canât forget about fate, because fateâs probably working in that guyâs favor.â
It hits you square in the chest, that Jungkook really does know exactly what heâs done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you.Â
ââThere's a pause. A long pause. Jimin is grinning like the Cheshire cat, and you're seriously considering faking a medical emergency.
Jungkookâs biceps strain against his shirt, tongue darting out to play with his lip ring. âYou know what I think?â His voice drops several octaves, low enough for you and Jimin to hear. âI think this guy should just show up at your door. Skip all the games.â
âThat would be weird,â you quip.Â
âWould it?â Tilting his head, Jungkook observes you. Feels like heâs seeing right through you with x-ray goggles. âEven if youâve been thinking about him too?âÂ
Youâre painfully aware of how close he is, how his knee is almost touching yours under the table, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips. Your brain is short-circuiting. You canât think, canât breathe, canât do anything except stare at him and wonder what would happen if you just gave in.
âThereâs rules to be followed,â you finally mumble.Â
âRules for what?â Jimin snorts.Â
In hindsight, that probably wasnât the smartest excuse you couldâve conjured up. No one seems to understand the dying art of playing hard to get anymore.Â
But, really, it was only a matter of time before you lost your temper and threw in the towel. You were never good at winning anything besides cheerleader championships, anyway. âThe game, Jimin. The fucking game I explained to you already. Just so weâre all clear, by the way, I was trying to enjoy my lunch before you two decided to gang up on me, so thank you both very much.â
Jimin and Jungkook deadpan, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.Â
Embarrassment courses through your veins, choking your throat. Itâs not like you meant to have an outburst and openly admit youâre playing the game with Jeon Jungkook, a man who you used to ignore as if he were invisible. Sometimes a girl gets sexually frustrated and it manifests in interesting ways.Â
âIâm going to the bathroom,â you grumble. You speed-walk as fast as your legs will take you, all the way to the restroom, locking yourself in one of the stalls and plopping down on the toilet. You canât pinpoint why youâre suddenly overcome with some silly desire to win this âgameâ you conjured up in your head, why you wonât just give in to what he so clearly wants to offer you.Â
But maybeâand you donât want to admit itâthereâs a residual guilt that lives deep inside you. One that when you really face, reminds you of just how cruel you were to others in high school. There was a time in your teenage life where you thought being the queen bee of high school meant you were at the apex of the universe. Now that the tables have turned, and youâre not as big as you once were, maybe you donât deserve what the universe is trying to offer you.Â
Maybe you don't deserve what Jeon Jungkook is trying to offer you. Â
Itâs Sunday, but itâs hardly peaceful or restorative. Saturday night was spent partying with Yunjin and Chaewon at some club in Gangnam that served drinks comparable to battery acid, which is why youâre currently battling the worst hangover of your entire life. Your head is pounding so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your eyeballs. And you're pretty sure you're still drunk, which means the real hangover hasn't even hit yet.Â
Thereâs no one to blame but yourself. Your brain was a broken record last night: Jungkook, high school, the game. The only way to stop the endless loop was to wash it down with copious soju shots.
Groggily, you roll over and unplug your phone from the charger. A quick scroll through your missed notifications and itâs the usual suspects: Jimin, Yunjin, TaehyungâŚ
Wait.Â
Your eyes squint into slits, trying to make sense of the unknown number that sent you one message at 8 AM. You donât recognize it. Spam, probably. Or maybe someone from last night asking if you got home okay. You donât remember giving your number to anyone, but then again, you don't remember much after midnight.
You unlock your phone, rub your eyes, and adjust to the bright white light of your messages.Â
+823137565798 waited ten years to run into you again, [Y/N]. im not really interested in waiting another ten to see if fate brings us together a fourth time
It doesnât take much time for you to put together the puzzle pieces.Â
You gasp, nearly flinging yourself off your bed at the realization. You reread the message one, two, three times, just to confirm he really said your name in it. You try to do a little excited kick under your covers, but your legs are tangled in your sheets and you nearly fall off the bed.
After yesterdayâs temper tantrum, you had exited the bathroom to see Jeon Jungkook no longer present at the table. Jimin shrugged, said âhe was tired, so he went home,â and that was the end of that. You were under the impression that you ruined the entire charade, that you wouldnât have to worry about the game because you already lost anyway.Â
But here he is, in your messages, contradicting your worst fears.Â
you whoâs this?
Squealing, you throw your phone to the side, but within a few seconds, it lights up again with a new message.Â
+823137565798 wild guess?
you my amazon package?
You snort as you watch him read it and begin typing.Â
+823137565798 close. even betterÂ
An unwarranted smile sneaks its way onto your face.Â
you enlighten me
+823137565798 itâs your ex chemistry tutor from high school. that weird dudeÂ
you weird dude is how youâre choosing to introduce yourself?
+823137565798 trying to be humbleÂ
+823137565798 so about yesterday
Your hangover creeps back into your skull, your head pounding to the beat of a drum.
you we donât need to talk about yesterday
+823137565798 why not?
you because i embarrassed myself?
+823137565798 you didnât. thought it was cute
+823137565798 may have also told your best friend i needed your number in the name of saving you from your drought, so youâre not the one who embarrassed themselvesÂ
Staring at the message, your alcohol-riddled brain struggles to make sense of the words in front of you. Heat spreads from your chest to your neck to your cheeks. The guilt tries to claw its way upâyou donât get to feel this giddy, not about himâbut your body overrules it with a decisive vote. Your hangover is completely forgotten now, replaced by a warm flutter in your stomach that has nothing to do with last night's tequila.
Itâs so unlike him, the polar opposite of what Jeon Jungkook used to evoke in you, but the mere thought of him ending your sex drought sends a tingle down your spine.Â
Youâre grinning like a foolish schoolgirl now, dignity be damned. You save his number to your contacts, makes it official in your brain.Â
you are you offering to get me out of my drought?Â
You fling your phone to the opposite side of the bed, and scream into your pillow.Â
The buzz causes you to shoot back up, heart thumping in your throat as you read his response.Â
jungkook possiblyÂ
Somewhere in the sky, your guardian angel is doing backflips.Â
Hands shaking, heart pumping blood erratically, you type back:
you take a girl to dinner first
The three dots pop up almost immediately, and then:Â
jungkook tried that already. the girl ran away from me :/Â
Technically, heâs right. You did run away. And now heâs resorted to joking about it, like it doesnât bother him. But it should bother him. Should annoy him that the girl who didnât acknowledge his existence in high school is now playing games with him like she has any right to.Â
You donât know how to let him be nice to you, how to let him want you, when all you can remember is a younger you rolling your eyes while he patiently explained molecular bonds. You were cruel. Mostly in small ways that probably hurt more than massive shows of dismissiveness, but harsh nonetheless.Â
Guilt sits burdensome in your chest, a thorn in your side. Deep down, youâre terrified that when he finally sees you clearlyâreally sees you, not the filtered version you're trying to presentâheâll realize what you already know. That you were never worth the wait.
Your fingers loom over the keyboard, twiddling. The guilt is there, always there, always a dark cloud hanging. You were cruel to him. Casual about it, even. Used him like a tool and never once considered that he was a person with feelings that could be hurt.
But maybeâand this is the thought that's been needling at you since the cafeâmaybe the worst thing you could do now is waste his second chance on you by playing games. Maybe the cruelest thing would be pretending you donât want this when you so obviously, desperately do.
On the one hand, honesty is terrifying and vulnerability makes you nauseous.Â
But, on the other handâŚ
you well maybe the girl wants to see if youâre full of shit or notÂ
Your heart speeds up behind the confines of your ribs.Â
jungkook iâm not the same guy from high school. i donât play about what i wantÂ
With bated breath, you type your response. Itâs a question that you know the answer to, and you donât know why you need him to say it, but he will anyway.Â
you and what is it that you want?
jungkook you.Â
The night of Huh Yunjinâs birthday creeps up slowly on you, amidst a week busied with work, adult errands, and most stupidly, thoughts of Jungkook. The thoughts of him play, pause, tape spooling, and then rewind on a constant loop, unrelenting in their nature.Â
You hadnât spoken to him much after your last exchange, minus some âgood morningâ texts from him that you responded to politely. Itâs foreplay, if nothing else, because even a few words from him are enough to leave you giddy for days to come.Â
You fully intend to take him up on his offer, you just donât know when. .Â
Sinkhole is packed to the brim, sweaty bodies colliding in an attempt to feel human intimacy. A disco ball hangs loosely from the ceiling, transmitting silver light across the dance floor. The DJ is spinning up cringy Top 40 hits you havenât heard since college, but the amount of soju shots youâve consumed within the past hour masks the embarrassment you feel.Â
âCheers to my 28th!â Yunjin yells in your ear, raising her shot glass in the air. Jimin abandons making out with Taehyung in favor of lifting his shot glass with hers, and you canât help but join in on the festivities.Â
Yunjin keeps toasting to things that get progressively more unhinged. âTo being 28! then âTo my IUD!â then âTo tax evasion!âÂ
You're not sure she's even joking on that last one.Â
Youâve lost count of how many youâve taken, but the liquor burns less with each passing shot.Â
âHappy birthday, baby!â Jimin leans over the table youâre all perched at, pressing a chaste kiss to Yunjinâs cheek. She giggles in delight, smiling brightly in the way only a drunk person could.Â
âOh, why thank you, Jiminie,â she laughs. âAnd thank you, Tae and [Y/N] for buying the table!â
It was 75% Taehyung and 25% you, but youâll accept her gratitude. Buying a table at the club with unlimited alcohol was also part of your master plan to get absolutely obliterated and halt all thoughts of Jungkook, at least for the night.Â
â[Y/N], we need to find you a hot guy tonight. That dress is doing insane things to your legs,â Yunjin whines, pushing your shoulder. âThereâs soooo many boys here.â
Jimin and Taehyung share a meaningful look, one that you donât miss. Rolling your eyes, you say, âIâm not looking for anyone tonight. I want to spend it with you.â
âBooooring.â She pokes your side, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of Usher. âIf you ditch me on my birthday to fuck a hot dude, I wonât be mad.â
âBut I donât want to fuck a hot dudeââ
Jimin clears his throat. âWell, actually, you do. Heâs just not here right now.â
There goes your vow to ignore all Jungkook thoughts this evening.Â
âJimin.â
âWhat? Itâs true,â he giggles, cozying up into Taehyungâs side. âThe guy practically sexted you last weekend.â
Feeling caught, you busy yourself with the hem of your black bodycon dress. âWhether I fuck him or not is nobodyâs business but my own,â you mumble.Â
âOh, please,â Taehyung rolls his eyes. âYouâve been needing to get laid for months. Weâre your best friends, which makes it our business.â
âSheâs just upset that she ignored him in high school and now heâs this big, hunky guy,â Jimin snickers.Â
Taehyung frowns. âBigger than me?âÂ
âOkay, enough,â you snap, pouring more soju into the empty shot glasses. âI just wanna get drunk and enjoy my night.â
âIâm sure you would enjoy your night more if you had a big, sexy man to take care of you. I know I would,â Jimin chuckles. Not in a mean way, but your heart does sink a little as you watch him give Taehyung an open-mouthed kiss.Â
Yunjin turns to you. âWhy havenât you fucked him?âÂ
You donât know when this became an intervention, but everyone seems arduously interested on whether or not you fuck Jeon Jungkook.Â
You shrug. âI donât know. Itâs not that I donât want toâtrust me, I doâI just⌠feel a little bad about how I treated him in high school.â
Your friend snorts, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile playing upon her lips. âIf he felt bad about how you treated him, he wouldnât be pursuing you.â
âSheâs right,â Jimin jumps back in, and you fight the urge to slam his head into the table. He picks up a soju shot. âItâs kinda cute how desperate he seems for your attention. Thatâs a guy whoâs gonna eat you out like his life depends on it.â
The mental image of his moist, plump lips wrapping around your clit has your thighs trembling under the table, but you clamp them before anyone can notice.Â
âIâm gonna fuck him,â you promise. âI swear.â
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. âI hope you do, before someone else snatches you up.â He tilts his head in the direction of a man eye-fucking you, and your stomach queases.Â
âHeâs cute,â Jimin takes his shot, and you follow suit. Thereâs no way youâre getting through this night without getting absolutely obliterated.Â
âOooo, thereâs a really cute guy over there. 12:00,â Yunjin leans into the group, whispering as lowly as she can over the sound of Kesha.Â
You refuse the desire to look. Taehyung, however, lets his eyes wander to who sheâs talking about. Luckily, Jimin is too entranced by pouring himself another soju shot to care. âOh fuck me. Heâs fucking sexy. I would let that man give me a rimjob.âÂ
You slump into the chair. Somehow you have a feeling youâre about to undergo the worldâs least subtle setup.Â
Jiminâs eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull. Slowly, he angles his body to see who his boyfriend is talking about. âHe canât possibly be that hotâoh my god. Oh my god.â
âWhat?â you and Yunjin say in unison. If you had to guess, based on Jiminâs track record and the specific tone of that âoh my god,â heâs either spotted a celebrity, a firefighter in uniform, or someone from his legendary whore phase. And given that youâre at a nightclub, you're betting on option three. Jiminâs whore phase is the stuff of legendâa six-month period during sophomore year where he worked his way through half of Seoul's gay club scene. He doesn't talk about it often, mostly because Taehyung gets a very specific look on his face when it comes up, but every once in a while someone from that era will resurface and Jimin will make that exact noise.
âWho is it?â you press on, heart thumping in excitement.Â
Jiminâs blonde hair sways as he turns to look back at you. âOkay, donât panic.âÂ
Furrowing your brows, you start, âDonâtââ
âThatâs Jungkook, you idiots. The fucking guy from [Y/N]âs high school weâve been talking about,â he says in a hushed tone, punching Taehyungâs shoulder.Â
Thereâs a warm feeling hugging your chest, your body feeling as though itâs been lit on fire. It might be the alcohol, or the sheer joke of it all. Out of all the scenarios youâve conjured up in your daydreams, this wasnât one of them.Â
You turn your body to track where your friendâs eyes were just a minute ago. Even though Jimin already confirmed it, thereâs a tiny part of you hoping his eyes deceive him. But there he is, Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, talking to one of his equally attractive friends. Heâs wearing all blackâblack t-shirt that sculpts his biceps, black baggy jeans that sit tightly on his slim waist. His hair is ruffled, hoop earrings dangling from the holes in his ear. And really, the most sickening part of it all: he has two lip rings instead of the usual one. Youâre gonna be sick.
âEarth to [Y/N]...â Yunjin waves a shot in front of your face, and without preamble, you take it from her, swallowing it in one easy sip. The alcohol travels down your throat, but you barely feel the burn.Â
âYou good?â Taehyung raises an eyebrow.Â
âJust peachy,â you lie. You smile at your friends, but they donât seem convinced.Â
Jimin guffaws, leaning back in his chair with an evil grin. âIs that why you just downed another shot?â
âIâm thirsty.â
âFor alcohol or for Jungkook?â Yunjin bursts into a fit of giggles, high-fiving Jimin across the table.Â
Groaning, you let your head fall into your hands. âI hope all of you die a slow and painful death.â
âHeâs gotten even hotter since the last time I saw him,â Jimin notes, sipping his untouched margarita. âHow is that possible?â
âCan we please talk about anything else?â You reach for the soju bottle, pouring the last of the clear liquid into your glass. Your second in thirty seconds. A new personal record.
âWe will do no such thing,â Jiminâs eyes are gleaming with elation. âYou need to go talk to him.â
You nearly choke on the liquor. âIâm sorry, what?âÂ
âGo. Talk. To. Him.â Jimin enunciates each word like youâre a toddler.Â
âAre you insane?â you deadpan. âLike, actually stupid? Have you suffered a brain injury I donât know about?â
Both Jimin and Taehyung share another unspoken look. âIâm trying to help you.âÂ
âBut I donât want helpââ
â[Y/N].â Jimin doesnât often get very serious, but the expression on his face makes you squirm. âIâm not letting you fuck this up.â
âI;m not fucking anything up by staying exactly where I am.â You cross your arms over your chest. Realistically, you know heâs right. If you were more drunk, maybe you would bite the bullet, march over there, and plant a kiss right on those lips you havenât stopped thinking about. But youâre not, so at the table you will stay.Â
âThis is fate. This is the universe putting him a few feet away.â Jimin gestures vaguely at Jungkook.Â
âThe universe can fuck off, honestly.â
He sighs, âIâm doing this for your own good.â
And before you can process his movements, a lag in your brain, Jimin turns in his seat, arm raising in a wave, mouth opening to call out his name.Â
âNo!â You lunge across the table, knocking over Taehyungâs drink, causing him to groan. You latch onto Jiminâs arm, yanking it down forcefully. âDonât you fucking dare, Park Jiminââ
Itâs too late.Â
Because in your desperate scramble to stop Jimin from committing social suicide on your behalf, you've made a scene. Swiveling your head slowly, you see Jungkook staring directly at you.Â
His eyebrows are raised, a hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. His tattooed fingers toy with the straw in his drink. It feels as though time drags on for hours, as if the hands of a clock are being lugged through molasses.Â
You slowly extract yourself from on top of the table, slinking into your chair with as much dignity as you can muster. Your hand comes up in the worldâs most awkward, tentative wave. The tiniest flutter of your fingers.Â
Jungkookâs lips stretch wider, raising his hand in return. Itâs a proper wave, filled with that newfound confidence of his. Then he turns back to his friend, resuming their conversation. Itâs not like you expected him to drop everything for youâor well, you kind of did. You exhale a deep breath. âOh my god.â You slump in your chair. âThat was horrible.â
âThat was⌠bad,â Jimin tiptoes around the word, twiddling his thumbs.Â
âIâm going to have to fake my death and move to a different countryââ
âStop being a drama queen,â Yunjin cuts in, sliding a shot towards you. You donât even know or care where it spawned from, but all you know is you need it. âHe waved back. He probably thought it was cute.â
Sighing, you shake your head. âThere is nothing cute about what just happened.â You down the shot, and youâve completely lost count at this point of how many youâve ingested.Â
âOkay, new plan,â you announce, slamming the glass down. âNone of that happened. We enjoy Yunjinâs birthday. We do not make eye contact with Jungkook, we do not speak about Jungkook.â
âYeah, about that,â Jimin trails off, eyes glued to somewhere behind your shoulder. âItâs too late.â
âToo late for what?âÂ
âHeâs coming over here.â
Your entire body halts all movement, rigid like a statue. âWhat?â
âHeâs coming here. Right now,â Taehyung repeats, and your heart drops to your feet. A hornetâs nest of anxiety swarms your stomach, filling your body with buzzing fear.Â
You shake your head frantically. âPlease say youâre messing with me.â
Yunjin turns to see where Jimin and Taehyung are staring, and the moment she touches your arm, you realize youâre trapped. Thereâs no way out but through.Â
â[Y/N]. Itâs nice to see you here.âÂ
His voice is deeper, a low timbre that makes your brain go all fuzzy around the edges. He stands in front of the table, and you peer through your eyelashes to look up at him.Â
Fuck. Fuck, he looks even better up close.Â
The two lip rings catch the light of the disco ball. A silver chain dangles from around his neck and you briefly wonder what itâll look like hanging over you while he pounds intoâŚGod, get a grip. You can catch a whiff of his cologne, something citrusy and woodsy that causes a pool of arousal in your underwear.
âHi,â you manage a smile, struggling to hold the intense gaze heâs sporting.Â
He breaks it for a moment, turning to your best friend, nodding. âJimin, good to see you again.â
âYou too, Kook. You should join us!â He scooches closer to Taehyung, patting the minimal space beside him. Jungkook stares at it, then looks back at you with a hunger in his eyes that almost has you keeling over.Â
âActually,â Jungkook begins, âI was hoping I could steal [Y/N] for a drink. If thatâs okay with you all?â
He wants to... what? Steal you? For a drink? Alone? You turn to Yunjin, eyes pleading. Help me. Save me. Make up an excuse. But she was never going to let you escape where heâs involved. She looks you dead in the eye, smiles sweetly, and says, âNo, sheâs all yours.â
Youâre going to remember this. Youâre going to bring this up at every possible opportunity for the rest of her natural life.
Jungkookâs hand extends towards you, palm up, awaiting yours. For a brief second, you stare at it, at his long fingers, at the veins running down his forearm, at the silver rings stacked on his nimble fingers. The hand that's now being offered to you, in public, in front of all your friends.
You can either take his hand and let whatever this is happen, or you can make up some excuse and run away for the fourth time.
Your heart starts cartwheeling in your chest. You canât look away from his hand, the one you desperately want to take. Jungkook watches patiently, confidently, like he knows just what youâre deciding between.Â
Fuck it.Â
You place your hand in his, let your fingers intertwine with his warm ones. Itâs secure, and his fingers tighten around yours as if to remind you he has you. Jungkook pulls you to your feet gently. He doesnât let go as he guides you through the crowd toward the bar, and youâre trying very hard not to think about how right it feels, how you never want him to let you go.Â
He parks you at the bartop, where a woman who looks like sheâd rather be anywhere else is serving alcohol to a group of minors. Jungkook pats the stool beside him, and youâre more than grateful to take the chair. Your heels have been hurting like a bitch all night. When you sink into the chair, his eyes follow the way your dress hugs your thighs, revealing more skin than your old cheer uniforms. You debate tugging it down, but a warm feeling is flooding your insides at the thought of him wanting to see more of you. He towers above you, his AMEX hanging loosely from his deft fingers.Â
âWhat do you like to drink?â He leans down, whispers it directly in your ear. The heat of his breath makes your entire body feel like molten lava.Â
The bartender begins to make her way over, eyes gleaming when she spots Jungkook. If you were less tipsy, you might come up with a witty response, but your current state only allows you to say, âA dirty shirley, please.âÂ
He doesnât make a face at the girly drink, nor bats an eyelash when the bartender touches his arm four times while he recites his order. You can only watch in awe as he hands over his card and turns his attention back to you, body angling toward you as if to shield you from every other patron who might be able to see you. The slight possessiveness heâs exhibiting would normally make you hurl, but heâs so unapologetic about it that you could care less. You hope he puts his mark on you so no man will ever speak to you again.Â
Jungkook fiddles with his fingers on the counter, unsure where to put them. The only glimpse of high school Jungkook youâve seen in days. His hand hovers near your thigh, then his jeans pocket, then back to the counter. For all his cockiness over text and possessiveness, still lies a man whoâs intimidated by the thought of truly having you.Â
The soju in your body hums through your veins, making everything feel hazy and like a really good idea. Liquid courage, Yunjin calls it. Liquid stupidity, sounds more precise.Â
But right now⌠youâre thinking liquid courage might be onto something.Â
Because heâs standing so close you can smell his cologne, something that smells like grapefruit and lemon. Because he angled his body to block out the rest of the bar like youâre the only person here. Because his hand is right there, inches from you, and looks like he wants to touch you so badly itâs causing him physical pain.Â
And youâre tipsy enough to think: yeah, liquid courage is real.Â
Before the sober, anxious part of your brain can intervene with a thousand reasons why this is a horrible idea, you reach out. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and his eyes snap to yours, surprise written across his features.Â
You donât utter a word, just simply guide his hand until his palm settles at the small of your back. Every place where his skin connects with yours seems to tingle.Â
âIs this okay?â he asks, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. Again, his mouth is right by your ear, and you canât think, canât breathe, can't hear anything but him.Â
âWould I have moved it there if I wasnât?âÂ
His thumb strokes once against your side. âJust making sure.âÂ
âIâm tipsy, not drunk,â you clarify, only because you need him to know this is a choice. This is something you tried to talk yourself out of over and over again, but you want this. Liquid courage is making you brave enough to admit out loud what you only ever thought to yourself sober. âI know what Iâm doing.âÂ
âAnd what are you doing?â His breath hits your cheek, the side of your mouth, and itâs laced with peppermint and whiskey, and youâre dizzy with need.Â
âGiving you the green light,â you say, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are hooded, trained on your lips that are coated in shiny gloss. âThat okay with you?âÂ
His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you incrementally closer. He doesnât need to say anything.Â
âVery okay,â he murmurs into your hair.Â
The bartender returns with your drinks, but Jungkook doesnât move his hand. He takes your dirty shirley with his free hand, passing it off to you. His grip becomes more secure, more selfish, like now that youâve given him permission, heâs never planning on letting go.Â
Good, you think. You donât want him to.Â
Jungkookâs hand wraps around the glass of whiskey, taking a slow sip. âSeems like fate was on my side tonight.âÂ
You take a gulp of your dirty shirley, the sweetness coating your tongue. âIâm starting to think you might be stalking me.âÂ
His eyebrows raise, a tiny upward twitch in his mouth. âHow do I know youâre not stalking me?âÂ
âOh, you would know.â
âReally?â He leans in, brown eyes sparking like pools of chocolate. âAnd howâs that?âÂ
âBecause Iâd be better at it,â you proclaim, emboldened by the alcohol. âYou wouldnât catch me three times in two weeks. Iâd have a whole system. Disguises, a wig collection..â
He laughs loudly. You notice that his dimples pop when he does so, eyes crinkling. âA wig collection.âÂ
âAt minimum. Maybe some fake glasses and a trench coat.âÂ
âClearly, youâve thought about this,â he hums.Â
You raise your hands in defense. âIâm just saying, if I were stalking you, youâd never know it unless I wanted you to know.âÂ
âShould I be concerned?â he questions, but heâs grinning.Â
âDepends,â you tilt your head. âAre you worth stalking?âÂ
His fingers spread across the expanse of your spine. âIâd like to think so.âÂ
âConfident.â Another sip of your dirty shirley snakes down your throat, your lips toying with the straw as you peer up at him.Â
His gaze never leaves yours. âBesides, youâre the one who guided my hand to your back. If anyone's being forward hereâŚâÂ
That almost makes you choke on your sugary drink. âI was justââ
âGiving me the green light,â he finishes. âI remember. Trust me, I remember.âÂ
Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits.Â
You resort to drinking more alcohol, needing something to do with your hands thatâs not touching him. âThis is crazy, right? Us, here?âÂ
âCrazy how?âÂ
âYou know how. I mean, ten years ago, I was copying your chemistry homework, and now youâre so⌠youâreâŚâ
Thereâs not a single English word that properly describes what present day Jeon Jungkook does to you, with his tattoos and lip rings and expensive cologne and platinum credit card and⌠fuck.Â
âIâm what?â He leans closer, waiting, expecting.Â
âThis.â you say helplessly. âAll of this.âÂ
âIs there something wrong with.â he uses his free hand to motion over his toned body, âthis?â
âNo. Nothing. Thatâs the problem.â It slips out before you can stop it. âIt would be easier if something was wrong with it.âÂ
The hand not looped around your waist moves from the bartop to your dress, fingers finding the hem where itâs ridden up on your thigh. He plays with the fabric absentmindedly, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. âIf no oneâs told you, by the way,â he mutters just loud enough for you to hear him over the music, âthis dress looks insane on you.âÂ
The wind is knocked out of your chest, a jolt of electricity flashing through your core. âNo oneâs told me yet. Youâre the first.âÂ
His eyes drag up from where his fingers are flirting with your dress, traveling up your body until they meet yours. âYou look fucking gorgeous,â he says. âThere. Now I'm the second to say it.âÂ
Itâs hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Even harder to find words, or form a coherent sentence.Â
âYouâIâyou canâtââ
âCanât..?â His hands donât dare move from your dress, knuckles occasionally brushing against your thigh. âCanât tell you the truth?â
âYou know what youâre doing, Jungkook.âÂ
âI do,â he agrees. âIs it working?âÂ
You want to lie. Want to play it cool. Want to maintain some semblance of the upper hand.Â
But your downfall was inevitable, right from the moment you saw him standing in the cafe. Like a champagne bottle that someone shook a little too hard, a balloon pressed against a thumbtack. It was always meant to explode.Â
âYes,â you admit.Â
âGood.â Both of his hands move to grip the side of your barstool. In one smooth movement, he turns you to face him completely. His legs spread, creating space, and he guides the stool forward with his toe until your thighs slot between his. Heâs caging you in, hands landing atop your thighs, palms warm against your bare skin.Â
Youâre practically pressed against him, his face level with yours, âIs this okay?â he asks again, fingers digging into the flesh.Â
Suddenly, itâs like youâre painfully aware of all the places where he isnât touching you. Your faces, your chests. You want more, need more.Â
âStop asking me that,â you mumble, looking away, but he guides your gaze back with a finger under your chin.Â
âI need to know, princess.â His tone is serious, but you want to smile from the pet name. âTell me if itâs too much.âÂ
âItâs not,â you whisper. âItâs not too much.âÂ
âNo?â
âNo.âÂ
His hands slide up your thighs, hiding underneath the fabric, pushing a boundary that hasn't been tested in a long time. âWhat about now?âÂ
Youâre going to combust. Right here, in the middle of Sinkhole, surrounded by people, you're going to burst into flames.
âStill okay,â you exhale.Â
For one exhilarating second, his eyes drop to your lips, and you think youâll get what youâve been seeing in your dreams the past few nights. You need to get out of here. Away from the crowd, away from the noise, somewhere you can actually hear yourself thinkâor not think. Preferably not think.
âDo you want toâŚâ you start, then hesitate. The words die on your tongue.Â
He cocks his head, hair flopping into his eyes. âDo I want toâŚâÂ
Your heartbeat reverberates in your throat. âTalk somewhere more private? Itâs loud here.âÂ
His composure shifts, and you watch the realization hit him. What you're suggesting. What that implies.
âPrivate,â he repeats. âTo talk.âÂ
âYes.âÂ
âAbout?âÂ
You deadpan, brain racking for a subject, any subject. âStuff,â is what you come up with.
A dry laugh escapes him. âAnd maybe things as well?âÂ
You pout. âImportant stuff.âÂ
âIâm sure.â His smile is lopsided, goofy and full of light. He pulls you up from the barstool until your feet touch the ground again. His hand finds your fingers, easily lacing them. âWhatever you want, princess.âÂ
Where the fuck did that come from? When did he become the type of person to use pet names? And why is it working? Why is that single word making your entire nervous system light up like a Christmas tree?
Tugging you through the crowd, he peers behind him every few seconds to make sure you havenât floated away. His hand is firm around yours, guiding you through the mass of bodies, and you try and catch a glimpse of any of your friends.Â
Unfortunately, you do spot Jimin and Taehyung, pressed against a wall, entranced in a makeout session so intense that theyâre definitely not coming up for air soon. At least you wonât have to explain to them where you went. Yunjin is nowhere to be found, probably on the dance floor or already home with one of her many flings.Â
Jungkook pulls you through another section of the crowd, leading you down a side hallway thatâs mercifully empty. The music is muffled, bass still thumping through the walls but not deafening anymore. You lean back against the cold concrete, the chill a shock against your overheated skin. The wall vibrates with each bass drop, humming in your chest.Â
Jungkook stops in front of you, and you have to tilt your head back to see his face. âWhat did you want to talk about?â Â
Your mind shoots blanks. In this dim hallway, youâve become aware of how completely the tables have turned. Ten years ago, you held all the cards. You were the girl who made him nervous, who had him stumbling over words, who could get him to do anything with a smile and a flutter of your eyelashes. But now youâre the one whoâs heart is racing, who feels like you might explode from a single touch. He has the upper hand, utterly, entirely. And you handed it to him willingly. Put his hand on your waist, guided him here, and now youâre putty in his hands and he knows it.Â
âYou make me nervous,â you blurt out.Â
The silence that engulfs you feels like punishment. Your mouth goes dry, palms sweating under the guise of his stare.Â
He takes a step closer. Thereâs little to no space between you. âThatâs interesting.âÂ
âWhy is that interesting?â Your back is pressed against the wall. Nowhere to go.Â
âYou used to make me nervous,â he says, bracing his hand on the wall. His bicep strains and you have to fight the urge to ogle at them. âFor years.âÂ
âThat was different, Jungkook.âÂ
âWas it?â He studies you. âIn what way?âÂ
âWell, because now youâre you, and Iâmââ
âIâm me?â His eyebrows raise an inch, lips curling upwards in a smirk. âWhat does that mean?âÂ
Why did you drink so much alcohol? Why, why, why? Maybe if you hadnât, your lips wouldnât be so goddamn loose. Your filter would still be in tact. You wouldnât be staring at him like you want to devour him whole.Â
You peer up at him, eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks are flushed from the amount of drinks heâs consumed, and heâs close enough that you can see the moles that litter his face. The one under his lip. The one on his nose. You want to kiss each and every single one of them. Map them out with your lips until you have them memorized.Â
You give up on any pretense of playing it cool. âYou know youâre hot, Jungkook.âÂ
âDo I know?â The smirk on his face grows tenfold, and god, you want to kiss it off him. âYouâve never told me this before.âÂ
âHigh school was different.âÂ
âYouâve said that a lot, but itâs actually not that different,â he murmurs.Â
âHm?â
His gaze drops to your lips for the hundredth time tonight. âBecause Iâm still so fucking unbelievably, out of my mind, attracted to you.â
Your brain struggles to process itâthat heâs felt this way for years. That it never went away. That all the confidence and cockiness is built on top of the same desire that made teenage Jungkook stutter around you.
âYouâre just saying things,â you whisper. But youâve known. Youâve always known.Â
His hand falls from the wall to cup your jaw. âYou think I begged Jimin for your number because I was just being polite? You think I showed up at three different cafes hoping fate would bring us together because Iâm casual about this?â
âBut you said that cafe was your regular spotââ
He fights to hide the smile creeping onto his face. âIâve wanted you since I was a teenager.â His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. âSomehow, impossibly, I want you even more now.âÂ
Your heart is trying to break out of the confines of your ribcage. âJungkook.âÂ
His forehead is almost touching yours. âWhatâs different is that now Iâm not terrified to tell you.â
You donât know what else to say to him, so you smile as brightly as you can, letting your happiness live on your face.Â
âHow many drinks have you had tonight?â he asks.Â
You scrunch your brows together. âA lot of soju. That dirty shirley. Why?âÂ
Bluntly, he says, âBecause I want to kiss you. But not if youâre too drunk to remember it tomorrow.âÂ
You squeak, back slightly arching off the wall. Youâve never wanted anything more, never ached to feel someone the way you do him. Heat travels through your veins, burning you to your core.Â
âI told you, Iâm tipsy,â you rush to protest. âIâll remember this tomorrow.âÂ
It should be embarrassing how quickly you reassure him, how the words tumble out of your mouth.Â
His forehead presses against yours, and itâs a miracle you donât dissolve into a puddle. âThen can Iââ
âYes,â you interrupt. If he doesnât kiss you in the next five seconds, you might actually die.Â
âI didnât finish the question.â His lips ghost over yours, a gentle taste of what you yearn for.Â
âI donât care what the question is,â you exhale. âThe answer is yes.âÂ
And then his lips are on yours.Â
Never in your high school years did you imagine how Jeon Jungkook kissed. Never thought about how his lips would feel against your own. Never cared to think about it.Â
This past week, however, youâve spent more time imagining this exact scenario than youâve spent breathing. But reality is superior to whatever your brain could conjure up. Your imagination could never describe Jungkookâs demanding kiss, or the way his lips melt into yours with utmost certainty. His hand slides from your jaw to your cheek, cradling it. The other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him.Â
A mix of a gasp and a moan falls from your lips, and he swallows it wholly. Your fists find his shirt, tugging on the fabric, pulling him closer even though thereâs no space between you. His lip rings are cold against your mouth, a contrast to the heat of his lips and the heat between your thighs. Parting your lips, his tongue sweeps in, tastes just like you smelled earlierâwhiskey and peppermint. Your lip gloss is definitely everywhere at this pointâon him, on you, probably on the wall behind youâbut you couldnât care less.
His strong hand travels from your cheek down, down, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat. Claiming, holding. The possessiveness of the gesture sends heat pooling low into your stomach. Jungkookâs thumb presses into your pulse point, feeling how your heart is racing.Â
And when you do finally pull away, your heart is still going berzerk. His lips are shiny with your gloss, pink and swollen and thoroughly kissed. You can't help but giggle at the sight.Â
âWhat?â he asks, breathless. The tips of his ears are tickled pink.
âYouâre wearing my lip gloss,â you giggle again, reaching up to wipe it with your thumb. But he doesnât let you get far, catches your wrist and presses a kiss right where your flowery perfume is sprayed. He takes a deep inhale and smiles back at you like you hung the moon and stars. Your heart is pumping so wildly youâre worried it might actually burst out of your chest.
Then his lips are on your neck, trailing down to your exposed collarbone, finding every sensitive spot with ease like he already knows you, like he holds the map to your body. He holds you tight to him, groundingâand thank god because your legs are shaking so badly that you're not sure you could stand without him holding you up.
âJungkook,â you gasp, and he hums against your skin. His mouth finds your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses, and youâre pretty sure youâre going to pass out. Your fingers thread through his unruly dark brown locks, tugging slightly at the nape.Â
And you canât really help the intrusive thoughts that leap in your mind, the tidal wave of desire that keeps lapping at your core. Heâs insatiable, and you feel gluttonous. âDo you wannaââ you start, but his teeth graze your pulse point and your brain turns to mush. âmaybeâahhâgo to mine?â
He halts, pulls back enough to look at you. âIs that what you want?â His voice is strained, the thread of self-control growing weaker and weaker.Â
Your brain is fuzzy from alcohol and kissing and the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you know what you're saying. You know what you're offering. Youâre done fighting whatever decade-old guilt lives inside you, because you deserve him. Maybe youâre finally ready to accept it. To trust that youâve grown, that youâre growing, that youâre not done growing and thats okay. You deserve all the good that Jeon Jungkook has to offer. âYes,â you breathe, âI wantâI want you.â
His eyes search for hesitation. âYouâve been drinking, and I don't want you to feel like you need toââ
âIâm sure.â Cupping his face in your hands, you cut his sentence in half. Donât even let it slip between you. âI know what I want.â
Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, fingers tightening for purchase. âSay it again,â he murmurs.Â
âI want you, Jungkook.â Your thumb brushes against his bottom lip, catching on his lip rings. âTake me home.â
âFucking hell,â he practically moans, and then his lips are on you again with an urgency that wasnât there before. âWe should probably tell your friends weâre leaving.â
âJiminâs busy.â If you had to guess, heâs on his knees at home, getting topped by Kim Taehyung. âAnd Yunjin will understand. Your friends?â
âThey know who you are.â
A swarm of butterflies kick up in your stomach.Â
You tug on his shirt. âNow can we please go before I lose my mind?âÂ
His answer to that is another quick kissâbut still thorough, because who is he if not a man starvedâand he pulls you through the hallway, back into the club, into the thick of the chaos still lingering this late in the night. You hardly register any of it. The lights, the bass of the music, the bodies pressing against you as you squeeze by. None of it matters.Â
You feel like youâre floating, like your feet are moving but you canât feel the ground, like youâre walking on clouds. His hand is wrapped around yours, pulling you forward, and youâd follow him anywhere right now. To the ends of the earth. Off a cliff.Â
Once the crisp night air hits your skin, Jungkook is already scanning the street, hand raised to hail a taxi. One pulls up within secondsâitâs got to be fate, or the universe supporting your agenda to get laidâand he opens the door, ushering you inside with a hand on the small of your back.Â
Jungkook shuts the door forcefully, immediately snuggling into your side, leaving little to no room for you to create space between you two. Not that you wanted to, but you want to giggle at how utterly fearful he seems of distance from you.Â
âWhere to?â the driver asks, eyeing Jungkook in the rearview.Â
You rattle off your address, and the cab pulls off into traffic. Seoul at this hour is never quietâin fact, itâs usually more lively, since clubs stay open until the wee hours of the morning. But all you can really focus on is Jungkook beside you, his thigh pressed against yours in the cramped backseat. His fingers lace through yours. An innocent, sweet gesture, a complete contrast from what was happening ten minutes ago against that hallway wall. Â
You look down at your intertwined handsâhis so much larger than yours, rings cool against your skin. A smile bestows upon your lips. When you glance up at him, heâs staring at you with this fond expression that makes your heart stutter.
âWhat?â you ask, giddy.Â
âNothing,â he replies, but the smile on his face doesnât disappear. âI just canât believe this is happening.âÂ
âMe neither,â you admit sheepishly.Â
His hand reaches over, tugging the hem of your dress down where itâs ridden up your thigh. The action would be chivalrous, if not for the way his fingers linger, if not for the way his jaw clenches, if not for the way his fond expression darkens into something sinister.Â
âYou need to stop moving,â he says, a deep exhale following his words.Â
You roll your eyes. âIâm not even moving.â
âYour⌠dress is moving.â His hand remains on your thigh, holding the fabric down. âI canât hold it together if this dress rides up any more.âÂ
âOh.âÂ
He shifts in his jeans, clearly uncomfortable. You have to fight not to avert your eyes to his crotch.Â
âDo you know how long itâll take to get to her apartment?â Jungkook asks the driver. You snort loudly.Â
He shrugs. Clearly, the man has never shared Jungkookâs predicament, because he looks unbothered by the urgency in his voice. âAbout twenty minutes.âÂ
Jungkook groans, leaning back into the seat, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them again and catches your gaze, he has to close them to calm his friend down there. And it does make you giggle again, but what you want more than anything is to feel him. For him to give you a part of him that you didnât know you needed until now.Â
You whisper in his ear. âI donât want you to hold it together.â
His eyes fly open, and you watch his Adamâs apple bob up and down. âDonât tempt me right now, [Y/N].â
âWhy not?â And you pull out your tricksâyou bat your eyelashes, tilt your head down, lick your lips to wet them. His face grows pale.Â
âBecause weâre in a cab,â he murmurs, staring at your lips. âAnd Iâm trying to be respectful.â
âMaybe I want you to disrespect me right now.â
The words are barely out of your mouth before he's kissing you again. His hand leaves your dress to cup your face, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper.Â
The cab driver clears his throat. You both ignore him, too hypnotized by the other to think about stopping. He pulls you as close as he can, and a frustrated noise escapes from your lips. Thereâs too many layers, too much distance, and he smiles knowingly against your lips.Â
He seems to know just what you need.Â
Jungkookâs large hand lands on your knee, caressing the supple skin.Â
âYou know how to be quiet, baby?âÂ
You nod meekly.Â
His voice brushes against the shell of your ear, hand traveling up your thigh to mask itself under the fabric of your dress. âGood girl. Spread your legs for me.â
Eyes widening, you stare up at him blankly. There is no way on this planet, Jeon Jungkook, the man who you were sureâup until nowânever had his first kiss, is about to finger you in a taxi. But his hand moving near your lace panties says otherwise. You jolt forward at the feeling of his deft fingers swiping at the fabric as discreetly as possible. You gasp, and he tosses you a look before you slap your hand over your mouth. Luckily, the taxi driver seems more focused on the fastest route to your apartment than whatever debauchery is occurring in his backseat. Itâs also dark in the car, impossible for the naked eye to see Jungkookâs movements.Â
He presses against the wet spot on your underwear, and heat creeps up your neck at the realization of just how turned on heâs had you since the hallway. Maybe even before then, if youâre being honest. He smiles at the revelation.Â
Your nails dig into the leather seat of the cab. Jungkookâs tattooed fingers push aside your underwear, his pointer finger collecting the arousal. A whimper escapes you, and when you look at him, the look on his face sends another round of wetness dripping down his finger. âGod, baby, youâre so fucking wet,â he whispers into your ear, letting two fingers ghost over your clit, gently pushing the bundle of nerves. âDidnât know public sex turned you on so much.âÂ
You bite back a moan. The teasing pace heâs set over your clit would be fun, if you had a constant stream of sexual endeavors, but unfortunately, youâre as desperate as a raccoon sifting through trash. Gripping onto his wrist, you push him onto you fiercely. âNeedy, arenât we?â he mutters.Â
All you can reply with is a quick nod. He chuckles softly, rubbing circles on your clit with the pad of his pointer and middle finger. Your head falls back on the headrest, eyes squeezed tight, tight, tight as you try to calculate how he found your clit so fast. Itâs so wet, dripping onto the seat, his hands, that you could cum just from the stimulation of it all.Â
âWhat do you want, princess? Hm?â Somehow, it sounds like heâs far away from you, like youâre caught on your own cloud of bliss. You want to ask for more, need more like itâs oxygen. His rhythm slows just a tad, enough to have your eyes flying open. âI asked you a question.â
Oh. Oh. So heâs that kind of guy.Â
âI wantâI want your fingers,â you whisper feebly.Â
âYeah? Where, princess? Iâll give you whatever you want.â he kisses your shoulder, your jaw, and it makes your brain fuzzy around the edges.Â
The tantalizing pace heâs set on your clit makes it hard to speak. âW-want you to fuck me with them.â
His lips curl upwards, eyes blazing. âYou like my fingers?â Another nod. He removes his fingers from your clit, slipping back out underneath your dress. Youâre about to protest, maybe even kick him out of the car, until you watch him make direct eye contact with you, and place his fingers in his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the digits. You blink. What the actual fuck have you gotten yourself into?
âPlease, Jungkook,â you beg, your nails scrambling to dig in his clothed thigh. He chastises you, laughs at you, before slithering under your dress again, plunging his fingers directly into your sopping entrance. You gasp, loud enough to make the driver look in the rearview, but you bite your bottom lip before any more can escape. âI know you can take it. If you can take that douchebag Kim Mingyu, you can handle me. Although, after Iâm done with you, my name might be the only name you moan for the rest of your life.âÂ
You should hate that. You really, really should. But clearly, your dignity has taken the night off, and in its place is a woman who is so endeared over being degraded by Jeon Jungkook.Â
His fingers pump in and out, achingly slow, making you feel every inch. Youâre gripping his thigh so tightly you swear thereâll be claw marks. Your head rests on the back of your seat, chest heaving. If not for the sound of traffic outside, the driver might be able to hear the way your pussy squelches with each movement.Â
Jungkookâs lips press against your jaw, litter around your neck. âMore,â you mumble, sounding drunker than you did in the club.Â
âGod, youâre so fucking wet. I canât wait to be inside you. Gonna fuck you all night.â Lewd words continue to spill from his lips. Sending waves of arousal onto his fingers, more for him to play with as he picks up his pace. He curls his fingers upwards, reaching that sensitive spot that far and few men have ever found. Your body trembles, thighs shaking, and Jungkookâs hand lands on them to try and steady you.Â
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing sloppy circles as he brings you to the brink of your orgasm. Your eyes fight to stay open, looking over at Jungkookâand holy hell. His arm veins are popping out, mostly from the amount of effort heâs putting into fucking into you to completion, his dark hair flopping over his face. His silver chain bounces off his chest, reflecting on the city lights outside.Â
And you donât even realize how quickly youâre about to cum, tears brimming your eyes from the way his fingers pump in and out you wildly, thumb matching his pace over your clit. âSo tight around my fingers, princess. You gonna cum?âÂ
Thereâs no way you can be quiet about this. Not with how fucking good he looks, not with how easily his fingers slip in and out you, hitting your sweet spot. You bury your head in his neck, moaning into his warm skin, trying to muffle the sound as much as possible. âFuck, Jungkook.âÂ
âWant you to cum on my fingers, princess. Can you do that for me?â You nod into his neck.Â
Your walls clench around his fingers one last time, to the point where he can hardly move them, his thumb working you through the orgasm that ripples through your body. Your fingers claw at his arm, teeth biting at his neck. You can feel yourself lose control, heart beating erratically in your chest.Â
Jungkookâs fingers halt inside you, thumb coaxing you through the rest of your orgasm. âItâs okay, princess. Iâve got you.âÂ
Your body completely slumps into him, still feeling full with his two fingers inside you.Â
Finally, after he allows you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls them out of your pussy, soaked with your creamy arousal. âOpen,â he says gently, but when you look up at him, his gaze is hardly sympathetic. Your lips part for him, and he places his fingers on your tongue. You swirl it around, tasting yourself, sweet and salty and warm, foreign to you. Jungkookâs eyes never leave yours.Â
âGood job, baby,â he says as he removes his fingers, pressing one, two chaste kisses on your lips.Â
All things considered, youâre in absolute shock. Somewhere between high school and now, Jeon Jungkook learned how to kiss like heâs trying to ruin you for all other men. Where did he learn all this? Who taught him to do that thing with his fingers? How does he know exactly where to put his hands, exactly how much pressure to use to make you lose your mind?
The thought of him practicing on other peopleâother girlsâmakes something ugly twist in your stomach.Â
Youâre an evil, evil girl. âWhereâd you learn all that?âÂ
He raises an eyebrow, tucking a strand of your loose hair behind your ear. âAre you asking about my sexual history now?âÂ
âNo.â
âYou are,â he teases. âYouâre not jealous, right?â
If only he knew how ill you felt at the idea of another girl knowing how his fingers can easily find their g-spot.Â
âI am not jealous.â You feign indifference, but your voice comes out all defensive and petulant, which kind of ruins it all. âJust asking a question.âÂ
âYou want to know who I've been with?â he asks, clearly trying not to laugh.Â
âNever said that.âÂ
He presses another soft kiss against your lips. âThereâs been other people. Iâm not going to lie about that. But thatâs not a big deal.âÂ
You furrow your brows. âWhy?âÂ
His thumb traces circles on your thigh. âBecause I thought about you during all of it. I wondered what youâd feel like, wondered what sounds you would make. So, yeah,â he continues. âI learned some things. But I only ever wanted to use them on you.âÂ
You kiss him again because you donât know what else to do with the feeling expanding in your chest. Because heâs looking at you like that and saying things like that and your heart is fluttering out of your body. God, if that doesnât make you want to drag him upstairs immediately.
The cab pulls up to your building and Jungkook is already pulling out his wallet, throwing bills at the driver without checking the amount. "Keep the change," he says, and then he's out of the cab, pulling you with him.
Your legs are unsteady when you standâfrom the alcohol, from the kissing, from everythingâand his arm wraps around your waist, steadying you. âIâm not done with you yet, princess.âÂ
And, really, heâs not joking because heâs on you the second you step through the door to your apartment. Barely even crosses the threshold before his lips are colliding with yours passionately, slamming your spine into the wall by your entryway. His hands cup your cheeks entirely. He canât get enough of you, like opposite poles of a magnet attracting. Shortly after his affair with the entryway, Jungkook moves a little more down your hallway, but youâre too focused on kissing him to direct him. Your shoes are discarded, purse on the floor, and then your back finds another cool wall to rest against.Â
Jungkook assaults your neck, leaving a trail of bruises that are going to take a hell of a lot of explaining tomorrow. Your apartment probably sounds like the set of some cheap porno, what with Jungkookâs whimpers and your moans, and neither of you are even naked yet. Your hands run over the front of his chest, feeling his sculpted body underneath his shirt.Â
âFuck, youâre so beautiful,â he murmurs into your collarbone, where heâs leaving hickeys in his wake. His hands wander over your chest, cupping them over your dress. Without another word or warning, he yanks down the top of your dress, your breasts spilling out. You canât help the gasp that escapes you as he manhandles you, his lips coming to wrap around your hardened nipple. His tongue swipes over the sensitive nub, eyes peering up expectantly, watching every facial expression that contorts on your face.Â
Your eyes squeeze tightly, a kaleidoscope of color blooming behind your vision. âJungkook,â you moan, carding your fingers through his unruly hair.Â
Without preamble, Jungkook kisses your nipples one last time before dropping to his knees on your hardwood floor with a resounding thump.Â
You open your eyes. The sight in front of you is fucking ungodly. If you look closely, you can see Jungkook from high school, expectantly looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, pushing your dress up to hang around your waist.Â
âW-what are you doing?â you ask.Â
He looks drunk. âNeed to eat you out. I want to taste you, princess.â
You donât remember the last time a man has looked so needy to feel you, to taste you. Actually, you canât remember a time this even occurred.Â
You exhale. âYes. Yes, please.âÂ
Thatâs all he really needs. Jungkook doesnât waste a moment more in burying his face between your folds as though itâs his last meal on earth. His fingers come to spread your lips open for him as he flicks his tongue over your nub, sending you bent over as you scramble for purchase in his hair, his shoulders, anything. âOh, fuck, Jungkook, right there.âÂ
He notices your struggle to stand upright, and then heâs guiding your leg over his shoulder, toes dangling. He moans into your pussy, a breathy little exhale that sends fire shooting through your veins. Jungkookâs strong arm holds your leg in place over his shoulder. His tongue fucks inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling backwards. âTastes so sweet, so fucking heavenly, baby,â he mutters but it barely makes its way into your ears. You can feel his lip rings swiping over your arousal, the cool metal causing your thighs to quake uncontrollably.Â
And then youâre just babbling profanities, a mantra of his name, curse words. A litany of praise. Some other embarrassing things you hope he never remembers.Â
âI feel g-guilty. For the way I treated y-you in high school,â you stammer, quivering against his face as he licks another stripe up your slit.Â
You donât know why itâs all coming out now, but it is. God, you were such a bitch in high school. Such an egotistical brat who was too caught in her own ways to ever see that there was more to life than social status and cheerleading.Â
His tongue encircles your clit, one of your hands flying to his hair to tug. âDonât feel guilty,â he murmurs. âThatâs not what I want you to feel right now. I want to make you feel good.âÂ
His tongue travels from your hole to your clit, and normally the rhythm would throw you off, but heâs so skillful about the whole thing that youâre teetering on the brink of an orgasm. And he must know, must be able to read your body like itâs something he spent years studying, because heâs sucking on your clit, letting his tongue flick over it repeatedly, maintaining a rhythm that has you screaming, âOh fuck, oh shit, Iâm gonnaâJungkook, Iâm gonna cum.âÂ
That doesnât deter him the slightest. Spurs him on like heâs entered in some kind of pussy-eating competition. Youâll spend years talking about this experience, you think.Â
Your fingers tighten in his hair, tangling, tugging, and your entire body vibrates as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. He fucks you through it, keeps going until youâre pushing him away with your toe forcefully. When he finally gives up, he says from between your legs, âBetter than Kim Mingyu?âÂ
Maybe you shouldnât care about high school anymore, but you canât help but laugh, smile at him. âHe never even ate me out, Koo.âÂ
His face softensâ whether thatâs because of the nickname you adorned him with or the fact that Mingyu was an asshole, youâll never knowâand heâs standing up, pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. Itâs messy, sloppy, tongue over teeth, but so undeniably him that you cling to him like a koala. âHeâs the biggest idiot of all time to miss out on that.âÂ
âHmm,â you hum against his lips. They taste just like you, and it sends another gush of arousal pouring out of you. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist, your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. Youâre drowning in himâhis taste, his smell, the way heâs kissing you like heâs been starving for it. You can feel his length poking against your thigh, and your heart skips at just how large it al;ready feels through his jeans.Â
Your hands roam down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt, tracing lower until your fingers find his belt. You fumble with the buckle, fingers clumsy with desire. Jungkook looks down at your manicured fingers, easily working, speaking to how much experience you have. His cock throbs at the thought.Â
Youâre about to get on your knees, return the favor, but he stops you as soon as you lower an inch.Â
Jungkook simply says, âThe next time I want you to cum, is going to be on my cock.âÂ
Okay, yes sir. Heâs all dominating and commanding and it makes your pussy clench around nothing.Â
His forehead drops against yours, breath punching out of him. âFuck, I need to be inside you.âÂ
The metal clinks as his pants drop to the floor, his Calvin Klein boxers doing little to hide how big he is. Jungkook kicks them off, eager to remove as many layers as possible. Your mouth salivates, and youâre positive a sliver of drool is slithering out of your mouth. His hands tighten on your hips, bruising the skin.Â
You kiss him again, but this time, itâs rougher, faster, hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, and he makes a sound between a groan and a whimper that makes you feel powerful. Your hands roam, searching, untilâ
Holy shit. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his length. Heâs big, no doubt about that. But itâs the fucking girth of it that has your mouth watering. Heâs thick, and you can feel the veins that decorate his cock.Â
Jesus Christ. This is what your Chemistry tutor was hiding under his pants. A fucking anaconda.Â
But youâre not about to admit that.Â
No shot in hell.Â
âMhmm, I feel like youâre kinda small,â you tease, battling your eyelashes at him as you stroke his hardened length dangerously slow.Â
His nostrils flare. âYeah? Think Iâm small, baby?âÂ
âTiny.â
Your thumb drags over his tip, and then you feel it. A piece of metal. Jeon Jungkook has a fucking dick piercing.Â
His eyes set ablaze as he realizes that you know. âFucking hell, youâre still the same brat youâve always been.â
Jungkookâs lips collide with yours, and he kicks off his boxers urgently. âFuck,â he breathes against your mouth. Suddenly his hands are gripping the backs of your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing. You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist as your back hits the wall harder. The new position puts you at eye level with him, head spinning. He reaches down between your bodies to let his cock sit in between your wet folds, ever so teasing.Â
Your fingernails dig into the nape of his neck, head lolling back against the wall. âPlease fuck me, Koo. Wanna feel you inside me.â
âOh, now you want to beg? After you called me tiny?â He hisses as he swirls the tip over your clit, the cool metal of his piercing sending shockwaves down your spine.Â
âPlease,â you beg. âPleasepleaseplease.â Itâs slurred when it leaves your mouth, breath catching when you look down and see the way the metal reflects off his soaking tip, encased in your juices. âI need it.âÂ
With that, he pushes into you, all inches of his length, squirming in his arms. You scramble to hold onto something, opting for his biceps that are straining with the weight of holding you up. A moan leaves both of your mouths. He waits until youâre fully adjusted, taking every inch of him. âFeels so good, princess. So tight and warm, holy shit.âÂ
âJungkook,â you pant. Youâre so full of him, heâs everywhere. Stopping is the last thing on your mind. Youâre a woman made of greed. âYouâre soâfuckâbig.âÂ
He smiles triumphantly and takes that as his sign to move. He uses his arms to slide you up and down his cock, slamming you onto him, your clit meeting his pubic bone. The piercing drags against your walls with each thrust, hitting the sweet spot inside you that has you screaming a litany of crude words thatâll have your neighbors knocking your door down tomorrow morning. His head falls to the crook of your shoulder, burying himself in your scent.Â
Itâs more than youâve ever taken, beyond any sex youâve ever had in your life. Youâre going to be ruined for all other men and you havenât even made it to the bedroom yet. Your past lovers are about to become a footnote. A distant memory. Ancient fucking history.
The sound of your pussy squelching with each rough thrust fills the room, Jungkookâs hairline beading with sweat as he furiously pounds into you, tits bouncing in his face. He begins to babble, âUsed to cum so hard thinking about you, baby. You in thatâfuckâcheer uniform, with your nipples hard. I wanted to push it to the side and fuck you.â
You moan at the thought. âYeah, why didnât you? I wouldâve rode your face with your glasses on.âÂ
He presses a sloppy kiss on the side of your mouth. âBet you wouldâve loved that, huh? Deflowering the nerd?â
The mental image flashes through your mindâseventeen-year-old Jungkook, all awkward limbs and nervous stammering, those thick-framed glasses sliding down his nose while you sat on his face in the library after hours. You wouldâve been so mean about it too. Wouldâve made him beg, wouldâve had him so desperate and eager to please that he wouldâve done anything you asked. Wouldâve probably given him the best night of his teenage life and then ignored him in the hallway the next day because you were dating Mingyu and had a reputation to maintain.
âI wouldâve made you cumâahh, shitâso hard.â You try your hardest to maintain eye contact, but everytime you do, your walls flutter around his cock. âYou wouldâve been obsessed.â
âI was already obsessed,â he groans, nipping at your jaw. His balls slap against your ass, adding to the horrific amount of sounds eliciting from your apartment. âIt couldnât have gotten much worse.â
He has a very fair point.Â
You thread your fingers through his hair, already on the brink of another orgasm. Everything about himâhis scent, the way his tattoos glisten with sweat, how his bottom lip is tugged underneath his front teethâsends your mind into delirium. Heâs fucking you with enough force to have your head bouncing off the wall every few thrusts, that you feel it resound along your bones.Â
âFuck, I donât wanna cum yet,â he whimpers into your skin. âBut god, I donât think Iâll be able to last.â
Neither will you, but an idea sparks in your pretty little head. You crook a finger under his jaw, making him look at you. His expression is completely fucked out, lips swollen, cheeks ruddy. His thrusts slow, enough so that he can pay attention to your words. âI want to get on top. Let me fuck you, Jungkook.âÂ
He nods, and then heâs readjusting you in his arms, with you clinging to him like a newborn baby. You giggle as he frantically tries to find your bedroom, pausing every few moments to press a few kisses to your cheeks and lips.Â
Finally, he locates your room, plopping you down on the bed, and you moan at the sudden emptiness you feel with his cock gone. He tosses his t-shirt over his head.Â
Jungkook sits up against the headboard, gently stroking his length as he watches you move to bracket his thighs, settling over his tip. âReady for me, princess?âÂ
Eagerly, you shake your head in approval, and you sink down inch by inch onto his length. For some reason, in this position, it feels like heâs stretching you out more, your walls sucking him in greedily. Your hands come to rest on his beefy chest, nails digging into the skin.Â
Thereâs not many things you're good at, but one thing you are insanely talented at? Riding cock like itâs your god given right. Your hips undulate wildly, bouncing up and down to accommodate his full length. Jungkook watches in awe, in a trance, as you cream his cock. His hands come to sit at your hips, guiding you the best he can. His head rests against the headboard, lazily watching as you play with your tits. âRide my cock,â he groans, âjust like that, princess.â Â
âYou stretch me out so good, Jungkook,â you moan, thighs trembling with each movement. He can feel you getting closer to the edge, already riled up from the previous position. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in. His thumb falls to your clit again, finding it so easily after so many rounds. âRight there, baby,â you chant, eyes closed. âRight fucking there.â
âJesus, I'm so close,â he grunts, beginning to thrust upwards into you as your own pace slows. The sounds are beyond obsceneâhis cock plunging into your wetness, headboard slamming against the wall. You donât care about any of it, not one bit, as long he keeps fucking into you.Â
It was always obvious from the moment he kissed you at the club that neither of you were going to last long, anyway.Â
âFuck, Iâm cumming,â you practically scream, which would have you embarrassed, but he seems just as ruined as you.Â
Your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking as your mouth tears open around a sound that might be his name, might be something else entirely. Your walls flutter around him, and Jungkook canât help himself anymore. âFuck, baby, Iâm gonna cum too. Can Iâfuckâcan I cum inside?âÂ
You nod like a broken bobblehead. Thank god for modern medicine.Â
He empties into you, bruising your hips with his hold. Heâs so attractive when he finishes that you almost orgasm again from the sight. His bare chest heaves, a slight sheen of sweat layered on the skin.Â
For a few moments, you two catch your breath, letting his cock soften entirely inside you. He looks worn, eyes drooping.Â
But after an eternity, you finally roll off him. Youâre not sure what you were expecting in terms of aftercare, but your heart flutters when he lazily wraps his arms around you, tugging you into his side to rest your cheek on his chest. Itâs comforting, with his hands playing with your hair, his own heart thumping along in his chest. Reminding you that youâre here with him, and this is real.Â
Silence has never been so peaceful.Â
You think youâll fall asleep like this, but then he says, âI want to see you again.âÂ
Your heart softens around the edges, at the notion that he believes youâll never speak to him again after this. You canât blame him for it. Itâs exactly what high school you wouldâve done.Â
But youâre not 17 anymore, and you deserve all the good he has to offer you. No more silly little games.Â
âI would really like that,â you whisper back.Â
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. âMind checking your calendar for me?âÂ
You grin like a lovesick idiot. âYup. Checking right now. And it looks like Iâm free this whole week.âÂ
âThursday, then. Dinner at 7,â he confirms. âYouâre not going to, like, make me beg for a real answer this time, are you?â
Giggling, you respond, âMaybe I should check that calendar againâŚâ
He sits up, pouting. âDonât. Donât you dare,â he warns, and then his hands are moving to tickle your sides.Â
You squeal, squirming away, but he just pulls you back against him. The laughs that escape you are so full of sunshine that you hardly recognize them. Youâve been living under a fog for so long that when it lifted, you forgot how bright life could be.Â
âOkay, okay!â you gasp, and his fingers still. âThursday. 7 oâclock.â
âThere we go.â He kisses your forehead. âWas that so hard?â
âHardest thing Iâve ever done,â you say dramatically, resuming your post, nestled into his side.Â
âLiar.â His fingers resume playing with your hair. âYou like me.â
You feel like a kid in kindergarten, caught passing a note in class with âdo you like me? check yes or noâ scrawled in messy handwriting. Like youâre on the playground at recess, heart racing because your crush smiled at you across the monkey bars. But itâs got you just as giddy. âI guess I do.âÂ
Jungkook reaches over to pull the blanket over you two. âSo what happens now?â you wonder aloud. Itâs an innocent question, but somehow loaded with more intent than you realize.Â
âNow?â he yawns. âNow you let me stay the night. Then tomorrow Iâm gonna make you the most fire breakfast of all time. Then Thursday, Iâll take you to the best dinner of your life. And thenââ
âThereâs more?â Your eyes widen in sarcasm.Â
âAnd then I keep taking you out until you realize youâre in love with me too.â
Your heartbeat is quick but steady in your chest. âPretty confident about that, hm?â
âExtremely so.â Jungkook yawns again, voice getting drowsy. âIâve got years of romcom knowledge. Iâve read those Tumblr fanfics. You donât stand a chance.â
Heâs probably right. You donât stand a chance. In fact, you didnât from the moment he stood in front of you at that cafe.Â
Before you close your eyes and float off into sleep, you mumble out, âGod, when did you get so hot?âÂ
Rewatching doom at your service for the millionth time and Tak Dong kyung saying âsometimes misfortune and good luck look exactly the same, and I still have trouble distinguishing their facesâ while her aunt whoâs her deceased motherâs twin comes to adopt both her and her brother at her parents funeral is insane work. Wow.
an exclusive interview
clark kent x gotham!ceo reader (ft. bruce wayne!)
mentions: fem!reader, she/her, reader is old money, david corenswet!superman, slight tension?? platonic!childhood friends!bruce wayne x reader, prob ooc clark i still need more experience to write him, reader doesn't know bruce or clark's secret identities, uhhh nothing much honestly
(hi hello yes im back with a bang sorry if i sound too nonchalent im grieving rn (heesung's enha departure oh ym GOD) anywayyyy i was super lazy aka impatient to wait for poll results so here 's clark anddd enjoy! super fun to write)
gotham city was the complete opposite of metropolis; dark, corrupt, roughâall the things that criminals loved. it almost made sense to clark as to how crime was always high in the dark knightâs territory and why batmanâs tactics were what they are
clark never really went to gotham city for anything, just the usualâ dropping or picking jon up from wayne manor, in the cave with bruce and going over about something important, going to a gala as a journalist and interviewing other people on the red carpet, even cleaning up some of its crime as superman whenever bruce was away and couldnât patrol as batman
so when terry put him in charge of scoring an interview with youâ a member of one of gothamâs founding families and the most influential woman in the cityâ safe to say clark was slightly off guard, and for two reasons. one was that it was almost impossible to even get a quote from you, let alone an interview. and two, lois was the one who always covered the topics about you on the paper, but she was in central city right now, covering a crime investigation. plus, he wasnât that interested in celebrity gossip
and after many callsâjust one with bruce âhe secured the most exclusive interview any reporter would pursue: a one-on-one interview with you. terry didnât know how the hell he did it, but he wasnât shocked. after all, clark kent interviewed superman
which leads us now to the present, aka clark now in gotham and in front of the doors to your company. the sight of the tall skyscraper with your companyâs name on it felt almost intimidating, which was pretty ironic for clark considering who his alter ego was. he could basically see the success and influence just by looking at your building
clark swallowed nervously, pushing his glasses back before entering the building. he showed the security guard his press badge and was allowed entry and directions to your office. he saw how the security guard was slightly skeptical about clark coming for an interview, as you were notorious with the press by not giving them a second of your time, but nonetheless, allowed him in
the elevator ride felt like a tourist trapâ a clear view of gothamâs skyline that just got more breathtaking as the elevator went higher and higher. itâs not like clark never saw a city from this height; the man flew his way here from metropolis. itâs just impressive that a large-scale building had an amazing view on the city
once the elevator stopped on the highest floor and the doors dinged open, clark stepped out and was almost in awe. your success and generational wealth really were evident. he doesnât think he has ever seen a corporate building this nice
besides the employees that were walking around, the first thing he noticed was the floorâ polished marble stretched through the entire lobby, smooth and glossy enough that the soft overhead lights ran like water. that marble didnât look cheap, thatâs for sure
the walls were a mixture of sleek glass panels and dark wood with the contrast making the entire floor feel modern yet powerful. instead of plain partitions, most of the office was enclosed with tall, glass wallsâ crystal clear. clark doesnât need to add on but what he can say is thisâ it felt more like a luxury hotel than a corporate building. and one thing is for sure, this was gotham money at play
after three emergency staircases and five copy rooms later, clark finally found your office (thanks to an employee who noticed) and walked towards your receptionist, who was focused on her monitor and finishing up emails as her fingers didnât slow down on the keyboard.
he smoothed out his hair and cleared his throat. âclark kentâ his hand rummaging through his pocket to pull out his press badge. âdail-â
âdaily planet. yes, weâve been expecting youâ she acknowledged him, yet her eyes were still on her screen. clark just blinked twice, not knowing what to do now. is this how it normally goes in gotham? it wasnât like this when he would interview bruce
your receptionist clicked one last key from her keyboard before sending whatever she was working on and looking up at clark, extending her hand for him to hand his badge. âsheâs in a meeting right now but you can wait in her office in the meantimeâ
clark handed her his badge with a relieved smile. âgreat! do you know when sheâll finish?â
ânot long, around 5-10 minutesâ she typed the numbers from his badge onto the keyboard before handing to back to him. âiâll let her know that you arrivedâ
and before clark could thank her again or even say goodbye, the desk phone rang, and your receptionist answered it without a second thought. her eyes were still on clarkâs, mouthing a âgoâ and motioning him to your office door
clark just looked from her to the door before hesitantly walking and processing what just happened. he hesitated for a moment outside the door, glancing back at the receptionist only to see her deep in her phone call. well, he was on his own for this one
he adjusted his glasses again out of habit and gently pushed the doors open. your office was now in view and honestly, it was impressiveâ not like clark wasnât shocked. after all, heâs seen the building
your office was refined, dark wood shelves lined up with books and awards, with issues of forbes placed on the glass coffee tableâ all with your face and name. even the cream couches looked like the price of a building.
the sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows hit your office just right as the view overlooked gothamâs skyline. and a massive desk to top it all off, somehow managing to look both elegant and intimidating
clark stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. he instinctively glanced out the windows, noticing how peaceful gotham looked from this height compared to its alleyways where crime lived.
he started to walk around the office, observing and taking in the details. family portraits were hung on one wallâ clearly decades oldâ and art hung on the other. but clark was more intrigued by the portraits, now standing in front of one and quietly taking it in. it was almost as if he could feel the generations of wealth and influence literally staring back at him through its gold-encased frames, a reminder that your name had power here long before clark kent had ever heard of gotham
clark had interviewed world leaders, alien diplomats, and even himself. but this felt different than your average interviewâ maybe it was the way gotham seemed to orbit around your name despite not knowing much about you. or maybe it was the fact that bruce sounded unusually amused when clark asked to help set this up
clark slightly frowned at the thought. that should have been his first warning. well, whatever it was, it intrigued him. you intrigued him
he took out his notebook from his coat pocket, flipping it open before taking out his pen and clicking it. but before clark could jot down any ideas or questions, the doors opened. he immediately turned, and for a moment, all the words died on his tongue
âfor the last time, we are not allying ourselves with lexcorpâ you stepped into your office mid-conversation with your phone pressed to your ear, voice calm yet sharp as you were already walking to your desk. ânot only is their ceo controversial, but their values donât align with oursâ
the way you carried yourselfâ it was almost as if your presence alone could command a room without even speaking. clark felt himself hypnotized by your company. not to mention that all those paparazzi pictures were nothing compared to seeing you in real life. you were elegant and attractive-- really, really attractive
there was a brief pause as the person on the other end of the line spoke, but you coolly interrupted him. âi donât care if his stocks went up last monthâ you placed your folder on your desk. âthis is my company. weâre sticking with wayne and wayne only, periodâ
and before the person on the other end could try to convince you otherwise, you ended the call without another word before he had the chance to do so. only then did your eyes went up and land on clark, who immediately straightened himself after he was suddenly aware that he had just been silently standing in the middle of your office, listening to your conversation like a confused intern
he blinked. âuh-â smooth kent, real smooth.
clark caught himself and cleared his throat, offering an awkward yet polite smile. âclark kentâ he said, gesturing lightly with his notebook. âfrom the daily planet. i appreciate you making the time for this interviewâ
you didnât say anything and instead, looked at himâ really looked at him. clark could almost feel sweat bullets forming on his temple as he felt the weight of your scrutiny. and instead, something almost curious flickered in your gaze
âshould i ask how you got bruce wayne to arrange this?â you broke the silence, though your tone was both curious and amused as to how a reporter had ties with bruce, not including vicki vale
clark blinked. â⌠i can be very persuasiveâ
his words made a faint smile form from the corner of your lips, like you already knew the entire story. âfiguresâ
you walk towards the couch. âwell, mr kent--â you checked the time on your watch before sitting down and gesturing at the couch across from you, inviting him to sit down. âyou got thirty minutesâ
a beat passed and clark immediately snapped out of it, quickly flipping a new page on his notebook and sitting down on the ridiculously comfy yet expensive couch across from you. âgreatâ he said, his reporter instincts starting to kick in. but as he looked up at you again, something stirred in the back of his mind. he had a feeling that this interview was going to be interesting
âletâs start simpleâ clark said, pen ready. âwhatâs it like being the most powerful woman in gotham?â a straightforward question. you didnât answer right away and instead, you slightly leaned back on the couch. it felt like you were studying him the way someone studies a chessboard before making their first move. the silence wasnât blindsided; it was deliberate. and clark felt it immediately
your eyes briefly drifted to the skyline behind him before locking them back on his. âpowerful?â you repeated, almost thoughtfully. clark nodded, pen hovering over his notebook
âwellâ you continued, crossing your legs and folding your hands neatly on your lap. âthat depends on who youâre asking.â your response made clark tilt his head, slightly curious and silently waiting for you to continue, which you did.
âin gotham, power isnât measured by who owns the most buildings or has the most money in their bank accountâ you spoke calmly, as your eyes went back to the view once more where the city stretched endlessly. âits measured by those who survive itâ
clarkâs pen paused only for a fraction of a second before he finished writing the quote down. that was a very gotham answer. he glanced back up again. âso youâd say surviving gotham is more important than controlling it?â
a small knowing smile formed faintly on your lips. âno one controls gotham, mr kentâ your voice held absolute certainty. ânot the politicians, not the policeâ
a pause. ânot even the man in the cape.â the corner of clarkâs lips slightly twitched from that sentence. well, color him intrigued
âbut surviving it?â you continued. âthatâs the real skillâ
clark scribbled another note before shifting slightly on the couch. âyou come from one of gothamâs founding familiesâ he pointed out. âalong with wayne enterprises, your company basically shapes the cityâs economyâ
you nodded without hesitation. âyesâ
âmost people would say that gives you controlâ
your eyebrow lifted just a little. âmost peopleâ you responded lightly, âdonât take gotham very well.â clark couldnât help but let out a small chuckle that escaped him as he flipped a page. fair enough
and soon, the questions started to roll out. clark started to ask more questions such as your family legacy, how the company has been managing to preserve both your family honor and the city and so forth. your answers were collected, honest and without hesitation.
the more clark interviewed you, the more he saw how much you really cared for gotham and its citizens. it was almost a refresher for him, meeting a wealthy and powerful person and seeing them wanting to do more good for their city, besides bruce, of course. clark had enough dealing with corrupted billionaires like lex for a day
âyouâve avoided interviews for yearsâ he said, âno quotes, no profiles, no televised appearancesâ he looked up from his notebook. âany reason why you decided to make an exception today?â
this time, your gaze lingered on his longer than usual, as if you were carefully considering your words. âbecause you askedâ you simply responded and that made clark blink from his glasses
"âŚthatâs it?â
âthatâs itâ
clark stared at you for a moment, almost not convinced. âyouâve turned down the gotham gazette, the new york times, vogueââ
âand yetâ you cut in smoothly, âhere you areâ.
that made clark pause. â⌠here i amâ
for a moment, neither of you spoke and instead, sat in silence. then, something subtle shifted in your expression and clark caught it. âyouâre different from most reportersâ your comment made clark blink once, completely off guard. âi am?â
you nodded. âwhen bruce told me about you, i came across some of your work for the daily planet.â you sat up straight, eyes not leaving his, but with a small smile on your lips. âthe work youâve written for superman is impressiveâ
a smileâ almost a shy oneâ formed on clarkâs lips as his ears turned pink, letting out a small chuckle. âwellâ i tryâ
âindeed you do. thinking of writing a piece on batman?â
âiâm⌠not so sure heâs the type to sit down for an interviewâ
small laughs left both of you, and the atmosphere now felt comfortable. it felt more like a conversation than anything else. you let out a small sigh, a faint smile on your lips. itâs rare for you to get comfortable around the press, let alone schedule an interview. but here you were
âi couldnât help overhearing your call earlierâ clark admitted sheepishly. âthe one about lexcorpâ
you didnât mind that clark overheard your conversation, and you didnât look bothered at the slightest. âno partnershipâ you simply said
your answer made clark tilt his head. donât get him wrong, he hates this man more than anyone thinks. but itâs both surprising and refreshing for him to hear that you didnât want to work with lex. âmost companies would jump at the chance to work with lex luthorâ clark pointed out. âhis business bring out billionsâ
âi donât work with companies for the money, i already have enough in my bank account.âyou clarifed as clarkâs pen was moving on the notebook, writing your words down. âi work with companies that have the same values as mineâ you continued. âlexcorp simply doesnât align with what the company strives to beâ
clark nodded, jotting everything down. once he finished writing, he tapped the end of his pen on his paper. âspeaking of companies, you seem to have a very⌠cooperative relationship with wayne enterprisesâ
another faint smile. âyou mean bruceâ and that caused clark to cough lightly. âprofessionally speaking." his words made your smile grow, the amusement now evident. âme and bruce are just childhood friendsâ you clarified. âour familes were well alignedâ
hearing the word âfriendsâ come out from your lips surprisingly made his chest feel lighter for some reason. clark scribbled the note down, though the words stuck with him longer than the ink on the page. âgothamâs founding familesâ he said thoughtfully. âthats⌠a pretty small circleâ
âit isâ you nodded. âsmaller than people thinkâ
clark nodded. that tracked right with gotham. what he knew was that in gotham, old money wasnât just wealthâ it was generational, linege, influence, timeless
âdoes your friendship affect your business with wayne enterprises?â
you answered without a second thought. âabsolutely notâ
âhow so?â
âbecause what my company and wayne enterprises have in common is the well-being of the citizens of gothamâ you responded. ânot our friendshipâ
clark nodded, writing your words down. âlast questionâ
âgo for itâ
âgotham has one of the highest crime rates in the countryâ he said. âyet people like you and bruce wayne continue to invest in itâ
a moment of silence passed by you and clark. then, you answered his question. âbecause gotham is worth saving" your voice was now low, almost soft. "anything can be worth saving"
your words hung in the air and clarkâs pen stopped moving. for a moment, he didnât write anything as your words were still repeating in his head
anything can be worth saving
he lifted his eyes from the notebook and looked at you properly nowâ not just like a reporter finishing an interview, but like someone trying to understand the person sitting across from himâ the same person who was one of gothamâs top elites
your eyes softened on his and his for yours as you two stared at each other in silenceâ not the silence that was uncomfortable and awkward, but the silence that settled naturally between you two. the way you carried yourself and the way you cared about others made clarkâs chest feel unexpectedly warm
in his line of work, clark has met and seen countless people. politicians, heroes, skepticsâ people who talked about hope as if it was a publicity speech or a campaign slogan. but you werenât like that, you believed in itâ in hope.
and somehow, sitting across from you, clark realized he liked the way that belief looked on you
âcan i quote you on that?â he broke the silence with both his words and a smile that almost looked sheepish. it made you smile back, but this time it was more softer than polite as you nodded. âgo aheadâ
and after clark jotted your quote down, he closed his notebook with a snap before getting up from the couch. he stood tall and easygoing with the slightly awkward way that made people underestimate him. âwell-â he pushed his glasses back to his nose, âi think that answers my last questionâ
he brought out his hand and extended it. âthank you for the interview.â you got up from the couch and smiled, shaking his hand. âanytime, our 30 minutes was up anywayâ those 30 minutes were long extended and both of you knew that, yet you nor clark didnât point that out
your touch almost sent shivers down his spine, feeling your soft hand shake his large yet slightly calloused hand. meanwhile, you couldnât help but notice how warm his hand was as his grip was firm and strong. then, you commented with a teasing smile:
âguess i have to read the article when it comes outâ
âiâll make sure its a good oneâ
both of your smiles grew, eyes still locked onto one another. after a brief moment, your hands finally slipped apart, but the warmth of the moment seemed to linger in the space between you two.
you walked towards your desk, hands trailing the edges. âthereâs a charity gala being hosted at the gotham natural history museum in a few weeksâ you spoke before looking up at him. âwill the daily planet be there?â correction, âwill you be there?â
clark blinked twice, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder before rummaging to find his calander book. âiâ uh, im not sureâ he stammered, finally pulling it out and shuffling through pages
âif it helps, i can have my team send exclusive press badgesâ you offered. âmaybe then we can⌠have another interviewâ a smile formed on your lips
the pages stopped flipping and clark looked up from his book to look at you for a moment. for a second, he stared at you as if to make sure heâd heard you right. then, a quiet smile formed on his lipsâ not the polite ones heâd use for interviews, a real one
âwellâ he said slowly, closing the calendar book and sliding it back into his bag. âit would be pretty irresponsible of me to turn down an exclusive interview like thatâ
the corner of your lips turned from a smile to a smirk, raising an eyebrow. âis that a yes, mr kent?â you asked, amusement in your tone.
he paused, as if the question deserved more thought than it did. his fingers brushed the frame of his glasses again, a habit you were starting to notice whenever he felt even a little bit flustered
âwellâ he said, voice now low as he let out a faint chuckle. âwhen you put it like that..â his eyes met yoursâ warm and steady yet there was a teasing tilt to the corner of his lips that matched your smirk. âthen yes, the daily planet will be thereâ he finally said, slow and deliberate. correctionâ heâll be there
the way he said it made it sound less of a professional duty and more like a decision. âi donât think the planet would want to miss this interview.â plus, clark didnât have to ask perryâ the man would let him go, go hesitation
you let the smirk linger, enjoying the small victory while clark adjusted his glasses with that awkward, endearing gesture of his. it was kinda cute. âiâll have my team send you some press badgesâ
clark nodded, his lips now softening into a small smile. âi appreciate thatâ he thanked. âmakes my job a whole lot easierâ
a quiet smile formed at your lips in response and clark noticed. âand plusââ he added after a beat, the corner of his lips slightly lifting, âthe charity gala at the museum sounds like itâll be worth attendingâ
your eyes narrowed playfully. âfor the story?â you asked. clarkâs smile deepened just a little but it was enough for you to notice he had dimples. âsureâ he responded, but it was obvious that wasnât the whole truthâ yet neither of you decided to call it out
now noticing both the time and from how long he was staring at you, clark cleared his throat, cheeks starting to flush. âi wonât take up too much of your timeâ he almost caught himself from stammering. âthank you again for the interviewâ
and as he turned around and walked towards the doors, your voice rang from behind. âiâll see you at the gala in a few weeks, mr kentâ
his hand rested on the doorknob as he turned around and saw you giving him a smile. clark just nodded, trying to compose himself together, âlikewise, maâamâ
once clark stepped out and closed the doors behind him, your eyes lingered on where he was last seen before letting out a sigh with a smile forming. you go behind your desk and sit down in your chair, turning to your desk phone and pressing a button
âsend the daily planet exclusive press badges for the upcoming gala in the gotham museum, pleaseâ you instructed
âhow many?â your receptionistâs voice was heard from the other end of the line.
âas much as they needâ
âyes, maâamâ
you slide your finger off the button before picking up your phone from the table and dialing a number, hitting the call button and placing the phone in your ear. you turned your chair behind you to face the skyline as the phone was ringing
the phone was then picked up. âhow was it?â bruceâs voice rang from your phone, to which you hummed a reply. ânot badâ
bruce hummed back but thoughtfully from the other end of the line. âthatâs high praise coming from youâ
you leaned back on your chair, one arm resting on the armrest as you watched the the skyline of gotham city stretching beneath the late afternoon sun. clarkâs face kept popping back in your head. âheâs differentâ you said after a moment and bruce didnât respond immediately. âin what way?â
you tapped your finger lightly on the armrest as you thought back to the interview. âhe didnât come in here trying to impress meâ you pointed out. âor intimidate meâ
a beat. âor dig for gossipâ
bruce let out a quiet chuckle. âthatâs because clark kent isnât very good at pretending to be someone heâs not.â he added and your lips curled slightly. âyeah,â you murmured. âi noticedâ
then, a question popped up in your head. âhow do you know him exactly?â you asked. bruce paused, silent at first as if he was carefully considering his next choice of words. âwork." and your eyebrow lifted immediately, not convinced in the slightest.
âbruceâ
âwhat?â
âyou expect me to believe that?â
another pause. only this time, bruce exhaled quietly through the phone. âclark and i⌠cross paths sometimes.â that was basically your sign to drop the topic
âuh huh, okayâ you were still unconvinced but you decided to drop the matter, for now at least
there was another moment of silence and clarkâs face popped back in your head. only this time, you were remembering his blue eyesâ how familiar they lookedâ and his smile, not to mention his dimples and cheekbones. a bonus was that you saw how even with a suit, clark kent was fitâ incredibly fit. for a reporter, he was built like a greek god
âheâs hotâ you murmured to yourself, forgetting that bruce was still on the line with you. âwhat?â he said, making sure his ears didn't betray him
âyeah, now that reminds meâ why didnât you tell me he was attractive?â
âwhy is that important?â
âit is very importantâ
bruce was quiet for a second and then, a quiet, unmistakable laugh came through the phone. âyouâre kiddingâ
there was silence from your end, realizing a little too late that you just said that out loud. but bruce took that as a confirmation that you were not kidding. then, he spoke again with his voice carrying that familiar hint of dry amusement. âyou just called a reporter hotâ
âoh please, like i donât know about your history with vicki valeâ
a beat. â⌠touchèâ
âiâm just sayingââ you sighed, turning your chair around and now facing your desk. âheâs⌠unexpectedly attractive for a reporter, thatâs allâ
another beat
ââŚhe looks like he can bench press a carâ you mumbled
another moment of silence from bruce before he let out a sigh. â..iâm not even going to ask why you noticed thatâ
âyouâre the one who arranged this interviewâ
âyouâre welcomeâ
you just rolled your eyes, not failing to hold the smile on your lips. you glanced at your watch to check the time. âalright, i have to goâ another sigh left your lips. âi have a meeting in 10â
âgoâ bruce understood. âi have mine at 15.â and his words couldnât fail but make you roll your eyes again. âluckyâ
and before you could end the call, bruce spoke through the phone one last time. âforgot to mentionâ he said. âclark has⌠good hearing." you raised an eyebrow before letting out a small laugh. âplease, heâs long gone from my office. not like he has super hearing or anythingâ
bruce stayed quiet, too quiet. ââŚrightâ he said carefully
unknowingly, you spoke too soon. if only you knew that the elevator doors in the lobby of your building slid open with a soft ding and standing inside was a very flustered clark kent. if only you knew that his ears were bright red and his face was almost a tomato, hearing your entire conversation as clear as day, thanks to his kryptonian hearing. if only you knew that he heard you call him hot
yup, he couldnât wait for the gala. and something tells him that it was going to be more than just an interview
